Cover art

"'THE GOLDEN HIND' RESCUES A SHIPWRECKED CREW."

THE AIRSHIP "GOLDEN HIND"

by

Percy F. Westerman

AUTHOR OF

"THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE," "THE MYSTERY SHIP,"
"BILLY BARCROFT OF THE R.N.A.S.,"
ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY
FLEMING WILLIAMS

Publishers
PARTRIDGE
London
1920

MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN

THE GREAT ADVENTURE SERIES

PERCY F. WESTERMAN:

The Airship "Golden Hind"
To the Fore with the Tanks
The Secret Battleplane
Wilmshurst of the Frontier Force

ROWLAND WALKER:

Deville McKeene: The Exploits of the Mystery Airman
Blake of the Merchant Service
Buckle of Submarine V2
Oscar Danby, V.C.

LONDON:
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., LTD.

————

CONTENTS

————

The Airship "Golden Hind"

[CHAPTER I--A STARTLING PROPOSITION]

"What's the move?" enquired Kenneth Kenyon.

"Ask me another, old son," replied his chum, Peter Bramsdean. "Fosterdyke is a cautious old stick, but he knows what's what. There's something in the wind, you mark my words."

"Then you're going to see him?"

"Rather! And you too, old bean. Where's a pencil? We can't keep the telegraph boy waiting."

Bramsdean tore a form from a pad, scribbled on it the reply--"Fosterdyke, Air Grange, near Blandford. Yes, will expect motor to-morrow morning," and he had taken the initial step of a journey that man had never before attempted.

Kenyon and Bramsdean were both ex-flying officers of the Royal Air Force. What they did in the Great War now matters little. Sufficient is it to say that had they belonged to any belligerent nation save their own they would have been styled "aces"; but since in the Royal Air Force details of personal achievements were deprecated, and the credit given to the Force as a whole, they merely "carried on" until ordered to "get out," or, in other words, be demobilised. Then, each with a highly-prized decoration and a gratuity of precisely the same amount as that given to an officer who had never served anywhere save at the Hotel Cecil, they found themselves literally on their feet, relegated to the limbo of civilian life. It was not long before they found how quickly their gratuities diminished. Like many other ex-members of His Majesty's Forces, they began to realise that in smashing the German menace they had helped to raise a menace at home--the greed and cupidity of the Profiteer.

They were just two of thousands of skilled airmen for whom as such there was now no need. Commercial aviation had yet to be developed; trick flying and exhibition flights lead to nothing definite, and only a very small percentage of war-time airmen could be retained in the reconstituted Air Force.

Kenyon and Bramsdean were not men to "take it lying down." They had pluck and resource and a determination to "get a move on," and within a twelvemonth of their demobilisation they found themselves partners and sole proprietors of a fairly prosperous road transport concern operating over the greater part of the South of England.

But it wasn't the same thing as flying. Looking back over those strenuous years of active service, they remembered vividly the good times they had had, while the "sticky" times were mellowed until they could afford to laugh at those occasions when they "had the wind up badly."

Then, with a suddenness akin to the arrival of a "whizz-bang," came a telegram from Sir Reginald Fosterdyke, asking the chums to see him on the morrow.

Sir Reginald Fosterdyke had been Bramsdean's and Kenyon's O.C., or, to employ service phraseology, a Wing-Commander. On his demobilisation he went to live at Air Grange, a large old-world house standing on high ground, a good five miles from Blandford. Very rarely he left his country-house; his visits to town were few and far between, and his friends wondered at the reticence of the versatile and breezy Fosterdyke. He seldom wrote to anyone. When he did, his correspondence was brief and to the point. More frequently he telegraphed--and then he meant business. In pre-war days Air Grange was famous for its week-end house parties. The shooting, one of the best in the county of Dorset, was an additional source of attraction to Fosterdyke's guests. But the war, and afterwards, had changed all that. Few, very few, guests were to be found at Air Grange; the staff of servants was greatly reduced, the well-kept grounds developed a state of neglect. Sir Reginald's friends came to the conclusion that the baronet had become "mouldy." They wondered what possessed him to live an almost hermit-like existence. Fosterdyke knew their curiosity, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and "carried on." His work in the world of aviation was by no means ended. It might be said that it was yet a long way from attaining its zenith.

Early on the morning following the receipt of the baronet's telegram Sir Reginald's car pulled up in front of the premises used as the headquarters of the Southern Roads Transport Company. Kenyon and Bramsdean, having given final instructions to their work's foreman--a former flight-sergeant R.A.F.--jumped into the car, and were soon whisking northwards at a speed that was considerably in excess of that fixed by the regulations.

Although of a retiring disposition, Sir Reginald Fosterdyke had made a point of keeping in touch with his former officers. He had a sort of personal interest in every one of them, and on their part they regarded him as one of the best. Whenever, on rare occasions, Fosterdyke ran down to Bournemouth he invariably looked up Bramsdean and Kenyon to talk over old times. But being invited to Air Grange was quite a different matter. Vaguely, the chums wondered what it might mean, conjecturing ideas that somehow failed to be convincing. Yet they knew that there was "something in the wind." They knew Sir Reginald and his methods.

Through Blandford, up and past the now deserted hutments where formerly German prisoners led an almost idyllic existence in their enemy's country, the car sped on until it gained the lofty downs in the direction of Shaftesbury. Then, turning up a steep and narrow lane, the car drew up at the gate of Air Grange.

It had to. There was no gate-keeper to unlock and throw open the massive iron gates. That task the chauffeur had to perform, stopping the car again in order to make secure the outer portals of Sir Reginald's demesne.

While the car remained stationary the two occupants looked in vain for a glimpse of the house. All they could see was a winding, weed-grown road, with a thick belt of pine trees on either hand. To the left of the road and under the lee of the trees were half a dozen wooden huts, unmistakably of a type known as temporary military quarters. Smoke issuing from the chimneys suggested the idea that they were in "occupation," and a couple of dungaree-clad men carrying a length of copper pipe on their shoulders confirmed the fact. Somewhere from behind the trees came the sharp rattle of a pneumatic drilling machine.

Kenyon glanced at his companion.

"What's the Old Man up to, I wonder?" he enquired. "Quite a labour colony. Look--air flasks too, by Jove!"

A pile of rusty wrought-iron cylinders stacked on the grass by the side of the path recalled visions of by-gone days.

"Something doing, that's evident," agreed Bramsdean. "What's the stunt, and why are we hiked into it?"

"Wait and see, old bird," replied Kenyon.

The chauffeur regained the car and slipped in the clutch. For full another quarter of a mile the car climbed steadily, negotiating awkward corners in the rutty, winding path, until, emerging from the wood, it pulled up outside the house of Fosterdyke.

No powdered footman awaited them. On the steps, clad in worn but serviceable tweeds, stood Sir Reginald Fosterdyke himself.

The baronet--generally referred to by his former officers as the Old Man--was of medium height, broad-shouldered, and deep-chested. He was about thirty-five years of age, with well-bronzed features, clean shaven, and possessed a thick crop of closely-cut dark brown hair tinged with iron grey.

He held out his left hand as Kenyon and Bramsdean ascended the stone steps--his right hand was enveloped in surgical bandages--and greeted his guests warmly.

"Glad to see you, boys!" he exclaimed. "It's good of you to come. Have a glass of sherry?"

