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CHAPTER XXXV
THE BULLY OF THE CLOUDS

And then all at once the danger came.

Ahead of them loomed, in the darkness, for the moon had not yet risen, a bulking dark form.

An exclamation burst from the Frenchman’s lips.

“A Zeppelin. Malediction!”

“Do you think she’ll attack us?” asked Jack.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell yet which way she is coming. Ah!”

A long ray of light, like a radiant scimitar, glowed suddenly from the mighty aircraft, 400 feet long and capable of carrying many men and tons of explosives.

Hither and thither the ray was flung.

“Zey heard our engines. Zey look for us!” exclaimed de Garros.

He shot up to a greater height. He was manœuvering to get above the Zeppelin, where her guns would be useless against the aeroplane, which was more mobile and swifter in the air than the Kaiser’s immense sky-ship.

But suddenly the glowing light enveloped them in its full blaze. Dazzlingly it showed them in its rays. It was the most peculiar sensation Jack had ever experienced. It was like being stood up against a wall with a fiery sabre pressed to your breast.

With a quick movement of the wheel, de Garros sent the aeroplane out of range of the revealing light. The next moment came a sharp crackle and something screamed through the air.

“Missed!” exclaimed the aviator with satisfaction.

Again the questioning finger pointed its interrogating tip hither and yon across the night sky. Others from below now joined it in its quest.

The firing from above, and the sight of the searchlight had been rightly guessed by the Germans encamped below. They knew that a hostile aircraft was above them and were helping in the search for it.

A sharp exclamation broke from the Frenchman. He bent and fumbled with some contrivance on the floor of the aeroplane.

There was a sharp click.

“What have you done?” asked Jack.

“I have released zee bomb.”

“The dickens!”

“Watch! Now you see!”

Fascinated, even in the midst of the awful danger they were facing high above the earth in the upper air, Jack leaned over and stared at a battery of searchlights sending out fan-shaped rays on every side.

He guessed this was the objective of de Garros’ bombs. He was right.

As he gazed there was what looked like the sudden opening of a flaming fire below, and the searchlights went out as if a giant had snuffed a monstrous candle.

Then came the report, booming upward through the air.

“Aha! Zere are some Germans below zere who will not do zee mischief more!” exclaimed the Frenchman with vicious satisfaction.

But his congratulations to himself were premature.

Again the light of the Zeppelin enveloped them. The glare seemed like a warm bath of all-revealing light. There was a flash and then the shriek of a projectile as the aeroplane dipped under the glow of the light. Then came the boom of the report.

“Zey ought to learn to shoot,” muttered de Garros.

“Thank heaven they can do no better than they are,” rejoined Jack.

“Now we show zem zee clean pair of heels and run away,” said de Garros.

“I’m glad to hear that. I couldn’t stand much more of this,” thought Jack.

“If I was alone, or had an officer wiz me, we go above zat Zeppelin high in zee air and blow him up,” announced de Garros cheerfully, after a minute or two. “Ah! zey get us again. Peste!”

The whine of a machine gun sounded as the searchlight of the pursuing Zeppelin again enveloped the bold little aeroplane. Her great bulk, big as a steamship, was rushed at top speed through the air. They could catch the roar of her four motors being driven at top speed.

De Garros had dropped again, and thanks to his skill, the aeroplane was still unhit, although the projectiles from the quick firer had come close enough for the occupants of the monoplane to hear their whine.

“We beat zem out!” exclaimed the Frenchman.

“Then we are faster than they are.”

“Oh, very much.”

“Well, we can’t be too fast for me,” muttered Jack. “I – ”

“Sacre!”

The searchlight had again caught them, and again there had come reports from her underbody. This time the sharp crackle of rifles.

“Are you hurt?” cried Jack, as the Frenchman gave a sharp exclamation recorded above.

“Malediction, yes. Zey nick my hand. Eet is not bad. But worse zey hit zee motor I think.”

The smooth-running machine was no longer firing regularly. Its speed had decreased.

“What are you going to do now?” cried Jack. “We’ll be mowed down by those machine guns if we slow up.”

“We must come down.”

“But the Germans?”

“There are no campfires below us now.”

“But can you make a good landing?”

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.

“Parbleu! If I cannot zen all our troubles are over, mon ami.”

