CHAPTER XI. A Boy Scout Rescuer.
"That's getting entirely too common nowadays!" protested Jack.
"Maybe it was some nervous resident who thought we were coming to blow him out of his happy home," Jimmie responded. "It isn't often a fellow can hit anything shooting straight up like that!"
As he spoke, another flash of light and a report from the street bespoke another attempt to fire upon the Grey Eagle and its occupants. This time the bullet came nearer the mark, for it tore its way through one of the lower planes. Alarmed, the boys peered downward.
"Hurry up and get landed, Ned!" urged Jimmie. "This isn't so funny as it might be! Maybe that fellow will hit us accidentally!"
"And go around covering himself with glory ever afterward!" put in Harry. "I wish they'd pass a law against carrying concealed weapons!"
"Watch out now," commanded Ned, tersely. "I don't know what this street is like. Maybe there are telephone wires there!"
"I'll handle the searchlight!" volunteered Jimmie, seizing the controller as he spoke. "I'll give you plenty of chance to see."
Under the skillful handling of Ned the Grey Eagle came gracefully to a landing on the broad, smooth asphalted street. The boys were not even jarred by the impact as the aeroplane slid to a resting place.
Although the muffler had been deadening the sound of the engine's exhaust to a mere hum, and no clamor of the motors had, therefore, disturbed the city's inhabitants, a large crowd of boys and old men quickly gathered.
Talking volubly and excitedly in the French tongue, they clustered about the machine, addressing shouts and inquiries at the boys. Uncertain what course to pursue, the lads remained in their positions. Scarcely had the machine come to a standstill, however, before uniformed police dashed out of side streets, approaching the Grey Eagle on the run.
"Here come the cops!" cried Jimmie, catching sight of the foremost.
"Ned, I guess it's up to you to be spokesman, as usual," suggested Jack, as the crowd parted to afford the officer a nearer approach.
"Sure, he knows more French than any of us!" chuckled Jimmie.
A rapid question in French was addressed to the boys by the policeman, who had now gained the side of their machine. Ned spread his hands palm upwards and shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating gesture.
Again the officer spoke in the same language, but more vehemently this time. Apparently he was demanding an answer to his former question.
"We heard you the first time, Old Scout!" replied Jimmie. "But if it's just the same to you, we don't know what you mean! If you expect to hold conversation with us, you'll have to start talking United States!"
Instantly a murmur went round the crowd. The boys could hear various ones repeating in awed tones "Etats Unis, Etats Unis."
Noticing the murmur, Jimmie swelled out his chest and said:
"You see, lads, I made them understand me first shot! Notice how quickly they grabbed that United States stuff? I'm good, eh?"
But evidently the officer was not satisfied. Brandishing a club, he started to climb up the frame work of the Grey Eagle.
"Now take it easy, there, Buddie!" warned Jimmie. "You've got all night, so take it easy! Go slow, and it'll last longer!"
Without heeding him the policeman, evidently determined to carry out his purpose, continued to mount the structure. Jimmie was fast losing his temper at this familiarity, and quickly produced his automatic.
"Now, back up, you rough-neck!" he gritted, aiming his pistol at a spot well above the officer's head. "You are going too far!"
Evidently the tone if not the words penetrated the officer's comprehension, for he precipitately retreated to the pavement. He was rescued from complete rout only by the approach of several other officers who came running up at that moment. Jimmie took advantage of the confusion to slip the automatic back into its holster inside his jacket.
"I wonder if these fellows are not the 'Gendarmes' of Paris that we've read about?" queried Harry from his seat in the darkness.
"Possibly they are," replied Ned. "I understand they are very efficient as protectors of the public, too! They look like fine men."
"Aw, shucks!" protested Jimmie. "One of the Broadway Squad could eat a half dozen of these fellows! They don't look like so much!"
"Just the same, let's go easy with them. We'd better not start anything that will result in our getting into trouble of any kind."
"All right, Ned," acquiesced Jimmie. "Just as you say."
"Better throw on a little light and let them see what we look like, they're coming in a bunch!" warned Jack, who had been watching.
With the snap of the switch a flood of light swept over the four boys in the Grey Eagle. It revealed to the approaching officers their visitors seated, and with their right hands raised in salute.
Instantly comprehending the situation, the one who seemed to be in command of the squad smiled at the lads and raised his own hand in return. He seemed immensely relieved when he saw the character of those who had surprised them by the nocturnal visit.
Approaching as near as possible, he spoke politely in French, addressing the group of lads. Ned shook his head and replied:
"Excuse me, officer, but we can't understand you. Perhaps you understand English. That's the only language we can speak."
"Ah!" answered the officer pleasantly. "And whom have I the honor of addressing? I do not seem to recognize you!"
"We are four boys from the United States," replied Ned pleasantly, "making a trip through France for pleasure. We have been detained and are, therefore, somewhat confused as to our location in Paris. Perhaps you could direct us to a good hotel, and also to the War Office."
"Certainly, gentlemen," responded the officer, "I shall be most happy to accommodate you in any way possible. But, first, it will be necessary for me to examine your passports and to report your presence to the Prefect of Police. It is only my duty, you know!"
