The suggestions caused the little band to close in as if for mutual protection.
"Well?" asked Bert desperately. "Supposing Levallois isn't over there, or don't want us?"
Susanne's serenity was undisturbed.
"There's some sort of a Frenchman, anyway," he observed. "He'll be glad to see me in any case. Of course, if he don't want you fellows, it'll be awkward—for you."
He grinned openly at them till Masters could have struck him. It was perhaps just as well that a stop was put to the argument at that moment by the wheeling out of an aeroplane from one of the hangars. That set the party hurrying till they arrived at the line of sheds. Here there was much movement. Officials came and went, more than one eyeing the boys with evident suspicion. An important-looking inspector of police was posted adjacent to the very hangar over which the French flag flew, and promptly pounced upon them.
"What's this?" he asked severely. "No one but gentlemen flying, their mechanics and managers are allowed here. What fool's broken orders by passing you in?"
But again Susanne and Masters saved the situation, the one by his embarrassing politeness and his volubility, the other by his specious explanation.
"Oh, Levallois, that's the French gentleman's name, is it?" asked the inspector, mollified, but not entirely convinced. "Well, if he says that he's asked you here, suppose you must stay. But none of the other flying gents are having friends, least of all youngsters. Still, we don't want to be rough on a foreigner. He might not understand. Here, sir," he called, putting his head into the hangar over which the French flag flew, "here's a parcel of young gents come to see you; and some of them's out for a lark, I'll bet."
A smile stole across his face. Masters' get-up was perfectly ludicrous. As to his fellows, not one but wore his obvious youth in awkward manner, save and excepting Susanne. The composure of that young fellow was wonderful. He stepped into the hangar, leaving his comrades outside to listen in trepidation to his conversation with its invisible owner. It was with a sigh of relief that they saw him appear at the door and beckon.
"It isn't Levallois, after all," he grinned, "but Dubonnet. But it's all right and square, Monsieur Dubonnet's a sportsman. Come into the place and feed. He's going to have a meal now, for the wind's too high as yet for flying."