He led the way to the study, rang a bell, and gave instructions to a man-servant whom Kenyon recognised as the O.C.'s batman somewhere in France.

Sir Reginald sat on the edge of the table and whimsically regarded his former subordinates. At that moment, rising above the staccato rattle of the pneumatic hammer, came the unmistakable whirr of an aerial propeller. To Kenyon and Bramsdean it was much the same as a trumpet-call to an old war-horse.

"Sounds like old times, eh?" remarked Sir Reginald.

"Rather, sir," agreed Kenyon heartily, and, at a loss to express himself further, he relapsed into silence.

"Experimental work, sir?" enquired Bramsdean.

Fosterdyke nodded.

"Yes," he replied in level tones. "Experimental work, that's it. That's why I sent for you. I'm contemplating a flight round the world. Keen on having a shot at it?"

[CHAPTER II--FOSTERDYKE EXPLAINS]

The two chums were not in the least taken aback with the announcement. They knew the way of their late O.C. On active service Fosterdyke was in the habit of issuing orders for certain operations to be performed without apparently considering the magnitude or the danger of the undertaking. The officer or man to whom the order was given almost invariably executed it promptly. In the few cases where the individual instructed to carry out a "stunt" failed to rise to the occasion, that was an end of him as far as his service under Wing Commander Sir Reginald Fosterdyke went. Fosterdyke had no use for faint-hearted subordinates.

On the other hand, Kenyon and Bramsdean were astonished at being invited to take part in what promised to be the biggest aerial undertaking ever contemplated. After nearly two years "on the ground" the prospect of "going up" seemed too good to be true.

"Business difficulties, perhaps?" hazarded Fosterdyke, noting the faint signs of hesitation on the part of the two chums. "Think it over. But I suppose you'd like to have a few particulars of the stunt before committing yourselves?"

"I think it could be arranged, sir," replied Kenyon. "As regards our little show, we could leave it to our head foreman. He's a steady-going fellow and all that sort of thing. It's merely a question of a month, I suppose?"

"Less than that. Twenty days, to give a time limit," declared the baronet. "Either twenty days or--phut! However, I'll outline the salient features of the scheme.

"Like a good many others, it arose out of an almost trivial incident--a bet with an American Air Staff officer whom I met in London just after the Yankee seaplane NC4 flew across the Atlantic--or rather hopped across. Without detracting from the merits of the stupendous undertaking, it must be remembered that the seaplane was escorted the whole way, and alighted several times en route. The Yankee--General U. B. Outed is his name--offered to bet anyone $50,000 that an American aircraft would be the first to circumnavigate the globe.

"Half a dozen of us took him on; not that we could afford to throw away an equivalent to ten thousand pounds, but because we had sufficient faith in the Old Country to feel assured that the accomplishment of a flight round the world would be the work of a British owned and flown machine.

"Shortly after the wager was accepted came the news that R34 had flown from East Fortune to New York in 108 hours, making the return journey in 76 hours. That rather staggered General Outed, I fancy, and he had a greater shock when Alcock and Brown covered nearly 2,000 miles between Newfoundland and Ireland without a single stop.

"Things from a British aviation point of view looked particularly rosy; then for some obscure reason our Air Board appeared to let the whole matter of aerial navigation slide, or, at any rate they gave no encouragement. The big dirigibles were dismantled and sold; powerful aeroplanes were scrapped, air-stations were closed, and in a parsimonious wave of retrenchment even our old Royal Air Force was threatened with ignominious relegation to a corps under the control of the War Office.

"About three months ago a wealthy Swiss--a M. Chauvasse--who had made a pile in the United States, offered a prize to the value in British money of £25,000 to be given to the first airman to circumnavigate the globe, either in a lighter or a heavier than air machine. The prize is open to all comers, and already a Yankee and a German have announced their intention of competing."

"A Hun!" exclaimed Kenyon. "I thought that Fritz, under the terms of the armistice, had to surrender all his aircraft."

"But he hasn't," remarked Fosterdyke, drily. "Nor is he likely to; and if the Allies haven't the means to enforce the terms, that's not my affair. If a Hun does compete, let him. That's my view. Providing he doesn't resort to any of his dirty tricks, there's no valid reason why the door should be banged in his face. Because he's down and out is no reason why we should continue to sit on him. Commercially, I regard German goods as a means to reduce the present extortionate prices of things in England. I'm no believer in dumping, I never was; but if our manufacturers cannot compete with the products of a country beaten in war and torn by internal troubles, then there's something wrong somewhere. But I am digressing.

"Briefly, the terms of the contest are as follows: any type of machine or engine can be employed, and as many descents as are necessary to replenish fuel and stores. A start can be made from any place chosen by the competitor, but the machine must finish at the same spot within twenty days. Again, any route can be chosen, so that full advantage can be taken of existing air stations, but--and this is a vital point--in order to fairly circumnavigate the globe, competitors must pass within one degree of a position immediately opposite the starting-point. Do you follow me?"

"What is known in navigation as Great Circle Sailing," replied Bramsdean. "If a start is made somewhere on the 50th parallel North, the halfway time will be somewhere 50 degrees South, with a difference of 180 degrees of longitude."

"That's it," agreed Sir Reginald. "Now the difficulty arises where to find two suitable places answering to these conditions. With the exception of a small part of Cornwall the whole of Great Britain lies north of latitude 50.... Therefore, to reach the 50th parallel in the Southern Hemisphere would mean making a position far south'ard of New Zealand--where, I take it, there are no facilities for landing and taking in petrol.

"Nor is the vast extent of the United States any better off in that respect. I think I am right in saying that there is no habitable land diametrically opposite to any place in Uncle Sam's Republic."

Fosterdyke produced a small globe from a corner of the room in order to confirm his statement.

"And the old Boche is a jolly sight worse off," said Kenyon. "I don't suppose any British Dominion will tolerate him. It's certain he won't be allowed to fly over any Allied fortress, so where is he?"

"Paying the penalty for his misdeeds," replied Sir Reginald, grimly. "It's not exactly a case of vae victis. If he'd played his game, he would have taken his licking with a better grace because it wouldn't have hurt him so much."

"How many competitors are there for the Chauvasse Stakes, sir?" asked Bramsdean.

"A Yank, a Hun, and myself," replied Fosterdyke. "That is, up to the present. For some reason the idea hasn't caught on with our fellows. Probably there'll be a rush of entries later on--perhaps too late. I'll show you my little craft; but before doing so I'll give you a few details of the contest.

"My idea is to start from Gibraltar--for the actual race, of course. I'll have to take my airship there, but that's a mere detail. Why Gibraltar? Here's an encyclopædia, Kenyon. Look up the position of Gib."

"Lat. 36° 6' N.; long. 5° 21' W.," replied Kenyon, after consulting the work.

"And the antipodes of Gib. would be lat. 36° 6' S.; long. 174° 39' E.," continued the baronet. "The longitude, of course, being easily determined by adding 180 to that of Gibraltar. Now the next thing to be done (as a matter of fact I've determined it already) is to find a habitable spot approximating to the second set of figures. Look up Auckland, Kenyon."

"Auckland is lat. 36° 52' S.; long. 174° 46' E.," replied Kenneth. "Why, that's less than a degree either way."

"Exactly," agreed Fosterdyke. "The next point is to determine the air route between the two places, so as to make the best of the prevailing winds. When one has to maintain an average speed of fifty miles an hour for twenty days the advantage of a following wind cannot be ignored."

