Ronnie considered for a few seconds, and then accepted the suggestion, he driving his partner out to Hendon in his yellow car which had been standing in St. James’s Square.
At the busy aerodrome, where all sorts of machines were being assembled and tested, they entered the spacious workshops of the Pryor Aeroplane Factory where, in one corner, amid whirring machinery, a large aeroplane-engine was running at top speed with a hum that was deafening in the confined space.
Half-an-hour later both men went forth again into the aerodrome where several “school ’buses” were being flown by pupils of the flying school. Suddenly Bellingham’s quick airman’s eye caught sight of a biplane at a great height coming from the north-west.
“Why, isn’t that Beryl up in your ’bus?” he exclaimed, pointing out the machine. “I didn’t know she was out to-day.”
“Yes,” was Ronnie’s reply. “She flew over to Huntingdon this morning to see her sister.”
“Was she up with you last night?”
“Yes. She generally goes up daily.”
“She has wonderful nerve for a woman,” declared George. “A pupil who has done great credit to her tutor—yourself, Ronnie. How many times has she flown the Channel?”
“Seven. Three times alone, and four with me. The last time she crossed alone she went up from Bedford and landed close to Berck, beyond Paris-Plage. She passed over Folkestone, and then over to Cape Grisnez.”
“Look at her now!” Bellingham exclaimed in admiration. “By Jove! She’s doing a good stunt!”