"Yes, a canvas bag. There are letters on it. Wait, and I'll read them."
There followed a silence during which, supposedly, Le Bon was spelling out the letters.
"'Burton's Big Consolidated Shows'," went on Le Bon. "That's what's printed on the bag, Matt."
"Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "Anything in the bag, Archie?"
"It's as limp as a rag and looks to be empty. How did it get there?"
"Give it up. If it's empty, I don't see how it can do any harm. I don't like the thoughts of the thing, though, and we're not going to remain up as long as usual. Get busy with your work."
Renewed cheering greeted the daring feats performed on the trapeze by Le Bon. In the midst of it the motor missed fire and died altogether. The slowing rotations of the propeller caused the Comet to glide earthward. A terrified yell broke from Le Bon.
"What's the matter, up there?"
"Keep your nerve," flung back the king of the motor boys; "something's wrong with the motor—but we'll be all right."
Yes, Matt knew that the aëroplane would glide earthward and land him and Le Bon without injury; but, if it could not be guided, it was as likely to land on the heads of that dense crowd as anywhere. That would mean serious, if not fatal, injury to many men—perhaps to women and children.