"But the mails are so mixed up, and the telegraph and telephone systems are so rushed, that he might not get it. So I think the best thing will be to stay right here where I'll be on hand to get it the moment word comes. But don't let me keep you, Jack. You can go, if you want to."

"Say, what do you think I am?" cried his chum. "Where you stick, I stick! We'll both wait here for word from your father. I have a sort of feeling that he is all right."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I suppose he is. But, at the same time, I'm worried. I can't explain it, but I have a sort of sense that he is in danger."

"Not if he is in Paris, Tom. The German's haven't gotten within striking distance of that city yet, in spite of their boasts--the boasts of the Kaiser and of the Crown Prince."

"No, if dad were in Paris I'd feel that he was comparatively safe. But first I want to know that he is. And yet, even if he has put up at that house in the Rue Lafayette, where he said in his letter he'd stay, there may be some danger."

"Danger in Paris? What do you mean, Tom?"

"Well, Paris has been bombed from the air, you know."

"True, Tom. But, say! we've almost come to disregard such mild things as that from the Huns, haven't we?"

"Well, we'll just stay right on here," decided Tom. "I don't mean to say that we'll stay around our hangar all the while, but we'll keep in touch, throughout the day, with the communication headquarters. Dad may send a message at any time, and I want to get it as soon as it arrives."

Jack could understand his chum's feelings, and so the Air Service boys, who, some time previous, had sought and received permission to go back several kilometers into the country for a rest, announced that they would stay on at the aerodrome.

Nor did they lack excitement. The place where they were stationed was a busy one. For every twenty pilots and observers there are detailed about one hundred men as helpers. There are cooks, photographers, mechanics of various sorts, telephone, telegraph and wireless operators, orderlies and servants.

Of these Tom and Jack had their share, for it is the business of an airman to fly and fight, and he does nothing except in that line. He is catered to and helped in every possible way when not in the air. He has some one to wait on him, to look after his machine, and to attend to his hurts, if he is unlucky enough to get any. Of course each flier goes over, personally, his own craft, but he has oilers and mechanics to do all the detail work.

"Well, there they go!" exclaimed Tom to Jack one morning, the second of their "vacation," as they observed a number of "aces" about to go up and search above the clouds for some Hun to attack.

"Yes, and I wish I was with them!" said Jack.

"Waiting isn't much fun," agreed his chum. "I'm sure I can't understand why dad doesn't send some word. If this keeps up much longer--Say, Jack, look at Parla!" he suddenly cried. "What's the matter with him?"

Jack looked. The men, in their machines, had started off to get momentum for a rise into the air. But there had been a rain and the ground was soft, which kept down the speed. All the pilots seemed to get off in fairly good shape except one, Parla by name, who had only recently secured the coveted designation of "ace."

And then occurred one of those tragedies of flying. Whether he was nervous at taking a flight in such distinguished company, or whether something went wrong with Parla's machine never would be known.

He was the last in the line, and as it was rather misty he might have been anxious not to lose sight of his companions. He did not take a long enough run, and when he reached the end of the field he was not high enough to clear the line of hangars that were in front of him.

Some one shouted at him, not stopping to realize that the noise of the motor drowned everything else in the ears of the pilot.

The luckless man tried to make a sharp turn, to get out of danger. One of his wing tips caught on the canvas tent, or hangar, and in another instant there was a crash and a ma.s.s of wreckage. From this, a little later, poor Parla was carried.

But the others did not stay, for though the shadow of death hovered over the Escadrille, the business of war went on.

After three days Tom and Jack could not stand it any longer. They begged for permission to go up into the air. It was granted, though officially they were still on leave. Ascending together in a Caudron, on a photographing a.s.signment, they were attacked by two swift German Fokkers.

Tom worked the gun, and to such good effect that he smashed one machine, sending it down with a crash, and drove the second off. So other laurels were added to those the boys already had.

"If this keeps on we'll be soon wearing the chevrons of sergeants," said Jack, as they landed.

"Well, I'd almost give up hope of them to hear from dad," announced Tom. "I'm going to see if some word hasn't come."

But there was no message. Still the strange silence continued, and Tom and his chum did not know whether Mr. Raymond had reached Paris or not.

Through his own captain, Tom appealed to the highest authority at the Escadrille, asking that a last imploring message be sent to the address in the Rue Lafayette.

This was done, and then followed another day of waiting. At last Tom said:

"Jack, I can't stand it any longer! This suspense is fierce!"

"But what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to Paris! That's what! We'll go there and find my father if he has arrived. If he hasn't--well, there is still some hope."

"Go to Paris!" murmured Jack.

"Yes. It's the only place where I can make uncertainty a certainty. Come on, we'll go to Paris!"

CHAPTER IV

SUSPICIONS

Tom Raymond started across the field toward headquarters. Jack followed, but there was a strange look on the latter's face.

"I don't see how you're going to Paris," remarked Jack, at length. "Do you mean we're to go in separate machines, or together?"

"Oh, nothing like that!" exclaimed Tom. "We won't go in machines at all.

We'll go by train, if we can get one, or by motor."

"But you're heading for the Escadrille Headquarters office, and--"

"We've got to get official permission to go," explained Tom. "We can't rush off, whenever we like, as we used to go fishing together."

To his captain Tom explained matters more fully than he had done before.

In effect he related the fact of having received the letter, stating that Mr. Raymond had started for Paris, presumably to engage in some work for the French government, or at least for the Allies. Whether he had arrived or not, and, in the former case, to ascertain why he had not sent some word to his son, was the object of Tom's quest.

"I've tried and tried, from this end, to get in touch with him,"

explained Tom; "but something seems to happen to my messages. I know they leave here all right, but after that they are lost. Now I have an idea that there is so much going on in Paris--so much necessary war work--that the ordinary lines of communication are choked. But if I could go to the capital in person I could soon find out whether my father was at the address he gave."

"And you want, do you, to go together?" asked the kindly French captain, smiling at Tom and Jack.

"We'd like to go," said Tom.

"And go you shall. I will write the necessary order. You have done well, and I understand you have some days of leave coming. To them I shall add more. But come back to me," he added, as he filled out the pa.s.s form.

"Come back. We need you Americans now more than ever!"

"We'll come back," promised Tom. "All I want to go to Paris for is to find out about my father."