"Hush! Do not speak too loud!" groaned Laval. "We are as safe as we can be on German soil, but I am afraid my right shoulder is broken; and worse still, the engines stopped of their own accord before we made that last dive."
Dennis, as soon as he had recovered from the species of partial paralysis which had taken possession of his limbs, climbed forward to his companion, who rested his head against his shoulder for a moment, and groaned faintly through his clenched teeth.
"That was magnificent, Laval!" whispered Dennis. "Where is the flask of cognac? Here, drink this!"
"Thanks, my dear friend," murmured the wounded Frenchman. "Do not worry about me. It is a question of what is wrong with the Aviatik. There is just one hope for us. Look at the petrol tank. Oh, you can use a light, for, remember we are Germans now if anyone comes along."
Torch in hand, Dennis examined the petrol tank carefully, and his voice shook with renewed hope.
"The tank is untouched," he reported. "But there is only an inch of spirit left at the bottom of it. That's the trouble. There is something like a house yonder among the trees. What do you say?"
"There is only one thing to be said, my dear Blumberger," replied Laval, with a faint smile. "We must commandeer petrol without delay. I find my arm is not broken after all, but I am bleeding like a pig. It is running into my boot. Help me out, and we will see what the good people over there can do for us."
"Have you any idea where we are?" queried Dennis, as he assisted his wounded companion to the ground with some difficulty.
"Somewhere in the Black Forest," replied Laval. "And unfortunately not much more than ten miles, scarcely that, from the Zeppelin shed. They will search for us, never fear; they are searching now! Moreover, it will be daylight directly, and it is necessary that we hurry ourselves if you want to keep your appointment."