Back again at the spot where they had left “The Hornet” they held council.
“You remain here, Collins,” said Pryor. “Watch the place, and see what arrives. The next lorry may come along the day after to-morrow, or the day after that. You will see what its load is. Then, having made certain, come back straight to Harbury. We’ll wait for you there. Telephone me, but not from the locality. You understand?”
“Very well, sir,” replied the air-mechanic, who, in a rather shabby blue suit, wore a brass badge as one doing national work.
Ronnie and Beryl climbed back into the machine, fastened the straps round themselves, and made all ready for their long flight from Surrey, across London, to Harbury Court.
They said good-bye to Collins, who, taking the propeller, pulled it over, while Pryor threw over the contact.
There was no response.
“Hullo! What’s up?” asked Ronnie.
“Don’t know, sir,” Collins said. “Try again.”
They both tried again—and again, but no response could be got out of the engine. “The Hornet” had lost its sting!
Both pilot and observer descended again to make a minute investigation. Both of them were conversant with every point of an aero-engine, but neither could discover the fault. “The Hornet” had simply broken down!