And thither they went.
That they were welcomed need not be said. It was comparatively quiet on this sector just then, though there had, a few days before, been a great battle with victory perching on the Allied banners. The air conflicts, too, had been desperate, and many a brave man of the French, English or American fliers had met his death. But toll had been taken of the Boches—ample toll, too.
The first inquiry Tom and Jack had made on their arrival at their former aerodrome had been for news of Harry Leroy, but none had been received.
It was when Tom and Jack were about to conclude their visit to their former comrades of the air that an incident occurred which made a great change in their lives. One sunny afternoon there suddenly appeared, a mere speck in the blue, a single aeroplane.
“Some one of your men must have gone a long way over Heinie's lines,” remarked Jack to one of the French officers.
“He is not one of our men. Either they were all back long ago or they will not come back until after the war—if ever. That is a Hun machine.”
“What is he doing—challenging to single combat?” asked Tom, as the lone plane came on steadily.
“No,” answered the officer, after a look through his glasses. “I think he brings some messages. We sent some to the Germans yesterday, and I think this is a return courtesy. We will wait and see.”
Nearer and nearer came the German plane. Soon it was circling around the French camp. Hundreds came out to watch, for now the object of the lone aviator was apparent. He contemplated no raid. It was to drop news of captured, or dead, Allied airmen.
Then, as Tom, and the others watched, a little package was seen to fall from the hovering aeroplane. It landed on the roof of one of the hangars, bounced off and was picked up by an orderly, who presented it to the commanding officer.