Von Sinzig was in a bad state of mind. He knew by means of a code message from Barcelona that one of his agents had made an attempt to delay the "Golden Hind’s" departure. What had actually taken place he knew not. All he did know was the galling fact that the attempt had been unsuccessful, and that by this time his rival was practically level with him. "Hans," he exclaimed, calling one of his subordinates, formerly an Unter-Leutnant in the German Flying Service and before that a Mercantile Marine officer. Hans Leutter clicked his heels and stood to attention. "You know Fremantle?" enquired the count, brusquely. "Fairly well, mein Herr," was the reply. "I’ve called there perhaps a dozen times in cargo boats. The last time was in January, 1914." "There was, of course, no aerodrome there then?" "Assuredly no, sir." "According to my information it is on the right bank of the Swan River and a couple of kilometres to the east of the town. It ought to be easily found." Hans Leutter agreed that to locate it ought to be a simple matter. "Then we’ll do so, little Hans," exclaimed the count, grimly. "We might even make the Englishman Fosterdyke a little present anonymously, of course." The ex-Unter-Leutnant grinned. "You wish me to take the Albatross for an airing then?" he said. "Ach, no," replied von Sinzig. "If our Albatross were invisible and noiseless, it would be different. We’ll use the observation basket. Overhaul the mechanism carefully, because you, little Hans, are going to use it." Hans Leutter saluted and went for’ard. He was not at all keen on being told off for observation work, but his innate sense of discipline made him accept the duty without outward signs of resentment. Somehow he didn’t relish the idea of being lowered from the Zeppelin and allowed to dangle at the end of two or three thousand feet of fine wire. Shortly before midnight the look-out on Z64 picked up the harbour and town lights of Fremantle. It was now a fairly calm night. At five thousand feet was a stratum of light clouds, sufficient to obscure the starlight. The climatic conditions for von Sinzig’s plans were exactly what he wanted. When the German airship was dead to windward of the town her motors were switched off and she was allowed to drift in and out of the lower edge of the bank of clouds. From her foremost nacelle a circular basket, fitted with a vertical vane to prevent it from turning round and round like a gigantic meat-jack, was hanging. In the basket, with a couple of small incendiary bombs for company, was Hans Leutter. In order to keep in touch with the captain of Z64 Hans was provided with a wireless telephone. "All ready," announced the observer. "Lower away."