*CHAPTER IX* *THE PHANTOM BIRD* "Airship or aeroplane?" asked von Spitzer, a moment later, as Carl closely watched the delicate recorder, which, as the vibration caused by the sound waves increased, indicated not only the type of craft, but the type of engine by which it was driven, and also whether the engine was running with or without defects. So wonderful are the secrets which man has already wrested from nature. "Airship, decidedly!" replied Carl, after a second’s pause. "Full-powered too; there are four or five Sunbeam-Maori engines, and all running smoothly." "Her position?" demanded the Rittmeister next. "Forty-four miles due east," came the answer. "Then it must be the aerial mail from India; she is just about due." "Is she steering due west?" the chief asked. "About two degrees south, that’s all," replied Carl. "She’s evidently getting a little drift from the upper currents." "Good!" remarked the chief airman. "Then if she continues steering steady, she should pass within a couple of miles of us in another twenty or twenty-five minutes. Come along, Carl, it is time for us to get away. You will remain on the ground, Max. You have a difficult job. As soon as we get away, see that the tents are struck, and all men and horses placed under cover of the trees." "Yes, sir." "And now sound the alarm signal, and help us to get out the _Scorpion_; it is going to bite to-day," ordered the Rittmeister as he strode away, exclaiming, "Who wouldn’t be a king of the desert? For one day at least it will be, ’_Deutschland, Deutschland ueber alles_!’" The alarm being sounded, all the occupants of the little camp went to quarters, just as they had been rehearsed during the last few days. The camouflaged fabric was stripped from the little hangar, and the _Scorpion_ was set free to bite once more. She was released from the ropes which held her down and turned head to wind. The steel folding wings were snapped back into their sockets and made secure. "Are you ready, Carl?" asked the chief, as he completed his rapid survey of the machine, during which neither the propellers, planes, tail-fin nor rudder escaped his scrutiny. "Aye, ready, sir!" came the reply from the junior, who was now seated in the armour-plated conning-tower, testing the controls and examining his machine guns. Without a moment’s delay the chief clambered up through the little trapdoor and joined his companion. Then he paused for a moment whilst he swept the eastern horizon with his powerful binoculars. "I cannot see her yet, Carl," he said. Then turning to Max, who stood by the starboard engine, he shouted, "Just try to pick up her position again from the drum. She may have changed her course a trifle." The Gotha pilot dashed off on his errand, and after carefully listening for a moment, he returned and said, "East-south-east, about four degrees east."