"Your 'bus'll do more than that, sir," remarked Peter Bramsdean.

"She'll do two hundred an hour," declared the baronet, emphatically. "I haven't had a trial spin yet, but she'll come up to my expectations. It's the stops that lower the average. Naturally I mean to take the east to west course. It means a saving of twenty-four hours. If I took the reverse direction, I'd be a day to the bad on returning to the starting-point. The actual course I'll have to work out later. That's where I want expert assistance. Also I want the aid of a couple of experienced navigators. And so that's why I sent for you."

"We're on it," declared both chums.

"I thought as much," rejoined Fosterdyke with a smile. "There's one thing I ought to make clear--the matter of terms."

Kenyon made a deprecatory gesture.

"Not so fast, Kenyon," protested his chief. "It's a rock-bottom proposition. Twenty-five per cent. of the prize if we are successful is your collective share. If we fail, then I'm broke--absolutely. I've sunk my last penny into the concern, because I'm hanged if I'm going to sit still and let a foreigner be the first to make an aerial circumnavigation of the globe. Now let me introduce you to the airship 'Golden Hind.'"

[CHAPTER III--THE "GOLDEN HIND"]

"Appropriate name the 'Golden Hind,'" remarked Bramsdean, as the three ex-R.A.F. officers made their way towards the concealed hangar. "That's what Drake's ship was called, and he was the first Englishman to circumnavigate the world."

"Yes," replied Fosterdyke. "We must take it as an augury that this 'Golden Hind' will do in the air what her namesake did on the sea."

"Not in every respect, I hope," said Kenneth Kenyon, with a laugh. "Drake did a considerable amount of filibustering on his voyage, I believe."

"Ah, yes," answered Sir Reginald. "Those were good old days. Now left," he added. "Mind yourselves, the brambles are a bit dangerous."

Turning off the grass-grown road and down a side path, the two chums found themselves entering a dense thicket that formed an outer fringe of the pine wood.

"Short cut," remarked Fosterdyke, laconically. "Now, there you are."

A glade in the woods revealed the end of a lofty corrugated iron shed, the hangar in which the "Golden Hind" was fast approaching completion. The baronet "knew his way about." He knew how to deal with the dictatorial and often completely muddled officials who ran the Surplus Disposals Board, and had succeeded in obtaining, at a comparatively low cost, a practically new airship shed, together with an enormous quantity of material.

"Now tell me what you think of her," he said, throwing open a small door in the rear end of the building.

Kenyon and Bramsdean paused in astonishment at what they saw. The "Golden Hind" was neither airship nor aeroplane in the strict sense of the word, but a hybrid embodying the salient features of both. The fuselage, constructed almost entirely of aluminium, was a full 120 feet in length, and enclosed so as to form a series of cabins or compartments. Amidships these attained a beam of 15 feet, tapering fore and aft until the end compartments terminated in a sharp wedge. Wherever there were observation windows they were "glazed" with light but tough fire-proof celluloid, sufficiently strong to withstand wind-pressure.

On either side of the hull, as Fosterdyke termed it, were six planes arranged in pairs, each being 30 feet in fore and aft direction, and projecting 25 feet from the side of the fuselage. Thus the total breadth of the "Golden Hind" was well under 60 feet. On angle brackets rising obliquely from the fuselage were six large aluminium propellers, chain-driven by means of six 350-h.p. motors.

"Some power there," remarked Kenyon, enthusiastically.

"Rather," agreed Sir Reginald. "Sufficient to lift her independently of the gas-bag, while in the unlikely event of the motors giving out there is enough lifting power in the envelope to keep her up for an indefinite period. Did you notice the small propellers in the wake of the large ones?"

"Yes, sir," replied Bramsdean. "Left-handed blades."

"Precisely," agreed Fosterdyke. "They work on the same shaft, only in a reverse direction. It's a little stunt of mine to utilise the eddies in the wake of the main propellers. Yes, petrol-driven. I tried to find an ideal fuel, one that is non-inflammable or practically so, except in compression; but that's done me so far. There's a huge fortune awaiting the chemist who succeeds in producing a liquid capable of conforming to these conditions. I even made a cordite-fired motor once--something on the Maxim-gun principle, fed by cordite grains from a hopper. It did splendidly as far as developing power was concerned, but the difficulty of excessive consumption and the pitting of the walls of the cylinder did me. However, my experiments haven't all been failures. Now look at the gas-bag."

"It's only partly inflated," observed Peter.

"No, fully," corrected Fosterdyke. "The envelope is a rigid one of aluminium, subdivided into forty-nine compartments, each of which contains a flexible ballonet. Each ballonet is theoretically proof against leakage--in practice there is an almost inappreciable porosity, which hardly counts for a comparatively short period, say a month. The gas isn't hydrogen, nor is it the helium we used during the war. Helium, although practically non-inflammable, is heavier than hydrogen. Fortunately, I hit upon a rather smart youngster who had been in a Government laboratory before he joined the R.A.F. With his assistance I discovered a gas that is not only lighter than hydrogen, but is as non-inflammable as helium. I've named the stuff 'Brodium,' after the youngster who helped me so efficaciously. When this stunt's over, we're going to work the gas on a commercial basis, but for the present it's advisable to keep it a secret.

"You observe that the section of the envelope is far from being circular. The horizontal diameter is three-and-a-half times that of the vertical. That gives less surface for a side wind, and consequently less drift, while the 'cod's head and mackerel tail' ought to give a perfect stream-line."

"You carry a pretty stiff lot of fuel with those motors," remarked Kenyon.

"Rather," was the reply. "Enough for 5000 miles; which means, allowing for deviations from a straight uniform course, about six halts to replenish petrol tanks. We carry no water ballast of any description. When the fuel supply runs low, there is a tendency for the airship to rise, owing to the reduced weight. To counteract this, a certain quantity of brodium is exhausted from the ballonets into cast-iron cylinders, where it is stored under pressure until required again. The leakage during this operation is less than one-half per cent. Now we'll get on board."

Past groups of busy workmen the three ex-officers made their way. Both Kenyon and Bramsdean noticed that the men worked as if they had an interest in what they were doing. Several they recognised as being in the same "Flight" in which they had served on the other side of the Channel.

"Like old times," said Kenyon in a low voice.

"Rather, old son," agreed his chum.

They boarded the "Golden Hind," where workmen were putting finishing touches to the interior decorations of the cabins. The floor was composed of rigid aluminium plates, corrugated in order to provide a firm foothold, and temporarily covered with sacking to prevent undue wear upon the relatively soft metal.

The door--one of the four--by which they entered was on the port side aft. It opened into a saloon 20 feet by 7 feet, which in turn communicated with a fore-and-aft alley-way extending almost the extreme length of the fuselage.

"We'll start right aft and work for'ard," said Fosterdyke. "If you can suggest any alterations in the internal fittings, let me know. It often happens that a new arrival spots something that the original designer has overlooked."

"Must have taken some thinking out, sir," remarked Bramsdean.

"M'yes," agreed Sir Reginald. "I'm afraid I spent some sleepless nights over the business. This is my cabin."

