Count Karl von Sinzig had not started upon his long solo flight in the Albatross without studiously calculating his chances. He knew the machine and its capabilities, and, given ordinary luck, he saw no reason why he should not make a landing on Spanish soil, replenish fuel, and carry on to his hangar in Estremadura before his hated rival arrived at Gibraltar. Even if there were delays in obtaining petrol, he still had a useful lead, thanks to his twelve hours' start in advance of the "Golden Hind." The two hundred extra miles he had to cover beyond Gibraltar was a mere bagatelle--a question of an hour and twenty minutes' flight.

He rather regretted that the accident to Z64 had not occurred nearer the African coast; but realising that he was lucky to be able to carry on, he ran the risk of a prolonged flight over the sea with comparative equanimity.

Within an hour of leaving the wrecked Zeppelin he sighted two vessels, but with callous indifference to his promise to his crew he made not the slightest attempt to communicate with either of them. He was "all out" to win the much-needed Chauvasse Prize. Even his indictment by the various Allied Governments hardly worried him. Time to consider what he should do in the matter when he was safe on Spanish soil, he decided.

The Albatross, one of the best types of German machines, was practically an automatic flier. Von Sinzig could keep her on her course by an occasional pressure with his feet upon the rudder-bar, thus leaving both hands free. He was able to eat and drink, to study maps and make observations without risk of the monoplane getting out of control, while if needs be he could leave the pilot's seat, knowing that the Albatross would hold on automatically for several minutes with only a slight deviation in direction and hardly any difference in altitude.

Although only ten degrees north of the Tropics, it was bitterly cold at ten thousand feet; but the count had taken due precautions to combat the low temperature. He was warmly clad in orthodox flying kit, including sheepskin boots, fleece-lined leather jacket and trousers, all electrically heated. He had four thermos flasks filled with hot coffee and a pocket flask of brandy. For provisions he carried concentrated food, beef lozenges, and Strasburg sausages.

Hour after hour passed. The Albatross was flying magnificently, her pilot holding on to a compass course, after making due allowances for the "drift" of the air current. He had based this allowance upon the direction of the wind when he left Z64; but unknown to him the light breeze had shifted eight points and was now blowing slightly ahead of his port beam. Then, having backed, it presently veered six points and blew with increasing force right against the Albatross; but von Sinzig was for the present in ignorance of the fact. Had he known that instead of a following breeze of about twenty miles an hour there was a head wind approaching the neighbourhood of thirty-five miles, he would not have been so chock-a-block with confidence.

When, at the end of the time limit he had set, he was not in sight of land he began to feel anxious. Half an hour later, as he was still without a glimpse of the coast, his misgivings increased, but ten minutes later he picked up land on his right. This was a puzzle. He had expected to make a landfall right ahead, and its appearance in an unexpected quarter mystified him. In point of fact he was in the neighbourhood of Cape Blanco, or nearly 250 miles south of Cape St. Vincent, where he hoped to pass over on his way to Estremadura.

A knowledge of the Moroccan coast obtained during a cruise in a German gunboat at the time of the Agadir crisis stood von Sinzig in good stead. He was able to recognise certain landmarks in spite of viewing them from a different aspect, and accordingly he turned the monoplane in a north-easterly direction, keeping parallel to the African coast, The new direction would take him a little to the eastward of Cadiz; rather nearer that port than Gibraltar. He had not the slightest inclination to fly over the latter fortress. Rather vaguely he wondered whether he would sight the "Golden Hind" making thither, since, sooner or later, unless a mishap occurred, the rival aviators must cut each other's routes.

He was now painfully aware of the change of wind. The direction of the smoke from several steamers, and the sight of a full-rigged ship running in a south-westerly direction told him that. Additionally, as he saw by the aid of his binoculars, that sailing ship was running under topsails only. That meant something more than a stiff breeze--and against this he had to contend.

Suddenly he detected an ominous cough of the motor. He knew that the petrol supply was running low, but he had no idea that the gauge registered so little. The tank was practically empty.

"Himmel!" gasped the dumfounded Hun. "Will she last out?"

He mentally measured the distance between him and the Spanish coast. A good ten miles. With a following wind he could glide that distance from that altitude, but not with this infernal head wind!

