"Say, why not hide down there?" suggested Detroit, pointing to one of the trapdoors.
"Good idea!" assented Hamerton. "I don't suppose anyone goes down except to oil the machinery. The place looks large enough to hide a dozen people quite comfortably. Besides, we might be able to see something by daylight. Give me a hand with this lid."
Luckily the traphatch was not locked. The authorities regarded themselves as being immune from the inquisitiveness of intruders and the mischievousness of small boys.
Detroit descended first by means of a vertical iron ladder. Hamerton followed, and was in the act of reclosing the lid of the aperture when the whole of the Zeppelin sheds and approaches were illuminated by arc lamps fixed from brackets to the side of the cliff.
And right in the centre of that blaze of light, his head and shoulders showing conspicuously above the level of the turntable, Hamerton remained as if rooted to the spot. The sudden glare temporarily blinded him. He felt incapable of moving hand or foot.
"LOOK slick!" hissed Detroit. "Don't stand there looking in the air."
The American's words roused Hamerton to action. Quickly he descended below the level of the floor of the turntable, the flap fell with a dull thud, and the two fugitives found themselves in darkness, save for a faint circle of light where the exterior glare filtered through the narrow space between the round platform and the edge of the pit in which it stood.
Then came the tramp of many feet. Not knowing whether they had been "spotted" by a keen-eyed sentry, Hamerton and his comrade remained on the thorns of expectancy. Alternate hopes and fears flashed across their minds in quick succession. Detroit was mentally bemoaning the rashness that prompted Hamerton to suggest the exploration of the aircrafts' subterranean shelter instead of making for the base of the cliffs; while the latter regretted that he had not been able to continue his nocturnal tour of investigation.
Yet, although men were running hither and thither, none came across the floor of the turntable. Trucks were rumbling along the tram lines, men were shouting in guttural tones, electric motors were whizzing and buzzing. The place, hitherto practically deserted, resembled a gigantic beehive.