Throwing open one of the windows, Kenyon looked out into the night. There was no staggering, biting wind. Drifting with the breeze, the airship was apparently motionless save for a gently-undulating movement, but the merest glance served to corroborate the look-out man’s words. Already the "Golden Hind," having risen to 6000 feet and still climbing, was well to the south’ard of Europa Point. He could see the lighthouse on the south-western point of the peninsula of Gibraltar steadily receding as the airship approached the African coast. Kenyon was on the point of telegraphing for half-speed ahead when he bethought him of the cable. More than likely, he decided, the wire rope had parted half-way between the nose of the fuselage and the buoy. There was danger in the comparatively light, springy wire getting foul of the for’ard propellers. Stranded wire is apt to play hanky-panky tricks. "Get the cable inboard," he ordered. "Don’t use the winch or you won’t get the wire to lie evenly on the reel. Haul it in by hand." Two of the crew descended to the bow compartment, which, besides forming a living-room for the men, contained the cable winch. "’Get it in by ’and,’ ’e said," remarked one of the men to his companion. "Blimey! There ain’t ’arf a strain on the blessed thing. Bear a ’and, chum." Presently one of the men returned to the navigation-room. "Pardon, sir," he said, saluting, "but we can’t haul the wire in. It’s foul of something. Shall we bring it to the winch, sir?" "Foul of something, eh?" echoed Kenyon. "Does that mean we’ve hiked up the blessed mooring-buoy? Switch on the bow searchlight, Jackson." The order was promptly obeyed, and the rays of the 10,000 candle-power lamp were directed vertically downwards. Leaning well out of the open window, Kenyon peered along the glistening length of tautened cable until parting from the converging rays of the searchlight it vanished into space. "Two degrees left," ordered Kenneth. "Good--at that. By Jove! What’s that? A man!" Filled with a haunting suspicion that the suspended body might be that of his chum Peter, Kenyon felt his heart jump into his throat; but a second glance, as the motionless figure slowly revolved at the end of the cable, relieved Kenneth’s mind on that, score. Still, it was a human being in dire peril. "Heave away handsomely," continued Kenyon. "Stand by to avast heaving," he added. The orders were communicated to the hands at the cable-winch. Steadily the winch-motor clanked away until the word was passed to "’vast heaving." The luckless individual at the end of the wire was now dangling thirty feet below the bows of the fuselage. It would have been useless to have hauled him up to the hawse-pipe, because there would be no means of getting him on board. The only practical way to reach him was by lowering a rope from a trap-door on the underside of the chassis midway between the two hawse-pipes in the bows.