waiting till the time of action arrived.

A little before midnight Uncle Prudent said, "It is time!" Under the
berths in the cabin was a sliding box, forming a small locker, and in
this locker Uncle Prudent put the dynamite and the slow-match. In
this way the match would burn without betraying itself by its smoke
or spluttering. Uncle Prudent lighted the end and pushed back the box
under the berth with "Now let us go aft, and wait."

They then went out, and were astonished not to find the steersman at
his post.

Phil Evans leant out over the rail.

"The "Albatross" is where she was," said he in a low voice. "The work
is not finished. They have not started!"

Uncle Prudent made a gesture of disappointment. "We shall have to put
out the match," said he.

"No," said Phil Evans, "we must escape!"

"Escape?"

"Yes! down the cable! Fifty yards is nothing!"

"Nothing, of course, Phil Evans, and we should be fools not to take
the chance now it has come."

But first they went back to the cabin and took away all they could
carry, with a view to a more or less prolonged stay on the Chatham
Islands. Then they shut the door and noiselessly crept forward,
intending to wake Frycollin and take him with them.

The darkness was intense. The clouds were racing up from the
southwest, and the aeronef was tugging at her anchor and thus
throwing the cable more and more out of the vertical. There would be
no difficulty in slipping down it.

The colleagues made their way along the deck, stopping in the shadow
of the deckhouses to listen if there was any sound. The silence was
unbroken. No light shone from the portholes. The aeronef was not only
silent; she was asleep.

Uncle Prudent was close to Frycollin's cabin when Phil Evans stopped
him. "The look-out!" he said.

A man was crouching near the deck-house. He was only half asleep. All
flight would be impossible if he were to give the alarm. Close by
were a few ropes, and pieces of rag and waste used in the work at the
screw.

An instant afterwards the man was gagged and blindfolded and lashed
to the rail unable to utter a sound or move an inch. This was done
almost without a whisper.

Uncle Prudent and Phil Evans listened. All was silent within the
cabins. Every one on board was asleep. They reached Frycollin's
cabin. Tapage was snoring away in a style worthy of his name, and
that promised well.

To his great surprise, Uncle Prudent had not even to push Frycollin's
do