Lunch was almost over when Derek entered the crowded mess in which the quirks of Averleigh did justice to the plain but substantial food provided by a paternal administration for the benefit of the airmen of to-morrow. The air was buzzing with animated conversation, mostly upon subjects entirely unconnected with the serious art of aviation.

Concealing his anxiety to hear how his chum fared, Derek took a recently-vacated chair at Kaye\'s side. The latter nodded appreciatively as he passed Daventry a bowl containing a concoction which must never be referred to as margarine, but always as "nut butter".

"Lorry\'s going into Rockport," announced Kaye. "It leaves here at six. Coming?"

"What\'s the scheme?" asked Derek. "Nothing much to do in Rockport, is there?"

"It will be a change," replied his chum. "And we can walk back."

"Eight miles," objected Daventry, shrugging his shoulders. "Bit steep, eh? Very well then, I\'m on it."

The meal finished, the cadets adjourned for ten minutes\' "stand easy" before the afternoon parade, a purely perfunctory ceremonial which takes place at 1.30.

"Well, how went it with you?" asked Kaye, as the two made their way to the fives court.

"Not so dusty," replied Derek modestly. "And you?"

Kaye grinned.

"Smashed a couple of landing-wheels," he replied. "It was hard luck, but no one seemed to mind very much. It was topping up there, though. I\'m all out for another joy-ride to-morrow. Rough luck on Dixon."

"What was that?" asked Daventry.

"Didn\'t you hear? You know him, don\'t you?"

"The little merchant with a mole on the point of his chin? I was yarning with him last night."

"That\'s the fellow," agreed Kaye. "\'Fraid he\'s crashed for good. Didn\'t clear the pine-trees, and ripped off the left-hand plane. Came down like a stone, of course, and they\'ve taken him to hospital with a compound fracture of the thigh. Old Biggs is rather cut up about it, because Dixon had a good reputation as a centre-forward. Just the fellow we wanted for the First Eleven."

Biggs—Old Biggs as he was generally called—was the captain of the first footer-team, hence that worthy\'s regret at losing what promised to be a pillar of strength to the sports club. Biggs was an ex-ranker, who, as a flight-sergeant in the old R.F.C., had performed wondrous and daring feats over the Boche lines. It was reported that he climbed out to the tip of one of the planes of a machine when, owing to extensive damage by gun-fire, it was in danger of losing its stability. And this at 9000 feet, with three Taubes devoting their attention to the disabled British \'bus. And yet, before being granted a commission, Old Briggs had to pass through the cadet training-school like any ordinary quirk.

The afternoon passed only too quickly, the lecture being both instructive and entertaining, and when tea was over the cadets were at liberty to spend the rest of the evening in whatever manner they wished.

It was one of the standing orders at Averleigh that three times a week a large motor-lorry was detailed to take cadets into Rockport, a privilege eagerly seized upon by the quirks.

Punctually at six the huge, khaki-painted vehicle emerged from the garage, and the cadets, after passing inspection, boarded the lorry in a seething mob, swarming over the fastened-up tail-board with the utmost agility, until the lorry was packed with forty odd youngsters.

Away rattled the heavily-laden wagon, followed by a couple of motor-bikes with side-cars, each of which bore three cadets in the side-car and one on the carrier, while a straggling mob of quirks on push-bikes brought up the rear.

Directly the precincts of the aerodrome were left behind, the driver of the lorry was bombarded with frantic appeals to "whack her up". This request was complied with, with alacrity, and, the road being narrow, progress resolved itself into a series of vain attempts on the part of the motor-cycles to pass their lumbering, swaying, big comrade.

It was a distance of eleven miles to Rockport by road, and three miles less by a footpath along the cliffs that eventually cut across some marshes on the south side of Averleigh aerodrome.

Rockport, a small seaport of about nine thousand inhabitants, offered very little attraction to ordinary visitors, but it was one of the chief places of interest to the cadets of the T.D.S. They certainly livened the old town up, and their presence was more appreciated than otherwise by the bulk of the residents.

Upon arriving at Rockport the lorry quickly disgorged its load of khaki-clad, white-banded cadets, most of whom had some definite object in view. Derek and Kaye, however, being strangers to the place, were somewhat at a loose end.

"Where are you fellows going?" exclaimed a voice. Turning, the chums found Biggs overtaking them.

"Nowhere much," replied Derek. "We\'re going to walk back."

"That\'s good," ejaculated the captain of the team. "I\'ll come with you, if I may. Nothing like padding the hoof to keep a fellow fit. You play footer, of course."

