Tremaine frowned in a desperate effort to collect his thoughts.
“No,” he said at last. “It’s an extraordinary thing but my mind seems a complete blank!”
“Can you remember the date of that attack upon the Kriemhild Line—the day you saw that sheet of flame go up?”
“October tenth,” came the reply without hesitation.
“What year?”
“1918, of course.”
Satterthwaite smiled.
“Do you know what year this is?”
The other stared at him, a sudden fear in his eyes.
“Not 1919?” he cried. “Don’t say I’ve lost a year?”