"If we can be sure of a guard to protect our aeroplane," Ned suggested, "we shall be glad to accompany you to the office of the Prefect. We must communicate with your War Office at the earliest moment possible. We wish to avoid international complications."
A look of astonishment and interest overspread the features of the officer. Turning to his companions, he rapidly gave orders. Two of the Gendarmes at once began forcing back to a respectful distance the curious crowd. Ned and his companions were impressed with the respectful promptness with which the onlookers obeyed the officer's commands.
Alighting from their positions, the boys stretched their cramped legs in relief, and stood at attention ready for the next move.
"When does the next 'Jitney bus' arrive?" asked Jimmie.
"Your pardon, please," spoke up the officer, "I do not understand the term you have just used. My use of English is imperfect."
"My use of English is also imperfect," spoke up Jimmie, confusedly, "and I am the one to apologize. That term is United States slang for a public motor bus. Ned, here, says I use too much slang!"
"I comprehend," laughed the officer, "and you are not at all at fault. I regret to say, however, that since the war began no busses are run in the streets of Paris. We shall be compelled to walk."
Leaving the Grey Eagle in charge of the two men detailed to protect their precious property, the boys set off at a brisk walk in company with their new-found friend, and were soon standing before the desk in a police station. A white-haired sergeant confronted them.
A glance at the kindly expression in his eyes told the boys that they would not fare illy at his hands. Ned determined to confide fully in the officer and to tell him the object of their visit.
Immediately upon arriving the officer who had accompanied them conferred with his superior in a low tone, using the French tongue. Watching closely, the boys were convinced that his report was not unfavorable.
At length the elderly sergeant made an entry in a book, and then addressed the boys. His manner was dignified, yet conciliatory.
"Very much to my regret, gentlemen, I have to inform you that, although your passports and identification seem to be perfectly proper, there is lodged with the police department a complaint that you are here seeking information that would be put to improper use."
"In other words," Ned put in, as the sergeant paused, "we are suspected, and perhaps accused, of being here as spies!"
"I don't like to use just that term," returned the sergeant, and then added: "But, after all, a name matters very little."
"Your informant," spoke up Jimmie, "is probably well known to us. We have had dealings with him before this. You may not believe it, but we know him to be not only a thorough rascal, but a traitor as well!"
This statement was received by the sergeant with considerable astonishment. His glance at Jimmie was plainly a question.
Briefly the boys gave a synopsis of the events already known, not forgetting to mention the dangerous situation in which their enemy had succeeded in placing them only a short time previous to the present.
Not a word of the story was lost by either the officer or the sergeant, who occasionally exchanged quick glances full of meaning.
"You surely have occasion to suspect this person whom you call 'The Rat,' and I am sure your efforts will be crowned with success," the sergeant offered, at the conclusion of the story. "However, my orders are to detain you if found, and present you at the War Office. You will, of course, appreciate my position and understand what 'duty' means."
"Yes, sir," Ned returned, "we believe we know what 'duty' means, and we surely cannot object to your doing yours, but we would like very much to know where this man we referred to is located at the present."
A smile overspread the face of the sergeant.
"He is under surveillance. He cannot get far away until permitted to do so by agents of the War Office. Although his credentials appeared to be fully as valid as your own, we cannot afford to take risks at such a time as now. He will be produced in good season."
"Thank you!" Ned replied heartily. "I feel easier now, and hope our mission is nearly accomplished. If we can once obtain extradition papers and return the fellow to the United States we shall be pleased."
"When can we visit the War Office, and lay our case before the proper officials?" asked Harry eagerly. "We don't want to lose any time!"
"Perhaps not before morning," was the answer. "It is late now."
"Isn't it possible to get someone on the telephone?" suggested Jack, indicating the instrument at the sergeant's elbow as he spoke.
"That would be rather irregular, unless the case were very urgent!"
"This case seems to me to be extremely urgent," persisted Jack.
"Perhaps you are right," thoughtfully acknowledged the other. "I shall assume responsibility and make the effort at any rate."
Accordingly, he asked for a number, and in a short time was conversing in French with someone who appeared to be his superior. He soon replaced the instrument and turned again to address the boys.
"An interview has been arranged for morning," he announced. "In the interim we will provide you the best accommodations at our command."
"Does that mean that we bunk in the cooler?" indignantly protested Jimmie, pushing forward. "I protest, your Honor! It isn't fair!"
"There is no other way!" declared the sergeant kindly.
"But let us go to a hotel!" argued Jimmie. "We can pay our way!"
Shaking his head, the sergeant gave directions for their disposal, and indicated that the interview was at an end by rising from his chair.
Jimmie was not easily mollified, however, and began a vigorous protest, which was with difficulty silenced by his chums. He declared that he felt highly insulted at being placed in a cell in a police station.
"Hello, look who's here!" cried Jack, in the midst of the argument.
A young lad of about their own age had entered. He was dressed in a khaki uniform which seemed to be a modification of their own.
As the four boys gazed at the newcomer his hand rose in the well-known Boy Scout salute. This was immediately answered.