nautic park. The airships receded down a great vista, an
immense perspective, and the blunt prow of each was adorned with a black
eagle of a hundred feet or so spread. Down the other side of the avenue
ran a series of gas generators, and big hose-pipes trailed everywhere
across the intervening space. Close at hand was his now nearly deflated
balloon and the car on its side looking minutely small, a mere broken
toy, a shrivelled bubble, in contrast with the gigantic bulk of the
nearer airship. This he saw almost end-on, rising like a cliff and
sloping forward towards its fellow on the other side so as to overshadow
the alley between them. There was a crowd of excited people about him,
big men mostly in tight uniforms. Everybody was talking, and several
were shouting, in German; he knew that because they splashed and
aspirated sounds like startled kittens.

Only one phrase, repeated again and again could he recognize--the name
of "Herr Booteraidge."

"Gollys!" said Bert. "They've spotted it."

"Besser," said some one, and some rapid German followed.

He perceived that close at hand was a field telephone, and that a tall
officer in blue was talking thereat about him. Another stood close
beside him with the portfolio of drawings and photographs in his hand.
They looked round at him.

"Do you spik Cherman, Herr Booteraidge?"

Bert decided that he had better be dazed. He did his best to seem
thoroughly dazed. "Where AM I?" he asked.

Volubility prevailed. "Der Prinz," was mentioned. A bugle sounded far
away, and its call was taken up by one nearer, and then by one close at
hand. This seemed to increase the excitement greatly. A mono-rail car
bumbled past. The telephone bell rang passionately, and the tall officer
seemed to engage in a heated altercation. Then he approached the group
about Bert, calling out something about "mitbringen."

An earnest-faced, emaciated man with a white moustache appealed to Bert.
"Herr Booteraidge, sir, we are chust to start!"

"Where am I?" Bert repeated.

Some one shook him by the other shoulder. "Are you Herr Booteraidge?" he
asked.

"Herr Booteraidge, we are chust to start!" repeated the white moustache,
and then helplessly, "What is de goot? What can we do?"

The officer from the telephone repeated his sentence about "Der Prinz"
and "mitbringen." The man with the moustache stared for a moment,
grasped an idea and became violently energetic, stood up and bawled
directions at uns