Daventry rose across the wind. It was a precarious business, but, with a dozen Boches running with the wind, and only a short distance away, there was very little choice in the matter. Pursued by a fusillade of innocuous shots, the monoplane climbed rapidly and steeply to a height of two thousand feet. A thump in the ribs made Derek turn his head. Kaye was hanging on with one hand and pointing to the only serviceable machine-gun with the other. Daventry understood: his companion was mutely proposing that they should return and give the Hun patrol a little lesson upon the folly of attempting to fire upon a serviceable British machine. "Work it, then!" bawled Derek, and, putting the 'bus into a steep vol-plane, he made for the spot where the Huns, winded by their long run over heavy ground, were gathered in a tempting group in the open. Directly the Boches saw that the biplane was descending in their direction they scattered. The field was dotted with grey-clad figures making a bolt for cover that did not exist. "We've got 'em cold!" exclaimed Derek, as the machine, moving at will at a speed of over a hundred miles an hour, was directly above the heads of the terrified men, who at their best were not able to run at one-tenth the rate of the biplane. "Why the deuce isn't Kaye turning on the tap?" He waited in vain to catch the rapid reports of the deadly weapon. The opportunity passed. EG 19 was beyond her quarry. To ensure opening fire, the biplane had to turn again to approach the panic-stricken Huns. Derek glanced over his shoulder to find Kaye feverishly manipulating the mechanism of the gun. Like its fellow, the weapon had jammed at an awkward moment. "'Pose some sort of good luck attends even Huns at times," he soliloquized. "There's one blessing, I've scared 'em stiff. Now for home." He laughed to himself at the idea of calling the ramshackle collection of huts comprising the aerodrome as "home", then, putting the old 'bus up, he turned towards the British lines. In spite of a load well above that for which it was constructed, the single-seater behaved magnificently. Derek took her up to nine thousand feet in order to cross the opposing lines at a fairly safe height, as far as danger from gun-fire from the ground was concerned. Presently he caught sight of an object in the air at about a distance of two miles. It resembled an inverted bottle with a stumpy neck. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "if that's not a Hun with invisible wings I'm a Dutchman. Wonder if it's old Von Peilfell's 'bus? There was a rumour that the old brigand was buzzing around in this sector. And our guns are jammed, too." Kaye also noticed the approaching aeroplane, and called Derek's attention to it. Just then the Hun, encountering an air-pocket, dived a couple of hundred feet, the sun glinting upon the transparent fabric of the broad wing-spread. "Hun!" he bawled. "Von Peilfell's, for a dead cert."