"How many are there?" asked Fosterdyke.
"Ve vos dwanty," replied the German, holding up the fingers of both hands twice in order to make his meaning clearer.
More Huns emerging from the for'ard gondola of Z64 confirmed the man's statement. One was evidently an officer, but his features did not in the least resemble those of Count von Sinzig, whose photograph had appeared some time back in the illustrated papers.
Seventeen Huns were transhipped in about as many minutes. The eighteenth was half-way along the tautened hawser when Fosterdyke shouted, "Let go!"
Leading-Hand Jackson obeyed the order instantly. The ring of the Senhouse slip was knocked clear, and the hawser fell with a splash into the sea. The "Golden Hind," released from the drag of the partly water-logged Zeppelin, shot ahead.
She was only just in time. The baronet had noticed a tongue of flame issuing from the centre gondola of Z64. How the fire was caused was a mystery, since had the Huns wished to destroy the wreckage they would have waited until the last man was clear of the Zeppelin. Possibly the wiring of the electric stove had short-circuited when in contact with the salt water.
In less than fifteen seconds from the time the hawser had been slipped the hydrogen escaping from the leaky ballonets was ignited. The aluminium gasbag was surrounded by flames. The heat caused the gas in the still intact ballonets to expand, affording sufficient lifting power to heave the wreckage almost clear of the water. The remaining Huns, keenly alive to the terrible danger, promptly jumped into the sea.
Then with a terrific glare the remaining ballonets burst, and the shattered wreckage, sizzling as it came into contact with the cold water, disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a steadily widening circle of oil surmounted by a dense pall of black smoke to mark the scene of the end of Z64.
Before the evil-smelling vapour had dispersed the "Golden Hind," turning head to wind, was over the spot searching for possible survivors. For half an hour she cruised round, but her efforts to rescue the three Huns were unavailing. The men had either been stunned by the explosion or had been hit by falling wreckage. Amongst them was Unter-Leutnant Hans Leutter, who, by resolutely refusing to leave his command until the rest of the crew were safe, had proved that all Hun officers were not of the von Sinzig type.
Several of the rescued Germans could speak English--but they were decidedly reticent. In the back of their minds they rather feared that they were in for a bad time. They knew that their late kapitan had been practically outlawed and that he was "wanted" by the authorities for having, amongst other misdemeanours, destroyed the Fremantle aerodrome by means of an incendiary bomb. They rather expected that they would be blamed for the acts of their fugitive superior.