Smith, who made a hasty calculation of its extent,
and judged that it would serve his purpose. Steering to it, he circled
round it and dropped gently upon its western end, scaring off a
flamingo that was sunning itself there in solitary state.

"We came well out of that, Roddy," he said, as they set to work on the
stay.

"But we lose time by all these stops, mister," replied Rodier. "We can
perhaps make it up if you keep your gold in your pocket."

"I made a mistake there, certainly. If anything of the kind occurs
again our motto must be 'take it or leave it.'"

"Just as you say to a cabby."

"You are sure you are not hurt much?"

"No more than with a cat's scratches. You came in the stitch of time,
though."

"'A stitch in time saves nine,'" quoted Smith, smiling a little at the
Frenchman's mistake. "That's why we had better make a good job of
this. We don't want to stop again."

Ten minutes' work sufficed to fix the stay firmly in its place. Smith
again started the engine, the aeroplane taking the air when it was
only half-way across the rock. They looked around for the steamer when
they were again going at full speed, but it was no longer visible. In
a few minutes, however, the smoke again came into view, and as they
rapidly approached it Smith was delighted to see that it came from the
funnel of a small gunboat, which was steaming in the same direction as
their own flight, making probably for Bombay or Karachi. The chances
were that such a vessel in these waters was British, so Smith steered
towards it, shouting to Rodier that they might perhaps arrange a
tit-for-tat with the Baluchis.

There was much excitement on board the gunboat when the aeroplane
planed down and soared over it at its own pace, just high enough to be
out of reach of sparks from the funnel.

"Who are you?" shouted Smith through a megaphone.

"Gunboat _Penguin_, Captain Durward, bound for Bombay. Who are you?"
came the answer.

"Lieutenant Thesiger Smith, of the _Imperturbable,_ bound for
Karachi."

"The deuce you are! What do you call that vessel of yours?"

"My pet lamb," replied Smith, grinning. "I say, sir, I've no time for
explanations. Are you policing these seas?"

"This is my beat. Why?"

"Some Baluchis are gun-running fifty miles up the coast, that's all.
Thought you'd like to know."

"Are they, begad! Thanks for the tip. Can you describe the spot?"

"A tiny village lying behind a point. A river runs through it, an