Ronnie spent the night at Harbury, and in the morning received a telegram calling him urgently to Whitehall. On his return, he said but little, though, from his smile, Beryl knew that he was satisfied.
Wednesday came, and in his brown overalls he spent nearly the whole day with Collins in “The Hornet’s Nest.” They were getting the machine in trim for a long night flight.
Both pilot and mechanic consumed many cigarettes as they worked, Ronnie examining every stay and every instrument. He satisfied himself that the Lewis gun, which could fire through the propeller, was in working order, and he tested the silencer, which he brought out from the house for that purpose, and then returned it to its place of safety from the prying eyes of the enemy.
Now and then Beryl came out and watched the preparations.
Thursday dawned grey and overcast, with every indication of rain. Indeed, rain fell at ten o’clock, but at eleven, it having cleared, Ronnie took Collins, and they went up for a “flip” together in order to make a final test.
Beryl and her sister stood in the meadow watching the machine ascend higher and higher, until it had gained an altitude of fully twelve thousand feet. Then it seemed to hover for a moment, after which, with a long, graceful swoop, Ronnie commenced a series of aerial evolutions which Beryl, as an accomplished air-woman, knew to be most difficult, and showed to her what perfect control Ronald had over the machine. The silencer was on, therefore no sound could be heard of the engines.
In about twenty minutes’ time Ronnie came lightly to earth, and pulled up close to where Iris and her sister were standing.
“Everything going finely!” he shouted to Beryl, as he unstrapped himself, and clambered out of the pilot’s seat.
Then, when he joined her, he said:
“As the crow flies the spot on the moor is about two hundred and thirty miles from here. Therefore we ought to leave soon after seven in case we lose our way.”