"Well, Griggs, you've put us in a hole this time!" he groaned.

"How?"

"You made me so nervous that I snapped that key off short in the lock!"

"What!" I shrieked.

"Yes, sir. The motor's locked up in there with fuel enough to keep her
going for three months. I can't stop her or move the rudder without
getting into the case, and nothing but dynamite would dent that case!"

"Then, Hawkins," I said, a terrible calm coming over me, "we shall have to
go straight ahead now until we hit something or are blown up. Am I right?"

"Quite right," muttered Hawkins, defiantly. "And it's all your fault!"

I transfixed the inventor with a vindictive stare, until he abandoned the
attempt at bravado and looked away.

"We--we may blow back, you know," he said, vaguely, addressing the breeze.

"The chances of that being particularly favorable by reason of your having
set your miserable rudder to correspond with the present wind?" I asked.
"Can't we tear up the woodwork and contrive some sort of rudder?"

"We could," admitted Hawkins, "if it wasn't all riveted down with my own
patented rivets, which can't be removed, once they're set."