Assuredly if the men of the aeronef had not been so busy one of them
would have heard the feeble sputtering that, was going on in the
deck-house. Perhaps he would have smelt the burning powder! He would
doubtless have become uneasy! And told Tom Turner! And then they
would have looked about, and found the box and the infernal machine;
and then there would have been time to save this wonderful
"Albatross" and all she bore!

But the men were at work in the bow, twenty yards away from the
cabin. Nothing brought them to that part of the deck; nothing called
off their attention from their work. Robur was there working with his
hands, excellent mechanic as he was. He hurried on the work, but
nothing was neglected, everything was carefully done. Was it not
necessary that he should again become absolute master of his
invention? If he did not recapture the fugitives they would get away
home. They would begin inquiring into matters. They might even
discover X Island, and there would be an end to this life, which the
men of the "Albatross" had created for themselves, a life that seemed
superhuman and sublime.

Tom Turner came up to the engineer. It was a quarter past one. "It
seems to me, sir, that the breeze is falling, and going round to the
west."

"What does the barometer say?" asked Robur, after looking up at the
sky.

"It is almost stationary, and the clouds seem gathering below us."