"You're sure you're not mistaken?" asked Alec facetiously.
"Certain sure," rejoined the other. "My name? Oh, just Smith! When a fellow wants to be specially polite he addresses me as Allerton-Smith. But, by Jove, what a rotten crib to be shoved into! How long have you been here?"
Seton told him.
"Doesn't say much for my skill in egg-dropping," continued the pilot. "Our fellows have got hold of the idea that the Huns have a large petrol-store close to the head of the Mole. Consequently I've tried my level best to bomb the place, and apparently you into the bargain."
"Then I can assure you that you weren't far wide of the mark," said Alec. "Several times you rather put the wind up me, to say nothing of rudely disturbing my beauty sleep."
"Is that so—then I apologize," declared Smith. "All the same it is a bit gratifying to know that I do get near the mark sometimes."
"You did early this morning, at any rate." said Seton. "Those U-boats went up beautifully."
"And so did I," added the pilot. "Haven't quite got over the rotten sensation yet. Wonder my 'bus wasn't pulverized with solid stuff flying up. The air seemed stiff with bits of submarines. Funny thing happened—but perhaps I'm boring you?"
"Not at all," Alec hastened to assure him. "What happened?"
"Well, the old 'bus was whirling like a piece of straw. I was hanging over the side of the fuselage, when I saw a huge piece of metal rising, up to meet me—awfully weird sensation. Thought my number was up for a dead cert, when the chunk of stuff seemed to stop still, and then drop and disappear."