"Hum! Playing—playing. Always playing, these rich young Americans," said Doctor Herschall scornfully. "I do not presume even the inefficient French would trust a fellow like Sanderson with any real work over the lines. Hum!
"Now, there is that brave chap you have in your ward, Miss Belinda," he pursued. "Gessler is his name? Yes. August Gessler. I have looked up his record. One of our bravest airmen, with many adventures to his credit.
"How does he mend, Fräulein?" he asked her suddenly.
"Very well indeed, Doctor," replied Belinda composedly. The more anger she felt beneath the surface because of his slighting way of speaking about Frank Sanderson, the cooler she grew outwardly.
"Bring him along, Nurse—bring him along," urged the Herr Doktor. "He is needed. Those in high places have already inquired kindly for Herr Lieutenant Gessler. By the way, was he in uniform when he was brought to your ward?"
"No, sir," Belinda said distinctly. "I—I suppose his uniform must have been destroyed in the accident."
"Soh? Hum! I will make inquiries. There might be something of value belonging to the brave aviator at the spot where he fell with the Frenchman. Hum! Remind me, Nurse. I will have the matter looked into."
She fled from him then and reached her ward just as darkness was falling. With an effort she recovered her calm and walked down the aisle, speaking to each of her charges kindly—even to Ernest. The latter sulkily turned his back upon her and would not reply.
Kneeling swiftly beside Sanderson, she put her lips close to his ear.
"Frank! Frank! could there be anything left at the place where you fell with the German that could identify you?"