A wireless in advance had apprised the American delegation there of the fact of their safe arrival in England, and of their start upon the last leg of the trip. As they came above Paris, and the pilot finally circled downward toward the landing field, a great throng came rushing forward, evidently having had more than an inkling of who they were and what their mission.
As their machine rolled over the ground to a slow stop, a man in uniform and evidently of considerable importance thereabouts, stepped through the crowd and addressed the men in French.
Fred, the only one who was at all fluent in that language, responded. For several minutes they conversed, then Bentner turned to his companions.
"He extends to us the greetings of France," he explained, "and bids us follow him at once to where President Wilson, the Secretary of State, and several others of the American delegation await us."
"Can't we wash up a bit first?" Jack asked, really alarmed at the contemplation of going into such august company greased and grimy as they were.
The French officer shrugged his shoulders expressively. "It is not your appearance that counts," Fred translated his reply. "It is the importance of the documents you carry."
"True enough," Jack agreed.
Again the French officer was chattering volubly. The others awaited Fred's interpretation of it into English.
"He says," he began finally, "that he believes we have arrived just in the nick of time, and that in another hour or two it might have been too late."