“We must get her out at once,” rejoined Smith.  “Some men are coming up.  We must get on to-night.”

“Good sakes! that’s impossible.  She lies right athwart the fence, and you’ll have to rig a crane to lift her.”

“The fence must come down.  I’ll pay.”

“But drat it all—­”

“Look here, farmer, it’s got to be done.  Here are the men; just oblige me by showing them a light at the fence, and set them to take down enough of it to free the aeroplane—­carefully; I don’t want it smashed.  There’s a sovereign on account; you shall have a cheque for the rest when you send in the bill.”

Apparently the magic touch of gold reconciled the farmer to these hasty proceedings, for he made no more ado, but took the lamp and bade the three men to follow him.

“What’s wrong, mister?” asked Rodier.  “You look as if you had been shocked.”

Smith drew the paper from his pocket, gave it to Rodier, and then, striking a match, showed him the paragraph, and lighted more matches while he read it.

“Mon dieu!” ejaculated the Frenchman, when he was halfway through.  “It is your father!”

“Yes; my brother is with him.  I must get home; it will kill my mother if she sees this.”

Rodier read the paragraph to the end.

“My word, it is bad business,” he said.  “These cannibals!...  And they have no arms.  What horror!”

Smith left him abruptly and walked to the fence to see how the work of dismantling it was proceeding.  Rodier whistled, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, sat down on a bag of straw and appeared to be deep in a brown study.  Sounds of hammering came from the fence; a light breeze was scattering the mist, and he could now see clearly the three men under the farmer’s direction carefully removing the fencing beneath the aeroplane.  Rodier watched them for a few minutes, but an onlooker would have gathered the impression that his thoughts were far away.

Suddenly he sprang up, muttering, “Ah!  On peut le faire, quand meme.  Courage, mon ami!” and hastened to rejoin his employer.

“What distance, mister,” he said, “from here to there—­to the cannibals?”

“Thirteen thousand miles, I suppose, more or less.”

“Ah!” the Frenchman’s face fell.  “Thirteen thousand!” he repeated, then was silent for a while, touching his brow as if making some abstruse calculation.  Smith turned away.

“Ah!  Qu’importe?” cried Rodier, after a few moments.  “On peut le faire!”

He hastened to Smith, drew him aside, and spoke rapidly to him for a few moments.  The look of doubt that first came to Smith’s face was soon replaced by a look of confidence.  He engaged in a hurried colloquy with his man, at the close of which they shook hands heartily and went to the fence to lend a hand there.

In half-an-hour the work was done; the fence was down, and the six men carefully dragged and lifted the aeroplane over the debris, and placed it on the road outside.  While Rodier made a rapid examination of it, to see that no damage had been done, Smith got the men to empty into the tank the can of petrol they had brought, paid them for their work, and handed his card to the farmer.