"You find me here because I didn't have time to get away," he replied, "and I'm in a French uniform because it's my fighting suit."
The young officer smiled. John rather liked him, and he saw, too, that he was no older than himself.
"It's lucky for you that you're in some kind of a uniform," the German said, "or I should have you shot immediately. But I'm sorry we didn't take the man in the aeroplane instead of you."
John looked up again. The Arrow had become small in the distant blue. A whimsical impulse seized him.
"You've a right to be sorry," he said. "That was the greatest flying man in the world, and all day he has carried messages, heavy with the fate of nations. If you had taken him a few moments ago you might have saved the German army from defeat today. But your chance has gone. If you were to see him again you would not know him and his plane from others of their kind."
The officer's eyes dilated at first. Then he smiled again and stroked his young mustache.
"It may be true, as you say," he replied, "but meanwhile I'll have to take you to my chief, Captain von Boehlen."
John's heart sank a little when he heard the name von Boehlen. Fortune, he thought, had played him a hard trick by bringing him face to face with the man who had least cause to like him. But he would not show it.
"Very well," he said; "which way?"
"Straight before you," said the officer. "I'd give you a mount, but it isn't far. Remember as you walk that we're just behind you, and don't try to run away. You'd have no chance on earth. My own name is Arnheim, Wilhelm von Arnheim."