I had to turn my head sideways to avoid the direct rush of air
from the whirling propeller. I could just discern the ground through the
mist. I looked around for the Bosche. He seemed further away. I shouted
to the pilot. He looked round.

"I'm going to chase it," he said. And away he went. But the faster we
moved the faster went the other machine. At last we discovered the
reason. In fact, I believe we both discovered it at precisely the same
moment. _The plane was one of our own!_ I looked at the Captain. He
smiled at me, and I'm positive he felt disappointed at the discovery.

"What's the height?" I enquired.

"About thirteen thousand feet," he said. "Shall we go higher? We may get
above the mist."

"Try a little more," I replied. "But I don't think it will be possible
to film any more scenes to-day; the fog is much too heavy."

The whole machine was wet with moisture. It seemed as if we should never
rise above it. I had never before known it so thick. My companion asked
if we should return. With reluctance I agreed, then, turning round face
to the sun, we rushed away.

The mist did not seem to change. Mile after mile we encountered the same
impenetrable blanket of clammy moisture. I was huddling as tight as
possible to the bottom of the seat, taking advantage of the least bit of
cover from the biting, rushing swirl of icy-cold air. Mile after mile;
it seemed hours up there in the solitude. I watched the regular dancing
up and down of the valves on top of the engine. I was thinking of a tune
that would fit to the regular beat of the tappets.

I shouted through the 'phone.

No answer.

He must be too cold to speak, I thought. For myself, I did not know
whether I had jaws or not. The lashing, biting wind did not affect my
face now. I could feel nothing. Once I tried to pinch my cheek; it was
lifeless. It might have been clay. My jaw was practically set stiff. I
could only just articulate.

I tried again to attract my companion's attention. Still no answer.

I was wondering whether anything had happened to him, when something did
happen which very nearly petrified me. I felt a clutch on my shoulder.
Quickly turning my head, I was horrified to see him standing on his seat
and leaning over my shoulder.

"Get off the telephone tube, you idiot. You are sitting on it," he
shouted. "We can't speak to one another."

"Telephone be damned!" I managed to shout. "Get back to your seat. Don't
play monkey-tricks up h