Before his mind flashed the recollection that in construction plans he had seen provision for getting into the after part of the fuselage.
Not wasting a second, he was already free from his safety belt, climbing with agile quickness for all his plumpness, onto the fuselage.
It was a fearful risk.
Their speed sent them through the air so fast that the wind was a gale there on the unprotected top fabric of the fuselage.
With his cotton-stuffed ears tortured by the pressure, with the fierce wind tearing at him, Dick clutched the seat top as he tore away the fabric flap covering a sort of manhole back of his place.
Headfirst he plunged in, scrambling, instantly beginning to seek the points where the control cables passed through channeled guides at each side.
He was in a dark, stuffy, closely confined and narrow space, his legs hanging out in the roaring gale, unable to see, half suffocated by the fumes collected in that restricted area.
He found a cable with exploring hands.
He tugged at it.
It was slack. That told his feverishly acute intelligence that it was the cable whose lever did not operate. He had seen that Jeff, when he flung the stick forward to try to free it, had been able to pull it back again without operating the elevators.