the message to Wrangel and
Spitzbergen Islands--but the stations there reported similarly. Dr.
Brende's laboratory did not answer its call.

This decided us. We had no wish to remain where we were. The Brende car,
far larger than the small one of mine, was fully equipped and
provisioned. We rolled it out, and in a moment were flying in the air.

Dr. Brende's car was large, commodious, and smooth-riding. A pleasure to
fly in such a car! Georg was at the controls. I sat close beside Elza in
the semi-darkness, gazing down through the pit-rail window to where the
island was dropping away beneath us. It was a perfect night; the moon
had set; the stars and planets gleamed in an almost cloudless sky. Red
Mars, I saw, very nearly over our heads.

It was now midnight, and for the moment we chanced to have the air to
ourselves. We rose to the 10,000-foot level, then headed directly North.
It carried us inland; soon the sea was out of sight behind. Lights
dotted the landscape--a town or city here and there, and occasionally a
tower.

Dr. Brende was poring over charts, illumined by a dim glow-light beside
him. "Can we get power all the way, Georg?... Elza child, hadn't you
better lie down? A long trip--you'll be tired out."

"Call Royal Mountain[6]," Georg suggested. "Ask them about serving us
power; I'll stay 10,000 or below. Under one thousand, when we get
further north. Ask them if they can guarantee us power all the way."

[Footnote 6: Now Montreal.]

The station at Royal Mountain would guarantee us nothing on this night;
they advised us to keep low. Their own power-sending station was working
as usual. But this night--who could tell what General Orders might come?
Everyone's nerves were frayed; this Director demanded gruffly to know
who we were.

"Tell him none of his business," I put in. My own nerves were frayed,
too.

"Quiet!" warned Georg. "He'll hear you--and it _is_ his business if he
wants to make it so. Tell him we are the Inter-Allied News, father. That
is true enough, and no use putting into the air that Dr. Brende is
flying north."

Royal Mountain let us through. We passed well to the east of it about
12:45--too far away to sight its lights. The cross-traffic was somewhat
heavier here. Beneath it, at 5,000 and 6,000 feet, a steady stream of
cars was passing east and west.

We were riding easily--little wind, almost none--and were doing 390
miles an hour. You cannot bank or turn very well at such a spe