"More like two," said the motorman. "I lay she'll be in Portsmouth
afore I'm half-a-mile up road. Good-night, farmer, I'm off to the
Three Waggoners."

"Bust if I don't go, too. There be summat to wet our whistles on
to-night, eh, men?"




CHAPTER II

EASTWARD HO!


Before the farmer reached the hospitable door of the Three Waggoners,
Smith had made his descent upon a broad open space in his father's
park near Cosham. There stood the large shed in which he housed the
aeroplane; adjoining it were a number of workshops. It was quite dark
now, and no one was about; but Smith clearly had no intention of
putting his machine up for the night. As soon as he came to the ground
he hurried off on foot in one direction, Rodier on a bicycle in
another, their purposeful movements betokening a course of action
arranged during the few minutes' conversation at the farm.

Smith walked rapidly through the park, and, entering the house, found
his mother placidly knitting on a settee in the large old-fashioned
hall.