know."

Mortlake drew out a yellow-backed bill.

"Is this enough?" he asked.

The tramps' eyes rounded as they gazed at the figure.

"Perfec'ly satisfactory, guv'ner," said red eyes.

"Well, where are those papers, then?" snapped Mortlake impatiently.

"Thet thar purty gal wot jest went by in an autermobubble has 'em."

"What!"

"Yes. We saw her pick them up out of the road. We tried to convince her it
was dishonest to keep 'em, but she wouldn't listen to us."

"You've done well, and seem to be bright fellows," said Mortlake, handing
over the bill to red eyes, who seemed to be the leader of the two, "by the
way, you don't belong about here, do you?"

"Oh, no, guv'ner. Our homes is whar we hangs our hats. My permanent
address is care of the 'dicky birds.'"

"Well, I may have some work for you to do----"

"Work, guv'ner? Work's only for the workmen."

"I know all that, but this work is on your own line. I'll pay well, too.
If you want to talk it over, come to the Mortlake Aeroplane Factory,
outside Sandy Beach at ten o'clock to-night. I'll be there to meet you."

"All right, guv'ner; we'll be, thar. Till then we'll bid yer 'oliver oil,'
as ther French say. Come on, Joey."

The worthy pair shuffled off up the road, while Mortlake turned to Harding
with a shrug.

"There are two tools made to our hand. We may find them very useful."

"I agree with you," was the dry and rasping reply; "at least, they have
put us in possession of one valuable bit of knowledge, hey?"

CHAPTER IX.

THE FLIGHT OF THE "SILVER COBWEB."

A week rolled slowly by. A week of suspense, during which they had one or
two calls from Lieut. Bradbury, who had been busy down at the Mortlake
plant. But the officer was naturally noncommittal concerning his opinion
of the comparative merits of the two types of aeroplanes. Equally
naturally, of course, the young Prescotts had not questioned him
concerning them.

But during this week they had had a glimpse of the Mortlake machine in
flight. One still, breathless morning, the air had been filled, soon after
dawn, with a vibrant buzzing sound, which Peggy's trained ear had
recognized as the song of an aeroplane engine.

She hastened to her brother's room and rapped upon the door. In reply to
his sleepy query, the girl rapidly told him of what she had heard. Roy's
window faced on the road, and a glance satisfied him that the Mortlake
machine was to have its first try-out. Hastily as