"Hanged if I like the look of things one little bit," declared Fosterdyke, frankly. "Glass dropping as quickly as if the bottom of it had fallen out, and on top of it all we get this."

"This" was a wireless from Point de Galle announcing that a terrific cyclone was raging west of the Maldive Islands, its path being a "right-hand circle." That meant that unless the "Golden Hind" made a radical alteration of course she would encounter the full force of the wind.

It was the fourth day of the race. The "Golden Hind" had passed over Socotra at daybreak and was on her way across the Arabian Sea, her next scheduled landing-place being Colombo.

"If we carry on we'll hit the tail of the cyclone," said Kenyon, consulting a chart of the Indian Ocean.

"Yes, but what is worse we'd pass through the dangerous storm-centre, and then more than likely get a nose-ender on the other side, if we were lucky enough to weather the centre," replied Fosterdyke. "It's too jolly risky, Kenyon. At fifteen thousand feet it may be as bad or worse than at five hundred feet up. Call up Murgatroyd, and ask what petrol there is in the tanks."

Kenneth went to the voice tube and made the necessary enquiry of the engineer.

"By Jove, we'll risk it!" declared Fosterdyke, when he received the desired information. "We'll go south a bit, and then make straight for Fremantle."

Kenyon was taken aback with the audacity of the proposal. The distance between Socotra and Western Australia was a good 5000 miles, or thirty-six hours of uninterrupted flight. At 140 miles an hour there was sufficient fuel on board for forty hours, which meant a reserve of four hours only in case of anything occurring to protract the run.

"Oh, we'll do it," said Fosterdyke, confidently, as he noticed his companion's look of blank amazement. "Better run the risk of cutting things fine than to barge into a cyclone. Sou'-east by south is the course."

"Remarkable thing we haven't heard anything of friend Sinzig 'clocking in,'" observed Kenyon. "Wonder where he's making for?"

"We'll hear in due course," replied the baronet. He crossed the cabin to consult a Mercator's chart of the world, on which were pinned British, American, and Japanese flags recording the latest-known positions of the rival airmen. There was a German flag ready to be stuck in, but nearly five days had elapsed since von Sinzig left Spain, and the crew of the "Golden Hind" were still in ignorance of his whereabouts.

But they had the satisfaction of knowing that they more than held their own with the others. The American had passed the Azores, while Count Hyashi's "Banzai," which had made a stupendous non-stop flight to Honolulu, had developed engine defects that promised to detain him indefinitely.

"Two thousand miles in nine hours," remarked Fosterdyke, referring to the Japanese airplane's performance. "Some shifting that, but Count Hyashi has evidently gone the pace a bit too thick. He's our most dangerous rival, Kenyon."

"Unless von Sinzig has something up his sleeve, sir," added Kenneth.

"Trust him for that," said the baronet, grimly. "However, time will prove. Well, carry on, Kenyon. Call me if there's any great change in the weather."

Within the next two hours there were indications that even the new course taken by the "Golden Hind" would not allow her to escape the cyclone. Right ahead the hitherto cloudless sky was heavy with dark, ragged thunder-clouds that, extending north and south as far as the eye could see, threatened to close upon the airship like the horns of a Zulu impi.

Roused from his sleep, Fosterdyke lost no time in making his way to the navigation-room. Although he was not to be on duty for another hour and a half, Peter Bramsdean had also hurried to the chart-room.

"We're in for it, sir," declared Kenneth.

"We are," agreed Fosterdyke, gravely. "Evidently there is a second disturbance, but judging from appearances it's none the less formidable. No use turning tail. We'll go up another five thousand feet and see what it looks like."

The "Golden Hind" rose rapidly, under the joint action of her six planes and the addition of brodium to the ballonets; but even then it was touch-and-go whether the gathering storm would encircle her. As it was she flew within the influence of the fringe of the cyclone. Shrieking winds assailed her, seeming to come from two opposing quarters. Her huge bulk lurched and staggered as she climbed. Her fuselage see-sawed as the blast struck the enormous envelope above, while the jar upon the tension wires was plainly felt by the crew.

For a full ten minutes it was as black as night, save when the dark masses of cloud were riven by vivid flashes of lightning. Blinded by the almost incessant glare, Fosterdyke and his companions could do little or nothing but hang on, trusting that the "Golden Hind" would steer herself through the opaque masses of vapour. It was impossible to consult the instruments. Whether the airship was rising or falling, whether she was steering north, south, east, or west remained questions that were incapable of being solved, since the blinding flashes of lightning and the deafening peals of thunder literally deprived the occupants of the navigation-room of every sense save that of touch. All they could do was to hold on tightly, clench their teeth, and wait.

It required some holding on. At one moment the longitudinal axis of the airship was inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees; at another she was heeling to almost the same angle, the while twisting and writhing like a trapped animal. Now and again she seemed to be enveloped in electric fluid. Dazzling flashes of blue flame played on and along the aluminium envelope, vicious tongues of forked lightning seemed to stab the gas-bag through and through; and doubtless had the ballonets contained hydrogen instead of non-inflammable brodium the "Golden Hind" would have crashed seawards in trailing masses of flame.

