The hoses were already connected up, and under the action of six powerful centrifugal pumps the precious oil was transferred to the tanks of the _Olive Branch_, till six hundred tons completed the carrying capacity of the cruiser. This done, Captain Brookes made out a draft in payment and handed it to the Russian skipper, at the same time making him a present of a case of whisky, which the man received with an ill grace. "We may as well give him a taste of the Z-rays, just to show there's no deception," remarked Captain Brookes as the _Olive Branch_ showed her heels to the tramp. "Will the rays not effect the submarine cable between Reggio and Messina?" asked Gerald. "What matters? If they want an explanation there are the subjects for theory," replied the captain, waving his arm in the direction of the invisible Etna. "Volcanic disturbances, eh?" The Z-rays were accordingly released for ten minutes, during which time the _Olive Branch_ had passed the renowned Scylla and Charybdis of the ancients and was heading towards the port of Catania, sixty miles to the south'ard of the Straits. "Wreck ahead, sir," reported the look-out. Glasses were instantly levelled, and an object was discovered that at first sight appeared to be a small sailing craft lying on her beam ends. "If that be the case, she's a rum sort of sailing boat," remarked Stockton. "She has a sail set on her keel as well." "It's a monoplane," announced Captain Brookes. "The airman has come to earth on the water, to perpetrate an Irish bull. Stand by there, for'ard!" Orders were given for the _Olive Branch_ to reduce speed, while the crew prepared for salvage work. In the course of a few minutes the distance had decreased sufficiently for the wrecked aeroplane to be plainly visible to the naked eye. Although it owed its buoyancy to the fact that two cylindrical aluminium floats were attached to the chassis, the disabled monoplane was deeply submerged. The engine was lost to view, the tips of the twin propellers just projecting above the surface, while the extremities of the planes dipped to each successive swell. Seated up to his waist in water was the aviator, clad in a partially inflated rubber suit. He had already seen that aid was approaching, and with the utmost deliberation he had taken an air-tight case from his pocket. From this he drew a huge cigar, which he proceeded to light with an automatic lighter, puffing away with the greatest unconcern, as if a plunge into the sea in a monoplane was an every-day event. "Steady on your helm, there," cautioned the captain, as the huge hull glided slowly to leeward of the wrecked aeroplane; then leaning over the rail he hailed "Ahoy, there! What's the length of your planes?" "Fifteen feet," came the reply.