“There!  How does that strike you, Roddy?” he said, when he had finished it.

“It strikes me hot,” said the Frenchman.  “What I mean, it will be hot work.  But that is what I like.”

“So do I, so long as I can keep cool.  At any rate we can start to the second.  Are you ready?”

The sky was brilliant with stars when, just after midnight, they took their places in the aeroplane.  Twenty-five minutes’ easy run, east-north-east, brought them within sight of the dull red glare northward that betrayed London.  Smith had so often made this journey that, even if the stars had been invisible, he could almost have directed his course by the lights of the villages and towns over which he passed.  He knew them as well as a sailor knows the lights of the coast.

Just before half-past twelve, in a steep slope on his right, looming up black against the sky, he recognized Box Hill.  Passing this at a moderate pace, which allowed them to take a good look-out, they saw in a minute or two a small red flame flickering in the midst of a dark expanse.  Every second it grew larger as they approached; Smith did not doubt it was the bonfire which he had asked his friend Barracombe to kindle.  Dropping to the ground within a few feet of the fire, which turned out to be of considerable dimensions, he found a motor-car standing near it, and Barracombe walking up and down.

“Well, old man,” said Barracombe, as Smith alighted; “they call me a hustler, but you’ve hustled me this time.  What in the world are you after?”

“Have you got the stuff?” returned Smith with the curtness of an old friend.

“Yes; chocolate, bovril, the whole boiling; but—­”

“And the maps?”

“And the maps.  A nice job I had to get them.  All the shops were shut, of course.  I stole ’em.”

“Played the burglar?”

“No.  I went to the Royal Societies’ Club, and pinched them out of the library.  Posted a cheque to pay for ’em, but there was nobody about and I couldn’t stop for red tape.”

“Well, you’re a big enough man to do such things with impunity.  That’s why I ’phoned you:  knew you’d do it somehow.”

Although Barracombe was a potentate in the city, who controlled immense organizations, and held the threads of multifarious interests, he was very human at bottom, and Smith liked him all the better for the glow of self-satisfaction that shone upon his face at this tribute to his omnipotence.

“But now, what’s it all mean, you beggar?  Are you off to reorganize the Turkish navy or something?”

“I’m off to the Solomon Islands.”

“What!”

“That’s it:  going to have a shot at helping the poor old governor.”

“But, my dear fellow, he’ll either be relieved or done for long before you can get there.  The paper said they were practically unarmed.”

“Exactly.  I’m going to pick up some rifles and ammunition at one of the Australian ports, and so help ’em to keep their end up until the gunboat reaches them.  I’ll probably get there a day before the boat.”