The stout man in the corner of the First Smoker put down his paper as the train ran through the thinning outskirts of the town and into patches of suburban greenery. It was still daylight, but already the pale circle of an almost full moon was plain to be seen. "Ha," said the stout man, "perfect night!" An elderly little man in the opposite corner also glanced out of the window. "Perfect," he agreed, "bit too perfect. Full moon, no wind, clear sky, no clouds. All means another raid to-night, I suppose." The full compartment for the next few minutes bubbled with talk of raids, and Gothas, and cellars, and the last raid casualties, and many miraculous escapes. There were many diverse opinions on all these points, but none on the vital one. It was accepted by all that it was a perfect night for a raid and that the Gothas would be over--certain--some time before morning. * * * * * Dusk was just beginning to fall on an aerodrome in the British lines when the big black machines were rolled out of the hangars and lined up in a long row on the grass. Pilots and Observers, already in flying kit, were moving about amongst the machines and watching the final touches put to the preparations for the trip. The Squadron Commander stood talking to the Pilot and Observer of the machine which was to lead the way. He glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. "You've got a perfect night for it, anyhow," he said. "Topping," agreed the Pilot. "And just as perfect for the Huns' trip to England," said the Observer. "Wonder how H.Q. are so sure about them starting on a raid from Blankenquerke 'drome to-night," remarked the Pilot. The Squadron Commander grinned. "They're certain about a heap of things," he said. "They don't always come off, maybe, but they get on the mark wonderfully well as a rule. Anyhow, they were dead positive about the reliability of the information to-night." "Wouldn't take a witch or an Old Moore to make a prophecy on it to-night," said the Observer with a laugh. "Knowing how full out the old Hun has been lately to strafe London, and seeing what a gorgeous night it is, I'd have made a prophecy just as easy as H.Q. I'd even have made a bet, and that's better evidence." "Ought to be getting ready," said the Squadron Commander, with another look at his watch. "Plenty of time, but we can't afford to risk any hitch. You want to be off at the tick of the clock." "Be an awful swindle, certainly, if we got there and found the birds flown," said the Observer. "Don't fret," said the C.O. "The Lord ha' mercy on 'em if they try to take off while old Jimmy's lot are keeping tab on 'em, or before it's too dark for him to see them move."