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Updated: August 1, 2024
As Nissr slowly turned, a trap opened in the bottom of her lower gallery, almost directly between the two forward vacuum-floats, and down sped a little landing nacelle or basket at the end of a fine steel cable. Swiftly the electric winch dropped the nacelle, containing three men. It slowed, at their command, through the phone that led up the wire. With hardly a jar, the basket landed on the roof.
She wore a thick-knitted jersey of brown silk, a simple brown skirt, and leather gaiters, and a brown leather automobile cap covered her shining, dark hair. Like a slim, brown statue she stood at last on the step of her biplane in the breeze, and I saw the Comte de Châlons bend over her hand as he assisted her into the nacelle. Well, he had reason, that one!
Above, in the burning Arabian sky, the air-liner hovered like a gigantic bird of prey, her gallery-rails lined with motionless watchers. The Master observed every move through powerful glasses. Over his ears a telephone headpiece, which he had slipped on, kept him in close touch with the men in the nacelle, via the steel cable.
He was only forty feet from the ground, falling straight, when he got back to even keel and shot ahead. How safe the nest of the nacelle where he sat seemed then! Almost gaily he swung her in a great wavering circle and the wind was again in his face, hating him, pounding him, trying to get under the wings and turn the machine turtle. Twice more he worked his way about the track.
When I handed the machine over to him, with the engine throttled down so that he might try rolling practice on the ground, he waited until he was out of our reach, whipped the motor into its full power, heaved himself into the air, and flew back the whole length of his grounds alighting gently as a falling leaf. "It seems pretty simple," he said, as he swung himself out of the nacelle.
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