The unconscious pilot was extricated from the wreckage of the Bristol Fighter, and after months of careful nursing he was restored to convalescence, but he will never fly again. For his daring deed, he was honoured by his country, and decorated by his King. Sharpe, Hooper and Captain Watson, though severely wounded, recovered from their injuries. Professor Verne had a miraculous escape from death when the brigands bombed the hangar, and Colonel Tempest--though for the rest of his days he will limp with the aid of a stick--was mighty glad to lay down his high office with a reputation untarnished, and with the added honour of a knighthood, and a substantial pension. It now but remains to tell what happened to that brilliant but misguided German, the renowned Professor Rudolf Weissmann. He lingered for another day after the terrible event which had befallen his fortune, and his friend Sir Joseph Verne, constant as ever, waited beside him and tended him amid his sufferings, for there is a wonderful spirit of brotherhood and fraternity amongst men of learning. They are the children of no particular country, for their parish is the world, and, like our own Shakespeare, the whole earth claims them for its own. And when he saw that the time of his departure was at hand, this erring genius no longer tried to withhold from the world the great secret which he held, but, desiring to make what amends he could for the evil he had wrought, he freely offered to reveal the secret to his old time friend and fellow-student. But, alas, he had left it too long. The candle of life was flickering within him, and the end was too near. Even while, with true repentance, he endeavoured to give the hidden formula of the mysterious uranis to his friend, he fell back exhausted and his spirit fled. So the wonderful secret was never revealed, for it lies buried deep in a thousand fragments, amid the dark recesses of the Schwarzwald. But Hans, the clock maker, and his friend Jacob Stendahl the wood cutter, and many more beside, who dwell amid the legend and folklore of the Black Forest, still assert that at certain times, especially when the full round moon casts its silvery light over the Schwarzwald, the peasant who treads these lonely paths may see the phantom airman on his ghostly ’plane. * * * * * As for Gadget, the little urchin of a stowaway, the sharp-witted, up-to-date cabin boy who photographed the raider in mid-air, and rendered such valuable service to the authorities, he was duly rewarded. The Commissioner of Aerial Police pinned a gold medal on to his little tunic, soon after the great air-liner returned to London, and even delivered a speech in his honour, congratulating him upon his resourcefulness and courage.