Part 31 (2/2)

”I see the move,” thought Barcroft. ”He's luring Fritz towards us.”

The two seaplanes pa.s.sed one another at less than a hundred yards.

Fuller raised his arm by way of greeting as they swept by. As he did so shreds of canvas flew from the lower plane, and dipping abruptly the crippled machine dropped, lurching hideously as it did so.

Almost simultaneously the Hun pilot of the Fokker collapsed across the decking of the fuselage. The machine, no longer under control, swayed through a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile, and then, tilting obliquely, began a terrific tail spin that ended in a jumble of wreckage on the unsympathetic soil of Belgium.

”Now for the double bus,” muttered Billy. ”The Huns will pay dearly for strafing poor old John.”

But the remaining aeroplane of the two had had enough, for, seeing the British seaplane swooping down to engage upon round two, she promptly sought safety in flight.

Pursuit, Barcroft knew, was futile. Not only was the fugitive going in an easterly direction, which meant that had Billy held on in chase he would be lured further and further away from his floating base, but the Hun machine was more powerfully engined and possessed an undoubted superiority of speed.

”By Jove!” shouted the A.P. ”Fuller's planing down. He's got the old bus under control of sorts.”

The flight-sub looked downwards. A small rectangular patch of grey eighteen hundred feet down confirmed the truth of Kirkwood's statement. The injured seaplane was volplaning in wide circles. Her pilot was about to make an involuntary landing. This, in itself, was a highly dangerous performance, as the floats were very unsatisfactory landingskids. It was a hundred chances to one that the seaplane would b.u.mp hard and collapse, pinning the pilot under the wreckage. Even if Fuller escaped with his life or without broken limbs, he was confronted with the additional danger of being made a prisoner.

Without a moment's delay Barcroft switched off the ignition and commenced a volplane. At least he would be able to discover whether his chum was able to make a safe landing. Beyond that--

”Good old Fuller!” almost yelled the A.P. ”He's spotted a ca.n.a.l. I see his move--artful bounder!”

Running in a direction approximately east and west was a long stretch of artificial water. The straightness of its course showed that it was not a river. It was bordered on either side by a broad tow-path, which in turn was fringed by a line of poplars. With the exception of a string of barges being towed down by a small tug (and they were nearly two miles away) the ca.n.a.l looked deserted.

It was for this expanse of water that Fuller was making. Provided there was sufficient width for the extreme breadth of his wing spread and a margin to boot, there was little doubt of the experienced flight-lieutenant's ability to make a safe descent.

”He's done it!” announced Kirkwood.

”If he has managed it there is no reason why we shouldn't,” thought Barcroft grimly. ”Stand by, old man; we'll shove down and pick him up.”

The ca.n.a.l appeared to expand in size in order to meet the descending seaplane. It required all the skill and nerve at the youthful pilot's command to carry out his desperate plan. An error of a few feet to right or left meant irreparable damage to the frail craft and failure of his devoted efforts on behalf of his stranded friend.

With admirable judgment Billy brought his ”bus” down, making a fine ”landing” on the surface of the ca.n.a.l at a distance of less than a hundred yards from the crippled aircraft, Then, drifting gently, the seaplane brought up alongside the bank, with one of her floats rubbing against the edge of the tow-path.

”Nip out and hold her on, old man!” exclaimed Billy.

The A.P. obeyed promptly. Fortunately this required little or no effort, for the thick-set though leafless trees broke the force of what wind there was.

Barcroft quickly followed Kirkwood to the bank. Already Fuller had got ash.o.r.e, and was preparing to destroy his machine when, to his utter astonishment, he had seen another seaplane skim over his head and alight at a short distance off.

Running by the path Billy approached the lieutenant.

”Come along, old man!” he said hurriedly. ”There's no time to be lost. We'll give you a lift in our bus back to the old 'Hippo.'”

”Thanks,” replied Fuller coolly. ”What's the hurry? No Huns in sight. I'll do this job properly.”

The odour of petrol vapour wafted to Barcroft's nostrils. Fuller had allowed the spirit to escape from the tank, and was engaged in wrapping a piece of oil-soaked paper round a stone.

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