The salvage-party consisted of a dozen air-mechanics and a couple of corporals and a sergeant, who had come from Torringham on a large R.A.F. lorry, but with them came an unofficial party made up of almost every officer not on duty and as many on duty who could furnish even the flimsiest pretext for joining the "joy-riders". Having submitted to the many and varied congratulations and caustic remarks of his brother officers, Derek was taken to the spot where the Gotha crashed. Already sentries had been posted and a wire fence erected around the calcined debris of the huge aeroplane, for it was imperative that nothing should be disturbed until scientific and technical examinations had been made by qualified experts. The motors had fallen with such force that they had made a hole five feet in depth. Thirty yards away were the battered remains of a machine-gun, while other debris had been discovered half a mile from the main wreckage. The Gotha had had a crew of five men, their corpses, horribly burnt and battered, being found at widely different distances. These had already been removed to be given a military funeral, for, notwithstanding the undoubtedly cowardly methods adopted by Hun raiders, the German airmen were acting under orders, and had met their fate in much the same way as soldiers on the field of battle. As for the poor old Dromedary, it looked a pitiable object when removed from the reservoir. Never again would the battered object soar proudly through the air. As a fighting-machine its days were ended. Its fate, after the more important parts had been removed, was to be burnt. "I think I can claim the old prop.," remarked Derek to a brother officer. "I'll get a clock fitted to it and send it home to my people. It will look all right in a hall, won't it?" So the badly-chipped propeller was removed and placed in the lorry until it could be converted into a novel timepiece. Then, having seen the valuable portions of the crashed Dromedary safely in the huge petrol-drawn vehicle, Derek bade farewell to his newly-found friends of the Sisternbury Anti-aircraft Force and was motored back to Torringham. It was a sort of triumphal progress, for the now thoroughly-excited officers, jubilant at the idea that the raider had fallen a victim to one of their depot, were "letting themselves go" with no uncertain voice. With motor-horns adding to the din, and a tattoo of sticks beating the covers of the cars, the motor cavalcade swept into the aerodrome, where Derek, taking to his heels, fled precipitately to his quarters. It was not long before the C.O. sent for the victorious pilot.