CHAPTER VII--DELAYS
"Avast stunting!" declared Fosterdyke. "Let's get on with it. Fullspeed to Gib."
Everyone on board realised that every minute was precious. With her sixmotors running "all out" the "Golden Hind" quickly worked up to hermaximum speed of 180 miles an hour. At that rate the petrol consumptionwas alarming, but Fosterdyke faced the fact cheerfully. While he wasobtaining the necessary certificates and making an official declarationto the authorities at Gibraltar, the airship could replenish hersomewhat depleted fuel tanks.
But Sir Reginald had not taken into account the vagaries of red tape andpetty officialdom.
At 11 A.M. the "Golden Hind" sighted the historic Rock. Five minuteslater she slowed down and turned head to wind off the west side of thefortress. With the assistance of a dockyard mooring-party, a stoutgalvanised steel wire was lowered from the bow compartment of thefuselage and secured to a large mooring buoy off the Detached Mole.Then with sufficient gas in her ballonets to keep her buoyant the"Golden Hind" floated head to wind at 50 feet above the Bay ofGibraltar.
Almost before the mooring operations were completed the water in thevicinity was crowded with boats of all sorts, sizes, and descriptions,while the water-front was packed with a dense concourse of interestedspectators, representatives of the umpteen nationalities to be foundliving on the few square miles of thickly-populated rock.
"Nothing you want ashore, I suppose?" enquired Fosterdyke as he preparedto descend a wire ladder, the end of which was being steadied by acouple of bluejackets in a picket-boat.
"Thanks, no," replied Kenyon.
"That's good," continued the baronet, fervently. "Hate having toexecute commissions. Not that I don't like obliging people, but I'm sodeucedly forgetful. Right-o; stand by. I'll be back in less than acouple of hours, I hope. Come along, Bramsdean."
Agilely Fosterdyke swarmed down the swaying ladder, followed at a safedistance by Peter, who carried a parcel of documents and a Mercator'schart on which the proposed route was marked for the benefit of theInternational Air Committee's representative and also the "CompetentMilitary Authorities" of the various garrisons where the "Golden Hind"was scheduled to land.
Peter Bramsdean had plenty of experience of petty officialdom at the AirMinistry. He well remembered the time--running into hours all told--ofweary waiting in draughty corridors until it pleased certain individualsholding high places to signify their condescension (conveyed by a pertdamsel in brown overall and a pigtail tied with an enormous bow) toreceive the insignificant lieutenant.
Here it was much the same. The officials who were consideredindispensable in the matter of signing various documents were "out tolunch."
A look of horrified amazement overspread the features of the minion towhom Fosterdyke suggested that time would be saved by sending for them.The British Empire might totter; the chance of winning fame by being thefirst airman to fly round the globe be lost; but by no possibility mustsuch trivial details prevent officialdom from having its lunch--amovable feast occupying normally from one o'clock till three.
"Hang it all, Bramsdean!" exclaimed Fosterdyke explosively during one ofthe numerous periods of forced inaction. Clearly the usually unruffledbaronet was showing signs of annoyance. "Hang it all! It was everthus. Petty hirelings whose one idea of efficiency is to raiseobstacles and to quibble over unimportant details; those are thestumbling 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. "Thehonour of achieving the flight will be enough. The money prize can gohang. Come along, let's make tracks."
"I vote we look up the Commissioner at his private quarters," suggestedBramsdean. "After all, the 'Golden Hind' won't have refilled her petroltanks yet."
"'Spose not," growled Fosterdyke. "Someone's illegible signature'srequired for the indents, I presume. Right-o, Bramsdean, let's rout outthis indispensable."
Somewhat to Peter's surprise the official was discovered with littledifficulty. He had just finished his lunch, and as the meal had been asatisfying one, he was in high good humour.
"So Count von Sinzig has five hours' start, eh?" remarked the worthyrepresentative of the International Air Board. "That's nothing. You'llmake that up easily. The documents? Ah--yes--quite so. Unfortunately,the seals are in my office. I'll be along there very shortly."