The chums found themselves in a compartment measuring 15 feet in a fore-and-aft direction and 10 feet across the for'ard bulkhead, the width diminishing to the rounded end of the nacelle. It was plainly furnished. A canvas cot, a folding table, and two camp chairs comprising the principal contents. The large windows with celluloid panes afforded a wide outlook, while should the atmospheric conditions be favourable, the windows opened after the manner of those in a railway carriage.

Retracing their steps, the chums inspected the motors immediately for'ard of the owner's cabin. Each was in a compartment measuring 10 feet by 6 feet, leaving an uninterrupted alley-way nearly 3 feet in length between.

"The fuel and oil tanks are underneath the alley-way," Fosterdyke pointed out. "I'm using pressure-feed in preference to gravity-feed. It keeps the centre of gravity lower. What do you think of the engines?"

"Clinking little motors," replied Kenyon, enthusiastically, as he studied the spotlessly clean mechanism with professional interest.

"There are six motor rooms, three on each side," observed the baronet. "I'm taking twelve motor-mechanics to be on the safe side. When we are running free, one man will look after two engines, but in any case half the number will be off-duty at a time. Now, this is your cabin."

He opened a sliding-door on the port side, corresponding with the officers' dining-room on the starboard side. It was a compartment 20 feet by 6 feet 6 inches, with a bunk at each end running athwartships, and as plainly furnished as the owner's quarters.

"Heaps of room," declared Bramsdean, "and warming apparatus, too."

"Yes," replied Fosterdyke, "we had the exhausts led under the cabins. Nothing like keeping warm at high altitudes. Warmth and good food--that's more than half the battle. See this ladder?"

He indicated a metal ladder in the alley-way, clamped vertically to the outer wall of the cabin.

"Leads through that hatchway," he continued, "right to the upper surface of the envelope. There's an observation platform--useful to take stellar observations and all that sort of thing. But you won't find a machine-gun there," he added with a laugh.

Passing between the 'midship pair of motor-rooms, Fosterdyke halted in a door-way on the port side.

"Pantry and kitchen," he remarked.

"I'm taking a couple of good cooks. All the stoves are electrically heated. There's a dynamo working off the main shaft of each of the 'midship motors. The starboard one provides 'juice' for the kitchen; that on the port generates electricity for the searchlights and internal lighting. Underneath are fresh water tanks and dry provision stores."

On the port side corresponding to the kitchen were the air-mechanics' quarters; while beyond the for'ard motor room the alley-way terminated, opening into a triangular space 30 feet long and 12 feet at its greatest breadth.

"The crew's quarters," explained Fosterdyke. "Ample accommodation for eight deck-hands and the two cooks. You'll notice that the head-room is less than elsewhere. That's because of the navigation-room overhead."

The chums looked upwards at the ceiling. There was no indication of a hatchway of any description.

"You gain the navigation-room from the alley-way," explained Sir Reginald, noting their puzzled glances. "Saves the inconvenience of disturbing the 'watch below' by having to pass through their quarters. Up with you, Kenyon. Thank your lucky stars you're not a bulky fellow. Mind your head against that girder."

Bramsdean followed his chum, the baronet bringing up the rear.

The combined chart-room and navigation compartment was spacious in extent, but considerably congested with an intricate array of levers, telephones, indicators, switches, and a compact wireless cabinet. In the centre was a table with clamps to hold a large-size chart. Right "in the eyes of the ship" was a gyroscopic compass, which, by reason of the needle pointing to the true, instead of the magnetic, north pole, greatly simplified steering a course, since those complicated factors, variation and deviation, were eliminated. Altimeters, heeling indicators, barometer, thermometer, and chronometer, with other scientific instruments, completed the equipment of the room, which was in telephonic communication with every part of the airship.

From the car the three men ascended to the interior of the envelope, climbing by means of aluminium rungs bolted to the flexible shaft. Once inside the rigid envelope, it was possible to walk the whole five hundred feet length of the airship along a narrow platform. From the latter crossways ran at frequent intervals so that access could be obtained to any of the ballonets.

The interior reeked of the strong but not obnoxious fumes of the brodium.

"Leak somewhere," remarked Kenyon, sniffing audibly.

"Yes," agreed Fosterdyke, "one of the supply pipes gave out this morning; otherwise you wouldn't know by the sense of smell that the envelope was fully charged."

He struck a match and held it aloft. It burned with a pale green flame.

"I wouldn't care to do this with hydrogen," he remarked. "Non-inflammability of the gas practically does away with all risk. When you recall the numerous accidents to aircraft in the earlier stages of the war, you will find that in over eighty per cent. they were caused by combustion. Of course I'm referring to disasters other than those caused directly by enemy action. Now, carry on; up you go ... no, hold on," he added, as a bell rang shrilly just above their heads.

"One of the workmen coming down," said Fosterdyke. "Opening a flap at the top of this shaft automatically rings an alarm, otherwise anyone ascending might stand the risk of being kicked on the head by the feet of someone else descending."

"By Jove! I know that chap!" exclaimed Kenyon, after the mechanic had descended the long vertical ladder.

"Yes, it's Flight-sergeant Hayward," added Bramsdean. "He got the D.C.M. for downing two Boche 'planes over Bapaume."

"That's right," agreed the baronet. "Jolly fine mechanic he is, too. Do you happen to know how he came to join the Royal Flying Corps? No; then I'll let you into a secret. It was in '16 that he enlisted. Previous to that he was a conscientious objector, and, I believe, a genuine one at that. What caused him to change his opinions was rather remarkable. Do you remember that Zepp raid over Lancashire? Hayward was driving a motor-lorry that night somewhere up in the hills north of Manchester; a bomb fell in the road some yards behind him and blew the back of his lorry to bits. He came off with a shaking and a changed outlook on life. Next morning he joined up. Yes, Hayward's quite a good sort; he's been invaluable to me."

"Had any trouble from inquisitive outsiders, sir?" asked Kenyon.

"No, none whatever," replied Fosterdyke. "Touch wood. People in the village hereabouts have seen enough aircraft during the war to take the edge off their curiosity. As for our rival competitors, well, if they can pick up a wrinkle or two it will make the contest even more exciting."

"If we succeed there'll be a stir," said Bramsdean.

"Yes," agreed the baronet; "it's the first who scores in these undertakings. See what a fuss was made when the Atlantic was first flown by aeroplanes. If the feat were repeated, not a fraction of public interest would be directed to it. The novelty has gone, as it were. Even interest in the flight to Australia--in itself an epic of courage, skill, and determination--was limited. Sensations of yesterday become mediocrities of to-day. For instance Blériot's flight from France to England: see what an outburst of excitement that caused. Since then thousands of machines have crossed the Channel without exciting comment. Now I think I've shown you everything that is to be seen. How about lunch?"

[CHAPTER IV--THE DEPARTURE]

"Will next Monday suit you fellows to take on officially?" enquired Fosterdyke, as the chums prepared to depart. "I want a trial flight on that day, and if it proves satisfactory, I'll make a formal entry at once. M. Chauvasse stipulates that all entries must reach him in writing by noon on the thirtieth. That leaves us with only eight days clear."

"Monday it is, sir," replied Kenyon, promptly. "We'll have everything fixed up as far as our private business is concerned before then. In fact, we could arrange to join earlier--couldn't we, Peter?"

Peter Bramsdean signified his agreement.

"Hardly necessary," observed Fosterdyke. "But if anything unforeseen transpires before then I'll wire you."

