"Ah," he murmured. "Of the Lafayette Escadrille! You may go where you will. Only I hope it is not into danger," he said, as he drew aside for them to pass. "Pardon, I did not at first sense who you were. France owes you much, messieurs. Keep your lives save for her!"
"We will," promised Tom, as he hurried on, followed by Jack.
They came to the head of the street they sought, and, looking down it, beheld ruins greater than they had seen before. As the officer had said, two buildings had been completely demolished, and a third partly so, the wreckage of all mingling. And amid these ruins police and soldiers were working frantically to get out the injured and remove the dead, of whom there was a sad number.
Tom's face was white, but he kept his nerve. He had been through too many scenes of horror, had been too near death too often of late, as had his chum, to falter now, even though his father might be among those buried in the wreckage caused by the German shell.
"Do you know what number your father was to stop at?" asked Jack.
"Yes, I have his letter," Tom answered. "I'm afraid, Jack, it was in one of those buildings that have been blown apart."
"No, Tom!"
"I'm afraid so. But, even at that, he may have had a chance for his life. He may have been out, or, after all, he may not have arrived yet. I'm not going to give up hope until I have to."
"That's the way to talk, old man. I'm with you to the last."
They pressed on, and populace and officers alike gave way before them as they saw the uniforms.