fritz was now well on the homeward trail. he knew that the game was up, but, reluctant to give up the booty, was still maintaining a game of bluff. forced back by relentless pressure on all fronts, deserted by her played-out allies, germany was on the point of throwing up the sponge. she knew full well that foch was ready to deliver a decisive blow and gain a victory the like of which the world has never seen. there remained a chance—to enter into an armistice with the victorious allies. better, from the huns' point of view, to temporize, and be prepared to make sacrifices of territory and material, than to lose millions of fit men, who might, at no distant date, be available for the service of the fatherland.
there were rumours of peace in the air. the british and french troops, although "fed up" with fighting, were loath to let their foes escape from the noose. after more than four years of strenuous warfare, enduring unheard-of discomforts and privations, they were reluctant to allow the hun to temporize. they wanted a fight to the finish and to deliver a knock-out blow.
it was early in november that derek daventry, now a full lieutenant, r.a.f., was sent on detached duty to a flying-base situated nearly fifty kilometres behind the aerodrome occupied by his squadron.
the journey was to be performed by car. for certain reasons derek was not allowed to fly in the still serviceable eg 19, one of the chief being that there were papers of a highly-confidential nature that were not to be delivered by air.
seated in a high-powered car of a type that in pre-war days only a millionaire could afford to own, derek set off. his driver, in civil life a racing-chauffeur on brooklands track, was a man who knew his job, and revelled in the knowledge that no blue-coated policeman lurked in ambush on the pavé roads. true, there were the military police to take into consideration, but, except at cross-roads and in towns and villages, there was no speed-limit.
jolting, bumping, sometimes leaping clear of the ground, and frequently swinging round corners with only two wheels touching and slithering over the ground, the car continued its mad, exhilarating pace. speed-lust gripped both driver and passenger. the keen autumnal air acted like a tonic, while the long-forgotten experience, ground-travelling, where the sensation of speed is far greater than in flying at a height, filled derek with an uncontrollable exuberance. he wanted to shout at the top of his voice; to urge the driver to even greater speed. he even detected himself in the act of waving airy greetings to pompous "brass hats" by the wayside.
in a very short space of time the car had cleared the maze of roads and huts and was speeding across a country devastated by war, and temporarily passed over by the contending forces. the landscape was pitted with waterlogged shell-holes and dotted with jagged stumps of trees, with an occasional gable-end to mark what was once a peaceful dwelling. shrapnel-riddled nissen huts, derelict tanks, and transport vehicles added to the desolation of the scene, the only human element being supplied by gangs of chinese road-menders, while occasionally mechanically-propelled wagons and lorries of the supply column were encountered.
happening to glance skyward, derek saw that an aeroplane was passing overhead. there was nothing out of the ordinary in that; for months past the air had been stiff with air-craft, and hardly anyone troubled to crane his neck to watch one.
derek gave a second look, and looked again, keeping his eyes fixed upon the descending biplane as far as the jolting and lurching of the car would permit. then, leaning forward, he touched the driver on the shoulder.
"'bus in difficulties," he shouted. "slow down, and see what happens."
the speed of the car diminished. the biplane was vol-planing in short spirals immediately above. evidently the engine had "konked out" and the pilot was seeking a suitable landing-ground.
down came the machine, pancaking badly. both tyres burst simultaneously with a loud report, while the tail rose in the air like a mute signal of distress.
out of the pilot's seat clambered a figure dressed in the regulation outfit. hardly troubling to examine the damage to his 'bus, he pushed up his fur-rimmed goggles, and, waving his arms, began to run towards the road with the intention of attracting the attention of the driver of the motor.
derek gave orders to stop, and awaited the arrival of the pilot.
"mornin', jimmy," exclaimed the new-corner, on seeing that derek wore the r.a.f. uniform. "can you give me a lift as far as le tenetoir aerodrome?"
"that's where i'm bound for, old son," replied derek. "what's wrong?"
"run out of petrol. union leaking, i fancy. rotten old 'bus—never gave a fellow a chance. they are all alike, dash 'em."
"jump in," interrupted daventry brusquely. "i'm in a hurry. no, not here, in the front seat, if you please. right-o!—full speed ahead, driver; let her rip!"
derek leant back against the cushions, and, holding his precious dispatch-case with one hand, meditatively contemplated the castor-oil-stained back of the airman in front.
with a sudden jerk the car pulled up before the sentry at the entrance to le tenetoir aerodrome. it did the tyres no good, but the driver chose the lesser of two evils, since it was decidedly unhealthy to ignore a challenge in war-time, especially when a sentry is smart with his trigger-finger.
