"Now then, fellows," said he, "keep your eyes skinned for the old quarry. They're all limestone quarries, in this part of the country, and the one we're looking for ought to show as white as a strip of macadam road."
For half an hour they whirred along, a moving blot against the stars. It was Carl who first discovered the quarry.
"I t'ink I haf seen der blace, Verral," said he. "Look, vonce, off der on der righdt."
Ferral stared in the direction indicated.
"You've hit it, mate," averred Ferral. "There's the old quarry, Matt, and it lies to the right of the canal. There's a railroad track in between."
"Well, we'll get down by the canal, opposite the quarry," said Matt. "If the detective, Glennie, is anywhere around, he'll be on the lookout for us and won't be slow reaching the place where we land."
"I can see a couple of trees close to the bank of the canal, Matt," announced Ferral, "and if we could drop in between them it would be a good berth, and give us a fine place in which to moor the Hawk."
"Guide me to the place," returned Matt, "and be sure you don't land us in the top of one of the trees."
"Turn her about two points to port," went on Ferral, keeping his keen eyes below as he gave the direction. "There you are—steady as she is. Now tilt her—gently, gently!"
Matt depressed the steering rudder, keeping the vertical planes rigid as they were. When the Hawk had attained the proper slant to bring her to an even keel between the two trees, Ferral gave the word. Matt slowed the propeller and they glided easily downward.