During the next few days there was much to be done in "squaring up" the motor transport work. Notices were issued stating that the principals, Messrs. Kenyon and Bramsdean, would be away for six weeks, during which time all orders could be safely entrusted to their works manager. Even that individual had no inkling of the nature of his employers' forthcoming absence. The secret, jealously guarded, had not yet leaked out.

On the other hand, the Press published a report of M. Chauvasse's offer and stated that three entries other than British had been received. The lack of enterprise on the part of British airmen was commented upon and an appeal issued to sportsmen to make an effort to prevent yet another record passing into the hands of foreigners.

On the day following this journalistic jeremiad came the report that a British airship of unique design was approaching completion at a private aerodrome near Blandford, and that the Air Ministry had given instructions for all facilities to be afforded to its crew in their attempt to circumnavigate the globe within a space of twenty days. Details, both erroneous and exaggerated, were given of the mysterious airship, together with plans that were as unlike those of the "Golden Hind" as those of a modern dreadnought would be compared with those of Drake's famous ship.

"That will rattle the Old Man," declared Kenyon, when he read the announcement.

It did. Fosterdyke sent a wire asking his two assistants to join him at once. That was on the Friday morning. At 2.30 P.M.--or in Air Force phraseology 14.30--Kenyon and Bramsdean arrived at Air Grange, to find a vast concourse of would-be spectators congregated round the gates, backing up the efforts of a knot of persistent Pressmen who cajoled, bluffed, and argued--all in vain--with the imperturbable Hayward and four hefty satellites.

The grassy slopes outside the formidable fence resembled Epsom Downs on Derby Day. Momentarily motor-cars were arriving, while at frequent intervals heavily laden char-a-bancs rumbled up and discharged their human cargo. Motor-bicycles, push-bikes, traps and carts added to the congestion. Thousands of people arrived on foot--from where goodness only knows! Hawkers and itinerant purveyors displayed their wares; photographers, both amateur and professional, elbowed their way towards the forbidden ground; while three brass bands and at least a dozen individual musicians added to the din. On the outskirts temporary platforms had been erected, while hirers of telescopes, field and opera glasses did a roaring trade, people willingly paying to gaze at the impenetrable barrier of fir-trees in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of the mysterious airship.

It took Kenyon and Bramsdean the best part of an hour to literally force their way through the throng. By dint of shouting "Gangway, please," they continued to make a certain amount of progress until their arrival, coupled with the ex-sergeant's efforts to make the crowd stand aside, attracted the attention of the representatives of the Press.

For five minutes the latter bombarded the chums with questions, getting inconsequent replies that put the reporters on their mettle.

"If we aren't allowed in, we'll take jolly good care you won't be," shouted one of the Press representatives, evidently mistaking Peter and Kenneth for favoured spectators.

There was a rush towards the gates. The half a dozen policemen assisting Hayward and his men were almost swept off their feet. Things looked serious. If Kenyon and his companion succeeded in getting past the gate it would only be in the midst of an excited mob.

Just then Sir Reginald Fosterdyke appeared. Some of the local inhabitants recognised him, and the report of his identity quickly spread. So when he raised his hand to enjoin silence the crowd surging around the gate ceased its clamour.

"By preventing my navigating officers you only defer your own ends," he exclaimed in ringing tones. "The airship is not yet ready for flight, nor is she open to inspection. A trial flight has been fixed for Monday next. On that day the aerodrome will be thrown open to public inspection. And," he added, with a disarming smile, "there will be no charge for admission."

Almost instantly the demeanour of the crowd changed. There were calls for cheers for Sir Reginald Fosterdyke. Someone started singing: "For he's a jolly good fellow."

The baronet turned and hurried away precipitately. Publicity he hated. Kenneth and Peter, taking advantage of this diversion, slipped inside the barrier and found Fosterdyke awaiting them beyond the bend of the carriage drive.

"Good old British public," he exclaimed. "By Jove! They put the wind up me. I thought that they would be swarming like locusts over the 'Golden Hind.' We'll have to circumvent them. Only last night some of the crew found a fellow prowling round the shed. Goodness only knows what for. He pitched some sort of yarn, and since we aren't under the Defence of the Realm Act I couldn't detain him. But this crowd scares me. We'll get out to-night, even if we have to drift, and they can have the run of the place on Monday, as I promised. But I said nothing about the airship being here or otherwise. Where's your kit?"

"Somewhere between here and Blandford railway station," replied Peter. "We saw we'd have our work cut out to force our way through, so we told the taxi-driver to take it back to the station. It isn't the first time we've parted with our kit, eh, Kenneth?"

"I'll send for it when the crowd thins," decided Sir Reginald. "Now I suppose you're wondering why I telegraphed for you?"

"The swarm outside offers a solution," said Kenyon.

"To a certain extent, yes," agreed Fosterdyke. "Apart from that, there's a reliable report that Captain Theodore Nye, of the United States Army, is starting from Tampa, Florida, to-morrow in one of the large airships of the 'R' type that the Air Ministry sold to America recently. That forces our hand. We'll have to be at the starting-point--1100 miles away--by to-morrow mid-day, so as to replenish petrol and commence the competition flight before midnight."

"And how about the Boche, sir?"

"Count Karl von Sinzig? Not a word. He's apparently out of it. Not even one of the 'also rans.' Our formidable rivals are the Yankee and a Jap--a Count Hyashi--who will reach his Nadir somewhere in Uruguay. Let 'em all come--the more the merrier."

All hands, including the workmen and mechanics who were not participating in the voyage, assembled in the large dining-hall for an impromptu farewell dinner, and to them the baronet broached the subject of the hurried departure of the "Golden Hind."

The meal over, the task of getting the huge airship out of her shed began. Even though the wind was light the work was by no means simple. Incautious handling or a sudden change in the direction of the air currents might easily result in disaster. The operation had to be carried out after sunset and with the minimum of artificial light, since, for the present, the "Golden Hind's" departure was to be kept secret.

With her ballonets charged sufficiently to give her a slight lift, the airship rose until the base of the fuselage was a bare three feet from the ground. The crew were at their stations, Kenyon assisting Fosterdyke in the wheelhouse, while right aft Peter Bramsdean directed the movements of the "ground-men" holding the stern, securing, and trailing ropes.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, the leviathan of the air emerged from the shed until her entire length, straining gently at the rope that tethered her to mother earth, lay exposed to the starlit sky.

"All clear, sir!" reported Bramsdean through a speaking-tube.

Curt but precise orders rang out from the navigation-room. The slight hiss of the brodium being released from the metal cylinders was barely audible above the sighing of the wind in the pine-tops until the gauges registering the "lift" of the airship indicated thirty-eight tons.

Armed with a megaphone, Fosterdyke leant out of the window of the navigation-room.

"All ready? ... Let go!"

Simultaneously the twenty men holding the airship released their hold. That was where training and discipline told, for terrible to contemplate would have been the fate of an unwary "ground-man" had he retained his grip on the rope. But without an accident to mar the momentous event, the "Golden Hind" shot almost vertically into the air, attaining in a very short space of time an altitude of six thousand feet.

Not a cheer rang out to speed the departing competitor for the stupendous contest. Unheard and unseen save by the loyal band of helpers at the aerodrome, Sir Reginald Fosterdyke's airship was on her way to the starting-point of her voyage round the globe.

