"What!"

"He made a better landing than I did. He was trying to bring me to when some Frenchies came running up and nabbed him. Decent fellow. The Frenchies treated him pretty rough. Put the screws to him, I guess."

"See here," Cowan leaned forward in his chair, "either tell all this story, or back you go to the hospital. You say the French questioned him?"

"French Intelligence did. Pretty game fellow, they said."

"But he talked?"

"Had to. That was von Herzmann's Circus."

"We know that. Anything else?"

"Yes. He said they knew all about our plans, and were out gunning for us."

Cowan's face colored, but with confusion more than anger.

"Anything else?" he asked crisply.

"Well--the Frogs found out something else, but," he cast a quick, furtive glance at McGee and Larkin, "but I guess I've talked enough.

Someone is talking too much, that's certain."

Cowan had seen the glance, and the inference irritated him. "These officers have proved their loyalty by service, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," was Rodd's meatless reply.

McGee felt genuinely hurt, but at the same time he recognized the fact that Rodd's statement was all too true.

"Rodd is quite right, Major," he said, and arose from his chair. "If he has any real information, it belongs to you alone--or to G 2. If you've nothing further, Larkin and I will be going."

"No, nothing further."

"No orders for to-morrow morning?"

"No."

"May I speak to you a moment--privately?"

"Certainly."

They moved over near the door.

"You gave Siddons a mission I would like to have, Major. Any objections if I take a little joy-ride in the morning?"

Cowan's eyes narrowed. "Where?" he asked.

"Over the lines. I'd like to do a little looking for myself."

"With Larkin?"

"No, sir. Alone. Don't even want Larkin to know I'm going. I think I know where to locate von Herzmann's Circus."

"What are you driving at, Lieutenant?"

"Major, if I told you half of what I think I know, you'd call me crazy."

"Hm-m! Well, I can't give you permission to go--but I will not be looking for you before noon." His sly wink told Red all that he wanted to know.

"Yes, sir. Good night, Major. Good night, Rodd. The gang will be mighty glad to see you back, old hoss! Come on, Buzz, let's go to bed."

Outside the door Larkin's fuming rage exploded. "Say, what did that tongue-tied sap Rodd mean by that dirty dig? If his head wasn't already in a sling, I'd--"

"Calm yourself, brother!" Red laughed. "If you had landed on your head from as high a point as he did, and then found out it was all brought about through a leak, you'd be suspicious of everyone too."

"Maybe so," Larkin answered, somewhat mollified. "What were you buzzing old Fuss Budget about?"

"I'll tell you that to-morrow night--maybe."

"Humph!" Larkin snorted. "I guess Rodd's disease is catching. You're tongue-tied too!"

Without reply Red led the way across the flying field to their hut.

Entering, he began fumbling around in the dark for a candle stub. Larkin took up the search, by the aid of flickering matches, but the candle was nowhere to be found.

"It's a fine war!" Larkin growled, as he began undressing in the dark.

"All the letters from the States bear the postmark, 'Food Will Win The War.' I guess the Army is trying to save on candles, too."

2

Before sunup the following morning McGee awoke and began quietly dressing. He did not want to awaken Larkin. When he had finished dressing he tiptoed cautiously across the floor, opened the creaking door ever so slowly and closed it with the same care.

Dawn was just streaking the east. A few birds were offering their first roundelays; the gra.s.s and trees were wet with a light rain that had fallen during the night, and to the northeast the distant guns were rumbling their morning song of hate--evil dispositioned giants, guttural in their wrath when dawn awoke them to a new day of devastation. Two or three sleepy-eyed air mechanics were making their way toward the hangars.

McGee stood for a moment outside the hut, studying the sky, which was a patchwork of clouds scattered across grey splotches that would turn to blue with the coming of the sun. Evidently the sky had been quite overcast during the night, but the clouds were broken now, though by no means dispersed.

It was an ideal morning for crossing the lines. Convenient cloud banks were excellent havens in case of surprise, and Archie fire was less accurate when the gunners had to contend with a ship that plunged into concealing clouds and out again at the most unexpected places. Of course, those same clouds offered concealment for enemy planes, but a pilot crossing the lines alone is considerably advantaged by such a sky as McGee was now studying approvingly.

As McGee started toward the hangars he saw that some of the ground crew were wheeling out Siddons' Nieuport. Well, the Major had stuck to his resolution and the order had gone through.

"Where's Lieutenant Siddons going?" McGee asked the Ack Emma who was making a careful check of the plane.

"Don't know, sir. Got orders last night to have her ready."

"Did Sergeant Williams get orders for my plane?"

"Yes, sir. Are you and Siddons goin' over on patrol, Lieutenant?"

"I can't answer for Siddons," McGee evaded. "You'd better ask him."