"Gone."
Frank was the first to recover from his dismay and ran forward to look at the broken padlock, dangling from one leaf of the great folding doors. "Cut through with a file," he called excitedly to his chum. "And this set of big bar locks above and below the padlock were cut the same way."
"I always said we should have had one of those rolling iron screens, fitting solidly into the ends of the side walls and rolling up into the roof," groaned Bob, passing on into the interior. "But what's the use locking the barn after the horse is stolen." Disconsolately he moved around the interior of the shed, as if expecting to find concealed somewhere the airplane which he could not yet bring himself to believe had been stolen.
Suddenly he let out a whoop. "Frank, look at this."
"Great Scott, an Iron Cross," cried Frank, seizing the object held out. A German Iron Cross it was. "And here you can see how this ribbon frayed through and parted from the clasp," added Frank.
"Turn it over," said Bob. "If it's a real one given by the Kaiser it will have the recipient's name on it."
Sure enough, there it was:
"Ober-Lieutenant Frederik von Arnheim."
And beneath was inscribed:
"Pour le merite."