filled two stone jars with water and placed them in the cage, adjusted
the wind screens, and then sat down to rest and talk over things
before starting on their night journey. Smith pencilled some
calculations on a piece of paper, referring more than once to the
globe. Then taking a clean piece, he drew up a schedule which had some
resemblance to a railway timetable.

"There! How does that strike you, Roddy?" he said, when he had
finished it.

"It strikes me hot," said the Frenchman. "What I mean, it will be hot
work. But that is what I like."

"So do I, so long as I can keep cool. At any rate we can start to the
second. Are you ready?"

The sky was brilliant with stars when, just after midnight, they took
their places in the aeroplane. Twenty-five minutes' easy run,
east-north-east, brought them within sight of the dull red glare
northward that betrayed London. Smith had so often made this journey
that, even if the stars had been invisible, he could almost have
directed his course by the lights of the villages and towns over which
he passed. He knew them as well as a sailor knows the lights of the
coast.

Just before half-past twelve, in a steep slope on his right, looming
up black against the sky, he recognized Box Hill. Passing this at a
moderate pace, which allowed them to take a good look-out, they saw in
a minute or two a small red flame flickering in the midst of a dark
expanse. Every second it grew larger as they approached; Smith did not