groups of sharpshooters, but with the exception of a few stray bullets which occasionally whistled past the small-arm fire was likely to do as little damage as the heavier guns. It was clear that, unless some unforeseen accident occurred, the airship would accomplish her purpose.

As they drew nearer a fresh burst of firing, this time from the bridge itself, showed that two guns had been dragged on to the railway track to command a better range of the approaching airship. But this attempt, like the rest, was in vain, for the shells flew harmlessly below the car, and, even had they been able to reach it, an ascent of fifty feet or so more would have placed the dirigible but of danger again. Only an anti-aircraft gun, firing at right angles to its base, could hit the terrible war machine above.

All this time Lawless was waiting for his opportunity—and at last it came. Springing forward, he seized one of the hand grenades and flung it with all his strength at the gas-bag above his head, hoping that it would explode and ignite the gas. Unfortunately, it struck a girder below the balloon, but in doing so ignited some of the cordage, which, being creosoted, began to burn furiously.

The commander, realising the danger—for the cordage passed over the gas envelope and must soon ignite it—gave some orders, and while several of the crew climbed up in order to try and put out the burning ropes others rushed upon Lawless.

The latter, however, had managed to seize another grenade, and, holding it high above his head, threatened to hurl it amongst them if they advanced another step. While they stood hesitating, and the commander himself seemed uncertain what to do, there came a wild cry from the men who had climbed into the airship's rigging.

Looking up, the Lieutenant saw that, in spite of all efforts, the ropes were still burning. In a few seconds the fire must spread to the balloon, and that meant annihilation.

The commander sprang to a lever, pulled it, and next moment the dirigible began to descend. He had opened the gas valve in the wild hope that the airship might sink to the water safely before the threatened explosion took place. It was their one chance of escape from a terrible death.

Slowly, very slowly, the monster dirigible descended. Everybody had forgotten Lawless in the horror of the threatened calamity, and all eyes were turned towards the smouldering cords, which occasionally burst into flame in the upward rush of wind caused by the airship's descent.

Would they reach the water before the explosion took place? That was the question each man asked himself.

Cork life-belts were hurriedly served out to the crew, who stood by the rails of the car ready to spring out as soon as the distance rendered it moderately safe. Yet all the time the little wisps of flame rose faster and faster, sometimes disappearing, only to be fanned into life again by the draught of air. Masses of charred and smouldering rope fell on the deck from time to time and were promptly flung overboard.

Nearer and nearer to the water sank the airship, and nearer and nearer to the gas holder reached the flames. Now they were not more than a hundred feet above the water; a few more moments would decide their fate. It was a race between the sinking dirigible and the flames, the odds in favour of the flames.

The firing had ceased for some minutes, for all who saw the airship knew that she was going to her own destruction. Boats approached in readiness to rescue the survivors should there be any, but stood off again when it was seen that a tremendous explosion was imminent.

For some seconds Lawless had been watching a small piece of burning cordage nearer to the gas envelope than the rest, and which, apparently, had not been noticed by the crew. Suddenly it flamed up, and he saw it ignite the fabric of the balloon. With a cry of warning he sprang overboard, but even as he did so there was a blinding flash of light, a terrific explosion, and then—darkness.

When Lawless again opened his eyes it was to find himself on a little bed in what appeared to be a hospital ward. His head, he discovered, was bandaged, and when he attempted to raise himself such an agonising pain shot through his left leg that he fell back gasping.

When he looked up again a nurse was bending over him with a cup in her hand.

"Where am I?" he asked in a dazed voice.

"In hospital," replied the nurse gently. "Drink this," she added, holding the cup to his lips.

The Lieutenant obeyed, though he was all anxiety to hear what had been the ultimate fate of the Zeppelin. When the nurse had withdrawn the cup from his lips he begged her to tell him what had happened.

"The papers say it exploded about fifty feet above the water and that everyone on board except yourself was killed," she answered.

He was left to himself for a little while after that, and then the surgeon came to dress his injuries, which consisted of a broken leg and some burns due to the explosion. Shortly afterwards he received a visit from his commanding officer. The latter was in great fettle at the honour and glory which the heroic action of Lawless had earned for the Montrose corps. If he remembered the interview of the previous day, when he had pooh-poohed the Lieutenant's arguments, he made no reference to it. He was not a man to bear malice.

After he had heard the story of the extraordinary battle in mid-air he rose to go.

"By the way," he said, "you'll be pleased to hear that you have been recommended for the V.C. And, by Jove, I'll say this, you've earned it!"

But it was reserved for Mike Cassidy to bring to the invalid a newspaper containing the official notice that the Victoria Cross had actually been conferred upon Flight-Lieutenant Lawless.

"'Tis meself that's afther wishing ye miny happy returns av the day, sorr," he said.

CHAPTER II

THE DERELICT

The destruction of the Zeppelin, apart from the dramatic circumstances attendant upon it, naturally created a great sensation, particularly in Scotland, it being the first enemy airship ever brought down north of the Tweed. Lawless was, of course, the hero of the moment, and the illustrated papers overflowed with photographs of him taken before and after the great air duel: in hospital, convalescent, eating, drinking, sleeping, in uniform and out of uniform. Hitherto forgotten episodes in his naval career were raked up and presented to an eagerly absorbent public, which refused to read, discuss or hear about anything but Flight-Lieutenant Lawless and his combat with the Zeppelin. He was the most talked of man in the world for nearly a week.

"It's simply been beastly sickening," remarked Lawless. "I'm fed up."

His old ship, the Knat, had put into Leith, and Sub-Lieutenant Trent had seized the opportunity to visit his old commander in the hospital.

"You see," went on the latter almost apologetically, "I was practically defenceless against all those newspaper chaps with their note-books and cameras; I was surrounded and outnumbered. It's true I flung a pot of beef tea at one interviewer's head and made good practice with some medicine bottles among the photographers, but, though the enemy suffered several casualties, reinforcements were continually arriving."

Trent nodded sympathetically.

"'Tisn't as if they were good photographs either," he remarked. "They are absolutely like you."

Lawless shot a suspicious glance at his one-time subordinate.

"One chap," he said thoughtfully, "snapped me before I'd shaved. I'm going to drop a bomb on his office as soon as I get back to work."

As it turned out, honour and glory were not the only results the Lieutenant achieved by bringing down the Zeppelin; he unwittingly incurred a tremendous responsibility. News of this was broken to him by his uncle, a retired major, with whom he spent the last few days of his