But suddenly there appeared out of the cabin, or “dog-house” slung amidships of the great envelope, the officer that Tom had first seen with the trumpet. Through that instrument he now roared an order in German that the American did not understand.
The latter was released. He staggered to the middle of the deck, panting and with scarcely strength remaining to hold him on his feet. He saw the officer beckoning him forward.
He could not see what any of these fellows looked like, for they were all masked, as he was himself. They were dressed in garments of skin, with the hair left on the hide—a queer-looking company indeed. Tom staggered toward the officer.
He was motioned to go into the cabin. The officer came after him and closed the door. At once the American realized that the place was—to a degree—soundproof.
The German removed his helmet and Tom was glad to unbuckle the straps of his own. The first words he heard were in good English:
“This is the first time I have taken a prisoner. It is a notable event. Will you drink this cordial, Mein Herr? It is an occasion worthy of a libation.”
His captor had opened a small cabinet fastened to the wall and produced a screw-topped decanter. He poured a colorless liquid into two tiny glasses, and presented one to Tom. The latter would have taken almost anything just then. The stuff was warming and smelled strongly of anise.
“Yes, you are the first prisoner I have heard of taken in this way. And, oddly enough, I may be bearing you homeward, only I shall be unable to allow you to land upon the ‘tight little isle’—you so call it, no?”
“You are making one mistake,” Tom said, finally finding his voice. “I am not an Englishman. I am American.”
“Indeed? But it matters not,” and the German shrugged his shoulders. “You will go back with us to Germany as a prisoner. But first you will accompany us on our bomb-dropping expedition. London is doomed to suffer again.”