The Tale of Oat Cake Crag - By Susan Wittig Albert Page 0,71
Both men were catapulted out of their seats and into the water, where they clung to the floating aeroplane, which appeared to have crumpled its right wing and broken its tail.
“Help!” the passenger shrieked frantically. “Help, somebody! I can’t swim! I don’t want to drown!”
“That’s enough,” commanded the pilot. “Be quiet. You’re not going to drown. Hang on. The Bird floats.”
And so it did, after a fashion. Since one of the wing airbags was damaged, the aeroplane seemed to be listing heavily. Luckily, however, there was a sailboat not far away and it came to the rescue immediately. The yachtsman dropped the mainsail, furled the jib, and paddled up to the floating plane. He pulled both men into his boat, the pilot obviously chagrined, the passenger clearly angry. “I want my money back,” the owl heard the passenger demand loudly. “I wasn’t counting on a crash.”
It didn’t take long for a pair of small boats to rush out from Cockshott Point, attach lines to the floating Water Bird, and tow it back to shore, whilst the pilot directed the operation by shouting instructions from the sailboat. The Professor, curious, followed closely and perched in a nearby tree to watch as the pilot and two other men winched the crippled aeroplane back up the slipway and into the hangar.
The spectators were watching, too, all of them exceedingly well satisfied. They had seen the aeroplane dive into the lake and could go home and tell everyone all about it (with plenty of exaggeration, of course). It wouldn’t be long before the entire district knew that the Water Bird’s engine had failed and that it had gone down right in the middle of Windermere with a mighty splash. It was only by the grace of God and the extraordinary skill of the pilot (and the lucky fact that a sailboat was nearby) that the lives of the two men aboard were saved.
The passenger, of course, was the brave Hero of the Moment, and made the best of his wetting by telling everyone what a thrilling ride it had been up to the moment the engine quit and how he had escaped death by a hair’s-breadth when the machine plunged into the ice-cold water, never saying a word (of course) about his fears of drowning or his frantic cries for help. As for the aeroplane—well! It looked to be a total loss, with one wing torn nearly off and the tail severely damaged. Surely this would be the end of Water Bird, which naturally pleased some (those of the “If God had wanted people to fly” opinion) and distressed others (those who felt that since the Germans were building aeroplanes, the British ought to be sharpish about it). With these and other similar remarks and still discussing the matter excitedly amongst themselves, the crowd dispersed.
By that time, our spy had become more audacious. There was a great deal of commotion and everybody was fully engaged with what was directly in front of them. So the Professor flew into the aeroplane’s hangar and perched on one of the rafters, high above in the darkness. He took off his dark goggles, pulled out his notepad and pencil, and (like any good spy) began making notes about what he heard.
He heard plenty. One of the men, a tall blond man whose name was Anderson, walked around the Water Bird, surveying the injured wing and damaged tail section with a grim shake of the head.
“Broken struts, cracked ribs, torn canvas, wrecked airbag—and who knows what went wrong with the motor,” he said darkly. “The repairs are going to cost a pretty penny. Baum’s not going to like it. You know how he feels, Oscar. He may decide not to pay.”
“Baum’s in no condition to decide to anything today,” said the pilot, Oscar Wyatt—the very man we were hoping to get a close look at. He was thin and wiry, with dark hair and a neatly trimmed dark beard and mustache. “Fellow’s laid up with a cracked head and a broken arm and a leg. They’ve taken him to Raven Hall. I tried to see him this morning, but was prevented.” He frowned. “Said it was doctor’s orders.”
“A cracked head?” a third man asked, startled. “Broken bones? How’d that happen? And when? He was here yesterday afternoon, bustlin’ about and getting in the way, as he allus does. ’Tis a pity he’s been hurt.”
“A great pity,” Anderson agreed. He stepped away from the aeroplane and folded his arms. He