Jack shook his head.

"I don't believe they could do it," he said. "You know the nearest German line is about seventy miles from Paris. If they had started to break through, and had any success at all, the news would have reached here before this. And reinforcements would be on the way. No, it can't be. There must be some other explanation."

"But what is it?" asked Tom. "They've got to get nearer than seventy miles to bombard Paris. You know that."

"I don't think I really _know_ anything about this war," said Jack simply. "So many strange, things have happened, so many old theories have been discarded, and so many new things have been done that we don't know where we are."

"Well that's true. And yet how could the Germans get near enough to bombard Paris without some word of it coming in?"

"I don't know. But the fact remains. Now let's get to where the second sh.e.l.l fell. Maybe we can see a fragment of it and--"

Once again the words were interrupted by an explosion. This time it was closer and the shock was greater.

"That's the third!" cried Jack.

"Yes," added Tom, looking at his watch, "and it's just half an hour since the first one fell. That indicates they're firing every fifteen minutes. Jack, there's something weird about this."

"You're right. That last one came rather close, too. I wonder where it fell?"

A man, pa.s.sing them, running in a direction away from the sound of the last explosion, heard Jack's question. He paused long enough to say; "That sh.e.l.l fell in Rue Lafayette. Several buildings are in ruins. Many have been killed! It is terrible!"

"Rue Lafayette!" gasped Jack. "That--"

"That's where my father is supposed to be staying!" exclaimed Tom.

"Come! We must see what happened!"

CHAPTER VII

TOM'S FATHER

With anxious hearts the Air Service boys ran on. There was no need to ask their way, for they had but to follow the throng toward the scene of the most recent exhibition of the Hun's frightfulness and horror.

As they drew near the Rue Lafayette, where Mr. Raymond had said he intended to stay while in Paris, the boys were halted by an officer on the outskirts of the throng.

"Pardon, but you may not go farther," he said, courteously enough.

"There is danger. We are about to sound the alarm so that all may take to shelter. The Boches are raiding Paris again."

"We know it," said Tom. "But it is no idle curiosity that takes us on."

"No?" politely questioned the policeman.

"No. I am seeking my father. He wrote to me that he would stop in the Rue Lafayette, and I have not heard from him since. I was told that the last sh.e.l.l fell in that street."

"It did," a.s.sented the officer, "and it demolished two houses and part of another. Many were killed and injured."

"Then I must see if my father is among them!" insisted the young aviator.

"Pardon, monsieur, it is not possible. I have my instructions, and--"

He stopped, and for the first time seemed to become aware of the uniforms worn by Tom and Jack. Then the officer saluted as though proud to do it.

"Ah," he murmured. "Of the Lafayette Escadrille! You may go where you will. Only I hope it is not into danger," he said, as he drew aside for them to pa.s.s. "Pardon, I did not at first sense who you were. France owes you much, messieurs. Keep your lives save for her!"

"We will," promised Tom, as he hurried on, followed by Jack.

They came to the head of the street they sought, and, looking down it, beheld ruins greater than they had seen before. As the officer had said, two buildings had been completely demolished, and a third partly so, the wreckage of all mingling. And amid these ruins police and soldiers were working frantically to get out the injured and remove the dead, of whom there was a sad number.

Tom's face was white, but he kept his nerve. He had been through too many scenes of horror, had been too near death too often of late, as had his chum, to falter now, even though his father might be among those buried in the wreckage caused by the German sh.e.l.l.

"Do you know what number your father was to stop at?" asked Jack.

"Yes, I have his letter," Tom answered. "I'm afraid, Jack, it was in one of those buildings that have been blown apart."

"No, Tom!"

"I'm afraid so. But, even at that, he may have had a chance for his life. He may have been out, or, after all, he may not have arrived yet.

I'm not going to give up hope until I have to."

"That's the way to talk, old man. I'm with you to the last."

They pressed on, and populace and officers alike gave way before them as they saw the uniforms.

"We've got to help!" declared Tom. "We must pitch in, Jack, and lend a hand here. The soldiers seem to be in charge. Let's report to the commanding officer and offer our services."

"But your father?"

"That's the best way to find him if he's in those ruins. Let us help get the unfortunates out. I hope I don't find him, but I must make sure."

Making their way through the press of people, which, under order of the police and military authorities, had begun to disperse in some small measure, Tom and Jack reported to the officer in charge, giving him their names and rank, at the same time showing their papers.

"We want to help," the lads told him.

"And I ask no better," was the quick response. "There are dead and dying under that pile. They must be gotten out."

And then began heart-rending scenes. Tom and Jack did valiant work in carrying out the dead and dying, in both of which cla.s.ses were men, women and children.

The German beasts were living up to the mark they had set for themselves in their war of frightfulness.

Each time a dead or injured man was reached, to be carried out for hospital treatment or to have the last sad rites paid him, Tom nerved himself to look. But he did not see his father, and some small measure of thankfulness surged into his heart. But there were still others buried deep under the ruins, and it would be some time before their bodies, dead or alive, could be got out.

As the soldiers and police worked, on all sides could be heard discussions as to what new form or manner of weapon the Germans were using thus to reach Paris. Many inclined to the theory that it was a new form of airship, flying so high as to be not only beyond ordinary observation, but to be unreachable by the type of planes available at Paris.

"If we could only find a piece of the sh.e.l.l we could come nearer to guessing what sort of gun fired it," remarked Tom, as the two Air Service boys rested a moment from their hard, terrible labors.

"Do you mean if it was dropped from an airship it wouldn't have any rifling grooves on it?" asked Jack.