CHAPTER XXII—THE TRIAL
The Hale-Hamlin-Dunlap case certainly created a sensation among the pilots of the Lafayette Escadrille—indeed it created a great deal more talk than the fact that the Germans had begun to paint their battleplanes in colors of the most extraordinary and brilliant hue.
No one could understand the affair; it appeared a most unfathomable mystery, and especially so when the captain of the squadron politely informed Victor Gilbert that he, too, was technically a prisoner.
“Oh, chains and dungeons! I suppose, the next thing, they’ll be arresting the whole squadron!” cried Bobby Dunlap when apprised of this new and singular development in the cause celebre. “Goodness gracious, but I wish that last act would begin!”
The patience of the “prisoners” was not to be severely taxed, however; for, on the following morning, they received a summons to appear in the reception hall of the villa.
Entering, they found what appeared to be a court about to open its session. Seated on one side of a long table was the captain of the squadron and a gray-haired military man, a lieutenant, as was revealed by his uniform. Opposite to them sat the secret service men, the former “peasant” scarcely recognizable in his civilian’s clothes. Numerous papers of an official character were strewn about the table, greatly heightening the appearance of a court procedure.
“Messieurs,” exclaimed the military man, looking up gravely, “kindly take seats at the table.”
He looked like a stern old judge as he spoke. His eyes were cold and hard, the lines on his face grim and set and his closely cropped whitish moustache revealed a mouth indicating determination and strength of character.
Bobby Dunlap as a rule was not disposed to take things seriously, but under the present circumstances the silence in the big room, the frigid atmosphere, the formality and the gravity expressed upon the faces of the military men had its effect, making him feel ill at ease, uncomfortable and nervous.
“Messieurs, we are now ready to proceed,” announced the lieutenant at the head of the table. “Let me affirm in the beginning that we have no doubt of your loyalty or devotion to the cause which you espouse. At the same time I must explain that the military authorities as well as the secret service officials never allow the most trivial circumstance to pass without the most thorough investigation. In numerous cases everything is, of course, found to be entirely right, but it may happen that the hundredth will turn out otherwise, and perhaps that which appeared futile—a waste of time—may be revealed, under the searching light of truth, as a dangerous intrigue of our enemies.”
“Indeed, most extraordinary cases have come to our attention,” put in the captain.
“We will hear Monsieur Robert Dunlap first,” continued the officer in charge of the proceedings. “Monsieur Dunlap, kindly stand up.”
At this, Peur Jamais, whose general appearance and manner belied the name bestowed upon him by his friends, obeyed.
The interrogation began.
“Is it true,” asked the officer, “that on several occasions you made use of this expression in reference to Jason Hamlin: ‘other games are just as dangerous’?”
“Yes, Monsieur the Lieutenant,” gulped Bobby, red and confused.
“In using that expression what did you infer?”
“Well, I—I—you see——” Peur Jamais, finding his tongue getting tangled, abruptly paused. Then, having mastered in a measure his uncomfortable feelings, he resumed: “I heard Monsieur Victor Gilbert make this observation, as well as several others to Monsieur Hamlin, all seeming to indicate——”
Bobby halted again; the flush on his cheek deepened.
“Continuez, Monsieur,” commanded the lieutenant.
“That—that he might be a German spy,” exclaimed Bobby, desperately. “I heard so many stories about the espionage system from old Père Goubain, of the Café Rochambeau, near our training camp, that perhaps I became unduly suspicious.”
The man whom the boys had formerly called the “mysterious peasant” looked up with a smile.
“With Monsieur the Lieutenant’s permission,” he exclaimed, “I will explain, though I do not wish the fact to be generally known, that Monsieur Goubain is affiliated with the secret service and has given us much valuable information.”
“Oh—oh!” gasped Bobby, while all the other Americans in the room uttered suppressed exclamations.
“His object in speaking so freely was not only to show you the dangers that existed but to get you to keep your eyes open.” The man smiled. “In one case, at least, he evidently succeeded.”
“You have no evidence against Monsieur Hamlin?” continued the lieutenant, addressing Bobby.
“No, Monsieur the Lieutenant,” responded Peur Jamais.
“That will do. You may sit down. Monsieur Gilbert.”
When the former college student rose to his feet he showed none of the perturbation which had affected Bobby.
“Monsieur Gilbert,” began the lieutenant, “it will be necessary for you to explain your entire connection with this affair, which, as our report indicates, began long before you came to France and joined the Lafayette Escadrille.”
