“Ja, das ist richtig” spoke up the stolid Oberst-leutnant, who had been listening without comment as his grey eyes, deep set under stiff, bristling eyebrows, appraised the confident von Herzmann. “Ja, we must learn where the swine strike next. But must it be you to take the chance? You know the cost–should you fail?”
“Quite well, sir,” von Herzmann replied, smiling. “A little party in front of a firing wall with myself as the center of attraction. Ah, well! What matter. I have about played out my string of luck in the air. Sooner or later, there must be an ending. I have a great fear that it will be the luck of some cub, fresh at the front, to bring me down. Ha! How he would swank around, boasting how he brought down the great von Herzmann. Bah! Death, Herr Hauptmann, I do not fear in the least, but I hate the thought of a cub boasting over my bones. Besides, there are no new adventures left for me in the air. 226I am a little weary of it all. But this–this is new adventure and–”
“And deadly dangerous,” reminded the cadaverous, thin-faced officer at the far end of the table.
“If not dangerous, it is not adventure, sir,” von Herzmann replied. “Do we not all enjoy the thing that presents some hazard? Youth lives it; age thrills to the reports of it. If I fail, I fail. If I succeed, the Fatherland is well served and I’ve another adventure in my kit. Perhaps even another bit of iron to dangle on my coat, eh? Rawther jolly prospect, what?” He again smiled at his own mimicry, as well he might, for the accent was perfect. “But I won’t fail, Herr Hauptmann.” He became serious as he drew some papers from the breast pocket of his well tailored, though well worn, English uniform coat which bore the marks of campaigning. “See,” he said, tossing down a little black fold which the English issued to officers for identification, “I am Lieutenant Richard Larkin, R.F.C., known to his familiars as ‘Buzz.’ The picture, you will notice, is my own, placed there after we had carefully removed the one of the gentleman whose uniform and identification card I am to make use of.
“This,” he tossed another paper on the table, “is a pass to Paris, properly indorsed, and giving authority for refueling and repairing, if needed. Neat enough, eh? The date, unfortunately, was originally 227in April, but our Intelligence section has some very clever penmen and you will note that the date now appearing there is as of September the twenty-sixth, and the period of the pass is for five days.”
“The twenty-sixth!” exclaimed the Oberst-leutnant. “So soon! That is the day after to-morrow.”
“Yes. Our operative will cross the lines to-morrow evening, just before sundown, in a two-seater Nieuport. He will land just back of Montfaucon, and I will then re-cross the lines, will be set down back of Neuvilly and will then begin the great adventure. I am to be back within five days, or–” he shrugged his shoulder expressively.
One of the officers banged his fist on the table. “It is a fool’s errand, I repeat, a fool’s errand! If this operative, with the Americans, is back of Neuvilly, what is he doing there? Perhaps the Americans are there in force, preparing to strike here.”
“Impossible!” the senior officer snorted. “Attack the Hindenburg Line? The Americans are stupid, but not so stupid as that. We know that a few Americans are in the sector south of Vauquois Hill. They are relieving the French there. And for what reason? So that the French may be moved up in the Champagne, east of the Meuse. That is where the blow will be struck. But, even so, I have not the faith in this Operative Number Eighty-one which the High Command seems to place in him.”
228“He has brought us much information,” one of the others reminded.