The aeroplane began to descend, slowly at first and then faster. The dark earth sky-rocketed up at them from below.

CHAPTER XXXVI
A MYSTERIOUS CAPTURE

But the disaster de Garros had feared more than admitted did not happen. Between two patches of wood lay an open field, readily distinguished even in the dark by its lighter color. In the stubble of a mown crop the aeroplane alighted, not without a considerable jolt to its occupants.

Their main anxiety now was the great Zeppelin they could hear, but not see, above them. Jack trusted they were equally invisible and that the searchlight would not reveal them, for high explosive bombs in a deadly rain from above would certainly follow.

De Garros, while wringing his wounded hand with pain, was helped out of the machine by Jack.

“Malediction, and I not get zee chance to fire on zat chien of a Zeppelin,” lamented the Frenchman. “Some day I pay zem back.”

“Is your hand badly hurt?” asked Jack anxiously.

“I do not know and we dare not yet use zee electric torch I ’ave on zee machine.”

“Why not?”

“It would show zee Zeppelin where we ’ide.”

“Then you don’t think they guess that we have descended?”

“No, if they had zey would search zee ground wiz zeir light.”

“That’s so.”

“But now they are point eet ’ere, zere, all over zee sky. If zey no find us zey think zat we are keel and zey go away.”

Jack shuddered at the narrow escape they had from this being made literally true.

For a long time, or so it seemed to the anxious watchers below, the Zeppelin soared above them, her searchlight swinging in every direction. But at last the noise of her engines grew dimmer and the light vanished.

“Zey go away disgoost,” said de Garros, shrugging his shoulders. “Now we see what are zee chances of patching up my hand and getting zee engine going again.”

The electric light, carried to locate engine trouble at night, was switched on and brought out by its long wires over the side of the craft. Then began an anxious examination of the aviator’s hand.

It proved that the tip of his thumb, where it had laid on the edge of the wheel, had been badly nicked by a bullet, but luckily it was the left member.

“If zee engine ees capable of being fixed I can drive wiz my right hand,” declared the aviator. “Thank the bon Dieu that it was not zee steering wheel zat was struck.”

With the first aid kit, carried by all soldiers in the field, they soon dressed and bound the injured member, and then came the examination of the engine, an investigation on which much depended. If it proved to have been too badly damaged to be repaired, they would not stand much chance for escape in a country so overrun with German troops. For all they knew some might be camped not far off. But they had to take their chance of that.

“Ciel, we are in zee luck!” exclaimed de Garros, after a brief examination, “the chiens only smashed a spark plug. I soon fix ’im and zen once more we start.”

The repair kit contained the necessary plug, which he quickly replaced. Then the journey through the night, which had already proved so eventful, was renewed. But now Jack felt a fresh alarm. How would they be able to tell at Louvain that it was a French and not a German aeroplane hovering above them.

He put the question to de Garros.

“Zat is easy. I ’ave on zee side of zee machine a set of four electric lights. Two are red, one is green, one is white. Zat is zee secret night signal of zee French machines.”

“But suppose the Germans should find out your code?” asked Jack.

“Eet is changed every night. Sometimes two green, one white, one red – many combinations are possible.”

“By Jove, I never thought of that!” exclaimed Jack, struck by the simplicity of the idea, and relieved at the thought that there would be no danger of being attacked by mistake.

Half an hour later they landed at a sort of fair ground in Louvain after answering all challenges satisfactorily. The Germans were not yet at the gate of the city. But they were near at hand and the place was wrapped in darkness. However, on account of de Garros’ rank, they obtained an escort to the hotel.

Tired from the excitement and nervous strain, Jack went to bed, sighing with relief at the thought that all was so promising.

In about an hour or so he awakened from a deep sleep. The night was sultry, and there was a strange calmness in the atmosphere seemingly weighed with grave and impending events.

Jack could not resist an impulse to leave his room and wander out into the deserted streets of Louvain.

He had not taken a dozen steps when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Before he could turn to see his assailant, he was whisked from the ground and swept onward to a great height.

Still dead silence reigned.

CHAPTER XXXVII
THE MIGHT OF MILITARISM

It was some time later that Jack began to realize that he was a prisoner and borne on a giant aeroplane.

