Again the subaltern replied in the negative.
"I can only hope," continued Colonel Quarrier, "that the fellow isn't an Englishman. It is just possible that he is of German nationality, and that long years of residence either in Great Britain or the colonies has enabled him to totally suppress his Hunnish accent and traits, although it is almost an impossible matter to eradicate his sympathies for his kultured Fatherland. 'Once a German, always a German,' you know."
Having been dismissed by his colonel, Dudley was questioned and congratulated by Captain Manners, the adjutant, who also expressed regret that the so-called MacGregor had contrived to escape capture. The members of the "Lone Star Crush" were boisterously warm in their congratulations, chaffing the subaltern as well as they knew; but Wilmshurst, alive to the mannerisms of his brother-officers, took their facetious remarks in good part.
The two officer-airmen added their thanks and good wishes. They were still too weak to walk any distance and had to be carried in roughly-constructed "dhoolies" by the Haussas. Their relief on learning that the seaplane was safely alongside the river was great, especially when they were promised that the work of repairing the floats would be put in hand forthwith.
"Your C.O. evidently wants to get rid of us," declared the pilot smiling. "A crippled 'bus hampers the mobility of the column. We heard that a runner came in just now before we left Gwelba, with the news that an ammunition column and details are on their way up-country. We've sent down for more petrol, so things look rosy—thanks principally to you."
"That's nothing," expostulated Wilmshurst. "Merely returning good for evil—that's all."
"'Returning good for evil,'" repeated the pilot. "I don't understand you."
"Let me explain," continued Dudley, laughing at the thought of disillusioning the airmen. "A day or two ago my platoon were posted on the M'ganga road. We were just settling down nicely to give Fritz a warm welcome when you two fellows started dropping bombs on us."
"Good heavens!" ejaculated the observer. "We thought we were strafing a mob of Huns. No damage, I trust?"
"You would have heard of it before now if there had been," replied Wilmshurst. "The nearest one just dusted some of my men, that's all. We couldn't get you to see that we were a Haussa platoon, and I had a nice old job keeping my men in hand. They wanted to take pot shots at you. By the bye, what made you chuck it—clear out after dropping only a few bombs?"