His voice carried; and the English pilot delayed with his match. If any German was near, he did not evidence his presence. If any of the enemy flyers had noticed the descent of the English biplane, probably they had seen the black-crossed machine following it down. So Gerry and the English pilot stood undisturbed, estimating each other in the moonlight. A machine-gun bullet had grazed the Englishman's head; but he was fast recovering from the shock. Gerry adjusted a first-aid bandage to stay the blood.
"Your ship's all right?" Gerry asked.
"Look at it."
"Looks all right; and bombs!" Gerry cried out, discovering a pair of bombs still hanging in the racks. "You came down with bombs on!"
"I was gone—part the time," the Englishman explained. "Thought I'd released 'em."
Gerry was not finding fault. Bombs he had; and, to take the place of the German training machine, here was a ship with engine undamaged, and which could fly again, and quite capable—after its bombs were used—of bearing three men and a girl. Wisely had Gerry determined that night not to try to guide fate. Events unforeseeable again had him in their grasp. He gazed half a mile away where the gray walls of the schloss shimmered in the moonlight.
"There's a girl in there," he said to the English pilot. "An American girl we're going to have out. Will you help us?"
"How?"
"Lay those last two eggs close to the castle," Gerry
