A group of officers of the Royal Flying Corps was gathered around a monoplane that had been run outside, and was being tuned up by a number of mechanics. The two or three civilians with note-books in their hands were evidently pressmen. Something unusual was afoot, for half a dozen horsemen had just cantered into the aerodrome and, dismounting, approached the little crowd round the monoplane. Suddenly it opened out and the group of officers saluted the smart, iron-featured, white-haired veteran who approached with a slight limp, his beribboned coat eloquent of hard service to the wealthy citizens of a thankless nation who greedily devour the spoils that they are too lazy in lending a hand in obtaining. "Good-morning, gentlemen. Is Lieutenant Crichton here?" Jim stepped forward and saluted. He was in service dress, with a safety helmet in place of the usual forage cap. "Well, I hope the weather is satisfactory, Crichton?" the Chief said. "Yes, sir, thank you; it is a perfect day for a flight." The General then asked several technical questions about the monoplane. "You are taking a passenger with you, are you not?" "Yes, sir." The General turned away, and Crichton saluted. Quite a number of people were arriving from every direction, and it had evidently become generally known that a special flight was about to be attempted. Meanwhile the monoplane was ready. Jim climbed into his seat and started the engine. In a few moments he gave the signal to let go, and after running along the ground for a short distance, it gracefully rose in the air and was soon far over the plain. Suddenly it dipped and began to descend. "By Jove, he’s coming down. Something wrong—look! He’s hit the ground—see the dust?" And similar exclamations rose from the crowd. "Take my car, Johnson, and see what’s wrong, will you?" said the Flight Commander—and in a moment the car was speeding across the plain. "Look! Look!" shouted some one. "See the dust he’s making!" In another moment the monoplane was seen in the air. "By Jove, he’s up again. Splendid! That’s the first time this machine has left the ground single-handed, I’ll bet. He’s coming back." In a minute or two the aeroplane began to descend. It brought up nearly on the spot it had started from. Jim clambered down, and to the volley of questions from his brother officers merely explained that he had dropped his note-book, and had descended to pick it up. "Look here, Major," Jim said to the Commandant. "I want to take my servant, Jackson, instead of young Hayward, but I don’t like to tell him myself. Will you break it to him gently?" "Good lord, Crichton, why on earth did you not say so before? Why do you prefer Jackson?" "I shall have a much better chance with Jackson if I have to descend with engine trouble, because he’s a trained mechanic, as you know, while young Hayward would be practically useless. I don’t want to be stuck in the middle of Dartmoor, you know!"