“Indeed?” queried Kennedy.  “I beg your pardon—­I was only looking at it from the purely scientific point of view.  Who is it, do you suppose?”

“How do I know?  Some amateur, I guess.  No professional would butt in this way.”

Kennedy took a leaf out of his note-book and wrote a short message which he gave to a boy to deliver to Norton.

“Detach your gyroscope and dynamo,” it read.  “Leave them in the hangar.  Fly without them this afternoon, and see what happens.  No use to try for the prize to-day.  Kennedy.”

We sauntered out on the open part of the field, back of the fence and to the side of the stands, and watched the fliers for a few moments.  Three were in the air now, and I could see Norton and his men getting ready.

The boy with the message was going rapidly across the field.  Kennedy was impatiently watching him.  It was too far off to see just what they were doing, but as Norton seemed to get down out of his seat in the aeroplane when the boy arrived, and it was wheeled back into the shed, I gathered that he was detaching the gyroscope and was going to make the flight without it, as Kennedy had requested.

In a few minutes it was again wheeled out.

The crowd, which had been waiting especially to see Norton, applauded.

“Come, Walter,” exclaimed Kennedy, “let’s go up there on the roof of the stand where we can see better.  There’s a platform and railing, I see.”

His pass allowed him to go anywhere on the field, so in a few moments we were up on the roof.

It was a fascinating vantage-point, and I was so deeply engrossed between watching the crowd below, the bird-men in the air, and the machines waiting across the field that I totally neglected to notice what Kennedy was doing.  When I did, I saw that he had deliberately turned his back on the aviation field, and was anxiously, scanning the country back of us.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.  “Turn around.  I think Norton is just about to fly.”

“Watch him then,” answered Craig.  “Tell me when he gets in the air.”

Just then Norton’s aeroplane rose gently from the field.  A wild shout of applause came from the people below us, at the heroism of the man who dared to fly this new and apparently fated machine.  It was succeeded by a breathless, deathly calm, as if after the first burst of enthusiasm the crowd had suddenly realised the danger of the intrepid aviator.  Would Norton add a third to the fatalities of the meet?

Suddenly Kennedy jerked my arm.  “Walter, look over there across the road back of us—­at the old weatherbeaten barn.  I mean the one next to that yellow house.  What do you see?”

“Nothing, except that on the peak of the roof there is a pole that looks like the short stub of a small wireless mast.  I should say there was a boy connected with that barn, a boy who has read a book on wireless for beginners.”