And the engines, purring softly, told that all had
been in readiness for the throwing-in of the clutches that would have
set the vast propellers spinning with roaring speed.
"Yes, they were certainly just on the dot of getting away," said the
Master, nodding as he glanced at his watch. "This couldn't be better.
Gas, oil, stores, everything ready. What more proof do you require, my
dear Bohannan, of the value of exact coordination?"
The major could only answer: "Yes, yes--" He seemed quite amazed by
this extraordinary mechanism--gigantic, weird, unreal in the garish
electric lights. Rrisa was frankly staring, for once shaken out of his
fatalistic Mussulman tranquillity.
As for Captain Alden, he stood there a compact, small figure in his
long coat with the rucksack strapped to his shoulders, peering up with
the eye of the connoisseur. His smile was of contentment absolute.
"My beauty--ah, my beauty!" he was murmuring.
Then, in the presence of this mighty thing, silence fell on all. The
major set hands on hips, blinked, puckered his lips, and silently
whistled. His expression was half incredulous, half enthusiastic.
What Alden was thinking revealed itself by the sparkle of his eyes
through the holes of the mask behind the goggles.
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