"Whether what be true, Paul?" demanded Belinda, unable to smother her impatience, and shaking his arm in the grip of both her hands. "Tell me! Is there something wrong? What has Ernest said to you?"
"That the flying-man talks other languages than German. That he speaks French to that harelipped Erard. That they have long conferences together."
"Why, how ridiculous!" Belinda said, as though relieved. "Of course the Herr Lieutenant speaks French. Does that make him a traitor to the country he flies for?"
"And that he speaks still another language to you," Paul went on doggedly. "That must be English. The boy has never heard it much before."
"Ah!"
"He says more, Cousin Belinda," the young man continued, and she knew he was watching her face keenly as they came under the radiance of the lantern at the gate of the hospital enclosure. "He says he remembers seeing in an old magazine since he has been in this hospital a picture of August Gessler, the flying-man; and that the Herr Lieutenant is a very different looking person from the man that photograph portrayed."
"Why——" Belinda could go no farther, neither in speech nor literally. She leaned so heavily on Paul's arm that he halted. But he did not aid her to recover her self-possession, saying hoarsely:
"The Herr Doktor has ordered me to send a squad to search the vicinity where the two airplanes fell, to recover anything of value belonging to the Herr Lieutenant."
"I know it, Paul!" she gasped. "He told me he would."
"Are you so in the Herr Doktor's confidence?" the young man demanded, both surprised and suspicious.