Chapter III: A Thrilling Moment

UNDER oak rafters, festooned with dried herbs, and toasting their feet at the cheery blaze of an open, roaring fire, the boys regained the Christmas spirit that had been sorely subdued in the previous dismal hour in the wave-tossed launch.

The house that had thrown open a hospitable door at the bidding of Roque overlooked the bay, and its solid walls had resisted the storms of a half-century. Mine host, Spitznagle, had he been dressed for the part, would have come very near to the Santa Claus idea, and even as he was, some of the idea hung about him in a radiant circle.

He could not, though, have possibly trimmed a tree in manner more satisfactory than he decorated the big, square table in the center of the wooden-walled dining-room, within easy distance of that first-class fire. Sizzling sausages, small mountains of crullers, fragrant coffee, mulled cider, and such like in quality and quantity, indicated a royal spread.

Roque, who had been prowling around somewhere outside for a time, suddenly preceded a gust of sleety wind into the cozy interior.

The Christmas spirit had apparently conjured up a bit of a kindly spell for him, as the iron man fitted into the scene with far less friction than the boys had anticipated, considering the mood of this driving force during the trying day.

"Snug haven, this, eh?" jovially queried the late arrival, as he spread a pair of sinewy hands over the inviting fire. "You're spoiling these youngsters, Spitz," was Roque's side remark to the blooming boniface, at the moment stirring some savory stew in a glistening copper pot. Mine Host waved a three-foot spoon in mock protest against the playful accusation.

"Nothing like that at all, my dear man," he declared in big bass tone. "I will not spoil but will cure these children of their hunger."

"Draw up, my hearties," urged Roque, setting example by dragging an oak bench alongside of the bountifully laden table. Billy and Henri jumped at the bidding.

"Where are the men that brought us over?" asked Billy, presuming upon the fact that Roque was in one of the rare periods out of his shell.

"Back, I hope, where they came from," briefly replied Roque. "Those fellows are hardy stock," he added, "and can see in the dark. Don't worry about them."

"Cuxhaven is some aircraft place, isn't it?" Henri put this wedge in the conversation.

"Perhaps it is," acknowledged the secret agent, "and" (grimly) "it may soon return the upper-story visit just paid with a cloudful of warcraft that will start a general hunt for cover."

"Had you ridden often in airships before to-day, Mr. Roque?" inquired Billy.

Spitznagle muffled a chuckle by a slight fit of coughing when he heard the question, and muttered something to himself like "donner vetter!"

Roque turned a quick eye upon the fat offender, and then gave Billy a smiling look-over before he made response.

"I confess, young man, that I have enjoyed some lofty travel before I met you, but I am willing to admit that I could not teach you and that partner of yours many new tricks in flying the heavier than air kind of machines."

"How about the Zeppelins?" cried Spitznagle, who could no longer suppress a desire to show his knowledge of Roque's prowess as an airman.

"Hold your peace, Arnold," advised the secret agent, shaking his finger at the eager champion, "my business compels me to learn a little of everything, and it's all in a day's work, anyway."

The boys were satisfied that Roque's renown had not all of it been won on the ground. Spitznagle would have made a good witness to that effect if he had been permitted to speak.

While the tall clock in the turn of the winding staircase leading to the upper floor of the old house was whanging the twelve strokes of midnight, Roque and Spitznagle pledged the fatherland with uplifted goblets, and Billy and Henri offered a silent toast to the assured soft beds upstairs.

When the early morning brought no disturbance of their inclination for a little longer time to press the pillows, the boys sleepily guessed that Roque, for once, was not in a hurry to dash into new territory. As the sun kept climbing, and still no summons from below, curiosity overruled napping, and the young aviators decided to investigate the cause of this unusual consideration of their comfort.

Halfway down the stairway their ears convinced them that the place was not deserted, for a spirited conversation in the language of the country was in progress, accompanied by a clatter of dishes, and the ever present cooking odor of sausage assailed their noses.

Besides Spitznagle, shrouded to the rib-line with his flowing apron, were three very short men and an extremely long one. The latter proved to be no other than the giant Zorn. Roque was nowhere to be seen.

The heavy host noisily hailed the late comers:

"Good morning, sleepyheads, and all this fine food waiting for you, too."

Zorn gave his best wide-mouthed grin, and then went on talking, in lower tones, however, to his short companions.

Billy and Henri made a substantial breakfast, and in doing so, hardly felt the need of the constant urging of the boss cook.

They could not imagine what had become of Roque, and as nobody volunteered to tell them, they concluded not to ask any questions.

The boys observed that one of the short men, with a large head wholly out of proportion with his stocky body, commanded much deference from the rest of the party.

Henri learned from the drift of the conversation that this determined looking individual was Capt. Groat of Friedrichshaven, the great center of Zeppelin factories, and while the captain was not in uniform he had the manner of rank.

Billy was quietly advised by his chum what the talk was about, and wagered that the two strangers were airmen.

"When these fellows commence to flock together on this coast," he asserted, "you can figure on what Roque meant when he fixed a comeback to get even for that flying raid yesterday on Cuxhaven."

The boys had withdrawn to the fireplace, and had an opportunity to exchange comments and conclusions between themselves.

"I'd like to take a whirl myself in one of those Zeppelins," was the wish expressed by Henri.

"Our flying education has been sadly neglected in that respect," admitted Billy, "but, you know, these dirigibles are among the things made only in Germany, and we're just over, so to speak."

As the morning wore away, Zorn made some remark to Capt. Groat that had attracted the latter's attention to the boys lounging at the fireplace. The captain arose from the table and approached Billy and Henri with outstretched hand.

