This did not last long. He was in no mood for inaction. The battle among the clouds had set his blood racing. His imagination was fairly running riot. The storm was picking up, but not half fast enough. What if the Nazis caught up with him here? They had provided the place with all manner of comfort but no weapons. Perhaps, after all, this float had been intended as a trap. There was a short-wave radio in the corner. After a brief inspection he discovered that it was both for sending and receiving. Twice his hand was on a dial. Twice, as his fingers trembled, he removed it. He did long to get in touch with headquarters. By this time the remnant of their flight would be back. They would be wondering, dreading, hoping. He could put these uncertainties to rest at least as far as he was concerned. A few well-chosen words would assure them that he was safe and that it was taps for the beloved Johnny. His heart ached as he recalled his one brief glimpse of the fiddler’s smashed plane before it sank forever beneath black waters. He had seen no sign of life. Yes, the fiddler was gone. God rest his soul. “But that Wick!” he asked himself. “What about him?” Yes, he thought he could get that radio going and tell the boys at headquarters about things. But what would the Heinies be doing all that time? Checking his location, beyond a doubt. Sending out a fast little craft to pick him up. Oh, no! Not yet. Some things were best left alone. After a time he made himself a cup of hot chocolate, then drank it, at the same time munching biscuits and chocolate bar. Very thoughtful of those Nazis to spend so much time and thought on his comfort. There was even a checker-board and a deck of cards. He played himself a game of checkers, then switched to solitaire. This lasted a long time. When darkness at last settled down upon the sea, he climbed to the upper deck. Clinging to a rail he watched the waves roll in. Seldom had he witnessed a wilder scene. Racing clouds, racing sea and a moon that appeared to race with them. Once again he checked the direction of the wind. Yes, unless he had miscalculated, he should land at last on the English coast. When? He had no way of knowing. One thing was sure, if this storm kept up he’d know well enough when he did arrive. One good bump would tell him that. In the meantime? Well, tomorrow would be another day. He’d be needing all his senses. Might as well sleep while sleeping was good. After fastening his strange craft down good and snug for the night he rolled up in a half dozen heavy blankets and fell asleep. _Chapter_ XIX Thrilling Sky Drama That night watchers on the rooftops of London, those hardy men who all night long, with bags of sand at their side, scan the skies for bombing planes, witnessed a moving picture against the sky that they would not soon forget.