CHAPTER XX—HAMLIN
Don Hale was certainly given a tremendous reception; and a short time later, while comfortably seated in a chair at the villa recounting his memorable adventures, was highly gratified to hear T. Singleton Albert verify his statement concerning the destruction of the observation balloon.
“This is the way it came about,” explained Drugstore: “During that scrimmage with the Boches I happened to see Don’s machine, hotly pursued, enter the clouds. And Don being rather new at the game, I thought I’d try to hang around a bit, so as to keep an eye on him if I could.”
“Bully for you!” cried Don. “Albert, you’re a brick!”
“I had a pretty fierce time of it, too, with tracer bullets cutting holes through the air all about me, but, after a while, I managed to slip away from the attacking planes. By that time the scrap was over and the photographic machine and its escort were on their way home.
“Somehow or other, I don’t know why, I had a pretty strong suspicion, Don, that your Nieuport wasn’t among them. So, instead of making for the airdrome, I flew back over the lines, incidentally saying ‘how-do-you-do’ to a number of ‘Archies’ and a bushel or two of ‘onions.’ I shot up pretty high to avoid being shot up myself, and after traveling quite a considerable distance began cutting big spirals in the air. The clouds were looking mighty ominous and threatening, and several times yours truly was tempted to beat it, but, fortunately, something restrained me.
“My Nieuport was away up near the ceiling when, on looking down, I suddenly discovered a plane which appeared exactly as though it was crawling along the ground. Through a pair of binoculars I could see the circles of red, white and blue on the wing tips. Then I volplaned a bit, hoping to make out whether it was your machine or not.” Albert began to laugh. “Yes, I saw the whole shooting match, Don; and the way that big sausage began to blaze after your little interview certainly tickled my fancy.”
“Oh, boy, but wouldn’t I have enjoyed the sight!” giggled Bobby Dunlap.
“Of course it wasn’t possible for me to tell whether it was your plane or not, Don, but after seeing the Nieuport begin to climb to a higher altitude I concluded to say good-bye to ‘Germany’ and streak for the home plate.
“Very soon it began to rain—rain like the dickens, too, and before I got within miles of the airdrome my bus was doing everything but turning somersaults. Anyway, Don, you’ve got a witness to prove that you turned the trick.”
“That’s simply great!” chuckled Don. “Some afternoon, eh?”
“You bet!” agreed Drugstore. “But it certainly was a jolly rude jolt to me when I got back and found that after all you had not returned.”
“Anyway, he’ll have something to talk about for the rest of his life,” said George Glenn.
“There’s no doubt about that,” laughed Don.
The young pilot had by no means recovered from the effects of his turbulent experiences. Some of the dizziness still remained. His nerves occasionally twitched and he experienced a feeling of physical exhaustion, all the more unpleasant because of his boyish fear that the others might observe it.
It had required a considerable effort for him to tell his story, and a still greater to enter into the general conversation.
Finally the thunder began to roll less frequently; the storm was breaking away.
Soon afterward one of the mechanics stepped into the room to inform Don that his machine had been found full of holes.
“Just a little bit more, and it would have made a capital piece of mosquito netting, Monsieur l’Aviateur,” he declared.
“If I should happen to see any mosquitoes around here so big that they couldn’t get through such holes I’d sure take that next train for home,” guffawed Bobby Dunlap.
“And if I’d had a piece of mosquito netting manufactured for me by German bullets, I wouldn’t even wait for the train; I’d start running,” laughed the mechanic. He turned to Don.
“It’s a great wonder to me, Monsieur, that your nose and ears weren’t clipped off.”
“I expected more than that to happen,” returned Don, with a faint smile.
At length Bobby Dunlap began to tell the hero of the afternoon about the mysterious peasant.
“He’s a German spy, sure as shooting,” he whispered. “But don’t say anything to the boys about it, Donny. George Glenn promised me he wouldn’t.”
“Why not explain the matter to the lieutenant?” asked Don, quite breathlessly.
Peur Jamais reflected an instant, then shook his head.
“I intended to at first,” he declared, “but, thinking it over, concluded to wait until I could arrest the old bird myself and march him over here at the point of a pistol. And, oh boy, that is going to make a bigger sensation than your cooking the big sausage.”
