“What’s he got in his bundle?” whispered George Belding.
“Got me. I saw he had that when he dropped from the burning Zep.”
The two had not long to wait to learn just what the man carried with him. Being assured that he was alone, he dropped the bundle and proceeded to untie it. Then he began to remove his flying clothes.
“A disguise,” were the words Belding’s lips mouthed, and Whistler nodded.
The latter was making a thorough scrutiny of the German’s face. Whether they captured the man or not he proposed to know him again if he met him—no matter where.
He was lean-faced, with a prominent nose, and eyes that Whistler thought were gray or a pale blue. He wore a tuft of black whisker on his chin and a little moustache. This, and the way he wore his hair—long and shaggy—made him look anything but Teutonic.
The boys beheld the fellow, stripped of his outer garments, don loose trousers, a farmer’s smock, and a cap. Although he did not look English in the face, he was dressed much as the boys had seen the neighboring agriculturists and drovers dress. He even put on a pair of heavy boots instead of the laced shoes he had worn in the Zeppelin.
“That chap means business,” whispered Belding. And then he suddenly grunted almost aloud, for out of his bundle the spy produced a pair of automatic pistols which he proceeded to hide under the loose blouse he now wore.
“He is prepared to fight,” agreed Whistler under his breath. “We can’t capture him without help, George.”
“You’ve said something, Whistler! One of us will have to go for help.”