Count Karl von Sinzig was in a particularly bad temper. He had just learned, by picking up various wireless messages, that "the cat was out of the bag." In other words, the discovery of the lost observation basket had landed him in a very awkward predicament.

He blamed everyone and everybody save himself. The luckless Unter-Leutnant, Hans Leutter, came in for a very bad time because he hadn't got rid of the second bomb. The petty officer, who had conscientiously seen that the bottle-screws securing the basket were properly made fast, was bullied and browbeaten because the basket was torn away. The rest of the crew, the makers of the airship, and every person having anything to do with the aerial contest also came in for abuse.

The count was also puzzled at not being able to intercept any messages from the "Golden Hind" after the one announcing her approach to Panama. Z64 had reported at Colon, when, according to the latest information, the British airship was hard on the heels of her German rival.

And now, almost the final straw, came the general wireless message declaring that Z64 was proscribed and liable to be detained should she touch at any place belonging to either of the entente nations.

Fosterdyke had accurately gauged his rival's intentions. The knowledge that his guilty secret was out compelled von Sinzig to change his plans and make for Teneriffe, whence, having replenished fuel, he ought to be easily able to complete the last stage of the round the world voyage.

When about 300 miles to the westward of the Canaries, but farther to the north than von Sinzig hoped to be, owing to a strong side-drift, Z64 encountered a violent storm. In order to try to avoid the worst of the terrific wind and rain, the airship began to ascend, hoping to find better conditions in the rarefied atmosphere.

Z64 was ascending obliquely under the action of her huge horizontal rudders and was passing through a dense cloud when a vivid flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a deafening crash of thunder, appeared to penetrate the airship through and through.

Almost every man on board shouted with terror. They were fully convinced that the hydrogen had ignited. There was a frantic rush for the life-saving parachutes, until Unter-Leutnant Hans Leutter reassured the panic-stricken crew with the information that the gas-bag had not taken fire.

Meanwhile the airship, left to its own devices, since the helmsman had abandoned the wheel, had turned eight degrees to port and was travelling at a rate of 120 miles an hour on a course N. by W.

Von Sinzig, who "had the wind up" as badly as anybody, was nowhere to be found for some time. Leutter even came to the conclusion that his superior officer had leapt overboard when the alarm of fire had been raised; but after a lapse of twenty-five minutes the count re-appeared, looking very grey and haggard.

"I think I must have been stunned, Herr Leutter," he said in explanation.

His subordinate accepted the excuse without smiling incredulously. He had seen his chief bolting for his very life. He certainly did not look like being stunned.

"Take charge for a while," continued von Sinzig. "I am not feeling well. I must go to my cabin and lie down."

He staggered aft along the narrow catwalk, while the Unter-Leutnant gave orders for the airship to be brought back on her original course.

It was easier said than done. The gigantic gas-bag was see-sawing erratically. She had difficulty in answering to her helm, and in spite of the fact that the horizontal rudders were trimmed for ascending, the airship was decreasing her altitude.

Then reports began to come in from the still "jumpy" crew. The engineer reported that the after propeller was damaged; another man announced that there was a large gash in the aluminium envelope, and that several of the after ballonets were leaking rapidly.

Further examination revealed the grave fact that one of the propeller blades had fractured, and the flying piece of metal had penetrated the gas-bag at about eighty feet from the after-end. So great had been the velocity of the broken blade that it had practically wrecked every gas compartment in the stern of the envelope.

Unter-Leutnant Leutter sent a man to inform von Sinzig. He had to do that, although he would have preferred to act upon his own initiative. He was decidedly "fed up" with his arrogant and craven skipper.

The count arrived quickly. He led off by abusing Leutter in front of several of the crew for having disturbed him; then, on being told of what had occurred, he changed completely round and complimented his subordinate on his sagacity.

"Z64's done, Herr kapitan," declared Hans Leutter. "She's sinking rapidly. Half an hour, perhaps, will find her falling into the sea. We must take steps to safeguard ourselves."

"Quite true," agreed the count. "Although there will be enough buoyancy in the envelope to keep it afloat for hours--days even. What do you propose to do?"

"Throw overboard everything of a weighty nature, Herr kapitan," replied the Unter-Leutnant. "We can empty the petrol tanks, since we have no further use for the motors. Meanwhile we must send out a general wireless call for assistance to all ships within a hundred or two hundred kilometres of us."

Count Karl von Sinzig thought this quite an excellent idea. At least, he said so. At the back of his mind he had a hazy notion that even now there was a chance of winning the Chauvasse Prize. There was nothing in the conditions forbidding a competitor----

His ruminations were interrupted by the appearance of the wireless operator, who reported that both the transmitter and the receiver were out of action, and that the wireless cabin bore signs of having been struck by lightning.

"Can't you effect repairs?" demanded von Sinzig.

"I am sorry I cannot, Herr kapitan," replied the operator.

"A useful wireless man you are!" commented the count, caustically.

The man saluted and backed away from his chief, congratulating himself that he had come off so lightly. But von Sinzig was rather pleased than otherwise that the wireless was out of action. It furnished him with a good excuse to put a certain little plan into execution.

"Are there any vessels in sight?" he asked.

A look-out man had been scanning the wide expanse of sea for the last ten minutes.

"Nothing in sight, Herr kapitan," he announced.

By this time Z64 was well beyond the storm-area. The sea, now a bare 3000 feet below, was no longer white with angry crested waves, but by the aid of binoculars it could be seen that there was a long swell running.

"Then there's nothing to be done unless we make use of the Albatross," declared von Sinzig. "I will go and look for a ship."

Hans Leutter and those of the crew who heard the count's resolve received the proposal in stony silence. They all recognised that their kapitan was violating the traditions of the sea and the air by being the first to abandon his command. Of the crew at least four were capable of flying the small but powerful monoplane, so there was no excuse on that score of von Sinzig being the only man able to take the Albatross up.

In obedience to a peremptory order the crew hurriedly prepared the monoplane for her flight. The Albatross, nominally used for starting from and alighting on the ground, was adapted for marine work by having three small floats, the lower portions of which were just above the wheel base line, so that the monoplane could be used either as an ordinary machine or as a seaplane.

In the present circumstances von Sinzig elected to start from the air. The Albatross, suspended by a quick release gear from the underside of the 'midship gondola, was ready before the airship had dropped to a thousand feet.

"You will be quite safe," reiterated the count. "I'll send the first vessel I meet to your assistance. It may be a matter of a few hours. All ready? Let go."

The monoplane's motor was already running slowly. Directly von Sinzig felt the Albatross had parted company with her gigantic parent he opened "all out." At a hundred and thirty miles an hour he was soon lost to sight.

"He's going east by north, I notice," soliloquised Hans Leutter. "I will be greatly surprised if he returns to Z64."

And the count was of the same opinion. He hadn't the faintest intention of flying back to the airship. Nor was he particularly keen on reporting Z64's predicament to any vessel he sighted.

He was out to win the Chauvasse Prize. The sum went to the man who succeeded in flying round the world in twenty days. There was no stipulation to the effect that only one airship, flying-boat, aeroplane, or seaplane must be used throughout the flight. Therefore, since the goal was within a comparatively easy distance, he hoped to complete the circuit in the Albatross, and thus win the coveted prize.