The engine was running jerkily. Clearly its spasmodic coughing betokened the fact that it would soon cease duty from sheer inanition. Its life-blood was being cut off at the heart of the machine--its petrol tank. That head wind. How von Sinzig cursed it! Had it been in his favour, even if he failed to volplane as far as the shore, the Albatross, being provided with floats, could have drifted on the surface.

In the midst of his incoherent utterances von Sinzig realised that the motor had at last given out. He trimmed the ailerons and prepared for a long glide, but, as he had feared, the head wind made it a matter of impossibility for the Albatross to cover more than two miles before she alighted.

It did not take long to complete the volplane, although the pilot nursed his machine to the best of his ability in the hope of prolonging the oblique descent.

The Albatross "landed" badly, her floats striking the water with a resounding smack. The count, having done his best, could do no more. He sat smoking a cigarette and keeping a look out for a vessel that would come to his assistance. There were several away to the south'ard, for he had alighted well to the north'ard of the regular steamer track between Gibraltar and Cape St. Vincent. They were too far off to notice the little Albatross.

Then von Sinzig made the disconcerting discovery that the starboard float was leaking. Already, owing to this cause, the monoplane was listing so that her starboard wing-tip was touching the water. This fact, combined with the knowledge that he was momentarily drifting farther and farther away from land, did not tend to improve the Hun's peace of mind.

Half an hour later, during which time the monoplane had drifted at least three miles, and was being considerably buffeted by the rising sea, von Sinzig noticed that a vessel was bearing down upon the crippled Albatross.

As she approached, the count saw that she was a small motor-yacht of about forty or fifty tons, and that she was flying the burgee of the "Real Club Mediterraneo" and the Spanish ensign. The sight of the Spanish colours gave von Sinzig renewed hope.

The yacht slowed down and lost way a few yards to the wind'ard of the monoplane. For so small a vessel she carried a large crew. There were half a dozen men for'ard, clad in white canvas jumpers and trousers and wearing red woollen caps. Aft were two gorgeously attired individuals in gold-laced yachting uniforms.

Von Sinzig, who was a fair Spanish linguist, hailed them. A rope thrown from the bows of the yacht fell across the nose of the Albatross. This the count caught and secured.

"Can you supply me with petrol, seÑor?" asked von Sinzig. "My tank is empty. A hundred litres will be enough."

One of the gold-laced men shook his head and extended his hands, palms uppermost.

"I am desolated at being compelled to refuse your excellency's modest request," he replied, "but we have paraffin engines and carry only a small quantity of petrol for starting purposes. How far have you come?"

"Nearly round the world," replied the Hun, grandiloquently. He could not resist the typically Teutonic trait of self-advertisement.

"Dios!" exclaimed the Spaniard, twirling his long moustachios. "Then you are Count Karl von Sinzig, who left Quintanur, in the province of Estremadura, sixteen or seventeen days ago?"

"I am," admitted von Sinzig, proudly.

The Spaniard said a few words in an undertone to his companion. The other's eyes gleamed and he nodded his head vigorously.

"We will take you on board and tow your machine," announced the owner of the yacht.

"To Cadiz or Huelva?" asked the count.

"Accept ten thousand regrets, count," replied the Spaniard. "We must take you to Gibraltar."

"But I have no wish to be taken to Gibraltar," declared von Sinzig. "I will give a thousand pesetas to be landed at Cadiz."

The Don again shrugged his shoulders.

"No doubt my crew would be glad of your offer of a thousand pesetas, count," he replied, "but since they know that the English have offered a reward equal to five thousand pesetas----"

"You would sell me?" demanded von Sinzig, furiously.

"I sell you, seÑor? Not I--a caballero of Spain! You insult me by the suggestion. I recollect, however, that I once had a brother. He was lost at sea, while travelling on an English vessel from New York to Cadiz. Like you, he wanted to land at Cadiz, but he was not able to do so. For why? Because the ship was torpedoed by one of your ever-accursed U-boats. Therefore I have a small measure of revenge when I hand you over to the English authorities at Gibraltar. Be pleased, seÑor, to step aboard."

Covered by an automatic pistol, Count Karl von Sinzig had no option but to obey. In the race round the world he was down and out.