crowd
kept outside this arena, save for a few people who were running in all
directions and gesticulating.

At closer quarters, the soil appeared less smooth, consisting of
endless sand-coloured pebbles, heaped in places to a certain height.
He therefore gave all his attention to avoiding collision with these
obstacles and succeeded in landing without the slightest shock and in
stopping quite quietly.

Groups of people came running about the aeroplane. Simon thought that
they wished to help him to alight. His illusion did not last long. A
few seconds later, the aeroplane was taken by assault by some twenty
men; and Simon felt the barrels of two revolvers pushed against his
face and was bound from head to foot, wrapped in a blanket, gagged and
deprived of all power of movement, before he could even attempt the
least resistance.

"Into the hold, with the rest of them!" commanded a hoarse voice.
"And, if he gives trouble, blow out his brains!"

There was no need for this drastic measure. The manner in which Simon
was bound reduced him to absolute helplessness. Resigning himself to
the inevitable, he counted that the men carrying him took a hundred
and thirty steps and that their course brought him nearer to the
roaring crowd.

"When you've quite done bawling!" grinned one of the men. "And then
make yourselves scarce, see? The machine-gun's getting to work."

They climbed a staircase. Simon was dragged up by the cords that bound
him. A violent hand ransacked his pockets and relieved him of his arms
and his papers. He felt himself again lifted; and then he dropped into
a void.

It was no great fall and was softened by the dense layer of captives
already swarming at the bottom of the hold, who began to swear behind
their gags.

Using his knees and elbows, Simon made room for himself as best he
could on the floor. It must have been about nine o'clock in the
morning. From that moment, time no longer counted for him, for he
thought of nothing but how to defend the place which he had won
against any who might seek to take it from him, whether former
occupants or new-comers. Voices muffled by gags uttered furious
snarls, or groaned, breathless and exhausted. It was really hell.
There were dying men and dead bodies, the death-rattle of Frenchmen
mingling with Englishmen, blood, sticky rags and a loathsome stench of
carrion.

During the course of the afternoon, or it might have been in the
evening, a tremendous noise b