An irresistible impulse prompted Derek to make a landing. It was something more than morbid curiosity or sentiment that made him do so. Why he knew not, but land he did, pancaking faultlessly in an untitled field covered with long, rank grass.

Scanning the immediate vicinity, and finding nothing of a suspicious character, Derek descended from his \'bus, and, automatic-pistol ready for instant action, made his way towards the nearest pyre.

Fifteen yards away was a battered corpse, lying in a hole three feet deep made by the terrific impact. By the colour of the flying-coat, in spite of its being badly burnt, Dick knew that it was not his chum\'s body. A short distance away, and almost hidden in the grass, were two more bodies, those of the Hun pilot and one of the machine-gunners.

While Derek was contemplating the wreckage, he saw someone approaching—a figure literally crawling on hands and knees.

It was Kaye. In spite of the blistered face, burned and battered coat—which was still smouldering—Derek recognized him. At full speed he ran towards him, thankful to find his comrade alive, and still more so to find that Kaye could both see and speak.

There was no time for questions. The sharp whine of a bullet, quickly followed by others, gave stern warning that a Hun patrol had arrived upon the scene. Derek could discern several field-grey figures advancing rapidly across the untilled fields, the nearmost being only eight hundred yards away. Grasping Kaye\'s arm, Derek ran. It was a case of discretion being the better part of valour. With bullets whizzing past their heads, the two pilots succeeded in reaching EG 19, through the planes of which the German missiles were cutting furrows in the doped canvas.

Assisting Kaye to mount the fuselage, and telling him to throw himself at full length in the wake of the pilot\'s seat, Derek swung the prop. The motor fired, faltered, and stopped. Advancing the spark at the risk of a back-fire, he made a second attempt—this time successfully.

Daventry rose across the wind. It was a precarious business, but, with a dozen Boches running with the wind, and only a short distance away, there was very little choice in the matter. Pursued by a fusillade of innocuous shots, the monoplane climbed rapidly and steeply to a height of two thousand feet.

A thump in the ribs made Derek turn his head. Kaye was hanging on with one hand and pointing to the only serviceable machine-gun with the other. Daventry understood: his companion was mutely proposing that they should return and give the Hun patrol a little lesson upon the folly of attempting to fire upon a serviceable British machine.

"Work it, then!" bawled Derek, and, putting the \'bus into a steep vol-plane, he made for the spot where the Huns, winded by their long run over heavy ground, were gathered in a tempting group in the open.

Directly the Boches saw that the biplane was descending in their direction they scattered. The field was dotted with grey-clad figures making a bolt for cover that did not exist.

"We\'ve got \'em cold!" exclaimed Derek, as the machine, moving at will at a speed of over a hundred miles an hour, was directly above the heads of the terrified men, who at their best were not able to run at one-tenth the rate of the biplane. "Why the deuce isn\'t Kaye turning on the tap?"

He waited in vain to catch the rapid reports of the deadly weapon. The opportunity passed. EG 19 was beyond her quarry. To ensure opening fire, the biplane had to turn again to approach the panic-stricken Huns.

Derek glanced over his shoulder to find Kaye feverishly manipulating the mechanism of the gun. Like its fellow, the weapon had jammed at an awkward moment.

"\'Pose some sort of good luck attends even Huns at times," he soliloquized. "There\'s one blessing, I\'ve scared \'em stiff. Now for home."

He laughed to himself at the idea of calling the ramshackle collection of huts comprising the aerodrome as "home", then, putting the old \'bus up, he turned towards the British lines.

In spite of a load well above that for which it was constructed, the single-seater behaved magnificently. Derek took her up to nine thousand feet in order to cross the opposing lines at a fairly safe height, as far as danger from gun-fire from the ground was concerned.

Presently he caught sight of an object in the air at about a distance of two miles. It resembled an inverted bottle with a stumpy neck.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "if that\'s not a Hun with invisible wings I\'m a Dutchman. Wonder if it\'s old Von Peilfell\'s \'bus? There was a rumour that the old brigand was buzzing around in this sector. And our guns are jammed, too."
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