“But he may slip away,” suggested Don.
“That idea struck me, too,” commented Peur Jamais, in a troubled tone. “But”—he brightened up—“it will only mean that somebody else is going to do the point-of-the-pistol act. Wouldn’t it make a dandy movie drama, eh? And, just to think, Donny, if it hadn’t been for old Père Goubain I might never have known what was going on.” Bobby laughed joyously. “Crickets! I can hardly wait for the fireworks to begin.”
In the interest aroused by the story of the mysterious peasant, Don almost forgot his fatigue. He could not remember ever having enjoyed a supper more than he did that evening; and the sense of security and freedom from all danger as they sat around after the meal proved most pleasant and welcome.
On the following day Don Hale was in his Nieuport again, and performed the usual two patrols of two hours each over the lines without meeting with adventures.
Several weeks passed, and it was a time filled with enough narrow escapes and thrilling incidents to last even an aviator a lifetime.
At length Don Hale’s day off arrived. Late in the afternoon he seated himself comfortably by the window and spent the time in reading a book and occasionally joining in the conversation about him. The irrepressible Bobby Dunlap was in the room, as was also Jason Hamlin.
Finally the latter rose to his feet and began walking toward the door, whereupon Bobby blurted out:
“I say, Jasy, have you seen the old peasant lately?”
Hamlin, who was one of those individuals who apparently dislike the slightest familiarity, frowned, remarking briefly:
“Yes; just the other day.”
“I must say, this particular specimen is rather a dull looking old chap until one gets to talking to him. Ever been over to his place, Hammy?”
“Yes,” answered Jason.
“So have I,” laughed Peur Jamais. “And there’s everything there but what a farm ought to have. He must be using some method of growing vegetables by wireless. By the way, Jason, ever go through that old ramshackle house?”
“Only the first floor,” responded the other, adding abruptly: “Bobby, several times I’ve overheard you making mysterious observations in regard to that particular ‘specimen,’ who is a rather dull looking old chap until one gets to talking to him. How would you like to offer an explanation?”
Bobby’s expression swiftly changed. The laughing light left his eyes, and, for an instant, he looked not only surprised but displeased.
“So you were in the house?” he cried. “Well, what did you find?”
“That the peasant was not altogether what he seemed. I heard you also mention Sherlock Holmes, which would naturally suggest that you thought of doing a little investigating. How about it?”
Bobby scowled quite fiercely.
“Really, Jasy, I’m quite surprised at you,” he declared. “Did you learn how to eavesdrop in a correspondence school or did it just come naturally?”
“One doesn’t have to eavesdrop when you’re around, Bobby,” returned Hamlin. “You don’t know how to whisper.”
“Thanks, frightfully,” growled Bobby.
“Some people have ears so keen that they can even hear what isn’t intended for them. Run outside and play. When I want to tell you anything about the old peasant you’ll get it first hand. And as I notice you seem to appreciate his company so much I won’t be impolite enough to make any disparaging remarks about him.”
“Some people’s eyes are so sharp they can even see what isn’t intended for them,” laughed Hamlin. “However, I won’t avail myself of your kind permission to run out and play, but will take a walk instead.”
“Where?” asked Bobby.
“It’s a secret, but I’ll tell you. I’m going in the direction of my destination. So-long, Messieurs. I’ll see you later.”
And, with a half mocking laugh and a wave of his hand, Hamlin disappeared outside.
“I declare, that chap’s about the limit!” exclaimed Peur Jamais to Don Hale. He lowered his voice. “You noticed, Donny, that he didn’t want to tell us where he is going. I wonder if——” Bobby paused, looked thoughtfully out of the window, scratched the back of his head, then resumed: “Yes, I’ll bet that’s just it!”
“What is?” asked Don.
“That Jasy’s going over to see the old boy now. Say, Don, put up that book, and see how near my deduction comes to the truth.”
“Which means, I suppose, that you’re going over there yourself?” asked Don.
“You guessed it the first time. Coming?”
“Having aroused my curiosity so much about the mysterious peasant, I think I will,” responded Don. “It adds a touch of activity to a day otherwise full of perfect repose.”