"Donnerwetter, but why wasn't it ready before?" exclaimed Max. "It might have turned the tide of battle in the autumn of 1918."
"It's no use crying over spilt milk," replied the chief. "It could not be completed before."
"And you say that this wonderful machine is now ready," interposed Max, who had flown every type of machine from a single-seater scout to a heavy bomber, and whose professional curiosity had now been thoroughly awakened by the words of the German ace.
"It is ready, and what is more to the point, it is at my disposal," returned the chief briefly.
"Der Teufel! But where is it?"
"I can lead you to it, for it is less than three miles from where we sit at the present moment."
"Himmel!" exclaimed both the pilots, springing to their feet. "Take us to see it, Rittmeister; we have given you our promise."
"Be calm, my friends; you shall see it to-day. But let me put you on your guard. You must not speak of it aloud, but only in whispers, for the secret of this machine is jealously guarded, and its whereabouts is unknown, save to the professor, his assistant and myself."
"Has it ever been flown?" ventured Max.
"Yes."