Keenly alert to the possibilities of hostile vessels from the air the Czar's sailormen were quick to discern the approach of a strange and altogether remarkable battleplane. Soon the distinctive tri-coloured circles could be discerned. All doubt as to the nationality of the mysterious aircraft was now at an end, and the British machine was given three ringing cheers, the volume of sound being easily heard by her crew.
Five minutes later the battleplane came to earth upon the Ruski Aviation Ground, a few miles eastward of the Slavonic stronghold of Riga.
Upon alighting Blake and his companions were warmly greeted by a group of Russian staff officers, some of whom spoke English fluently, while all could converse with the utmost ease French.
"You are slightly beyond the scheduled time, Monsieur le Capitaine Blake," remarked a courteous colonel of the Preveski Guards. "We trust that you met with no misfortune?"
"Slight mishaps that proved blessings in disguise," replied Blake, as he proceeded to give a brief outline of the battleplane's adventures.
"Extremely gratifying," declared the Russian. "And your compatriots have done well in the raid, although, alas, they have lost heavily. Of the number that left the soil of France for this lengthy flight only six have contrived to arrive here."
"And one cannot make omelettes without breaking eggs," added another of the Czar's officers. "Ma foi! From all accounts you British have made a fine hash of Berlin."