[CHAPTER V--FIRST AWAY]

Hanging apparently motionless in still air, although virtually she was drifting in a southerly direction at a modest ten miles an hour, the "Golden Hind" maintained her altitude for the best part of half an hour before any attempt was made to start the motors. She was now to all intents and purposes a non-dirigible balloon, floating aimlessly in the air.

Peter Bramsdean, his work aft accomplished, made his way to the navigation-room, where he found the baronet and Kenyon watching the galaxy of lights far beneath them.

"We're drifting over Poole Harbour," observed Fosterdyke. "That's prohibited for private owned aircraft; but who's to know?"

"I often wonder what would happen," said Peter, "if a non-dirigible drifted over a prohibited area. Hang it all! The balloonist couldn't control the wind, neither can the Air Ministry, so what's the poor fellow to do?"

From their lofty post of observation the officers of the "Golden Hind" could see the coast-line standing out distinctly in the starlight. Away to the south-east the powerful St. Catherine's Light threw its beam athwart the sky in a succession of flashes every five seconds. Nearer, but less distinct, could be seen the distinctive lights of The Needles and Hurst Castle. Then a curved line of glittering pin-points--the esplanade lamps of Bournemouth. To the south-west the lesser glare of Swanage and beyond the glow of Anvil Point Lighthouse. Lesser lights, like myriads of glow-worms, denoted scattered towns, villages, and detached houses ashore, while right ahead and for the most part visible only by the aid of binoculars, could be discerned the red, green, and white navigation lights of shipping passing up and down the Channel.

The three men watched the nocturnal panorama almost without emotion. The sight would have moved a novice into raptures of delight, but to the veteran airmen there was little new, except perhaps that in the place of star-shells, searchlights, "flaming-onions," and exploding shrapnel were the lights of a nation once more at peace with her neighbours even if not so with herself.

Fosterdyke glanced at a clock set upon the bulkhead.

"Time!" he announced laconically.

Indicators clanged in various parts of the ship. Within a few seconds the six motors, started by compressed air, were roaring. Swaying slightly under the resistance of the gas-bag overhead, the airship gathered way. In place of complete calm came the rush and whine of the wind as the "Golden Hind" leapt forward.

"May as well be on the safe side," remarked Fosterdyke. "Switch on the navigation lights, Kenyon. I don't fancy another 'bus barging into us."

He gave an order through a voice tube. Promptly one of the crew appeared from below.

"Take her, Taylor," said the skipper, indicating the helm. "Following wind--no drift. Course S. ¾ W."

"S. ¾ W. it is, sir," repeated the man, peering into the bowl of the gyroscope compass.

"Now, you bright beauties, take my tip and turn in," said Fosterdyke, addressing Peter and Kenneth. "There won't be much doing to-night, I hope, so you may as well make the best of things. If you'll relieve me at four, Kenyon? ... Good."

The chums left the navigation-room and made their way to their cabin. Here, although adjoining one of the motor-rooms, there was comparatively little vibration, but the noise was considerable.

"We'll get used to it," observed Peter, as he proceeded to unpack his luggage, which had been brought from Blandford station and put on board only a few minutes before the "Golden Hind" parted company with terra firma. "Seems like old times. Hanged if I thought I'd ever be up again."

"Between ourselves I'd prefer a 'bus," confided Kenyon. "Doesn't seem quite the right thing being held up by a gas-bag."

"Be thankful for small mercies, you old blighter!" exclaimed his companion. "Turn in as sharp as you can, 'cause it's your watch in four hours' time."

It seemed less than ten minutes before Kenyon was awakened. His first impression was that he was being roused by his batman, and that illusion was heightened by the fact that the man held a cup of tea.

"Ten to four, sir," announced the airman. "I've made you something hot."

Kenneth thanked the man, drank the tea, and slipped out of his bunk. He was aware as he donned his clothes that the "Golden Hind" was pitching considerably. Peter, sound asleep, was breathing deeply. There was a smile on his face; evidently his dreams were pleasant ones.

On his way for'ard Kenyon stopped to exchange a few words with the air-mechanic tending the two after motors.

"Running like clocks, sir," replied the man in answer to Kenneth's enquiry. "If things go on as they are going now, I'm on a soft job."

The first streaks of dawn were showing in the north-eastern sky as the relieving pilot clambered up the ladder and gained the navigation-room. Fosterdyke, busy with parallel rulers and compass was bending over a chart.

"Mornin'," he remarked genially, when he became aware of the presence of his relief. "Everything O.K. Doing eighty, and there's a stiff following wind--force five. Altitude 5500, course S. ¾ W. That's the lot, I think. We ought to be sighting the Spanish coast in another twenty minutes."

Fosterdyke waited until the helmsman had been relieved, then, giving another glance ahead, he turned to Kenyon.

"We passed something going in a westerly direction at 1.15 A.M.," he announced. "An airship flying fairly low. About 2000, I should think."

"Not a competitor, sir?"

"Hardly. No one but a born fool would think of taking a westerly course round the earth if engaged in a race against time. We were passing over Belle Isle, on the French coast, at the time, and it rather puzzled me why an airship should be proceeding west from the Biscayan coast."

"French patrol, possibly," suggested Kenyon.

"Or a Hun running a cargo of arms and ammunition to Ireland. I signalled her, but she didn't reply. Right-o! Carry on."

Fosterdyke went to his cabin, to sleep like a log. He was one of those fortunate individuals who can slumber almost anywhere and at any time, but rarely if ever did he sleep for more than five hours at a stretch. Even after a strenuous day's mental and physical work he would be "as fresh as paint" after his customary "caulk."

Left in the company of the airman at the helm, Kenyon prepared to accept responsibility until eight o'clock. He took up his position at the triplex glass window, the navigation-room being the only compartment where celluloid was not employed for purposes of lighting. It was a weird sight that met his gaze. Overhead and projecting from beyond the point of the nacelle was the blunt nose of the gas-bag, the port side tinted a rosy red as the growing light glinted on it, the starboard side showing dark grey against the sombre sky. A thousand feet below were rolling masses of clouds, their nether edges suffused by dawn. Between the rifts in the bank of vapour was apparently a black, unfathomable void, for as yet the first signs of another day were vouchsafed only to the airman flying far above the surface of the sea. Already the stars had paled before the growing light. Wisps of vapour--clouds on a higher plane to the denser ones below--were trailing athwart the course of the "Golden Hind," until, overtaken by the airship's high speed, they were parted asunder, to follow in the eddying wake of the powerful propellers.

In the navigation-room, being placed right for'ard, the jerky motion of the fuselage that was noticeable in Kenyon's cabin was greatly exaggerated. It was a totally different sensation from being in an aeroplane when the 'bus entered a "pocket." It reminded Kenyon of a lift being alternately started up and down with only a brief interval between. Rather vaguely the pilot wondered what he would be like at the end of twenty-one days of this sort of thing.

"Bucking a bit, isn't she, Thompson?" he remarked to the helmsman, who, relieved of the responsibility of maintaining a constant altitude by the fact that the airship was automatically controlled in that direction, was merely keeping the vessel on her compass course.

"Yes, sir," replied the man. "She'll be steadier when we trim the planes."

"Might have thought of that before," soliloquised Kenyon. He remarked that the six "wings" were secured in a horizontal position. For the present the "Golden Hind" was kept up solely by the lift of the brodium in the ballonets. Not until it was fully light would Fosterdyke reduce the gas in the ballonets and rely upon the planes for "lift."

