“So you want to go into Château-Plessis again, and bring Lucy out?” was the surprising answer he received after a long moment. To Bob’s “How did you guess it?” look Major Kitteredge added, smiling, “You’re a great conspirator, Bob.” Then, grown serious again, he said slowly, “It’s a hard question to answer. I hesitate as much on Lucy’s account as for other reasons. She must share all the danger.”
“But if Mother consents——” Bob put in eagerly.
“At any rate, you can do nothing until you are fit for duty,” declared Major Kitteredge. “You know how useless it is to plan a week ahead. Wait until you are well, and then we’ll talk about it.”
Bob was willing to change the subject for a while. He stretched his injured shoulder carefully, to try its strength. “Another week and I’ll be back on duty, Major. It’s tough, waiting all this time. I’m so afraid we’ll commence a push and I shan’t be there, after hoping so long for it.”
Bob believed that a week would see him back at work, but the surgeon thought differently, and it was ten days after Mrs. Gordon’s departure when he returned to duty. His desire to get on with the plan for Lucy’s rescue had only increased with the delay, and now he was determined to make at least a beginning. Major Kitteredge could not object to his communicating with his sister and arranging some signal which should announce their coming when the attempt was made. It was a beautiful morning, with a cloud-flecked sky ideal for his flight over Château-Plessis. The firing along the line was light and scattered. He could surely hang over the meadows, in and out of the veiling clouds, with a fair chance of discovering Elizabeth on her daily round. It was still early enough to meet her on her morning trip across the fields.
He had a bundle of papers, containing Lloyd-George’s latest speech, beside him on the farmhouse floor. One copy he had spread against a book on his knee, and was carefully pricking it full of holes.
“That you, Jourdin?” he called out, hearing a footfall outside the door.
“Yes,” was the answer, as the Frenchman entered the room with his quick, light step.
“Good. Come and help me with this message, will you? I want to say as much as possible in a few words, so Elizabeth can read it quickly. See what you think of this.”
He held the sheet of paper to the light, and was about to decipher it when Jourdin, laying a hand upon his shoulder, interrupted him.