For a moment the spy hesitated to follow the example of his companions in peril. Taking his courage in his hands, he lowered himself over the latticed sides of the gangway. There he hung until half stupefied by the fumes of the escaping hydrogen; then, relaxing his hold he dropped, landing in a most undignified manner upon the equally ruffled von Loringhoven as he crawled from under the wreckage.
In five minutes nothing remained of the raider but a mass of gaunt and twisted girders from which fluttered the remains of the envelope in the grip of the now howling wind.
Two hours later, Siegfried von Eitelwurmer found himself in the presence of the Director of Aeronautical Intelligence in the official quarters of the Air Department—a pretentious building in the Wilhelmstrasse at Berlin.
With him were Ober-leutnant von Loringhoven and half a dozen commanders of the Zeppelin Squadron that had just carried out the raid over the British Isles. The task of reporting upon the raid was about to commence. Already the British communiqué had been received, and it was now considered advisable to issue a statement for the benefit of the German people.
The only person not present was Otto von Lohr, the commander of the air squadron, and until he put in an appearance the business could not be started.
A telephone bell rang. A uniformed secretary took up the receiver.
"Yes, Herr Schneider, he is here," he replied. "I will inform him of your request."
Replacing the instrument the secretary crossed the room and addressed the spy.
"Herr Kapitan-leutnant Schneider wishes to see you, Herr von Eitelwurmer," he announced obsequiously.
"Very good," replied the spy. "Inform me when the conference begins."