“Yes, Monsieur the Lieutenant,” returned Gilbert. In an easy, conversational tone he began: “Before hostilities broke out in 1914 my father and Jason Hamlin’s were firm friends, as well as business partners. Mrs. Hamlin was born in Germany, and her husband himself had distant relatives living there. The war had not continued very long before disputes began to arise between my father and his partner on account of the latter’s ardent championship of the cause of Germany.” Gilbert glanced in the direction of Jason Hamlin. “His son, too, was equally disposed to favor that country. And as our fathers had heated arguments so did we. Both of us, I may say, were at work for the firm. Finally the differences became so acute that after a particularly violent altercation, Mr. Hamlin, Senior, announced his intention of withdrawing from the firm, which he shortly did. His son, too, went with him; and, from the closest of friends, we became so estranged as to be considered enemies.”
“After the entrance of America into the war did the Hamlins still remain pro-German?” queried the officer.
Victor Gilbert smiled.
“I have never had any conversation with the Mr. Hamlin, Senior, since that time,” he replied, “and I do not know what his opinions are. Frankly, I must say that in regard to the son it seemed incomprehensible to me that one with such strong German proclivities could so change his opinions as to come over here and fight for the Allied cause.”
“May I speak?” interjected Hamlin, somewhat heatedly.
“Your turn will come in a few minutes, Monsieur,” said the presiding officer. “Continuez, Monsieur Gilbert.”
“I was astounded when Hamlin came to the aviation school. And, judging from many things he had said, I feared that perhaps he might actually be a spy. And in some of our altercations—altercations that interested Monsieur Dunlap—I intimated just as much.”
“You certainly did,” jeered Jason Hamlin, with an angry glare. “And if you’d only had sense enough to——”
“Silence—silence!” interrupted the lieutenant.
“Naturally, words may be said in the heat of anger which would not be uttered when cooler judgment prevails,” continued Victor, doggedly. “Why, I ask, shouldn’t I have been suspicious? And when I remarked to Hamlin that ‘other games are just as dangerous’ it was meant as a warning for him to go a bit slow.”
“Has your opinion been altered?” asked the lieutenant.
Victor Gilbert nodded.
“Yes, Monsieur the Lieutenant,” he replied. “And the reason is because of Hamlin’s very excellent record since he joined the squadron.”
Jason Hamlin now had the opportunity to explain his side of the case. As he began speaking his manner was decidedly different from that of the other two witnesses. He was clearly angry—aggressive, and his voice, raised high, rang through the room.
“I am very willing to admit that I was pro-German, as Monsieur Gilbert told you,” he declared. “But, as events change so can one’s opinions change with them. Before America became involved in hostilities I had a perfect right to favor Germany; but to have done so afterward would have been disloyal—indeed a traitorous act. No one has the right to go against his own country. And when I learned that Victor Gilbert had joined an aviation school in France I determined to show him, as well as any others who might have doubted my patriotism, that they were entirely mistaken. And as words without action count for little, I decided to follow his example and become an aviator.”
At this point Jason Hamlin’s stern expression deepened. He clenched his fists; and when he spoke again it was in even louder tones than before.
“My friend Monsieur Dunlap may think that he alone pierced the disguise of the peasant, but, if so, he is in error; and, surmising that I might be under suspicion, I made it a point to cultivate the man’s acquaintance. At last the feelings which injustice always arouse caused me to decide that it was time to make an end of the farce—hence my visit to the farmhouse. I boldly told the secret service man that I knew what was going on; I said he could strip off his peasant’s disguise and work to better advantage elsewhere. I declared that I was receiving a very poor reward for daily risking my life for the Allied cause. We had some words, which were brought to an end by the appearance of that secret service man sitting there.” With a wave of his hand, Jason Hamlin continued: “The rights of an individual are as sacred as the rights of the government.” He drew himself erect. “I ask—I demand to know if you have the slightest evidence against me?”
His flashing eyes, the fearlessness of his manner, the righteous indignation expressed in his voice brought a strong and dramatic touch to the situation.
Following his words there came a silence, curious and impressive.
Bobby Dunlap, fearing that in the judicial atmosphere this outburst might bring a stern rebuke, stared almost open-mouthed at the lieutenant. The latter, however, showing neither surprise nor displeasure, remarked, calmly:
“We have no evidence against you, Monsieur Hamlin. And I may say that reports received from our agents in America are thoroughly satisfactory. Kindly take your seat while we listen for a few moments to Monsieur Castel of the secret service.”
Smilingly, the ex-peasant stood up.
