Von Eitelwurmer nodded in silent accord.
"But," continued the commander, "it was otherwise. Possibly our fire distracted the pilot, or he may have changed his mind at the last moment. Yet it was so close that I doubt whether there was anything to spare between the tip of one of his planes and the underside of the rear gondola. To me, looking aft, it seemed the narrowest shave possible. However, she missed us, and I immediately gave orders for the motors to be restarted. Heaven be praised, we never saw that seaplane again."
"And the damage?" enquired von Eitelwurmer.
"Not enough to prevent us continuing the voyage," replied von Loringhoven. "Two of the after ballonets are perforated too badly to be patched. A couple of my men succeeded in plugging the holes with the special preparation we use in such contingencies. You will observe that this floor inclines considerably in spite of the redistribution of ballast. We are down by the stern. Well, what is it?" he asked curtly as Unter-leutnant Klick entered the compartment.
"A wireless has just been received, sir," replied Klick, saluting his superior. "It appears that two of our airships have failed to return."
"Donner wetter! Two out of twelve!" exclaimed von Loringhoven furiously. "This is serious. But it might have been worse," he muttered in an undertone, as he glanced at the drooping end of the large envelope.
The spy went to one of the windows. The air was still sharp but mild in comparison to the piercing cold of the night. Already the sun was well above the horizon. Two thousand feet or less beneath the airship—for on approaching land the Zeppelin had descended considerably—could be discerned with remarkable clearness the green grass and red sandstone of the island of Heligoland with a strand of white sand adjoining one face of the cliffs. A short distance beyond was the flat, semi-artificial island of Sandinsel, with its batteries, concealed when viewed from the sea, standing conspicuously against the dunes.
Still further away were the flat, receding shores bordering the estuary of the Elbe, but vainly the spy looked for any signs of the vaunted High Seas Fleet. Even the well protected triangular expanse of water was desolate of shipping, save for a few small craft engaged either in laying additional mines or conveying stores to the island fortress.
At that height the varying depths of the sea could be noted owing to the changing colour of the water—not that that fact interested von Eitelwurmer in the slightest. He was a landsman out and out. He was content to leave the difficult task of wresting the trident from Britannia's grasp to others. The matter did not concern him. He specialised in the arts and intrigues of espionage.
Von Loringhoven was cast in a different mould. Although his present energies were centred upon the air service he was at heart a seaman. He, too, was examining the expanse of sea, but with the skill of a practised navigator.