"I'll take you in tow," said Daventry. "With luck we'll have you in Fisherton Harbour within four or five hours."
"Not if it can be avoided," protested the Staff Officer, from his elevated perch. "Why the deuce didn't they send out more pilots? You'd better go back at full speed and bring off a couple of good, experienced flying-officers. It's an urgent case; absolutely imperative that the flight be resumed without loss of time."
Derek was about to order the bowman to cast off when a thought struck him.
"May I come on board, sir?" he asked. "I'm a pilot."
"Are you, by Jove?" rejoined the Staff Officer, who, as shown by the badges on his shoulder-straps, was a Brigadier-General. "That's fortunate! Yes, come aboard, by all means."
Leaping on to the float Derek swarmed up one of the struts and gained the open hatchway on the underside of the fuselage. The sight within was an eye-opener. He had no idea of the vast strides in aerial construction that had been made since the time when he had to relinquish flying.
The fuselage was nearly a hundred feet in length and entirely enclosed. It gave one the impression that it was the interior of a yacht, for on either side of the central corridor were partitioned-off compartments—cabins for passengers, officers, and crew, as well as a spacious but completely-crowded engine-room.
Right amidships were the two state-rooms in the occupation of the Staff Officer and his secretary. One compartment was furnished as a combined dining- and living-room, the other as a bedroom, with aluminium cots so arranged that, at any normal angle the sea-plane might assume, they would be always horizontal.
It was in the former cabin that Derek was received. There was nobody about to overhear the interview.
"Can you pilot this craft to Corunna?" asked the Brigadier-General. "It is a matter of extreme national importance that I arrive there before five this afternoon. If you cannot do it, then perhaps you might be able to take the sea-plane as far as Falmouth, where I can get experienced pilots."