Barcroft heaved a sigh of relief as the seaplane drew away from the shell-infested zone. In the heat of the bombing business his blood was tingling through his veins; he was excited almost to the point of recklessness; the risk of being "winged" by a bursting projectile hardly troubled him. But once clear of the scene of action he realised what a tight corner he had been in, and, although all immediate danger was at an end, he let the motors "all out" in desperate haste to gain a safe altitude. He found himself comparing the recent situation to a cat and dog encounter. So long as the feline faced the dog the latter generally contents itself by barking and making "demonstration in force"; but directly the cat turns tail it tears away at full speed, its sole anxiety being to get away from its assailant for which, up to a certain point, it had shown contemptuous bravery. The flight-sub's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Kirkwood shouting through the voice-tube. "There's Fuller a couple of miles on our left," announced the A.P. "What's more, he's tackling three Hun machines." CHAPTER XXVI A FUTILE RESCUE WITHOUT a second's hesitation Barcroft turned the rudder-bar. Almost on the verge of sideslipping the seaplane swung round and headed straight for the enemy aircraft. "Something wrong with friend John," muttered the flight-sub, "or he wouldn't turn tail to half a dozen strafed Fritzes." Everything pointed to Barcroft's surmise being correct. Fuller's seaplane was in flight in a double sense. He had lost the superiority of altitude. His observer was replying to the machine-gun fire converging upon the fugitive craft from three different points. A hundred feet higher and about three hundred yards astern of the British seaplane was a large, double-fuselaged biplane. To the right and left but practically on the same horizontal plane were two Fokkers--a tough set to be up against, but in ordinary circumstances the dauntless flight-lieutenant would not have hesitated to engage. Presently the British seaplane's Lewis gun barked. It was evident that the machine was running uncontrolled, as she was wobbling considerably. Barcroft was now near enough to see what had happened. There was just time for a brief glance, for his plane was approaching the on-coming Huns at an aggregate speed of nearly 180 miles an hour. There was no sign of Gregory, but Fuller, abandoning the joy-stick, had climbed into the observer's seat in order to work the automatic gun. This he did so successfully that within five seconds of the weapon opening fire one of the Fokkers crashed earthwards, completely out of action. Then the British gun was silent. This was all that Barcroft could see as far as Fuller was concerned. He had devoted all his attention to the double-fuselaged craft.