"What happened?" Jack asked of Don, when the machine again was under control. He had not realized that they had completely put the other machine out of business, and seemed somewhat surprised when, on looking about, he did not find it in pursuit, or dashing away on the defensive.
"It's all over," Don assured them. "You can take it easy now."
They did. They looked over the side of their own machine and saw what remained of a crushed and broken fusilage—just bits of wood and some strips of canvas—floating on the surface of the sea.
"They fell straight as an arrow, but in a tail dive, after that final attack," Don said. "It was really sickening to see them fall. It must have been four thousand feet at the least."
"Afire?" Jack asked.
"Yes, but completely out of business before the flames broke out," Don continued. "The pilot got a bullet in the right arm early in the mix-up, and I guess two of the others never knew what happened to them. When they struck it was with a splash like that sent up by a depth bomb. As a matter of fact, I didn't think anything connected with the machine would ever come to the surface again."
"Guess we'd better circle down and see if by chance any one of them should be alive and in sight," Jack suggested.
He changed course and they began a circling downward descent. Some fifty yards away from the floating débris they made a landing. The sea was comparatively calm and they experienced little difficulty in settling on its surface without jolt, splash or damage. For several moments they lay there, looking intently at what remained of that which once had been Braizewell's powerful twin-motor biplane. There was not a sign of human life, not an evidence of anything indicating it.
"Don," said Jack, "for the purposes of a full report on this incident you had better note as exactly as possible the time and place where it occurred."