Deftly the flexible steel wire from the outswung derrick engaged the lifting hooks of the seaplane. The machine was just clear of the water when the order came "Avast heaving." Simultaneously a bugle blared. It was the call for Flying Officers. Leaping into the stern sheets of a boat in attendance, Barcroft and Kirkwood were taken to the side of the "Hippodrome," where they gained the deck of the ship. Already Fuller and the rest of the airmen had gone aft. Something was literally in the air. The signal commander held up a leaf torn from a signal pad. "A wireless has just come through," he announced in clear deliberate tones. "A hostile plane has made a raid over parts of Kent. She is now on her way back, apparently heading for Ostend. Machines from Eastchurch have started in pursuit, but the Hun has a useful lead. Now, gentlemen, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse: we are between the raider and his base." The assembly dispersed like magic, the airmen hurriedly donning leather jackets and flying helmets and giving peremptory orders to the mechanics in attendance. In less than five minutes the first of the stowed seaplanes was ready to glide down the inclined platform to take to flight. Yet, from a starting point of view Barcroft had a decided advantage. His seaplane was practically ready. There was enough petrol for a lengthy flight, and a good reserve of ammunition for the Lewis gun. Bombs there were none, nor were any likely to be required for the task in hand. The chances of a hit on a small and rapidly-moving target were very remote. It was by machine-gun fire that the attack upon the returning raider was to be made. With the motor throbbing noisily and with clouds of oil-smelling smoke pouring from her exhaust, Barcroft's seaplane taxied away from the towering side of her ungainly parent. Then, so gracefully that it was impossible to determine the exact moment when the aircraft ceased to be waterborne, the seaplane rose swiftly and steadily in the air. Climbing in steep spirals the machine quickly rose to a height of 5,000 feet. It was enough for all practical purposes, allowing a margin of superior altitude to that of the expected Boche. "Good enough!" shouted the flight-sub through the speaking tube. "Aerials paid out? All ready?" "All serene," replied Kirkwood, affixing a whole drum of ammunition to the upper side of the breech mechanism of the deadly machine gun. "By Jove, we've all been pretty slick this time. The fifth bird has just got away." Barcroft leant over the side of the fuselage. Seven hundred feet below and speeding away to the nor'-west were a couple of the "Hippodrome's" seaplanes. Two more, at a lower altitude but still climbing, were heading in a south-easterly direction. Thus, when the formation was complete, Barcroft's machine would be in the centre of a far-flung line thrown out to form a barrier betwixt the solitary raider and his base.