"thanks, old bird!" exclaimed the pilot of the disabled machine, taking advantage of the car being at a standstill, and alighting agilely. "good of you to bring me home, you blinking samaritan. see you later in the mess. i'll be on the look-out for you."
derek signed to the driver to keep the car stationary, then, when the stranger was out of earshot:
"who is that officer, sentry?"
"dunno, sir," replied the man. "we gets such a lot o' new officers 'ere it's no tellin' who's who."
"thank you," replied the lieutenant. "carry on, driver."
arriving at the orderly-room, derek handed over his documents, and waited until the c. o. had drafted a reply and had passed it on to be typewritten. by the time the official reply was in order, nearly half an hour had gone.
this part of the business completed, derek was free to commence his return journey. instead, he strolled into the officers' mess, where he was not surprised to find that the man he had befriended was not present.
he looked round to see if he knew any of the crowd of flying-men. to his satisfaction he recognized a pilot who had been with him at averleigh.
"hallo, canterbury!" he exclaimed. "so you're out here?"
"and well i know it, you old merchant," replied the lieutenant, shaking derek's hand. "had quite a sticky time ever since i joined the squadron. well, how goes it? anything i can do?"
"can you find me the orderly officer?" asked daventry.
"behold in me the orderly dog," replied canterbury, with mock obeisance. "for this day only—until next time. what is it?"
"you have a number of big bombers here?"
"yes; a number," was the guarded reply.
"where?"
canterbury waved his hand in a comprehensive sweep.
"out there," he answered. "but why this curiosity?"
"look here, old man," said derek earnestly. "you can vouch for me. i want to get hold of an armed party. i'll explain why as briefly as i can."
"by jove! is that so?" ejaculated canterbury, when derek had reported the details required to back up his request for an armed party. "right-o! i'll turn out a crowd in half a shake. wait till i've informed the 'adjy.', and then we'll see what's to be done."
lieutenant canterbury was as good as his word. having explained matters to the adjutant, he led a file of airmen to the hangars, where the secret battleplanes were jealously hidden from prying eyes by an elaborate camouflage scheme.
at the first of the sheds, in which the giant machines assembled for the purpose of bombing berlin were stored, the orderly officer halted his men.
"carry on, daventry," he said. "see if your merchant is knocking around. we'll stand by in case of an accident."
derek's investigation of the first shed drew blank. as he was entering the second he came face to face with the flying-officer he had befriended.
"hallo, george!" exclaimed the pilot of the disabled machine. "you're just the fellow i wanted to see. hung around the mess for a deuce of a time, but it was na poo."
"better late than never," rejoined derek. "we'll stroll back. s'pose you can spare the time?"
the officer hesitated. then:
"right-o! i'm on!" he exclaimed. "can't stop very long, though. i'm on a special stunt with these bombers. by the way, do you happen to know——"
derek laid his hand heavily upon the pilot's shoulder.
"count von peilfell," he said sternly, "i arrest you as a spy!"
instantly the armed guard surrounded the prisoner.
"by jove! this is great—absolutely!" he exclaimed, bursting into a roar of laughter. "count who? you silly juggins, it's you who'll have to count, i guess! quit fooling, and don't be a silly ass!"
the armed party showed signs of incredulous astonishment. canterbury looked at derek as if he had been one of the victims of a practical joke. even daventry began to wonder whether he, too, had made a grievous error in placing the stranger under arrest. then he nodded to the orderly officer in a manner that showed confidence in his action.
"carry on; remove the prisoner," ordered lieutenant canterbury.
the formalities before the adjutant having been completed, the accused, still protesting that it was all an idiotic mistake, was removed to the guard-room. on being subjected to a strict search—which resulted in the discovery of nothing of an incriminating nature—the prisoner was informed that he would be given facilities for proving his identity, and that no doubt some of his brother officers would appear to establish his innocence.
then, to the surprise of all present, the accused turned to derek.
"you are very smart," he remarked in quite a casual way. "i am count von peilfell. i should like to know how you spotted me?"
"considering that we were flying side by side a short while ago," replied derek, "and you were making faces at me the whole time (perhaps you recollect the incident), i think i've good cause to recognize you again."
"der teufel!" ejaculated the count. "it was a thousand pities that on that occasion my ammunition was expended."
"i am sorry to hear that," replied the british pilot enigmatically.
