"That’s good," continued the baronet, fervently. "Hate having to execute commissions. Not that I don’t like obliging people, but I’m so deucedly forgetful. Right-o; stand by. I’ll be back in less than a couple of hours, I hope. Come along, Bramsdean." Agilely Fosterdyke swarmed down the swaying ladder, followed at a safe distance by Peter, who carried a parcel of documents and a Mercator’s chart on which the proposed route was marked for the benefit of the International Air Committee’s representative and also the "Competent Military Authorities" of the various garrisons where the "Golden Hind" was scheduled to land. Peter Bramsdean had plenty of experience of petty officialdom at the Air Ministry. He well remembered the time--running into hours all told--of weary waiting in draughty corridors until it pleased certain individuals holding high places to signify their condescension (conveyed by a pert damsel in brown overall and a pigtail tied with an enormous bow) to receive the insignificant lieutenant. Here it was much the same. The officials who were considered indispensable in the matter of signing various documents were "out to lunch." A look of horrified amazement overspread the features of the minion to whom Fosterdyke suggested that time would be saved by sending for them. The British Empire might totter; the chance of winning fame by being the first airman to fly round the globe be lost; but by no possibility must such trivial details prevent officialdom from having its lunch--a movable feast occupying normally from one o’clock till three. "Hang it all, Bramsdean!" exclaimed Fosterdyke explosively during one of the numerous periods of forced inaction. Clearly the usually unruffled baronet was showing signs of annoyance. "Hang it all! It was ever thus. Petty hirelings whose one idea of efficiency is to raise obstacles and to quibble over unimportant details; those are the stumbling blocks. For twopence I’d cut the cackle and carry on." "And be disqualified at the winning post," reminded the cautious Peter. "We’re wasting precious time----" "It’ll be an unofficial competition, then," declared Fosterdyke. "The honour of achieving the flight will be enough. The money prize can go hang. Come along, let’s make tracks." "I vote we look up the Commissioner at his private quarters," suggested Bramsdean. "After all, the ’Golden Hind’ won’t have refilled her petrol tanks yet." "’Spose not," growled Fosterdyke. "Someone’s illegible signature’s required for the indents, I presume. Right-o, Bramsdean, let’s rout out this indispensable." Somewhat to Peter’s surprise the official was discovered with little difficulty. He had just finished his lunch, and as the meal had been a satisfying one, he was in high good humour.