sooner we're picked up the better, for I sniff bad weather coming."

By now the fog had almost disappeared before a freshening sou'-westerly wind, and the sea, so smooth and oily a short while ago, was now whipped into choppy, foam-crested waves.

It was not long before the Lieutenant's prophecy of coming bad weather began to be fulfilled. Afternoon had now given place to evening, and a hazy moon, frequently obscured by black, threatening clouds, hung in the sky. Before darkness had quite set in they were in the midst of a gale which became more and more violent every minute.

Then commenced a wild struggle, a fight against the devastating seas. The frail machine was tossed from crest to crest of each on-coming wave or else buried in the trough of the sea, whose towering walls of livid green water on every side threatened to crush it to atoms. Yet its very flimsiness helped to keep it afloat, for, having no hull or other substantial surface, it offered little or no resistance to the force of the waves. As a cork will float on the most terrific sea when a boat would be dashed to pieces, so the light seaplane, held together by its steel wires and guys, successfully resisted the onslaught of the Atlantic billows.

But the plight of its occupants was terrible. Lashed to the yielding structure by cords, they were alternately flung violently upwards and then cast down to be swamped, choked and half-stunned by the falling mountains of water. As for the rescued man, who had also been lashed to the machine, it was impossible to tell whether he was dead or alive, and to Lawless, who expected every moment to be their last, it didn't seem to matter much either way.

So the night passed and dawn—cold, cheerless and desolate—began to break at last upon that wild waste of storm-tossed waters; a running sea of dull, greenish-grey with great ridges of seething foam rushing upon one another in serried ranks like the battalions of a devouring army. And amidst that roaring, pitiless flood there floated the battered wreck of the seaplane. Both Lawless and Cassidy, as well as their passenger, were unconscious, and, but for the fact that they were lashed to the machine, would have been swallowed up in the boiling seas long ago.

In this condition they were seen and picked up by the gunboat Panther, which had been sent out to search for the survivors of the Nimrod. All three were still unconscious when, after great difficulty owing to the heavy seas, they were conveyed on board the warship.

When Lawless at last opened his eyes he found himself lying in an unfamiliar cabin, and it was some minutes before he realised what must have happened. He was struggling to recall the terrible events preceding his lapse into unconsciousness, when the cabin door opened and a young man in the uniform of a naval surgeon entered.

"Well, how do you feel?" asked the latter, seeing that Lawless was looking about him.

"Don't quite know," answered the Lieutenant. "I'm still a bit foggy in my mind."

"I don't wonder at it, judging from what your mechanic has told me. He's a tough customer and no mistake; came to in less than an hour after you were all rescued."

"Then how long have I been unconscious?" asked the Lieutenant.

"Ever since you were picked up, and that's nearly four hours ago. We shall reach Plymouth about midday, I expect."

In due course the Panther arrived at Plymouth, and, just as Lawless was about to board the steam pinnace that was to take him ashore, the man he had rescued came up.

"This is the first opportunity I have had, sir, of thanking you," he said. "You have saved——"

"Oh, never mind about that," interrupted the Lieutenant. "Are you coming ashore?"

"Yes——" The man hesitated a minute, and went on a little awkwardly. "The fact is, I'm in rather a hole. All my money and papers went down in the Nimrod, and I haven't a cent to bless myself with. I hate to ask you such a thing, but if you could lend me a fiver I should be deeply grateful. Here is my card."

He handed Lawless a visiting card on which was inscribed "John H. Smythe, Seattle."

"I shall be staying at the Savoy," he added, "and if you'll give me your address I'll wire you the money. The American Ambassador is a friend of mine, and will lend me sufficient till I can cable my bank."

The Lieutenant hesitated for a moment, not because he had any reason to doubt the speaker, but because he was almost penniless himself at the moment. Still, he could not help feeling sorry for the man in this unfortunate predicament, and decided to borrow the money from the captain of the Panther.

"Might be in a mess like this myself some day," he reflected, as, telling Smythe to wait a moment, he hurried away to interview the skipper.

The latter promptly lent him five pounds, and, as Lawless was about to leave, called him back.

"By the way, what about that fellow you found on the Nimrod?" he said. "He has no papers and nothing whatever to prove his identity. I have orders to proceed at once to Portsmouth, or I'd hand him over to the authorities for them to make investigations."

"I was going to take him ashore myself," answered the Lieutenant.

"Oh, then, that's all right."

The two men shook hands, and Lawless returned to Smythe, who was waiting for him at the gangway.

"All serene," he said, thrusting five one pound notes into the man's hand. "Now we'd better get ashore."

They were landed at the Great Western jetty, and Smythe told Lawless he wanted to catch the first train to London. At Millbay Station they shook hands and said "Good-bye," after which the Lieutenant went on to Devonport to report himself.

On the following morning, when he was preparing to depart for Dundee, a telegram arrived ordering him to proceed to the Admiralty. He reached London in the afternoon, and duly presented himself at the particular room mentioned in his instructions. On entering he found a group of officers seated at a table in a manner unpleasantly reminiscent of a court-martial.

He was asked for and gave a brief account of his adventures after flying to the assistance of the Nimrod, and then one of the officers handed him a photograph.

"Do you recognise this person?" he asked.

"Why, yes," replied the Lieutenant. "It's the man named Smythe, whom I found unconscious in his bunk."

The officers exchanged significant glances, and the one who had produced the photograph turned once more to the Lieutenant.

"We understand from the Captain of the Panther that the man went ashore with you at Plymouth," he said.

"Yes, and I lent him a fiver to get to London with. Here's his card," and Lawless produced the visiting card which the rescued passenger had given him.

"You have not heard from him since?" asked the officer, after glancing at the card.

"No, sir," answered the Lieutenant innocently. "It's quite possible he hasn't been able to see the Ambassador yet."

"Quite," said the other drily. "This man who gave his name as Smythe is really Reichster, the notorious German-American spy for whose capture a reward of £500 has been offered."

There was a long pause. At last Lawless pulled himself together and realised that life still had to be lived.

"I think, sir, if it could be managed, I should like to transfer back to the Sea Service," he said. "The Flying Corps is a bit too risky for me."

CHAPTER III

THE DECOY

Whether it was due to the fact that, in addition to having smashed up two monoplanes, Lawless had lost the new seaplane which he had been ordered to test, was never made clear to him, but certain it is that, soon after the latter incident, his request to be transferred back to the Sea Service was granted. That was why, in accordance with his instructions, he found himself at Devonport awaiting orders. In due course these arrived,