For nearly an hour the trio worked hard to get a move on the engine, but without success.
At last Ronald declared that it would be best to wait until dawn, so they sat down upon the grass beneath the hedge, smoking cigarettes and chatting.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Ronnie. “If it is really true what we suspect, how we shall surprise them—eh?”
“Yes, dear,” said his well-beloved. “But Collins must have absolute and undeniable evidence.”
“Of course. We cannot act without that. See over there—the faint light in the sky.”
And he pointed to the pale light, eastward, which heralded the dawn.
Already the birds were twittering, and away somewhere a dog was barking furiously. In pre-war times the chimes of village church clocks would have struck the hour. But now, in fear of enemy aircraft, all chimes were silent.
Slowly the light stole over the hill, and presently all three walked over to “The Hornet” for another minute examination. Within ten minutes Collins had found the fault—quite a usual but unexpected one—and five minutes afterwards the engine was ready for the ascent.
Pryor climbed into the pilot’s seat to test it, and did so half-a-dozen times before he pronounced his verdict that the machine was in a fit condition to fly back over London.
At last, when Ronnie and Beryl had climbed in and settled themselves, the mechanic swung over the propeller, the engine roared, and a few moments later they had left the earth, speeding higher and higher in the direction of London, on their return to Harbury Court.