“But why pick out this van when there are lots of the same type moving along the road, going and coming, that’s what I’d like to know?” begged the bewildered Pudge.
“Huh! guess you forget what we’re carrying with us, don’t you, Pudge?” demanded Billy, with a sense of importance in his voice and manner.
“The Sea Eagle plane!” burst out the fat chum.
“Haven’t the Germans been trying right along to either get possession of our sample machine, or failing that smash it into splinters, so the Allies can’t profit by the same?” asked Billy.
“Yes, yes, it must be as you say, Billy,” admitted Pudge; “but see there, he’s swept around now, and seems to be lowering with that big circle. Frank, will he get us yet, do you think?”
“Not if we are smarter than he is,” replied the other, as with wrinkled brow he watched the evolutions of the daring flier.
“They learned that we’d met with that accident,” Billy went on to say hurriedly, “and as soon as they could get one of their fliers busy it was started out to look for the van carrying our seaplane. That chap up there alongside the pilot has glasses, and spied us out easy enough.”
“There, he’s heading after us again, Frank!” shrilled Pudge, shivering as he stared, although it must have been only with a great effort that the fat boy was able to twist around as he did; “what can we do to upset his calculations?”
“If one of those terrible bombs ever hits us, good-night!” muttered Billy, as he too kept tabs of the now approaching Taube.
Frank was saying something to the chauffeur, evidently making certain arrangements with him so that when he touched the man’s arm he would suddenly shut off power, and bring the van to a full stop.