“Don’t tell _me_!” cried Mr. Greatorex, banging his fist on the paper. “We’re sinking into a state of jelly-fish; any one can poke us and smack us and we simply _go in_. This’ll smash the Government: that’s one good thing; and we’ll see what John Brooks can do when _he’s_ at the helm.” Later in the day Raymond Oliphant, who was now a privileged visitor to the shed, adverted to the subject. “Thank your stars you are not Prime Minister, Dorrell,” he said. “The pater came down for the week-end, and he’s nearly off his chump, poor old chap! He knew about this kidnapping three days ago, before it got into the papers, and he went back to town this morning prepared for squalls in the House.” “Can’t he do anything?” “He says not. One of the Opposition rags was screaming about an expedition on Saturday, but of course that can’t be risked. And it might fail after all—just as the Gordon expedition did. That Moorish brigand might kill Ingleton if hard pressed.” “But what would he gain by that? He’s playing for a ransom, I suppose.” “No, there’s more in it than that. We’ve already offered an enormous ransom through the Sultan; but the rebel wants to get certain concessions out of the Sultan, and thinks he’ll manage it by getting the Sultan into hot water with us. I say, what a pity your aeroplane isn’t fit for the job. What a grand idea it would be to snap up the prisoner under the very noses of his captors! I suppose it _isn’t_ up to it, eh?” Tom shook his head. “I couldn’t trust it to go so far. You see, here the workshop is at hand, and if anything goes wrong it can be easily repaired. It would be rather a poor lookout if the thing came to grief in the Bay of Biscay, say, and I came souse into the sea.” “It _would_ be rather rotten. Well, let’s have a spin now.” The two mounted the car, and spent an hour in wheeling about the enclosure. Tom ventured to set the motors at a higher speed than he had before tried, and put the aeroplane through a score of evolutions, which demonstrated that he had it perfectly under control. Oliphant in his enthusiasm returned again to the matter of the captured envoy. “I say, is it quite out of the question, d’you think?” “Afraid so. Perhaps in a few months——” “That’s no good,” interrupted his companion. “The occasion will be passed. Ingleton will be either released or dead, and, in any case, there’ll be such a terrific agitation against the pater that he’ll be forced to resign. He wouldn’t mind personally; but there’s the Country, you see. Can’t you risk it?” “I might if only myself were concerned; but there’s Mr. Greatorex to reckon with. The whole thing’s only experimental. I’m sure he wouldn’t hear of it.” “Politics is a rotten game! Wish we were back in the times before Whigs and Tories were invented.” “And unpopular ministers lost their heads!—Now I’m going to let her down. See how near she falls to the perpendicular.”