“He’s fightin’ mad—an’ he’s fightin’ good.”
He disappeared into a thicket to carry out the captain’s order. Dobie spoke rapidly into the radio and then signed off.
For a while he sat listening, and watching the smoke billow high above a gable of the barn.
He heard loud, sputtered German orders. Then came renewed rifle bursts, and a grenade exploded near by.
Just before the outburst, Patchou gave a high, excited yelp and leaped from the jeep.
“Patchou!” Captain Dobie shouted furiously. “Come here, boy. Patchou!”
The dog streaked, with flying tail, back toward the château gates, stretched to his utmost to cover ground.
With piercing yelps of delight he jumped into the arms of a girl. She had turned at his barking and then suddenly run to meet him.
Captain Dobie regarded the slim figure with amazement. Slacks, army jacket, man’s cap from which soft black hair like André’s escaped. And the same gray-blue eyes.
A flash of enlightenment burst over Dobie.