"You find me here because I didn't have time to get away," he replied,
"and I'm in a French uniform because it's my fighting suit."
The young officer smiled. John rather liked him, and he saw, too, that
he was no older than himself.
"It's lucky for you that you're in some kind of a uniform," the German
said, "or I should have you shot immediately. But I'm sorry we didn't
take the man in the aeroplane instead of you."
John looked up again. The _Arrow_ had become small in the distant blue.
A whimsical impulse seized him.
"You've a right to be sorry," he said. "That was the greatest flying man
in the world, and all day he has carried messages, heavy with the fate
of nations. If you had taken him a few moments ago you might have saved
the German army from defeat today. But your chance has gone. If you were
to see him again you would not know him and his plane from others of
their kind."
The officer's eyes dilated at first. Then he smiled again and stroked
his young mustache.
"It may be true, as you say," he replied, "but meanwhile I'll have to
take you to my chief, Captain von Boehlen."
John's heart sank a little when he heard the name von Boehlen. Fortune,
he thought, had played him a hard trick by bringing him face to face
with the man who had least cause to like him. But he would not show it.
"Very well," he said; "which way?"
"Straight before you," said the officer. "I'd give you a mount, but it
isn't far.
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