Harry, however, quickly chuckled, as though he did not look at the matter in the same way as his chum seemed to.
"Oh, well, the main thing isn't that we'd get a little glory from the capture of the Hun," he said, "but that their desperate game has been blocked. But this chap seems to be groaning as if suffering, Tom. He ought to be taken care of, Boche or not."
"Yes, that's right, Harry," added the other, for the time being crushing down his disappointment.
As some of the attendants of the aviation field came up just at that moment there was need for explanations. Among them Tom noticed one who, as he well knew, had charge of the hangars during the night.
"Lieutenant Simmons, here's a Boche spy who, with a companion, was trying to bomb the big Beresford plane. Sorry we couldn't round up both of them. This fellow has been shot, and ought to have attention. Now, Harry, if you don't mind, we'll step around to your hangar and look into the little job that brought us over here from the camp."
Tom really wished to get away from the crowd that was gathering. He had no liking for being made an object of special interest. Although always eager to attempt unusual exploits, it was only to please himself, and not because of any reward or a morbid desire to be looked on as a hero.
Harry was not quite as diffident, and might have liked to linger a bit to explain further how they had managed to discover the creeping figures, and, having their suspicions aroused, closed in on them.
"I can see you later, Lieutenant, and answer any questions you may want to ask about this stuff," he remarked, as he followed Tom away from the group.
Tom was still "huffy" as Harry called it. He seemed to feel that the ambitious marksman who had taken a pot-shot at the runner ahead had really cheated him out of half the pleasure accompanying the capture of the spy.
"I heard one big splash," Harry said, "which I take it was made by a trench grenade. Did that Boche try to knock you out, Tom?"