How did he get there?

Try as he would he could not answer that question. He gazed about him. Away in the distance he could distinguish small specks of light, which, were they not moving so rapidly about space, he would have mistaken for stars.

Below searchlights swept the horizon. Here and there were the glimmerings of fast dying out camp-fires. Suddenly a faint streamer of red light shot high into the air, held steadily for a moment, and then broke into a million colored globules.

“A signal,” thought Jack. “I wonder if it will be answered.”

He then became aware of a movement on the part of the air pilot. Till that moment he had not noticed the least sign of life from the wheel man. Now there came a soft blob and a red light shot into the air.

Almost instantly there again was darkness.

“By Jove!” whispered Jack to himself, amazedly. “This certainly is marvelously fast work!”

There was no repetition of the signals.

For a while Jack was content to gaze about him in idle wonder. He seemed indifferent to his plight. He drank in the scenes about him, gazed interestedly at other air-craft that passed them, and watched the sky begin to turn a dull slate color. It was the dawn of another day of carnage.

Others, too, were on the watch for these faint signs of day. From somewhere came the long, awful boom of a huge cannon.

Jack tried to get up, but fell back to his former position. He only then realized that he was chained to his seat. He had a certain amount of freedom, but beyond that he was a prisoner, helpless.

“Well,” mused Jack upon this discovery, “even if my hands and feet were free, I could not escape from this height. We must land some time, and then I’ll have more need to use them.”

So Jack settled back to watch developments. Now everything was astir. A faint murmur was wafted to him on the morning breeze.

He could see the soldiers moving about, the great cannons and howitzers beginning to lumber onward, the column of Uhlans already in saddle, and the hundreds of air-craft rising to greet the early sun’s rays.

“It’s wonderful!” whispered Jack, fascinated. “Yes, wonderful, but how terrible! This whole array is primed to create nothing but havoc, sorrow, destruction, and death! Gee, but I’m glad the good old United States has no need for such military organization!”

Another sound came to his ears, and cut short his thoughts of America. In an astonishingly brief time, the Army of the Invasion had completed its formations and was on the march, the rank and file, all deep-throated men, singing Das Fatherland.

“Good God!” gasped Jack. “They are going to their death with a song on their lips!”

From somewhere in front of these columns came a roar of cannon. The air was filled with shrill, piercing shrieks as tons upon tons of metal, charged with fearful destructive powers, tried to stem the human flood.

For a few minutes the smoke and steam hid the dreadful spectacle from Jack. He gazed intently below him, anxious to see the victor of this clash.

Of course, it must not be forgotten that the human waves of men were supported by great artillery fire on their own side. Unaided entirely these men would have been annihilated miles before the fortresses.

The ranks were on the double run now. Their bayonets glistened in the dull sunlight. On, on, ever on, they went, keeping perfect stride, never faltering.

Jack could not tear his eyes from the sight.

Even while storming the redoubt, the ranks held firm. Another sheet of flame checked them for a moment. They tried to recover, and somehow couldn’t. Again came that destructive, raking fire. The lines faltered.

Jack trembled from excitement. Was this magnificent effort to fail? He was not thinking of them as Germans. He was only aware of brave, dauntless men trying to best steel and explosives.

Again came a sheet of flame.

The ranks actually seemed to fall back.

Then once more, from the rear, rose the deep notes of Das Fatherland. It stiffened the thinned ranks. They rushed forward, the fierce cry of victory mingling with the strains of their national anthem.

“That was great!” cried Jack. “My sympathies are not very strongly with the Germans, but I’m bound to give credit where credit is due. Well, what now – ?”

Jack became aware that the machine on which he was a prisoner was going to make a landing. Silently, swiftly, the winged mechanism was guided toward earth behind the German lines.

Jack smiled with satisfaction.

“I’ll have a chance to stretch my legs,” he said. “As long as Radwig is dead, I have not so much to fear. I wonder what they want of me?”

CHAPTER XXXVIII
MILITARY CROSS-EXAMINATION

The machine came to a stop. The pilot never moved from his seat. Instead, he motioned to a soldier to come to him. Evidently a few words were exchanged.

A sharp command was issued.

Two soldiers came up to Jack. He held up his hands to show that he was chained. One of the soldiers leaned forward, and pressed a button at the side of the car. The chains fell from Jack.