A quarter of an hour later, while Kenyon was engaged in making an entry in the log, the helmsman reported land ahead.

The "Golden Hind" was approaching the Spanish coast, not in the hostile way in which her namesake did, but on a friendly voyage across a country that, if not exactly an ally, is bound by strong ties to Great Britain.

The airship was soon passing over Santander. Ahead the Cantabrian Mountains reared themselves so high in the air that the "Golden Hind" had to ascend another three thousand feet to ensure an easy crossing.

At eight o'clock Fosterdyke appeared in the navigation-room. Under his orders the airship's speed had been sensibly diminished. He intended to put to a practical test the lifting powers of the six planes.

Close behind him came Bramsdean, on whom the duties of officer of the watch devolved for the next four hours.

"Well, old bird," he observed, genially addressing his chum. "How goes it?"

"Fresh as paint," replied Kenyon, "but as hungry as a hunter."

"Then hook it," continued Peter. "The cook's dished up a sumptuous breakfast."

Kenyon made a hurried but ample meal. He was anxious to see how the "Golden Hind" manoeuvred as an aeroplane.

Upon returning to the navigation-room he found that the six comparatively small wings were being tilted to an effective angle, while a large quantity of brodium was being exhausted from the alternate ballonets into the pressure-flasks, until there was only enough "lift" remaining in the envelope to prevent it dropping earthwards and thus disturbing the stability of the fuselage by acting as top-hamper.

Simultaneously instructions were telegraphed to the air mechanics standing by the six motors to increase the number of revolutions.

The change was instantly appreciable. No longer did the "Golden Hind" pitch. She settled down to a rapid, steady motion, her speed being not far short of 150 miles an hour.

"No ailerons," explained Fosterdyke. "Horizontal and vertical rudders only. Saves a lot of trouble and complication of gear."

"Stunts not permissible, sir?" asked Kenyon.

"No," he replied. "They are not. We're out to do something definite, not to let the Spanish have an exhibition of an airship making a spinning nose-dive or looping the loop. But we'll do a volplane, just to test the gliding powers of the 'bus."

He touched a switch by which a warning bell rang in each of the motor rooms. This was to inform the mechanics that the electric current would be simultaneously cut off from the six motors, so that there would be no need on their part to endeavour to locate faults that did not exist.

"Cut out!" ordered Fosterdyke.

Bramsdean promptly depressed a small switch by the side of the indicator-board. This automatically cut off the ignition. The propellers made a few more "revs." and then came to a standstill. In almost absolute silence, save for the whine of the wind in the struts and tension wires the "Golden Hind" began her long, oblique glide earthward.

Suddenly Kenyon gripped the baronet's arm.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "Airship!"

Fosterdyke did as requested. The "Golden Hind" was manoeuvring high above La Mancha, the undulating well-watered plain between the Montes del Toledo and the Sierra Morena. Six thousand feet beneath the airship the town of Ciudad Real glinted in the slanting rays of the morning sun.

"Our shadow--that's all," declared Fosterdyke.

"No, not that," protested Kenneth. "More to the left."

He grasped a pair of binoculars and looked at the object that had attracted his attention. It was a somewhat difficult matter, owing to the refraction of the triplex glass in front of the navigation-room, where, in contrast to the rest of the windows, fire-proofed celluloid had not been employed.

Before Kenyon had got the airship in focus the baronet had also spotted it. Apparently it had just left its shed and was heading in a south-easterly direction, differing a good four points from that followed by the "Golden Hind."

"By Jove!" exclaimed Kenyon. "It's a Fritz! I can spot the black crosses on the envelope."

"In that case," added Fosterdyke, calmly, "Count Karl von Sinzig has stolen a march on us. He's one up!"

[CHAPTER VI--Z64 SCORES]

Count Karl von Sinzig was certainly the "first away." Typically Teutonic, he had succeeded in throwing dust in the eyes of his rivals. Acting upon the principle "Do others or they'll do you," he was leaving no stone unturned to pull off the big prize; and, figuratively speaking, a good many of the stones were too dirty for a clean sportsman to handle.

For one thing von Sinzig had obtained his airship by fraud, although none of the other competitors were aware of the fact. Formerly in the German Air Service, the count managed to smuggle one of the Zeppelins out of the shed at Tondern, taking it by night to an aerodrome in East Prussia.

According to the terms of the Peace Treaty, Germany was to surrender all her airships. How she evaded the stipulation is now well known. The Zeppelins at Tondern and other air stations in Sleswig-Holstein were destroyed by fire deliberately, to prevent them falling into the hands of the Allies. This act of bad faith was similar to the scuttling of the Hun fleet at Scapa; and the tardiness of the Allies to obtain reparation merely encouraged the Huns to other acts of passive defiance. But, although the destruction of the airships was taken as an accepted fact, it was unknown outside certain Junker circles that one of the Zeppelins had been removed before the conflagration.

Revolutions and counter-revolutions, in which the fire-eating von Sinzig had several narrow escapes from death, led the count to seek pastures new; and about this time the publication of M. Chauvasse's terms for the international contest suggested to the Junker count the possibility of making good his financial losses.

Gathering a crew of airmen who had had experience in Zeppelins during the war, von Sinzig flew the airship to Spain, crossing Austria and the north of Italy during the night, and carefully avoiding French territory on his aerial voyage.

In a secluded part of the mountainous Estremadura he had practically his own way. The Alcaldes of the nearest surrounding villages were easily bribed to leave the mysterious airship and its foreign owner severely alone. From stores of German war material "sold" to Spain von Sinzig obtained gas cylinders, petrol, spares, and even a baby "Albatross"--a small yet powerful monoplane. With folding wings this machine could with ease be stowed away in the car of the airship. With German thoroughness the Count, looking well ahead, foresaw that the Albatross would probably serve a most useful purpose in helping him to win the coveted prize.

The honour of being the first man to fly round the world took quite a subsidiary place in von Sinzig's plans. Since Germany did not own a square inch of territory outside Europe, he was compelled to make use of alien lands in which to alight. That was a handicap, and the thought of it rankled. There was some consolation to be derived from the prospect of wresting the big prize from a hated Englishman, a despised Yankee, or a miserable yellow Jap. And he meant to do it--somehow.

Already Germans had resumed their "peaceful penetration" of Great Britain and the United States. Commercial travellers, representing German houses and at the same time potential spies, were able to ascertain with little difficulty particulars concerning the British and American competitors for the Round-the-World Flight. The moment von Sinzig learnt of the date of Sir Reginald Fosterdyke's departure from England, he anticipated the time by starting the day before the British airship was supposed to leave Gibraltar.

This was a comparatively easy matter. According to the terms of the contest, competitors had to obtain a clearance certificate from an official of the International Airways Board. Provided the flight were completed within twenty days of the date of the certificate the principal condition was complied with, while it was furthermore specified that the certificate could be post-dated to the extent of twelve hours to allow for the time taken up in transmission from the Board's representative to the actual competitor.

In von Sinzig's case he scored again. Employing a swift motor-car, he obtained the official visé at Madrid, and was back at the rendezvous within two and a half hours, the atrocious roads notwithstanding.

Everything was in readiness for the start, and at ten in the morning Z64 left her shed and, flying at a comparatively low altitude, made off in a south-easterly direction.