“It won’t take very much time,” he announced. “I am glad indeed that everything has terminated so satisfactorily for all concerned. This case, I may say, was all brought about by remarks being overheard. Sometimes a whisper is enough to set the secret service in action. My confreres and I immediately began an investigation, and all of you young Messieurs have been under surveillance for some time.”
“Oh—oh! Can you beat it!” muttered Peur Jamais.
“Messieurs Glenn and Dunlap’s actions on the occasion of their visit to the house were rather peculiar, especially that of this young Monsieur here.” He pointed to Bobby. “It could be readily seen that his curiosity was not merely the expression of a youthful desire to see the house, and, when he, in the company of Monsieur Hale, started off on their walk yesterday afternoon they were shadowed by my fellow detectives here. And their actions, of course, were so suspicious—a fact which they themselves must admit—that there was nothing to do but place them under arrest. While Monsieur Boulanger came into the house to inform me that the boys were in the garden, Monsieur Brion, who knew where they were concealed, kept track of their movements, and, at a signal which I gave by means of the lamp, he brought the matter to a climax. I believe there is nothing more for me to add.”
Bobby Dunlap and Don Hale were now called upon for an explanation, which they gave to the entire satisfaction of those conducting the examination.
At its conclusion the stern-faced lieutenant, with a suspicion of a smile, exclaimed:
“You have all been found not guilty, and, in accordance with that fact, Messieurs Gilbert and Hamlin, I sentence you to shake hands and forget whatever differences may have existed between you. Human nature is fallible, and, had the case been reversed, you, Monsieur Hamlin, would have acted in a precisely similar manner to that of Monsieur Gilbert. Let me take this occasion to thank and compliment you for the noble work which you have been doing in the cause of humanity and justice.”
The two young aviators nodded, in recognition, and each, in turn, thanked the lieutenant.
Then, without a remaining trace of animosity, they clasped each other’s hands.
And in this happy fashion ended the case of Hamlin and the peasant, which was a nine-days’ wonder in the escadrille.
But, though it was ended, the conversation about it by no means came to such an abrupt termination. The principals came in for many bantering remarks, and had to stand a great deal of good-natured chaffing. Of course Bobby Dunlap was the principal victim.
“I say, Peur Jamais,” laughed George, “can you now almost hear the commander saying ‘My brave and loyal friends, in the name of my countrymen, I thank you’?”
“Joke if you like,” grinned Bobby, good-naturedly. “Anyway, I made a few truthful predictions.”
“How?”
“I said it wasn’t going to be a laughing matter to some one.”
“Correct, old chap.”
“And, after all, it certainly did mean an astonishing sequel.”
And so speaking, Bobby chuckled mirthfully.
Several weeks later, in the spacious grounds of a chateau occupied by the military authorities, a lively and spectacular scene was being enacted. Soldiers were drawn up in a hollow square. And there, where danger did not exist, could be seen all the pomp and pageantry of warfare, so lacking in the actual operations. The warm, clear sunshine shone on generals’ uniforms, on military motor-cars and on high-spirited horses, champing at their bits.
And besides the military there were present a few men in civilian dress, the most prominent among them being an extremely ponderous man with a most beaming face whom all the former students at the École Militaire de Beaumont recognized as old Père Goubain, the proprietor of the Café Rochambeau.
What was the occasion of all this festivity?
It was because a number of airmen, Red Cross ambulance drivers and soldiers had so distinguished themselves as to earn the gratitude of the French Republic that they were to be awarded the Croix de Guerre and other decorations.
Among those who were recipients of the War Cross were Don Hale and T. Singleton Albert. It was Don Hale’s feat in saving the Caudron photographic machine and his subsequent destruction of the observation balloon which had brought him the coveted honor.
And after a general had pinned the Croix de Guerre to his breast and the proceedings were over the first to shake his hand was old Père Goubain.
“Ah! La France can never lose with such young men as you enlisted in her cause,” he exclaimed. “And now, mon ami, what are your plans?”
“I hope to be transferred to the American air service as soon as possible,” returned the smiling Don Hale.
“I knew that would be the answer,” cried old Père Goubain. “And I am very certain that Monsieur Don Hale with the Yanks will be as successful as he was with the Lafayette Squadron, and make a name for himself that will carry beyond the seas.”
The Stories in this Series are:
DON HALE IN THE WAR ZONE
DON HALE OVER THERE
DON HALE WITH THE FLYING SQUADRON
DON HALE WITH THE YANKS (in press)