Next morning, when a detail came to the guardhouse, Tommy was still in a daze. The leader told him to police up, as he was to go before the C. O. He was still confused when he was led into the office at headquarters.
The commanding officer was there, and Captain La Croix, the French officer who advised as to instruction. Also a large, fierce man with stars on his shoulders, and a little civilian with glasses and a trench coat several sizes too large for him. Tommy’s legs seemed to be made of butter.
Major Krause was speaking, and strange to say, his voice was not unkind.
“Lieutenant Lang,” he said, “I revoke everything I said yesterday. You have done a great service for your country. I regret to say that a small file was found on the body of the adjutant, and that some of the ships were found to have been tampered with—so skillfully that detection was very unlikely. Inspection of the adjutant’s papers brought out evidence that he was an Austrian citizen. Tell the general and the secretary how you came to discover what was going on.”
“Well,” blurted Tommy, “it was this way. I was dizzy and fell down two or three times and finally I decided to go to sleep. Then some guy kept making a filing noise and waking me up, so I shot him.”
That evening three flying lieutenants were finishing an illicit meal of chicken and champagne at a little French inn about three miles from the field, and the smallest of the trio was finishing a story.
“There was a long argument,” he said, “and the general and the major were all for preferring charges, but Captain La Croix stood up for me and said I was a good pilot, and finally they agreed to let him get me transferred to a French observation squadron at the front.”
The tall man and the fat one looked at each other and at their little companion. Then they ejaculated as one—
“You lucky little stiff!”