"Bring the Belgian officer here," ordered the Wing Commander.
Lieutenant Etienne Fauvart was a loose-limbed man of about thirty. He was of average height, broad of shoulder and dark-featured. Although he clicked his heels as he saluted he lacked the alertness of the typical British officer.
"I am honoured to make your acquaintance, sir," he said in English with a good accent when Desmond Blake and he were introduced. "Also I esteem it an honour to go with you in your magnificent invention. I hope that we are able to blow the Zeppelins to pieces. Ciel! I look to the hour."
"Certainly an enthusiast," thought Blake as the Belgian discussed with his British confrères the plan of attack.
It was eventually decided that the secret battleplane was to leave the flying ground at an hour before sunset, soar to a great altitude and arrive over her objective shortly after sunset. Elaborate arrangements were made for her return, the aerodrome to be brilliantly lighted on receipt of a wireless message from the returning battleplane. In view of the possibility of a failure of the wireless a red and a blue star rockets were to be fired by the airmen.
The Belgian officer formed a supernumerary member of the crew, since Blake was loth to leave either of his three airmen behind. Accordingly Fauvart was placed at the post usually occupied by Dick when his duty with the motors had for the time been accomplished. Young Tracey accepted the situation with the utmost good-nature. Although reluctant to miss the visual part of the fun he realised that it was "some" luck to be able to participate in the great raid.
For the rest of the day the airmen were busily engaged in overhauling the mechanism, studying maps and otherwise preparing for the task. Etienne Fauvart, evincing great interest in the battleplane, had taken a deep fancy to Dick, and followed him with keen zest, asking innumerable questions.
"The fellow bores me stiff," soliloquised the lad. "He seems a decent sort, but he does ask awkward questions. He looks too cute to be stuffed, and I don't like choking him off. The only thing I can suggest is to refer him to Blake."
The Belgian took the hint quite good-naturedly. He refrained from asking any further technical questions, but Dick noticed that he made no attempt to "freeze on" to the imperturbable inventor.
At length, at the appointed hour, the battleplane started on her adventurous flight, her crew being sent-off with the hearty good wishes of their brother airmen—wishes for the most part expressed in that bantering, happy-go-lucky style that characterises men who have more than a nodding acquaintance with death.