then harboured at Brest, received instructions by wireless to return
at once to the British Air Service Headquarters at Farnborough, in
Hampshire. The night, thanks to a glorious full moon, would afford
all the light he required, and young Raffleton determined to set out
at once. He appears to have left the flying ground just outside the
arsenal at Brest about nine o'clock. A little beyond Huelgoat he
began to experience trouble with the carburettor. His idea at first
was to push on to Lannion, where he would be able to secure expert
assistance; but matters only getting worse, and noticing beneath him
a convenient stretch of level ground, he decided to descend and
attend to it himself. He alighted without difficulty and proceeded
to investigate. The job took him, unaided, longer than he had
anticipated. It was a warm, close night, with hardly a breath of
wind, and when he had finished he was feeling hot and tired. He had
drawn on his helmet and was on the point of stepping into his seat,
when the beauty of the night suggested to him that it would be
pleasant, before starting off again, to stretch his legs and cool
himself a little. He lit a cigar and looked round about him.

The plateau on which he had alighted was a table-land standing high
above the surrounding country. It stretched around him, treeless,
houseless. There was nothing to break the lines of the horizon but
a group of gaunt grey stones, the remains, so he told himself, of
some ancient menhir, common enough to the lonely desert lands of
Brittany. In general the stones lie overthrown and scattered, but
this particular specimen had by some strange chance remained
undisturbed through all the centuries. Mildly interested, Flight
Commander Raffleton strolled leisurely towards it. The moon was at
its zenith. How still the quiet night must have been was impressed
upon him by the fact that he distinctly heard, and counted, the