Without comment the two soldiers seized Jack and flanked him. A detail of six additional men fell in step, a petty officer wheeled about, – a movement that acted as a signal for the soldiers to march.

A five-minute walk brought them to a small cottage. Here they halted. Jack was blindfolded. When the bandage was removed, he found himself facing an elderly man seated at a desk. Jack could not make out his features, as they were hidden in a gray mask.

“Sprechen sie Deutsch?” he was asked.

Jack understood the question, and replied:

“No.”

“What is your nationality?” came the question in English.

“American.”

“What part of America?”

“New York.”

“Your occupation?”

“Wireless operator.”

“For your government?”

“No, for the Transatlantic Shipping Combine.”

There followed a short pause. Jack was wondering what next to expect. The questions had been brief and propounded in a crisp, commanding way. There was no leeway for equivocation.

“Do you tell the truth?”

“I do,” replied Jack quietly.

“Why do you tell the truth?”

“Because I believe in it,” said Jack simply.

“Under what circumstances did you first meet Herr Radwig?”

Jack, greatly surprised, hesitated. Would it be wise to tell everything? How under the sun did this man in the gray mask know so much?

“Remember, the truth.”

Jack thought quickly. The question implied that this officer had some knowledge of his dealings with Radwig. Possibly, also, the officer was about to test the value of his declaration that he told the truth. So Jack figured. But was this not an amazing illustration of the wonderful efficiency and thoroughness of the German Secret Service.

“Speak!” came the imperative command.

“Very well,” replied Jack calmly. “It was on the Kronprinzessin Emilie. It seemed that we were about to be dashed to pieces on floating icebergs. Some shrieked:

“‘The Titanic!’

“‘The boats!’ shouted a man. He violently pushed two women aside, wedged in the panic-stricken throng. I stood at the head of the companion way. The man told me to get out of the way. I tried to calm the people. But this man seemed to have lost his reason. He rushed at me, trying to strike me. I was too quick for him. I struck first. He staggered back, subdued. It was only later that I learned this man’s name.”

“And then – how and when did you meet Herr Radwig?”

So Jack had to relate incident after incident. Always, at the end of a recital, came the same question, asked in the same matter-of-fact tone of voice:

“And then – when and where did you meet Herr Radwig?”

Everything must have its end. At last Jack had modestly related every episode with which the reader has been made acquainted. The even tone of his questioner, his piercing eyes, and the unbroken silence was beginning to weary Jack. He felt that he could hardly keep his wits about him.

Evidently the German officer noticed these signs and was patiently waiting for them. He leaned forward, and the steady monotone now gave place to a rasping, menacing gruffness.

“Who are you?” he suddenly snapped.

“An American,” came the tired reply.

“An American!” jeered the officer.

“Yes, and I’m proud of it!”

“Why should you be proud of something you could not help?”

“I don’t understand you,” replied Jack, passing his hand over his brow as if to clear away the ever increasing drowsiness.

“You don’t understand me?”

Jack shook his head.

“Answer me!”

Jack opened his mouth to speak, his lips moved, but he could utter no sound. He stood still, staring stupidly at the man in front of him. His thoughts were befuddled. What did he – the man in the gray mask – want?

“I wish those eyes wouldn’t glare at me so,” Jack mumbled to himself. “I didn’t do anything to them.”

But the eyes behind the gray mask became larger, rounder, more compelling. Jack knew instinctively that they meant him harm. What power they held! Something within him fought to arouse him. He tried to move and could not. Larger, ever larger those eyes seemed to grow! The features of the man were lost; in fact, those eyes seemed to belong to no one; they seemed to have life and power, dreadful power, of their own.

Jack shrieked with terror!

Was he lost?

CHAPTER XXXIX
SHATTERING THE SHACKLES

Did it ever occur to you that nature plays many pranks? From the many learned books and men – and from daily events – we are lead to assume that nature is grim, relentless. On the whole, this assumption is true. But one of the things that has made nature a harder problem for man to solve is that there are the most unexpected exceptions to the most carefully proved rules. Sometimes these exceptions take place with things and sometimes with persons.

Nature had played a prank with Jack.

When he came to his senses he found de Garros solicitously bending over him, his broken English running riot in his native French.

