“It might come to that,” grimly observed Strogoff.
At sunup the Young Aeroplane Scouts had their second early call within three days.
“We haven’t signed up with the police for the league season, have we?” inquired Billy, with a slight touch of rebellion.
“They have the colonel’s orders back of their request,” explained the aviation chief, “and the officer with the wide front positively declares that nobody will suit but the pair I see before me. Climb out, boys, and hustle, or he is likely to have a fit.”
“Some lively vacation this, eh, Billy?”
Billy did not catch Henri’s remark, for he was over ears in a basin of ice-cold water.
“I had intended to take a peep behind the picture and see if the belt is there all right,” said Billy, as they passed out of the mess hall in the direction of the hangars.
“No need,” replied his chum; “nobody ever touches that wall relic, and Stanny’s girdle is safe.”
Henri’s new flying partner, Lowiez, was of swarthy type, and with the keenest pair of black eyes the boy had ever seen over a human nose. The outside pockets of his greatcoat bulged with the heft of two heavy revolvers, and if the carrier should have shown a hesitancy in using them, if occasion served, a surprise would be coming to any person who had sized them up.
It might also be stated that Officer Strogoff, with all his cares and strenuous activities, had lost no flesh overnight.