"Not since I left school," replied Daventry.

"Where was that?" asked Biggs. "What\'s that? Full-back an\' got your colours? Why, you\'re just the man I want! You\'ll jolly well have to train, and look mighty smart about it, young fellow."

"I\'ll think it over," said Derek guardedly.

"What\'s the objection?" asked the skipper pointedly.

"Since you ask me, it\'s like this," replied Daventry. "If a fellow\'s a good player he\'s often kept back solely on that account. I know a man in the army who\'s been knocking about in England ever since 1914, simply because he\'s a professional full-back. Footer\'s all very well, but I\'m not here for that."

"Don\'t worry on that score, old bird," replied Biggs. "I\'m keen on getting back to France myself, and I\'ll take jolly good care that I do as soon as I possibly can. So you can play with a good grace while you\'re here."

"In that case, count on me," decided Derek.

Still discussing footer, the three cadets made their way along the promenade until they reached the commencement of the cliff path. It was now about an hour before sunset. The air was calm, and, for the time of year, remarkably mild. Hardly a ripple disturbed the surface of the sea, although against the base of the cliffs the surf roared sullenly. Out of the little harbour the fishing-fleet was putting to sea, their dark-brown sails hanging limply from the yards. Almost sky-down were three or four tramp steamers leisurely plugging their way towards London river. Outwardly there were no indications that the nation was at war. Ships came and went, in spite of the vaunted submarine blockade. Many went and returned no more, but still the mercantile marine "carried on", hardly perturbed by losses through mines and German pirates.

"Do you know the road?" asked Biggs. "I don\'t."

"We looked up a map this afternoon," replied Kaye. "It seems simple enough. We strike inland at about a couple of miles from the outskirts of the town. Not much of a path, is it?"

"Shouldn\'t like to tackle it after dark," rejoined Derek. "I guess those coast-patrol fellows have a rotten time, especially in winter."

"A regular causeway," remarked Biggs, regarding the cliffs on either hand, for the path itself ran along the top of a "hog\'s back" formation. On the seaward side the cliffs were bold and precipitous. On the landward side they were lower, and showed signs of crumbling. Obviously, years ago, the existing marshes formed part of a large harbour, from which the sea had long since retired.

"By Jove! I don\'t like the look of this," exclaimed Biggs, coming to an abrupt halt. He indicated a chasm that completely cut through the ridge. Evidently it was of fairly-recent origin, for the rock showed bare and clean. Across the rift was a plank, about nine inches in width, forming the only means of communication with the opposite side.

"Hanged if I like the look of this stunt," observed Biggs, regarding the ten-feet gap with obvious misgivings.

"Plank\'s safe enough," rejoined Derek, and, putting his statement to the test, he crossed the narrow bridge without mishap. Kaye followed, and the two chums turned and waited for their companion to rejoin them.

"Come on, old son," exclaimed Kaye. "Don\'t keep us waiting all the evening."

"Sorry," admitted Biggs frankly, "I can\'t face it. I\'ll be sure to topple overboard—honest fact."

"Rot!" ejaculated Daventry incredulously.

"\'Course it is," agreed the cadet. "Never could stick heights. Looking out of a window of a two-storied house makes me giddy."

Derek could see that Biggs was not trying to hoax him. The airman whose deeds in the air had already gained him no mean reputation, who could soar at a terrific height amidst a heavy fire from German antis, was unable to trust himself to cross that ten-feet gap.

"Jump it, then," suggested Kaye, and, setting the example, he leapt easily across the chasm. Even then Biggs, the airman-athlete, hung back.

"Can\'t make up my mind to try," he declared. "I feel an awful rotter, but I can\'t help it."

"Look here," suggested Derek. "I can see a path leading down the face of the cliff. Are you game to take it on? If so, we can climb up on both sides. It doesn\'t look very difficult."

Biggs still hesitated. Daventry, leaping across the gap, made his way to the place where the head of the natural steps began. There were signs that the path had been frequently used, possibly as a means of access to the sandy beach and caves at the foot of the cliffs.

Standing close to the edge of the cliffs (that headland attained a height of fifty or sixty feet), Derek surveyed the expanse of water beneath him. As he did so, he saw something that caused his heart to throb violently.

Drifting aimlessly with the tide, and at about a hundred yards from shore, was a waterlogged boat, with a crew of motionless and apparently inanimate seamen.

Attracted by Daventry\'s shout of horrified surprise, Kaye and Biggs came running up. They, too, stood stock still, filled with horror at the pitiable sight.