“What’s up?” questioned bewildered Jack.

De Garros shrugged his shoulders.

“I – er —phew! Zee – la —compron– eh – I understand not! You make zee big cry, I in rush – excited much —phew!”

Jack sat up in bed.

“Are we still in Louvain?” he demanded.

“We, we, certainly!” de Garros hastened to assure him.

A big sigh of relief welled from Jack.

“De Garros,” he said, “I have had the most remarkable nightmare!”

Whereupon Jack related to de Garros, as well as he could recall the details, the dream that had seemed so real.

De Garros was thrilled. Every now and then he broke into the recital with exclamations most expressive of the impressions they made upon him.

“And now,” Jack said in conclusion, “I think it is best for us to dress. I have never dreamed before, and I never want to dream again, if all dreams are so terribly real.”

De Garros laughingly agreed with him.

When Jack had dressed, he began to explore the corridors of the hotel. He felt that Bill, Tom Jukes and Pottle were guests of it. Of course, the easiest way about it would have been to inquire at the office.

As the hour was rather early he did not care to do this at once. A little later Jack was joined by de Garros, and together they walked into the dining room. Even at this hour several tables were occupied.

Almost at once the two were espied by their friends. A more amazed and glad set of chaps would have been indeed difficult to find anywhere.

“Honest, Jack,” cried Bill, tears of real joy in his eyes, “we had given up all hope of ever seeing you again.”

“Man alive!” declared Tom Jukes, “you can’t imagine how we felt, for we knew that there was no chance of getting through to save you.”

“Blues – here – everybody!” exploded Pottle. “Funeral cheerful in comparison – no eat – no food – just blues!”

“Come, Jack,” invited Bill, “and de Garros, breakfast with us and tell us about it.”

So, between mouthfuls, Jack related his experiences with Radwig’s party of Uhlans. Affectionately he placed his hand on de Garros’ arm, and soberly said:

“I owe my life to you. If it hadn’t been for you – ”

“It was sure luck, the greatest ever,” declared Tom Jukes.

“Fine stuff – fooled the enemy – shot at sunrise – others get shot instead – up in the air – down again – all safe – at last – hurray!” cried Pottle, capering about wildly.

“I can’t think it was luck,” said Jack gravely. “I think there was a higher power than that concerned in it.”

“You are right,” agreed Bill.

“Read – ee —mon ami, you ’ave not forget zee dream,” slyly remarked de Garros.

Jack turned scarlet. Somehow he felt that it was not very manlike to have even bothered with nightmares.

“What’s this?” demanded Bill.

“Come on, now,” coaxed Tom; “don’t hold anything back.”

“Dreams?” questioned Pottle. “Dreams? Great stuff – big inventors – and Columbus – dreamers!”

So Jack went over that adventure again.

This time, however, he decided to tell it in the way it actually happened. The result was that when Jack led them up to the climax he held even de Garros spellbound.

Jack ceased to speak and looked at his friends.

“How did you get away?” asked Bill.

“I didn’t,” was the smiling reply.

“You didn’t!” came the perplexed chorus.

De Garros was chuckling softly. He had to admire Jack’s cleverness.

“Battle – prisoner – great fight – man in gray mask – disappear – eyes bigger and bigger – what’s this – fairy tale?”

“No, Pottle,” replied Jack, “it was only a dream.”

For a moment there was silence and then they all broke into peals of laughter, laughter that seemed so strange and out of place in these days frought with war’s devastation.

So they had the good sense to check their merriment, especially as they saw the eyes of many surprised men and women upon them.

They soon left the dining room, and prepared to leave Louvain. Late that afternoon arrangements were completed.

Regretful good-byes were said to plucky little de Garros, whose demonstrative eyes were wet as he clasped their hands in farewell.

“We may nevaire meet again,” he stammered, “but I nevaire forget you all.”

“Nor will we forget you!” cried Jack warmly. “You – you, if it hadn’t been for you – ”

“Read – ee, mon ami, you ’ave forget what you do for me long ago. A fair exchange. You save my life.”

“You’re fine,” exploded Pottle. “Legion of Honor cross for you – long war – much dead – much wounded – but you’ll live!”

A prediction, strangely enough, that came true.