* * * * *
"He's here! She's—it's here!"
Bruce burst into the office all excitement and half out of breath.
"Who's he, she, it?" grinned Barney, slipping his pen behind his ear.
"The Major and the airplane! And the plane's a hummer!"
It was Barney's turn to get excited now. He jumped from his stool so suddenly that his pen went clattering.
"Let's have a look at her." He grabbed his cap and dashed out, Bruce at his heels.
Some Greek freight handlers were unloading the car when they reached the track. The work was being done under the direction of a rather tall man, erect and dignified. He, the boys felt sure, was the Major. His face bore some peculiar scars, not deep but wide, and as he walked he limped slightly.
"Might be he's lost some toes," muttered Barney. "Had a cousin who limped that way."
"The machine's a Handley-Page bombing plane, made over for some purpose or other," said Bruce, with a keen eye for every detail. "That's the plane that would have bombed Berlin if the war had lasted long enough. They're carrying mail from Paris to Rome in 'em now. Those machines carried four engines and developed a thousand horse-power. This one is a lighter model and carries two engines. One's a Rolls-Royce and one a Liberty motor. The fellow that planned the Major's trip for him has selected his equipment well. They don't make them any better."