Hanging on like a limpet, and keeping his head well down, the dauntless airman at length reached the spot where the wire had parted--a distance of about six feet from the extremity of the plane. In spite of the man's weight the triplane evinced no tendency to tilt, although it required a slight alteration of helm of the horizontal rudder to counteract the additional resistance set up by his body. In this hazardous position, holding on with one hand, and keeping his legs planted firmly against a vertical strut, the airman set to work to make good the damage. First the ends of the severed wire had to be secured in a bowline made in each. Through these loops the clips of a bottle-screw were placed, and the wires drawn up to their original tension. Working at a height of five thousand feet, while travelling at a speed of one hundred and sixty miles an hour--for Derek had ordered the motors to be throttled slightly--the gallant airman completed his task in twenty minutes; then, benumbed with the cold and with lying in a decidedly awkward position, he made his way back to the shelter of the enclosed fuselage. By this time the Scillies, looking like a scattered heap of pebbles showing above a large sheet of tranquil water, were left astern. Ahead great masses of indigo-coloured clouds, tinged with vivid coppery hues, betokened the presence of a storm-centre. Ragged wisps of dark-grey vapour were scurrying over the sky, interrupting at frequent intervals the hitherto continuous blaze of sunlight. Derek realized that there was no escape except by a tremendously long detour. Since time was a decided object, such a course was impracticable, for there would be the risk of being carried away a long distance from the objective. It was a case of carrying on at full speed, and taking one's chance with the approaching storm. "What do you make of that?" enquired a voice, as Derek again closed the window of the pilot's house. Turning, the Lieutenant found the exalted passenger--the Brigadier-General--standing behind him. "Atmospheric disturbance of some magnitude, sir," replied Daventry. "There is no cause for anxiety," he added. "Isn't there? by Jove!" ejaculated the Brigadier-General grimly. "Hope you're right, young man. What's up with your meteorological experts at the Air Ministry, I should like to know? Their forecast is 'light variable breezes; conditions fit for cross-country flights with all types of machines'. Someone adrift somewhere, I should imagine." In his mind Derek was obliged to admit the impeachment. "But that refers to the British Isles, sir," he remarked diplomatically. "Already we are approaching the Bay of Biscay." "Let's hope we don't have to swim for it," growled the Brigadier-General. "I'm trusting to you. I'll stay here, if you don't mind." "You'd do better in your cabin, sir," Derek reminded him. "We may be in for a bit of a dusting, and you'll be all right lying on your bunk."