* * * * * By taxi, milk-cart, tram, and any other conveyance that offered, but mostly on foot, I threaded highway and byway for the next four hours, and shortly after daybreak scrambled through the last of a dozen thorny hedgerows and found myself beside the still smouldering wreckage of the fallen raider. An orderly cordon of soldiers surrounding an acre of blackened and twisted metal, miles and miles of tangled wire, and a score or so of Flying Corps men already busily engaged loading the wreckage into waiting motor-lorries--that was about all there was to see. A ten-foot-square green tarpaulin covered all that could be gathered together of the airship’s crew. Some of the fragments were readily recognisable as having once been the arms and legs and trunks of men; others were not. A man at my elbow stood gazing at the pitiful heap for a space, his brow puckered in thought. Presently he turned to me, a grim light in his eye, and spoke. “Do you know,” he said, “that these” (indicating the charred stumps under the square of canvas) “have just recalled to me the words Count Zeppelin is reported to have used at a great mass meeting called in Berlin to press for a more rigorous prosecution of the war against England by air, for a further increase of frightfulness? Leading two airship pilots to the front of the platform, he shouted to the crowd, ‘Here are two men who were over London last night!’ And the assembled thousands, so the despatch said, roared their applause and clamoured that the Zeppelins be sent again and again until the arrogant Englanders were brought to their knees. Well”--he paused and drew a deep breath as his eyes returned to the heap of blackened fragments--“it appears that they _did_ send the Zeppelins again--more than ever were sent before--and now it is _our_ turn to be presented to ‘the men who were over London last night.’ I wonder if the flare that consumed these poor devils was bright enough to pierce the black night that has settled over Germany?” * * * * * The tenseness passed out of the night, and--the raid was over. Who knows but what, so far as the threat to England is concerned, the passing of _a_ Zeppelin marked also the passing of _the_ Zeppelin? FIGHTING FOR SERBIA I have had many strange meetings--strange in place and attendant circumstance--in various and sundry odd corners of the world, but, everything considered, I am inclined to think my encounter with Radovitch, toward the end of last March, was the strangest of them all. It was on the gorgeously flower-carpeted slope of a mountain-side in----. But let that transpire in its proper place.