below; and by the time he reached a still broader river, which could
only be the Rhine, he was tired. As yet he had been flying for only
three hours: could he live through seven days of it? He had once
crossed America in the Canadian Pacific, and though he got eight
hours' sleep every night, he felt an utter wreck at the end of the
journey. To be sure, he was now in the fresh air instead of a stuffy
railway carriage, and he was riding as smoothly as on a steamer,
without the jar and jolt that made journeys by rail so fatiguing.
Still, he thought it only good policy to pay heed to the first signs
of strain, and so he slowed down until the noise of the engine had
abated sufficiently for him to make his voice heard, and said:

"Roddy, you must take a turn. We're near the frontier between Baden
and Alsace, I fancy. The Bavarian hills can't be far off. You had
better rise a bit, and don't go too fast, or we may be knocking our
noses before we know where we are."

"Right O, mister," replied the Frenchman. "You take forty winks, and
eat some chocolate for what you call a nightcap."

"A good idea. I'd rise to about 4,500 feet, I think. Keep your eye on
the aneroid."

They exchanged places. Smith ate two or three sticks of chocolate,
took a good drink of water, and in five minutes was fast asleep. But
his nap lasted no more than a couple of hours. It appeared to him that
he never lost consciousness of his errand. When he opened his eyes the
dawn was already stealing over the sky, and at the tremendous pace to
which Rodier had put the engine the aeroplane seemed to rush into the
sunlight. Far below, the earth was spread out like a patchwork,
greens and whites and browns set in picturesque haphazard patterns;
men moving like ants, and horses like locusts.

"Where are we?" he bawled in Rodier's ear.

The Frenchman put his finger on the map. Smith glanced at his watch;
it was past five o'clock. They must be near the Servian frontier. That
broad streak of blue must be the Danube. Another three hours should
see them at Constantinople, the first stage of their journey. On they
rushed, feeling chill in the morning air at the height of nearly five
thousand feet. Lifting his binocular, Smith saw a railway train
running in the same direction as themselves, and though from the line
of smoke it was going at full speed, it appeared to be crawling like a
worm, and was soon left far behind. Now they were in Bulgaria: those
grey crinkly