The youth touched a lever and the machine glided down towards the valley, falling all the while with the effortless grace a parachute. The shed from which his machine had issued was midway down a slope, with a short length of rails which ran, apparently, through it. The machine seemed to hover for several moments above the building, then descended slowly on to the rails and disappeared in the shed. The two men were already half-way down the hill. Peter Ruff rose from behind the boulder, stretched himself with a sense of immense relief, and lit a pipe. As yet he dared not descend. He simply changed his hiding place for a spot which enabled him to command a view of the handful of cottages at the back of the hill. He had plenty to think about. It was a wonderful thing--this--which he had seen! The youth, meanwhile, was drinking deep of the poisonous cup. He walked between the two men--his cheeks were flushed, his eyes on fire. “If all the world to-day had seen what we have seen,” the older man was saying, “there would be no more talk of Wilbur Wrights or Farmans. Those men are babies, playing with their toys.” “Mine is the ideal principle,” the youth declared. “No one else has thought of it, no one else has made use of it. Yet all the time I am afraid--it is so simple.” “Sell quick, then,” the fair-headed man advised. “By to-morrow night I can promise you fifty thousand pounds.” The youth stopped. He drew a deep breath. “I shall sell,” he declared. “I need money. I want to live. Fifty thousand pounds is enough. Eleven weary months I have slept and toiled there in the shed.” “It is finished,” the older man declared. “To-night you shall come with us to London. To-morrow night your pockets shall be full of gold. It will be a change for you.” The youth sobbed. “God knows it will,” he muttered. “I haven’t two shillings in the world, and I owe for my last petrol.” The two men laughed heartily. The elder took a little bundle of notes from his pocket and handed them to the boy. “Come,” he said, “not for another moment shall you feel as poor as that. Money will have no value for you in the future. The fifty thousand pounds will only be a start. After that, you will get royalties. If I had it, I would give you a quarter of a million now for your plans; I know that I can get you more.” The youth laughed hysterically. They entered the tiny inn and drank home-made wine--the best they could get. Then a great car drew up outside, and the older--the clean-shaven man, who looked like an American--hurried out, and dragging a hamper from beneath the seat returned with a gold-foiled bottle in his hand. “Come,” he said, “a toast! We have one bottle left--one bottle of the best!” “Champagne!” the youth cried eagerly, holding out his hand. “The only wine for the conquerors,” the other declared, pouring it out into the thick tumblers. “Drink, all of you, to the Franklin Flying Machine, to the millions she will earn--to to-morrow night!”