Just as Alan and Roy sprang up the store room ladder to reach the pilot house and Bob and Buck were entering the engine room, an employee rushed from Mr. Atkinson’s office.
“The _Herald_ wants Mr. Latimer,” he shouted.
The latter glanced at Ned inquiringly and the boy nodded his head.
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Ned. “It’s probably an O. K. message for us. We’ll wait.”
Within two minutes—Ned’s associates having once more appeared on the upper and lower galleries with no attempt to conceal their impatience—the night city editor hurried toward the car again.
“From the office,” he said in a low tone to the boys above him, for as yet none of the spectators were advised of the mission of the aeroplane. “They’ve just received word that the English government authorities have prohibited airship flights over London during the coronation exercises.”
“London—the big London—or just the city?” inquired Captain Ned.
“Over London: that’s the message. The office wants to know if you’ll wait till it talks with the managing editor down at the marine office.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” answered Ned.
“Two twelve,” exclaimed Alan, whose watch had not been out of his hand since two o’clock.
“It’s too late,” repeated Ned. “Tell your folks everything stands as it was. We’ll put it over. Are you all ready, Mr. Engineer?” went on Ned. Bob’s eyes snapped.
As if an electric button had been pressed, first one and then the other big turbine began moving. With neither jar nor noise the circular engines spun faster and faster until the ceaseless, muffled explosions fell into a soft, continuous purr of power. For a few seconds Ned stood at the engine door. Then, with a slight wave of the hand to those standing almost breathless on the ground below, Captain Napier walked forward until he was beneath the open door of the pilot room above.
“Two, twelve, twenty-eight,” came from the pilot house.
Slowly and gently, like the Alpine pebble that starts the avalanche, the eleven foot “moon propellers” began moving. Taking time to draw on his sweater, Ned hurried aft on the gallery to the companionway leading to the upper gallery and thence to the top deck. As he appeared on this the propellers had already attained a speed that drove the near-by spectators to flight. Then, suddenly, the streams of compressed air began to sing in the terrifying moan of a coming cyclone. As Ned made his way forward on the narrow elevated deck the storm broke; the cyclone burst.