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 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 Croesus, 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 grating.

"Cassidy, you look in the cabins on the port side and I'll take those on the starboard," said the Lieutenant.

They separated, and Lawless proceeded along the starboard alleyway, glancing into each cabin to make sure that it was unoccupied. Everywhere there were signs of hurry and disorder, showing that the passengers had only had sufficient time to collect a few necessary articles before taking to the boats. All the starboard cabins proved to be empty, and, having reached the end of the alleyway, the Lieutenant crossed to the other side, where he expected to meet Cassidy. The latter was nowhere to be seen, however, and it was not till Lawless had made his presence known by a shout that he heard the mechanic's voice.

"Mr. Lawless, sorr, come quick! I've——"

The rest was drowned in a deafening crash, and the Lieutenant stepped back only just in time to escape being buried beneath tons of burning wreckage which had suddenly descended into the alleyway, followed by one of the huge iron girders that supported the deck above. He was thus cut off by a wall of blazing dÉbris unless the starboard alleyway, through which he had just passed, was still open. Realising that there was not a moment to be lost, he dashed back, only to find his way barred by a portion of the engine-room bulkhead which had collapsed right across the passage.

Rushing back to the port alleyway, he was again stopped by the flaming barrier which lay across it. At first sight it seemed utterly impossible to get past it, but after a moment Lawless noticed a small, tunnel-like cavity beneath the wreckage where it was held up by the fallen girder, one end of which rested on the framework of the deck above. If he could only crawl through that and right underneath the smouldering furnace he might succeed in reaching the other side. So, dropping on all fours, he started to crawl into the opening, well aware that at any moment the girder might wholly collapse and crush him beneath its weight. If that happened he would be either mercifully killed outright or else pinned down and slowly roasted to death.

Almost suffocated by the smoke, he succeeded in forcing his way through and at last emerged safely on the other side. For a moment or two he was blinded by the smoke and could see nothing, but as he staggered to his feet a hand clutched his arm.

"Be the powers, 'tis yerself, sorr, the saints be praised!" cried the voice of Cassidy. "Are ye hurt, now?"

"No, no; but have you found anyone?"

"Shure I have that. There's a poor divil pinned down in his bunk yonder, and, though I've thried wid all me moight, I can't raise him."

"Then I'll lend you a hand, Mike. There's no time to lose, for this packet's settling fast," replied Lawless.

Cassidy led the way into one of the cabins, where a man lay in the lower berth, held down by the upper one, which had collapsed and fallen upon him. He was unconscious, evidently having been stunned by the falling mass. Between them they managed to remove enough of the wreckage to admit of his being dragged out of the berth. As they carried him from the cabin there came a thunderous crash, and Lawless saw the end of the great girder under which he had crawled give way and bring down with it the burning mass it had supported. Now, both fore and aft, they were imprisoned by a wall of flaming wreckage that made escape seem hopeless.

"'Tis the end av us, sorr," groaned Cassidy.

They laid their unconscious burden down in the alleyway, and while the mechanic set up a lugubrious wail Lawless started to rip up the matting with which the alleyway was covered.

"Here we are!" he exclaimed.

He pointed triumphantly to a circular iron plate let into the deck, and Cassidy, looking down after Lawless had removed this, beheld a dark cavity which emitted an odour of stagnant water.

"We can drop into the hold through there," said the Lieutenant, "and possibly we may reach the for'a'd deck. At any rate, it's our only chance. I'll go down first, and when you hear me shout lower that fellow down to me."

He gripped the end of the manhole, lowered himself through it, and then let go. There was a splash followed by a shout.

"Are ye all roight, sorr?" called Cassidy anxiously.

"Aye, aye, lower away," came the reply from the apparently bottomless depths.

Cassidy thereupon lowered the unconscious man through the hole, and held on till he felt the weight removed from his arms. Then he squeezed through the aperture, and, letting go, found himself nearly waist-deep in water and in almost utter darkness.

"The divil!" he exclaimed.

"Now you carry this man, and I'll lead the way," said Lawless, and Cassidy, catching hold of the limp body, slung it across his shoulder like a sack.

The Lieutenant slowly felt his way through the darkness towards the bows of the ship, guided only by the downward slope, for he could not see an inch in front of him. As they advanced the water became deeper, and he began to fear that it would cut off their retreat as effectively as had the fire.

"Damn!" he ejaculated abruptly. "It's all right," he added to Cassidy, who was close behind. "I bumped against an iron ladder. There must be a hatchway of some sort at the top; so you'd better wait here till I find it."

He ascended the ladder till he could go no farther, and then, after some trouble, managed to force open a small hatch. Climbing through, he found himself on the for'a'd well-deck and drew a deep breath of pure air which came as a life-giving tonic after the foul atmosphere from which he had emerged.

"Wait a moment," he shouted back. "I'll lower a rope for you to fasten round that chap's body. We can get him up quicker that way."

There was plenty of loose tackle strewn about the deck, and, selecting a piece, he made a running noose at the end and then lowered it through the hatch.

"All ready," came Cassidy's voice a moment later. "If ye'll just hold on for a minute, sorr, I'll come up and help haul."

In a few seconds the Irishman's head appeared above the hatch, and, stepping on to the deck, he helped Lawless haul the man up.

"Now fetch the machine for'a'd, Mike, while I try and bring this chap to his senses," said the Lieutenant.

Cassidy promptly climbed on to the taffrail and made his way amidships to the spot where the seaplane had been made fast. Meanwhile Lawless did his best to revive the unconscious man by splashing sea-water over him and trying artificial respiration. In a few moments the passenger uttered a faint moan and opened his eyes.

"Feeling better?" asked the Lieutenant cheerily.

The other stared at him with lack-lustre eyes and made no answer.

"You must try and get on your pins," said Lawless encouragingly. "Come on, now, I'll help you."

The man seemed to make a feeble attempt to use his limbs, and with a great effort Lawless managed to prop him against the taffrail. By this time Cassidy had brought up the seaplane, and together they succeeded in transferring their charge to it and placing him in the rear seat. This done, they cast off from the derelict and the Lieutenant started the engines. As he did so he gave a backward glance at the ship.

"She's going!" he cried, and as the seaplane started to rise there came a roar from behind, and the Nimrod, parting amidships, disappeared beneath the waves in a dense cloud of smoke and steam.

"That is the narrowest squeak I've ever had," he murmured.

He glanced at the petrol gauges, and saw that the tanks were nearly empty. There might be enough left to carry them another ten miles, but certainly not more. And, sure enough, in a few minutes the engines began to slow down, and there was nothing for it but to volplane to the surface. Their sole chance of rescue now lay in being picked up by some passing steamer, for, though the wireless apparatus could receive messages, there was no power to transmit them.

"Keep a bright look-out, Mike," said Lawless. "The 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."