"He'd be foolish to come to Paris and run the chance of being hit by his own sh.e.l.ls."

"Unless he knew just where they were going to fall," said Jack.

"You have a reason for everything, I see," remarked Tom. "Well, the next time we go to headquarters we'll find out what they learned of this fellow. You know we started the secret service agents on his trail."

"Yes, I know. Well, I was just sort of wondering if he had anything to do with the bombardment of Paris. You've got to look for German spies now, even under your bed at night."

The boys felt they could do nothing more that day toward finding Mr.

Raymond. A more detailed and careful search of the ruins might reveal something. Until this was accomplished nothing could be done.

They ate a late supper, without much in the way of appet.i.tes, it must be confessed, and then went out in the streets of Paris. There seemed to be few signs of war, aside from the many soldiers, and even the bombardment of a few hours earlier appeared to have been forgotten. But of course there was grief in many hearts.

It was early the next morning, when Tom and Jack were getting ready to go back to the ruins in the Rue Lafayette, that, as they left their lodgings, they heard in the air above them the familiar sounds of aeroplanes in flight, and the faint popping of machine guns, to which was added the burst of shrapnel.

"Look!" cried Jack. "It's a battle in the air. The Huns are making another raid. Now we'll see how they bomb the city."

But it did not turn out to be that sort of raid. The German craft were flying low, apparently to get a view of the havoc wrought the day before. Possibly photographs were being taken.

But the French aeroplanes were ready for the foe, and at once arose to give battle, while the anti-aircraft guns roared out a stern order to retreat. It was a battle above the city and, more than once, Tom and Jack wished they could be in it.

"We'll have to get back to our hangars soon," mused Tom, as they watched the fight. "We can't be slackers, even if I can't find my father," he added bravely.

The French planes were too much for the Germans, and soon drove them back beyond the Hun lines, though perhaps not before the enemy aviators had made the observations desired.

"Well, they didn't see much," remarked Jack. "As far as any real damage was done to Paris it doesn't count, from a military standpoint."

"No, you're right," agreed Tom. "Of course they have killed some noncombatants, but that seems to be the Boche's princ.i.p.al form of amus.e.m.e.nt. As for getting any nearer to the capture of Paris this way, he might as well throw beans at the pyramids. It's probably done for the moral, or immoral, effect."

And this seemed to be the view taken of it by the Paris and London papers. The method of bombardment, however, remained a mystery, and a baffling one. This was a point the military authorities wished to clear up. To that end it was much to be desired that fragments of the sh.e.l.l should be found. And to find them, if possible, a careful search was made, not only in the ruins of the Rue Lafayette, but at the other two places where the explosions had occurred.

In no place, however, was a large enough fragment found to justify any conclusive theories, and the Parisians were forced to wait for another bombardment--rather a grim and tense waiting it was, too.

But the careful search of the Rue Lafayette ruins proved one thing. The body of Tom's father was not among them, though this did not make it certain that he was alive. He may have been totally destroyed, and this thought kept Tom from being able to free his mind of anxiety. He dared not cable any news home, and all he could do was to keep on hoping.

These were anxious days for him and Jack.

Their leave of absence had been for a week only, but under the circ.u.mstances, and as it was exceptionally quiet on their sector, they were allowed to remain longer. Tom wanted to make a more thorough search for his father, and the police and military authorities helped him. But Mr. Raymond seemed to have completely disappeared. There was no trace of him since the agent for the Rue Lafayette buildings had seen him leave his room just prior to the falling of the sh.e.l.l.

Jack inquired about the man he suspected of being a German spy. The secret service men had him under observation, they reported, but, as yet, he had not given them any cause to arrest him. They were waiting and watching.

Meanwhile active preparations were under way, not only to discover the source of the bombardment of Paris, but to counteract it. Extra anti-aircraft guns, of powerful calibre, were erected in many places about the city, and more airmen were summoned to the defense.

As yet there had been no resumption of the bombardment, and there were hopes that the German machine, whatever it was, had burst or been put out of commission. But on the second day of the second week of the boys'

stay in Paris, once more there was the alarm and the warning-from the soldiers and police, and again came that explosion.

The bombardment of Paris was being renewed!

CHAPTER IX

VARIOUS THEORIES

Two things were at once apparent to Tom and Jack as they hurried out of their _pension_. One was that the people of Paris were not seeking shelter after the warnings as quickly as they had done at first, and the other was that there was evident curiosity on all sides to see just what damage would be done, and from which direction it would come. With an almost reckless disregard for their safety, if not for their lives, the Parisians fairly flocked out of doors to see the results of the Huns'

bombardment. It was in vain that the police and military urged them to seek safety in cellars or the places provided.

This time only one sh.e.l.l fell near enough to Tom and Jack to make the explosion heard, and that was so faint as to indicate that it was some distance off. What damage had been done could only be guessed at.

"But we'll find out where it is, and go take a look," said Jack.

"Maybe it'll hit right around here if we stay," suggested his chum.

"Well, I'm not taking that chance," Jack went on. "Let's find out where it landed this time."

This they could do through their acquaintance with the military authority of the district where they were then staying. A telephonic report was at once received, giving the quarter where the sh.e.l.l had landed. It had fallen in one of the public squares, and though a big hole had been torn in the ground and pavement, and several persons killed and wounded, no material damage had been done. As for any military effect of the sh.e.l.l, it was nil.

The firing was done in the early evening hours, and Tom and Jack learned that, almost to the second, the shots were fifteen minutes apart.

There was one theory that an underground pa.s.sage had been made in some manner to within a comparatively few miles of Paris, and from that point an immense mortar sent up the sh.e.l.ls in a long trajectory.

Another theory was that traitors had let the Germans through the French lines at a certain place, so they could get near enough to Paris to bombard it.

And of course the gigantic airship theory had its adherents.

But, for a time at least, no one would admit the possibility of a gun with range sufficient to shoot into Paris from the nearest German lines.

The range, sixty-odd miles, seemed too great for practical belief, however nicely it might work out in theory.

"And you must remember that the gun, if gun it is, couldn't be in the very first German line," said Tom, who had studied ordnance. "It must be at least ten miles back, to allow for sufficient protection from the French guns. That would make it shoot about seventy-two miles, and I don't believe any gun on earth could do it!"

"Neither do I," added Jack. "We've got to dope out something else. But this isn't finding your father, Tom."

"I know it, and I don't mind admitting I'm clean discouraged about him, Jack. If he's alive why doesn't he send me some word? He must know where I am, and, even if he doesn't know I'm in Paris, they would forward any message he might send to our aeroplane headquarters."

"That's right. But what are you going to do about it?"

"I hardly know. He may still be in Paris, but it's such a big city that it's hard to find him. Then, too, I'm thinking of something else."

"What's that, Tom?"

"Well, dad may not want us to know where he is."

"Why in the world would he want such a thing as that?"

"Well, he might be followed, or bothered by spies. Perhaps he has come over to do some special work for the French or English army people.

Maybe a spy was after him just before the big German gun wrecked his Rue Lafayette house. He may have considered this a good chance to play dead, and that's why he doesn't send some word to me."

"That's a good theory. But it isn't very comforting."