"We shall hear shortly, as you have wired to the O.C. reporting the incident. Besides, the destroyer is sure to have brought her in, even if she is badly damaged."
Shortly after this the telephone bell in the corridor rang. A maid appeared, and after a very pretty French curtsey, said:--
"Monsieur le Commandant Dastral, s'il vous plait?"
"Ah, oui, Mademoiselle, qu'est-ce que vous voulez?" asked Dastral, rising to his feet, and returning the pretty maid's curtsey.
"C'est pour vous, ce message téléphonique."
"Merci, mam'selle," replied Dastral, as he hastened to the telephone box.
"Hullo! Who is that?" asked a voice some twenty or thirty miles away.
"Lieutenant Dastral, of the Flying Corps. Who is that, please?"
"Major Bulford, Squadron Commander, speaking from the aerodrome at St. Champau."
"Yes, sir!" replied Dastral smartly, springing unconsciously to attention, although the voice was so far away from him.