For a moment, as this tremendous winged fabric came to the Master’s view, he halted, and a look of exultation, pride, and joy came over his face.  But only for a moment.  Quite at once his dark eyes veiled themselves with their habitual impassivity.  Once more he strode forward, the others following him.

Now that they were inside the second barrier—­where sleeping men were scattered more thickly than ever—­they stood under the very wings of the most stupendous hydroplane ever conceived by the brain of man or executed by the cunning of his hand.

That this hydroplane had been almost on the moment of departure for its trial trip, was proved by the sleepers.  Two were on the gangplank leading up to the entrance door in the fuselage.  A number who had been knocking out the last holding-pins of the last shackles that bound it to its cradle, had fallen to earth, their sledge-hammers near at hand.

In the pilot-house, a figure had collapsed across the sill of an observation window.  And the engines, purring softly, told that all had been in readiness for the throwing-in of the clutches that would have set the vast propellers spinning with roaring speed.

“Yes, they were certainly just on the dot of getting away,” said the Master, nodding as he glanced at his watch.  “This couldn’t be better.  Gas, oil, stores, everything ready.  What more proof do you require, my dear Bohannan, of the value of exact coordination?”

The major could only answer:  “Yes, yes—­” He seemed quite amazed by this extraordinary mechanism—­gigantic, weird, unreal in the garish electric lights.  Rrisa was frankly staring, for once shaken out of his fatalistic Mussulman tranquillity.

As for Captain Alden, he stood there a compact, small figure in his long coat with the rucksack strapped to his shoulders, peering up with the eye of the connoisseur.  His smile was of contentment absolute.

“My beauty—­ah, my beauty!” he was murmuring.

Then, in the presence of this mighty thing, silence fell on all.  The major set hands on hips, blinked, puckered his lips, and silently whistled.  His expression was half incredulous, half enthusiastic.

What Alden was thinking revealed itself by the sparkle of his eyes through the holes of the mask behind the goggles.  Expressionless though that terribly mutilated face had to remain, you could sense in the man’s whole attitude the exultation of the expert ace as he beheld the perfect machine.

The droning of the engines came distinctly to them all, a low, steady, powerful note, beautiful in its steady undertones of strength.  Behind the little group, a few involuntary exclamations of astonishment and joy became audible, as some of the Legionaries came into the second enclosure.

Without, blows on metal sharply resounded.  The Master smiled again, as he realized his orders were going on with exact precision.

“That’s the wireless they’re putting out of commission,” thought he, glancing at his watch again.  “No mere untuning of wave-lengths.  Good, old-fashioned hammer-blows!  This station won’t work again for a while!”