He asked no question, alert on the instant.
"I burned all my outer clothing; even my brass badge went into the fire. And, of course, I carried nothing in my pockets of an incriminating nature."
"All were burned?"
"I believe so. With the body of the poor German. Poor fellow. Hold on! Just one thing that might not be destroyed—melted down. My canteen."
"Oh!"
"My name is painted on it: 'Frank Sanderson—Pilote Aviateur.' If the fire was hot enough it would burn off the enamel."
He asked her why she was so suddenly anxious about this matter and she was obliged to tell him.
"Then this Herr Doktor is not your friend, but your enemy?" Sanderson asked.
"And your enemy," she was forced to say. "A deadly enemy if he learns who you are. Oh, Frank, this is a dreadful situation! A word from him and we are utterly lost."
Sanderson smiled grimly.