"How long will it take to get your motor tuned up, Mr. Flew?" asked the captain.
"See yonder land? It is the coast of Syria. I would suggest, Mr. Flew, that you continue your tour from this point. The Syrian and Palestine littoral will no doubt be interesting to you, and, as we are shortly bound for the eastern part of the Mediterranean, this favourable opportunity cannot lightly be ignored."
Captain Brookes spoke genially, but there was a veiled command that the airman could not fail to detect.
"Very good, sir," he replied deferentially. "I guess I'll quit right here."
As a matter of fact the work of assembling the monoplane and adjusting the motor was performed in less than an hour and a half, during which time the _Olive Branch_ was running southward at an easy ten knots, keeping a course parallel to the Syrian coast.
"Then nip below and have some refreshment. By the bye, is this distance too great for your flight to land?"
"Will you require any of the stanchions to be cleared away?"
"No, I claim I can rise in the air at a less distance and more obliquely than any other aviator. I guess I'll not scratch the paintwork."
So saying, the airman, accompanied by Lieutenant Palmer, went below, where he remained for over half an hour. When he reappeared he was fully attired for his flight, though, protesting that the heat made the device uncomfortable, he would not inflate his indiarubber suit.
Practically all the officers and crew had assembled to watch his departure, the men crowding as far aft as they dared. Shaking hands with the officers, Sidney P. Flew climbed into his seat above the two air-pontoons. One or two preliminary touches, and like a gigantic hawk he was off, amid the hearty cheers of the crew.
While all eyes were fixed upon the rapidly soaring and receding figure there was a sudden commotion, and Lieutenant Palmer, white-faced and staggering like a drunken man, tottered up the companion.
"Stop him!" he gasped. "He's stolen the wireless reciprocators," and without another word he collapsed upon the quarter-deck.
Captain Brookes was one of the first to recover his composure--if indeed, he had lost it.
"To the conning-tower, Mr. Tregarthen. The Z-rays."
Gerald comprehended these brief orders. By means of the electric fluid the aviator would be brought down as he attempted to cross the zone representing the minimum limit of the rays. It meant a headlong race for'ard, but the crew automatically cleared a path for the young officer, and with the least possible delay he gained the armoured citadel.