He moved on carelessly. Sanderson, recovering his senses slowly, began to realize where he was.
Inside the enemy's lines! In a German field hospital! He, flying and fighting for France, was in the power of the Germans! Then over his awakening mind came the remembrance of what had brought him here.
His fight in the air with the aviator. When found he had been garbed in the dead German's uniform. They had picked him up for a wounded hero of their own race and brought him here. And—startling him into complete appreciation of his situation—Belinda Melnotte was in attendance!
He half raised on his good elbow and watched her with the Herr Doktor returning slowly up the ward. Belinda! Doctor Herschall, the black-browed surgeon from the hospital in New York! Both in this field station of the German hospital corps.
Sanderson could not understand it. The mystery was too much for his weakened mind and he fell back with a groan.
"Brother, are you in pain? Can I help you?"
The bearded, ugly face of Jacob bent above him. Frank suddenly shook with weak laughter.
"The man who kept the delicatessen store on the East Side," he murmured.
"Ach Himmel!" gasped Jacob. "How did you know, mein Herr? Who told you?"
Fortunately Sanderson had spoken in German. His wits came to his rescue.