How long this inferno lasted no one on board had the remotest idea. The flight of time remained a matter of individual calculation. To Kenyon it seemed hours; Bramsdean afterwards confessed that he thought the passage through the storm cloud lasted thirty minutes. In reality only six minutes had elapsed from the time the "Golden Hind" was enveloped in the thunder cloud till the moment when she emerged.

It was much like being in a train coming out of a long tunnel. With their eyes still dazed by the vivid flashes the men in the navigation-room became aware that the vapour was growing lighter. They could distinguish the smoke-like rolls of mist as the sunshine penetrated the upper edges of the clouds. Then, no longer beaten by the torrential downpour of hail, the "Golden Hind" shot into a blaze of brilliant sunshine.

It seemed too good to be true. For some moments Fosterdyke and his companions simply stared blankly ahead until their eyes grew accustomed to the different conditions.

Then Kenyon, who was still officer of the watch, glanced over the shoulder of the helmsman and noted the compass. The lubber's line was a point west of north. The "Golden Hind" had been practically retracing her course, and might be anything from fifty to a hundred miles farther away from her goal than she had been when the storm enveloped her.

Obedient to the action of the vertical rudders the airship swung back on her former course. The altimeter indicated a height of twelve thousand feet, and the "Golden Hind" was still rising. Three thousand feet below was an expanse of wind-torn clouds, no longer showing dark, but of a dazzling whiteness. The crew of the "Golden Hind" were literally looking on the bright side of things.

"We're well above the path of the storm," remarked Fosterdyke, gratefully. "We've a lot to be thankful for, but the fact remains we daren't descend while that stuff's knocking about. Once in a lifetime is quite enough."

Before any of his companions could offer any remark, Murgatroyd, the chief air-mechanic on duty, appeared through the hatchway.

"Sorry to have to report, sir," he announced, "that the two after motors are both out of action. Blade smashed on the starboard prop, sir, and the chain-drive on the port prop has snapped. The broken chain is in your cabin, sir."

"Who put it there?" asked Fosterdyke.

"It put itself there, sir," was the imperturbable reply. "Sort of flew off the sprocket when the link parted and went bang through the side plate of the fuselage, sir. I'll allow it's made a wee bit of a mess inside, sir."

"Take over, Bramsdean, please," said Fosterdyke. "Directly you get a chance obtain our position. Come on, Kenyon, let's see the extent of the damage. The cabin doesn't matter. It isn't the first time I've slept in a punctured dog-box. But the mechanical breakdown--that's the thing that counts."

Followed by Murgatroyd, the baronet and Kenyon went aft. From No. 5 motor-room they could see the motionless propeller, one of the four blades of which had been shattered as far as the boss, while all the others bore signs of more or less damage from the flying fragments.

"Matter of twenty minutes, sir," replied Murgatroyd in answer to his chief's enquiry as to how long the repairs would take. "We'll have to stop, and I'll bolt on the new blades. At the same time I'll put a couple of hands on to fitting a new chain to the starboard drive. I don't fancy the 'A' bracket's strained, but I'll soon find out directly we stop."

It was rough luck to have to stop all the motors and drift at the mercy of the air currents for twenty precious minutes; but the only option would be to carry on under the action of four propellers only at a greatly reduced speed.

"Right-o, Murgatroyd," agreed the baronet. "Slap it about."

"Trust me for that, sir," replied the engineer. "I've warned the break-down gang. I'll give you the all-clear signal in twenty minutes--less, sir, or my name isn't Robert Murgatroyd."

Three minutes later the remaining four motors were switched off, and the "Golden Hind," rapidly losing way, fell off broadside on to the wind at a height of twelve thousand five hundred feet above sea-level.

Instantly the mechanics swarmed out along the slender "A" brackets, Murgatroyd and an assistant setting to work to unbolt the damaged blades, while other airmen passed a new chain round the sprocket wheels of the starboard motor and propeller respectively.

Although there was no apparent wind, and the airship was drifting at practically the same rate as the air current, it was bitterly cold. The brackets were slippery with ice, and the difficulty of maintaining a foothold was still further increased by the erratic vertical motion of the airship.

The mechanics, wearing lifelines, went about their work fearlessly. They were used to clambering about on coastal airships, sometimes under fire; and although the present task was a simple one from a mechanical point, it was most difficult owing to the adverse atmospheric conditions.

Yet in the space of seventeen and a half minutes Murgatroyd and his band of workers were back in the fuselage, their task accomplished, and in twenty minutes the six motors were running once more.

Murgatroyd flushed with pleasure when his chief thanked and complimented him.

"Maybe, sir, you'd be liking to have your cabin repaired?" he asked. "Just a sheet of metal strapped against the plates will hold till we land again. Then I'll see that it's well bolted on, sir; but I'll guarantee you'll not be feeling the draught to-night."