“We’ll need all the heat, soon,” the Master commented.  “At a few thousand feet, the engine-exhaust through those radiators won’t be any too much.  Forward!”

CHAPTER VIII

THE EAGLE OF THE SKY

He slid open another door.  The three men passed through the captain’s cabin and pilot-house.  This place measured twelve feet on its longer axis and nine on its shorter, being of approximately diamond shape with one point forward in the very nose of the machine, one ending in a door that gave access to the main, longitudinal corridor, and the right and left points joining the walls of the backward-sloping prow.  It contained two sofa-lockers with gas-inflated, leather cushions, a chart-rack, pilot’s seat, controls, and instrument-board.

The whole front was a magnificent stretch of double plate-glass, with warm air between the sheets to keep snow, frost, or dew from obscuring the vision.  Bright light flooded it.

Though one window had been slid partly open—­the window on the sill of which the sleeping aviator had lain—­a scent of cigarette-smoke still permeated the place.  The Master sniffed with disgust.  Then suddenly, to the great astonishment of Bohannan, he commanded: 

“Bring me that champagne, in the saloon.  All of it!”

The major opened wide eyes, but unquestioningly obeyed.  Could it be possible the Master, in this moment of exultation, was about to break his lifelong rule and drink a toast, in sparkling bubbles, to success thus far achieved, to the stupendous voyage now about to begin?

Wondering, Bohannan departed.  The Master gestured for Captain Alden to seat himself on one of the lockers.  Alden kept complete silence as he sat down, crossed one leg over the other and began to study the complex apparatus before him.  Most of it was familiar; but some new factors needed inspection.

The Master peered curiously at him.  Surely, this man was odd, unusual.  Most aviators, thus confronted by strange problems, would have grown loquacious, tried to exhibit their knowledge, asked questions, made much talk.  But Alden held his tongue.

A look of appreciation, of liking, came upon the Master’s face.  It was just the suspicion of a look, for in all this strange man’s life no great show of emotion ever had been permitted to mirror itself upon his countenance.  But still, the look was there.  He half opened his lips, as if to speak, then closed them again, and—­like Alden—­fell to studying the control apparatus.

All was beautifully arranged, all nicely calculated for instant use.  Not here, as in small machines, could the pilot handle his own engines, tilt his planes, or manipulate his rudders by hand.  That would have been as absurd to think of, as for the steersman of an ocean liner to work without the intervention of steam steering-gear.

No, these controls actuated various motors that, using current from the dynamos, produced the desired action with smooth and certain promptness.  A turn of the wrist, perhaps no more than the touch of a finger, and the whole vast creation would respond as easily as a child’s toy can be manipulated by a strong man’s hand.