"You speak the German?" With the question he bestowed a strenuous grip upon each of the boys.

Henri nodded, and Billy confessed by blank look that he did not know the language.

"It is easy, the English," politely assured the captain, "and we will talk it together."

Billy brightened at this. He was not fond of hearing through an interpreter.

"I hear you are the great aviators, and for so young it is wonderful."

"Thank you, sir," was Henri's modest acknowledgment.

"It is with the Zeppelin I navigate," advised the captain. "You know it not?"

"Not much," put in Billy, "though we once dangled on the anchor of one, and another time I fell with a monoplane right across the back of one of your dirigibles."

"Yes," remarked Henri, "and if it hadn't been for that, there wouldn't have been any Billy alive to tell about it."

The captain showed a disposition to continue his talk during the afternoon with the boys, but a new arrival of evident importance interrupted. This addition to the party was a much older man than the rest, wore a military cloak, and his long, gray mustache curled at the ends in close touch with his ears. As he stood at the end of the big table, now cleared of its cloth, and rested a hand, enveloped in a gauntlet, upon the shining surface, everybody in the room saluted. Over the shoulder of this distinguished guest the boys saw the face of Roque.

As if by signal, further increased by the hasty entrance of three additional numbers, the attending company ranged by equal division on each side of the table, and all followed the directing movement of the man at the head of the board in seating themselves.

Billy and Henri were the only bystanders, for though Spitznagle had not ventured to flop down upon a bench at the table, he perched himself on a high stool, completely blocking the door leading into the pantry.

One of the short men who had first appeared with Capt. Groat produced a capacious wallet, and laid out in orderly array a number of neatly folded papers which had been contained in the leather.

"This is the navigator detailed to determine air currents, sir," explained Roque to the chief figure, at whose right elbow the secret agent was stationed.

The man in the cloak fixed his gaze on the expert with the notes. The latter accepted this as permission to speak, and read in precise manner the results of close observation during a recent aërial expedition of Zeppelins, escorted by armed German biplanes, in the vicinity of Dover straits.

Henri's quick ear and thorough knowledge of the Teuton tongue put him in line of complete understanding of the report, and that it seemed preliminary to a proposed general raid of aircraft on territory with which he was well acquainted.

Billy's only satisfaction was in watching his chum's change of expression as the news sifted through the latter's mind. He could see that there was "something doing."

So intently interested was the gathering at the table in the reading, that the very existence of the youthful outsiders seemed to be forgotten.

"Good; excellent!" commented the chief.

"It's a game with double trumps." Roque held the affair at Cuxhaven as a choking memory.

"There'll be quite a fall of hot shot, I promise you, if we get started right." This was the prediction of Captain Groat.

His lieutenants from Friedrichshaven nodded their approval.

In anticipation of a telling counterstroke by their air squadron, the plan makers at the table puffed up clouds of smoke from pipes and cigars, freely distributed by the happy Spitznagle when the lengthy discussion officially ended. In the added hours, when stone mugs were passing among the thirsty, night had fallen outside, and the benches were turned to the glowing fire.

While Spitznagle was touching the tips of numerous candles with the tiny flame from a paper spiral, the empty mugs were being removed by an oddly dressed fellow, who shuffled around in carpet slippers like he was tormented with a thousand pangs of rheumatism.

The boys had boosted themselves to good lookout points on the wide window ledges, behind the lively circle around the fire.

The leather wallet and the survey notes of the expert air traveler lay separate and apart on the table, just as they had when the reading concluded.

Billy was idly watching the halting action of the queer servitor, when, to the great astonishment of the watcher, the apparent cripple, with rapid hand movement, under cover of the wiping cloth he carried, deftly lifted and concealed the papers somewhere in the scarecrow garments he wore.

It was a tense moment. The word that would have turned things upside down in that room trembled on Billy's lips. But one of those remarkable instances of mental telegraphy checked the utterance. The man who had stolen the papers felt that his action had been detected from an unexpected quarter, and his eyes lifted to the very point of danger. There was an appeal in the look--and something else, a flash of recognition that compelled a response. They were the smiling eyes of Anglin--or, as Roque would have it, Ardelle.

Billy, tongued-tied, saw the bent figure slowly shuffle toward the kitchen. He inwardly trembled at the thought of the stocky airman suddenly turning from the fireplace to seek his precious reports. He added another little shake in advance of the turmoil that was bound to be raised, anyhow, no matter how soon or how late the loss should be discovered. But the consolation of delayed discovery would be that Anglin had a chance to save his neck.

"What's the matter with you, pal?" Henri had just noticed that Billy was off color and wide-eyed as a trapped rabbit.

Billy, for caution, laid a finger on his lips. "I've seen a ghost," he whispered.

With a glance of apprehension at the group circling the fireplace, Billy leaned against the shoulder of his chum and with underbreath speed told of the presence of Anglin and the taking of the papers.

Henri was thrilled by the exciting story poured into his ear, and immediately took on his share of anxiety as to the outcome of Anglin's daring action.

Bursts of laughter resounded at the fireplace. The company was then applauding some humorous tale volunteered by Zorn, who had risen like a tower to impress the point of his story.

"Gee," murmured Billy, "will they never quit?"

"Don't fret," advised Henri, "the blow will fall in due time."

It did fall a few minutes later.

The main mover of the meeting was saying: "Gentlemen, it is nearing a new day, and there is great achievement before us. We go to prepare for it."

Benches were pushed back to clear the way, and this scraping sound had hardly ceased when the short airman, who had made the interesting report, hurried to the table for his valuable records.

The boys leaned forward in breathless suspense.