"Hear that noise? Sounds like an aeroplane overhead," exclaimed Branscombe.
It was high noon. The Donibristle was approximately five hundred miles nor'-west of the Sandwich Islands. The sky was clear and bright. Air and sea were shimmering under the powerful rays of the sun.
"Hanged if I can," replied Burgoyne, "I think you're mistaken, old son. It's hardly likely that a seaplane would be buzzing round over this part of the Pacific."
Nevertheless he craned his neck and gazed at the blue vault overhead. The two chums, off duty, were standing aft. Close to them Messrs. Tarrant and Miles were engaged in a heated argument over the merits and demerits of the products of a certain firm of tabloid drug manufacturers. Colonel and Mrs. Vivian were seated in canopied deck-chairs under the lee of one of the deck-houses. Captain Blair and the Chief Engineer were pacing to and fro on the starboard side of the deck, earnestly discussing a technical point in connection with the distilling plant. Hilda Vivian happened to be "listening in" in the wireless cabin, hearing vague sounds which Peter Mostyn assured her were time signals from a shore station on the Californian coast.
"What's that," sang out Tarrant, overhearing the Third Officer's remark. "Aeroplane—what?"
Presently at least a dozen pairs of eyes were scanning the sky, but without success.
"Can you hear it now?" asked Burgoyne.
"No, I can't," replied Branscombe bluntly, "but I swear I did just now."
"Would it be the dynamos you heard?" inquired Angus.
"No; aerial motor," declared the Fourth Officer firmly. "In fact," he added, "I believe I can hear it now."