“Any other questions?” The Colonel turned to his young guests.
“I—I’d like to know what happened that day when the—the ‘Prince’ was obliged to leave the pitcher’s box,” said Meggy, “that first day.”
“That—” Johnny sprang up, “let me try to explain that.”
He held out a long tube with a very bright inside, also a small battery and two small bottles of powder. “You put the two powders in the tube, then touch them off with the battery. This makes a blinding flash that may be directed like the shot of a gun at any single individual. That’s what they did to the ‘Prince’ from the airplane,” he explained rapidly.
“What I can’t understand,” he went on in a puzzled tone, “is why it should spoil your game.” He turned toward the “Prince.”
“I will explain,” said the “Prince.” “I once was in a terrible chemical explosion. My sight was saved only as a sort of miracle. Since then, a flash of light half blinds me for hours. These men, knowing this, invented that instrument of torture. So now,” he added, smiling, “you know.”
“But why did you leave the game today?” Meggy asked.
“Oh that!” The “Prince” smiled a rare smile. “That was a case of noblesse oblige. The team was yours. The game yours too. How could I, a stranger, truly win it when that plucky boy of yours had tried so nobly? It was a duty of honor.”
“That—” Johnny’s eyes were dimmed. “That’s what I call sporting!
“One more question!” Johnny was on his feet. “This may seem strange, but ‘Prince,’ were you ever in prison in America?”