"Sir Eaton a kindhearted man?" he asked.
"Very," she assured him. "He carries a pocketful of cracker crumbs for the pigeons."
At that moment Sir Eaton Pelham appeared. He was a burly Englishman, wrapped snugly in the folds of a greatcoat. His ruddy face beamed and he nodded to Stan.
"Jolly nice weather for one day," he said as he opened the door of the car.
"Very," Stan answered. "How about a lift?"
Sir Eaton looked at Stan closely for the first time. "I say, a Yank flier. What could you be doing here?"
"I was just fished out of the channel by one of His Majesty's patrol boats and want to get back to base."
"Hop in, old man. Where is base?"
"Take me to Diss," Stan said as he climbed in.
"Right-o." Sir Eaton did not ask any more questions. He spoke about the country they whirled through, but never mentioned the war at all. When Stan got down at Diss, Sir Eaton waved his thanks aside. "Good hunting, my boy," he said. Turning to his driver he said, "Whitehall, London. We'll have to hit it a bit fast to be on time for my meeting."