"Isn't your signature enough?" asked the baronet.
The great one hesitated. On the one hand, he wanted to impress hiscallers by admitting that his signature was "absolutely it." On theother, years of punctilious devotion to the ethics of red tape urged himto deprecate such a cutting of the Gordian knot.
"No, Sir Reginald," he replied. "Both are necessary. One is notconclusively in order without the other. I'll be at the office bythree."
It was now a quarter-past two. Fosterdyke felt strongly inclined toenquire pointedly why three-quarters of an hour would be taken up by theCommissioner in getting from his quarters to his office.
By ten minutes past three the various documents were sealed and signed.As the competitors were on the point of taking their departure theCommissioner spoke again.
"I don't seem to have seen Form 4456," he observed dryly. "That had tobe obtained before you left England."
"It wasn't," replied the baronet, bluntly. "An oversight, I admit, butyou don't suggest that I return to England to get it?"
"It is necessary," was the rejoinder. "Without it the flight would notbe in order. In fact, as an authorised representative of theInternational Air Board I can rule you out of the contest."
"Piffle!" declared Fosterdyke hotly. He was rapidly nearing the end ofhis restraint. "This, I may observe, is a contest of aircraft, not apaper competition. Form 4456 is not an absolute essential. Since yourequire it, I presume the case can be met if my representative inEngland has the form made out and sent to you by registered post. Itwill be in your hands before the 'Golden Hind' completes the circuit."
The Commissioner consulted a ponderous tome, chock-a-block with rulesand regulations for aerial navigation, written in official phraseologyso confusing that it was possible to have more than one interpretationfor at least seventy-five per cent. of the complicated paragraphs.
Quoting Article 1071, sub-section 3c, the official made the discoverythat the rendering of Form 4456 could be dispensed with in circumstanceslaid down in Article 2074, section 5c, etc., etc. Thereupon he rang abell, summoned a head clerk, who in turn deputed a junior to fetch acertain form. When this was forthcoming a blob of sealing-wax, theimpress of a seal, and the great man's illegible signature, and thetrick was done. As far as the International Air Board was concerned the"Golden Hind" was a recognised and duly authorised competitor for theChauvasse Prize.
There was still the Recognised Military Authority to be dealt with.That official was urbanity personified. He did everything in his powerto expedite matters, but red tape was stronger than gold lace.
The loud report of a gun warned Fosterdyke and his companion that sunsethad descended upon the Rock. The gates of the fortress were closed tillsunrise.
"Won't affect you," explained the courteous official. "You can get backby the boat from the Old Mole. I won't keep you very much longer. Itreally isn't my fault."
"Gibraltar was a bad choice of mine for a starting-point," observedFosterdyke.
"'Fraid so," agreed the other. "Ah, here we are. Thank you, Wilson.Where's my fountain pen? Where's---- Oh, dash it all, where'severything? ... That's settled, then. Have a drink before you go? No?Well, cheerio, and the very best of luck."
Armed with the necessary documents, "sealed, signed, and delivered,"Fosterdyke and Bramsdean found themselves in the open air. Darkness hadalready fallen. It was a good two miles from Little Europa Point to theOld Mole, and not a vehicle of any sort was to be seen.
Tired, h
ot, and hungry they reached the spot where a naval pinnace wassupposed to be awaiting them. It was not there. A message erroneouslydelivered had sent the boat back to the dockyard. Not to be done,Fosterdyke hired a native boat, paying without demur avillainous-looking Rock Scorp the excessive sum he demanded.
For a quarter of an hour the boat rowed about while the baronet and hiscompanion gazed aloft in the hope of spotting the "Golden Hind" againstthe dark sky.
"She's gone!" declared Bramsdean.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Fosterdyke, irritably. "Why should she?"
Nevertheless in his mind he was convinced that such was the case.
Presently the boat ran close to the buoy to which the airship had beenmoored. Both men recognised the buoy by the number painted on it. Nowire rope ran upwards to an invisible object floating in the darkness ofthe night.
Unaccountably, mysteriously the "Golden Hind" had disappeared.