"My opinion, too," Rob chimed in. "It seemed to me he was trying his best to get it to mount, but it balked. That could only mean something had gone wrong with the machinery, or else a wing had been fractured."
"Huh! you talk just like the machine might be a baseball pitcher," commented Tubby. "But, if that's the case, the chances are he'll drop to the ground right away, or else smash up against some tree."
"Just what may happen to him," agreed Merritt.
"You'll notice that the sound of motor and propeller has suddenly died out," suggested Rob, "which I take it looks pretty rough for the man-bird."
"Oh! that would be too bad, now!" Tubby whimpered, as he imagined he could see the bold pilot of the crippled flier dashed to the ground amidst the wreckage of his machine.
"Well, the shooting seems to be over!" remarked Merritt.
"I wonder what happened to the spy?" Rob observed, as he stared over the top of the stone wall toward the spot where the late confusion had taken place.
They could still see that little glow, proving that the lantern had not been kicked over in all the riot when the creeping Belgians had pounced on the enemy.
"Would it be wise for us to head over there now, Rob?"
Plainly Merritt was curious to know what had happened, and his manner of putting this question to the patrol leader showed that he would never be satisfied unless they made some sort of attempt to solve the mystery.