The boat was about eighteen feet in length, and of the whaler type usually carried on board tramp steamers. Only three or four inches of the stern and stern-posts showed above water, the gunwales amidships being flush with the surface, save when the waterlogged craft rolled sluggishly with the motion of the ground-swell. The topstrake was jagged and splintered, showing signs of having been riddled by gun-fire.

Lying inertly across the submerged thwart were four men, their heads rolling grotesquely from side to side with every motion of the boat. On the stern-sheets, and partly supported by their cork lifebelts, were two others, who appeared to be leaning against each other for mutual support. Whether they were alive or dead it was impossible for the three onlookers to determine.

"Come on!" shouted Biggs. "We\'ll have to get those fellows ashore or it will be too late."

Quite unmindful of his former lack of nerve, Biggs began to descend the cliff path—a performance highly hazardous compared with the crossing of the chasm. Quick to second him, Derek and Kaye followed his example, descending the slippery steps at a tremendous pace.

"You fellows hang on here," exclaimed Biggs. "If I want help I\'ll shout. You can do better on shore, I think. I\'m going to swim off to her."

Feverishly the cadet threw off his tunic, unlaced his breeches and unrolled his puttees in record time, and kicked off his boots. In less than a minute he was ready for the plunge, during which interval the waterlogged craft had drifted a dozen yards farther along the beach.

The water felt horribly cold as Biggs waded in; it caused him to gasp violently. Then, settling down to a powerful breast-stroke, the cadet struck out in the direction of the derelict.

At length he came within arm\'s length of the boat. Grasping the gunwale, he sought to clamber in, but the craft, having very slight buoyancy, dipped as his weight bore on the side. Obviously there was no chance of rowing the boat to the shore, even if there were oars on board.

"I\'ll have to tow her," decided the swimmer. "It\'s a tough proposition; and isn\'t the water beastly nippy?"

Groping for the painter, Biggs started to swim shorewards. The waterlogged boat responded ungraciously—in fact, so slowly that the swimmer was beginning to doubt his powers of endurance.

"Stick it!" shouted Kaye encouragingly. "You\'re moving her. Shall we come out and give a hand?"

Biggs shook his head. He could not trust himself to shout a reply. He wanted every ounce of breath to carry him through the ordeal.

Yet he was obviously tiring. The numbing cold and the prolonged immersion were beginning to tell.

"By Jove! he\'ll never do it," exclaimed Derek, who had already removed his boots and tunic. "We\'ll have to go in after him."

Hurriedly the two chums threw off their clothes, and plunged in to the assistance of their comrade. They were only just in time, for although Biggs had succeeded in towing the boat to within twenty-five yards of the shore, he was on the point of being vanquished by the cold water.

Comparatively fresh, Derek assisted Biggs to the shore, then, returning, swam to the stern of the whaler, while Kaye struck out with the painter. Under the combined action the boat was moved slightly faster, and presently, to the cadets\' intense satisfaction, her fore-foot grounded on the soft sand.

"Can\'t get her any higher," declared Derek breathlessly.

"Let\'s lift these fellows out."

This they did, only to find that four of the crew were dead. The remaining two were insensible, but showed signs that life was not yet extinct, although both were far gone through exposure.

Partly dressed, Biggs ascended the cliff path, and hastened back to Rockport for assistance, while Derek and Kaye, having tumbled into their clothes, proceeded to do their best to restore the two unconscious men to life.

"Look!" exclaimed Kaye, as they cut away a saturated jersey from the elder of the two men. "Dirty work here, by Jove!"

For in the bluish flesh of the sailor\'s shoulder were three small punctures—unmistakable indication of machine-gun fire. The other man had likewise been hit, a bullet having completely passed through his neck, and two more just above the knee.

Deftly the two cadets set about their task of restoring animation. Regardless of time, they worked in the rapidly-fading light, without any indication that their work was showing any signs of success.

In about an hour Biggs returned, accompanied by a doctor, a couple of policemen, a dozen sturdy fishermen, and a section of the Rockport ambulance workers. By the aid of ropes, the still unconscious men were hauled to the top of the cliffs and carried off on stretchers. With the help of plenty of strong and willing hands, the waterlogged whaler, with its ghastly contents, was dragged above high-water mark—a tell-tale record of the infamous activities of the modern Hun.

"There\'s nothing more for us to do," remarked Kaye, as the sad procession wended its way to the town.

"Isn\'t there?" rejoined Derek. "I think we\'ll sprint back to Rockport and catch the lorry."

"Sure," agreed the still benumbed Biggs. "That\'s the stunt."