Of fuel he had plenty. His wires and terminals---so much as he could
see of them---were apparently in good order, but the engine had just
coolly stopped of its own accord, and could not be coaxed to start again.
Dicky looked round at Bob from the observer's seat in the fuselage
and raised his eyebrows inquiringly. His glance fell on Bob's white,
set face, and he saw that Bob was methodically going over one thing
after another, and trying first this, then that, as if examining
every part of the plane's mechanism that he could reach. They were
still above the low-lying clouds that hid the earth.
"Engine?" queried Dicky.
Bob nodded. Still he ran his hands over the controls, as if loath
to believe that he had exhausted every possibility of finding and
rectifying the trouble. It was all in vain.
Still they swept lower and lower. Soon they would be below the clouds,
and soon after that, landing so far inside the German lines that by
no possibility could they hope to regain their own.
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