“Please?” said Marie Lou, suddenly.
“What is it?” asked Simon.
“Go — go away,” she stammered. “I feel ill!”
“Will you be all right?” De Richleau spoke doubtfully.
She nodded angrily as he helped Simon into the small cabin. It contained a fixed table with a settee at each side long enough for a man to lie down at full length. At the front, through a mica screen, Rex’s broad back was visible.
De Richleau insisted that Simon should tuck up on one of the settees and take what rest he could. Feeling that he could be of little use, Simon did not need much pressing. He was terribly tired; it would be weeks before he recovered from his loss of blood.
Marie Lou joined them, looking pale and miserable. The Duke settled her, unprotesting, on the other settee, covering her warmly. Then he joined Rex in the forward cockpit.
“How is she going?” he inquired.
“Fine,” Rex answered. “She’s a daisy — I picked this ’plane because I saw a guy take her out yesterday; couldn’t risk boning one that might have been under repair.”
They were rising again rapidly, the searchlights had been left behind. “How is our supply of petrol?” asked the Duke.