convalescence. Animated by a delicacy which his nephew fully understood and appreciated, the major for a time refrained from discussing the Zeppelin affair. But on the day before Lawless was due to report himself at headquarters he somewhat diffidently broached the subject.

"By the way," he said, as though it were a matter which had hitherto escaped his memory, "I wanted to speak about that last little adventure of yours."

"Yes?" remarked the Lieutenant unencouragingly.

"It's likely to cost me a thousand pounds."

"Eh!" ejaculated Lawless, sitting up.

"It's my own fault," continued the major gloomily, "but I was, so to speak, rushed into it. You see, the day after you'd brought down that 'Zep.' I strolled into the club smoking-room and found everyone talking of your exploit. I kept out of it as long as I could, naturally, but when Sir John Carver started in to declare that it was nothing more than an accident, a mere stroke of luck, I got angry. Sir John, though he's as rich as Crœsus, knows no more about aviation than I do about soap-boiling, which, I believe, was his profession at one time. So I took up the challenge, and for a time we argued the matter up and down.

"He couldn't refute my professional knowledge, of course; so at last, finding he was getting the worst of it, he stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat in that detestable manner of his and said, 'I'll bet you a thousand pounds that your nephew doesn't bring down another Zeppelin within a year.' On the impulse of the moment I, like a fool, said 'Done!' and the bet was clinched there and then."

The major stopped, and there was a long and constrained pause.

"Well, uncle," said Lawless presently, "you certainly were a mug."

"It was all due," answered the major, "to arguing with a man who is not a gentleman."

They both relapsed into silence again. The major was not exactly a poor man, but a thousand pounds, especially in wartime, is—well, a thousand pounds, and the old gentleman, as Lawless was well aware, could not afford to lose such a sum.

"So," remarked the Lieutenant after a while, "it's up to me to see that you don't lose that thou., uncle?"

"I don't say that, my boy, but if you could—er—manage to bring down a Zeppelin within the year it would be—er—a great convenience to me."

Lawless, in spite of the serious responsibility which had been thrust upon him, laughed.

"I hope this'll be a warning to you against an over-indulgence in family pride," he said.

"It was all my own fault, of course," answered the major sadly. "But remember," he added, brightening up, "the thousand pounds is yours if you get that airship. I wouldn't touch a penny of Sir John's money."

"I'm not so fastidious, uncle. So, if I do bring down a 'Zep'—which isn't at all likely, I'm afraid—I'll have much pleasure in taking charge of the cash."

In due course Lawless reported himself at headquarters, confident that now he would at once be sent to the Front. In this, however, he was again doomed to disappointment; for, much to his chagrin, he was sent with his mechanic to test a new type of seaplane off the Irish coast.

"I've a good mind to chuck the Service altogether," he growled at the thought of that thousand pounds becoming more visionary than ever. Certainly there was not much chance of encountering a Zeppelin off the coast of Munster, which was where the tests were to take place.

It was a warm, misty dawn and the moisture-laden atmosphere was like that of a damp hothouse when Lawless arrived to start the trials. These occupied the whole morning, and at noon the Lieutenant decided on a "stand-easy" so that Cassidy might partake of the lunch he had brought with him. The Lieutenant had intended to share the repast, but that last volplane had been too much for him, and he had succumbed to his new enemy—air-sickness.

While Cassidy, whose stomach was as strong as a ship's boiler, consumed his lunch Lawless pondered over his very problematical chance of ever bringing down another Zeppelin. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the flickering of the needle attached to the wireless apparatus. Bending over the instrument, he realised that it was recording an urgent message for help for some vessel in distress.

"S—S—S—S. Steamer Nimrod attacked by submarine," he read. Then followed the latitude and longitude of the ship's position, ending up with emergency call "S—S—S."

"Great Scot!" ejaculated the Lieutenant.

"Did ye speak, sorr?" asked Cassidy, with his mouth full of bread and cheese.

"Finish your grub, Mike; we've got a long flight in front of us," answered Lawless.

He had made up his mind to go to the assistance of the distressed vessel. At a rough calculation she was about fifty or sixty miles away in a south-westerly direction, and, as the seaplane had a speed of a hundred miles an hour under favourable conditions, the Lieutenant hoped to reach her in a little over half an hour. A glance at the petrol gauges showed that the supply was running low and that there was only enough left to carry the machine seventy or eighty miles, which would mean about twenty miles short of the return journey. But Lawless, with his usual disregard for consequences, decided to deal with that problem when it arose, nor did he stop to ask himself what practical assistance he could render the Nimrod when he arrived.

Shouting some instructions to Cassidy, he started the engines. The great propeller began to revolve, and the seaplane, after skimming along the surface of the water for fifty yards or so, rose gracefully in the air. The conditions, apart from the haze, were excellent for flying, and, after a flight of twenty-five minutes, Lawless made out what looked like a cloud of black smoke rising vertically above the mist. A few moments afterwards he could see the hull of a large steamer with a heavy list to starboard and so low down at the bows that her propellers were raised above the water. The Lieutenant at once volplaned to the surface, hoping that he might catch sight of some of the ship's boats, which, no doubt, had been launched as soon as the vessel was struck by the torpedo. But the low-lying mist, much thicker here than near the coast, prevented his seeing anything outside a very narrow radius.

The derelict was on fire aft, and, judging by the boatless derricks and loosely hanging falls, all the boats had got safely away. But, in spite of the deserted appearance of the ship, Lawless determined to board her and make a hasty search in case some sick or helpless person had been overlooked at the last moment—such things had occurred before to his knowledge. A few turns of the seaplane's propeller brought her alongside, and, catching hold of one of the falls, he hauled himself on to the port taffrail.

"Mike," he shouted back to his mechanic, "stand by till I return. This packet isn't going to keep afloat much longer."

"And what'll yer honour be doing aboard that floatin' coffin, begging yer pardon, sorr?" asked Cassidy.

"I'm going to make sure that nobody's left aboard."

"Then if yer going into that smouldering hell, it's meself that's coming wid ye, sorr," said the Irishman, in defiance of all the rules of discipline.

"All right, come on then," answered Lawless, thinking the man might possibly be of some assistance.

The mechanic made the seaplane fast to one of the falls and then joined the Lieutenant. Owing to the angle at which the vessel had canted over, it was difficult to maintain an upright position on the deck, and so they slid, rather than walked, towards the main staircase. Descending this, they reached a vestibule, giving access to a magnificent saloon and also to a couple of long, narrow alleyways upon which the cabins opened. These alleyways, extending aft from amidships, were separated by the engine-room bulkheads, so that between them there was a large shaft which served to ventilate the engine-room by means of the top