The German was counting on forty-eight hours' start of his English rival--possibly more. He had been informed that the "Golden Hind" proposed leaving England on the following Monday. Fosterdyke really meant to have started on that day, and only the exuberant demonstration of the crowd outside Air Grange had made him alter his plans. It was a lucky stroke, for Fosterdyke's secret intelligence department was at fault. According to information received from Germany, Count von Sinzig was a non-starter. Incidentally it was the count who had set that rumour afloat. It was but one of the many petty artifices upon which he built his hopes of carrying off the Chauvasse Prize.

Chuckling to himself, Count von Sinzig stood beside the helmsman of Z64, quite in ignorance of the fact that a few thousand feet above him was the British airship which he fondly thought was resting in her shed in far-off England.

[CHAPTER VII--DELAYS]

"Avast stunting!" declared Fosterdyke. "Let's get on with it. Full speed to Gib."

Everyone on board realised that every minute was precious. With her six motors running "all out" the "Golden Hind" quickly worked up to her maximum speed of 180 miles an hour. At that rate the petrol consumption was alarming, but Fosterdyke faced the fact cheerfully. While he was obtaining the necessary certificates and making an official declaration to the authorities at Gibraltar, the airship could replenish her somewhat depleted fuel tanks.

But Sir Reginald had not taken into account the vagaries of red tape and petty officialdom.

At 11 A.M. the "Golden Hind" sighted the historic Rock. Five minutes later she slowed down and turned head to wind off the west side of the fortress. With the assistance of a dockyard mooring-party, a stout galvanised steel wire was lowered from the bow compartment of the fuselage and secured to a large mooring buoy off the Detached Mole. Then with sufficient gas in her ballonets to keep her buoyant the "Golden Hind" floated head to wind at 50 feet above the Bay of Gibraltar.

Almost before the mooring operations were completed the water in the vicinity was crowded with boats of all sorts, sizes, and descriptions, while the water-front was packed with a dense concourse of interested spectators, representatives of the umpteen nationalities to be found living on the few square miles of thickly-populated rock.

"Nothing you want ashore, I suppose?" enquired Fosterdyke as he prepared to descend a wire ladder, the end of which was being steadied by a couple of bluejackets in a picket-boat.

"Thanks, no," replied Kenyon.

"That's good," continued the baronet, fervently. "Hate having to execute commissions. Not that I don't like obliging people, but I'm so deucedly forgetful. Right-o; stand by. I'll be back in less than a couple of hours, I hope. Come along, Bramsdean."

Agilely Fosterdyke swarmed down the swaying ladder, followed at a safe distance by Peter, who carried a parcel of documents and a Mercator's chart on which the proposed route was marked for the benefit of the International Air Committee's representative and also the "Competent Military Authorities" of the various garrisons where the "Golden Hind" was scheduled to land.

Peter Bramsdean had plenty of experience of petty officialdom at the Air Ministry. He well remembered the time--running into hours all told--of weary waiting in draughty corridors until it pleased certain individuals holding high places to signify their condescension (conveyed by a pert damsel in brown overall and a pigtail tied with an enormous bow) to receive the insignificant lieutenant.

Here it was much the same. The officials who were considered indispensable in the matter of signing various documents were "out to lunch."

A look of horrified amazement overspread the features of the minion to whom Fosterdyke suggested that time would be saved by sending for them. The British Empire might totter; the chance of winning fame by being the first airman to fly round the globe be lost; but by no possibility must such trivial details prevent officialdom from having its lunch--a movable feast occupying normally from one o'clock till three.

"Hang it all, Bramsdean!" exclaimed Fosterdyke explosively during one of the numerous periods of forced inaction. Clearly the usually unruffled baronet was showing signs of annoyance. "Hang it all! It was ever thus. Petty hirelings whose one idea of efficiency is to raise obstacles and to quibble over unimportant details; those are the stumbling blocks. For twopence I'd cut the cackle and carry on."

"And be disqualified at the winning post," reminded the cautious Peter. "We're wasting precious time----"

"It'll be an unofficial competition, then," declared Fosterdyke. "The honour of achieving the flight will be enough. The money prize can go hang. Come along, let's make tracks."

"I vote we look up the Commissioner at his private quarters," suggested Bramsdean. "After all, the 'Golden Hind' won't have refilled her petrol tanks yet."

"'Spose not," growled Fosterdyke. "Someone's illegible signature's required for the indents, I presume. Right-o, Bramsdean, let's rout out this indispensable."

Somewhat to Peter's surprise the official was discovered with little difficulty. He had just finished his lunch, and as the meal had been a satisfying one, he was in high good humour.

"So Count von Sinzig has five hours' start, eh?" remarked the worthy representative of the International Air Board. "That's nothing. You'll make that up easily. The documents? Ah--yes--quite so. Unfortunately, the seals are in my office. I'll be along there very shortly."

"Isn't your signature enough?" asked the baronet.

The great one hesitated. On the one hand, he wanted to impress his callers by admitting that his signature was "absolutely it." On the other, years of punctilious devotion to the ethics of red tape urged him to deprecate such a cutting of the Gordian knot.

"No, Sir Reginald," he replied. "Both are necessary. One is not conclusively in order without the other. I'll be at the office by three."

It was now a quarter-past two. Fosterdyke felt strongly inclined to enquire pointedly why three-quarters of an hour would be taken up by the Commissioner in getting from his quarters to his office.

By ten minutes past three the various documents were sealed and signed. As the competitors were on the point of taking their departure the Commissioner spoke again.

"I don't seem to have seen Form 4456," he observed dryly. "That had to be obtained before you left England."

"It wasn't," replied the baronet, bluntly. "An oversight, I admit, but you don't suggest that I return to England to get it?"

"It is necessary," was the rejoinder. "Without it the flight would not be in order. In fact, as an authorised representative of the International Air Board I can rule you out of the contest."

"Piffle!" declared Fosterdyke hotly. He was rapidly nearing the end of his restraint. "This, I may observe, is a contest of aircraft, not a paper competition. Form 4456 is not an absolute essential. Since you require it, I presume the case can be met if my representative in England has the form made out and sent to you by registered post. It will be in your hands before the 'Golden Hind' completes the circuit."

The Commissioner consulted a ponderous tome, chock-a-block with rules and regulations for aerial navigation, written in official phraseology so confusing that it was possible to have more than one interpretation for at least seventy-five per cent. of the complicated paragraphs.

Quoting Article 1071, sub-section 3c, the official made the discovery that the rendering of Form 4456 could be dispensed with in circumstances laid down in Article 2074, section 5c, etc., etc. Thereupon he rang a bell, summoned a head clerk, who in turn deputed a junior to fetch a certain form. When this was forthcoming a blob of sealing-wax, the impress of a seal, and the great man's illegible signature, and the trick was done. As far as the International Air Board was concerned the "Golden Hind" was a recognised and duly authorised competitor for the Chauvasse Prize.

There was still the Recognised Military Authority to be dealt with. That official was urbanity personified. He did everything in his power to expedite matters, but red tape was stronger than gold lace.

The loud report of a gun warned Fosterdyke and his companion that sunset had descended upon the Rock. The gates of the fortress were closed till sunrise.

"Won't affect you," explained the courteous official. "You can get back by the boat from the Old Mole. I won't keep you very much longer. It really isn't my fault."

"Gibraltar was a bad choice of mine for a starting-point," observed Fosterdyke.