"They're both my business," said the man, drawing a revolver.
"Read that," said John, producing his passport.
The document stated simply that Jean Castel was engaged upon an important mission for France, and all were commanded to give him what help they could. It was signed by the fat and famous general of brigade, Vaugirard, and therefore it was a significant document.
"I apologize for brusqueness," said the aviator handsomely, "but the times are such that we forget our politeness. What can I do for you, Monsieur Jean Castel, who I am sure has another and more rightful name at other times."
"Just now Castel is my right name, and all friends of mine will call me by it. Thank you for your offer, but you can do nothing—"
John stopped suddenly as he glanced at the aeroplane poised like a huge bird in the snow.
"Yes, you can do something," he said. "I notice that your plane is big enough for two. I want to reach the mountains to the eastward without all this tremendous toiling through the snow. You can carry me there in an hour or two, and besides this passport I give you a password."
"What's the password?"
"Lannes!"
"Lannes! Philip Lannes, do you know him?"