Scots ever free?” murmured Nellie, playing on the fact that Mac would almost sooner part with a toe than a dime.
“Ye jest,” retorted Mac. “But our trrroubles are just startin’. Ye’ll see.”
Marge Stahl spoke.
“With a man like Mr. Benson to follow, I wouldn’t care how bleak the future looked. I’d be sure everything would come out right. Though I’ll admit that right now the future looks very, very bleak!”
CHAPTER XI
“Secret Orders”
The airfield made no pretension at being secret, but it wasn’t right out in plain sight, either. A person would have to live around Cayenne to know that it was there, six miles off. All around it was thick tropical growth, not the impenetrable stuff of the jungle proper, such as was found south of here, but plenty thick enough.
The field was fairly good, leveled off, covered with crushed shell and fine gravel. Probably, it was the result of convict labor. Enclosing the field and a large space all around it was a high fence. A couple of birds lying near it told of electrically charged wires.
There was a gate, and at the gate sat two men. They were big fellows, sloppily dressed, with guns at hand. They looked mean.
The Avenger took a large wallet out of his pocket.
That wallet contained a great many fascinating things.
Smitty had seen some of them. But not even the aides of The Avenger knew all that was in there. Sufficient to say that in many a tight situation it had yielded helpful cards and documents.
Benson now took a large card from it. The card had the official German seal in the corner.
“You speak German, Smitty, don’t you?”
The giant nodded. “I have an accent, though.”
“I’ll do the talking,” Benson nodded. He seemed to speak all major languages without an accent. “This card was given me several years ago by a German military attaché in Chile. We’ll see if it has any effect on the gate guards. They’re French. I doubt if they know much German.”
The Avenger straightened his shoulders so they slanted almost backward. From another pocket he took a monocle, which he thrust into his right eye socket. Smitty marveled.
With these few changes, The Avenger had become a Prussian officer.
Benson marched rigidly to the gate. Smitty came behind, ramrod-straight, too, but not doing the impersonation The Avenger was. Benson stopped with a heel click at the gate. One of the two guards got up and came over.
The Avenger thrust the card arrogantly through the wire mesh, staring meanwhile through the monocle as though the guard were some peculiarly low form of insect.
“I desire to see Herr Wassmuller immediately,” he said. “You will open the gate, please.”
“We have orders not to—” began the man.
“Open the gate, please.”
“I’ll take your card in—”
The man quailed under the monocle’s icy glare. He meekly opened the gate, and Smitty and Benson walked in.
“Stay here on guard. Let no one in after us.” The orders clicked from Benson’s lips in Germanic French. He went toward the shabby little shack that obviously served as an administration building.
Behind them, the two guards still looked doubtful.
They approached the shack openly. And now they could see the planes, a long line of them, with canvas covers lashed over the cowls and motors, and most of them with wings off.
Also, through the window, they caught a glimpse of two men. One was lean, string-straight, with grim, thin lips and eyes almost as light as Benson’s. The other was heavy-set, lolling, gloomy-looking. The thin man sprang erect and snapped to the door as he heard steps.
He opened the door with his hand in his pocket. And more than just his hand bulked under the material. He was carefully dressed in civilian clothes, but wore them like a uniform.
“You are Herr Wassmuller?” said The Avenger in the man’s own tongue. “I am Ober . . . I mean Herr Drach. I would like to speak to you alone.”
Suspicion shone in the man’s eyes. But he
“Ye jest,” retorted Mac. “But our trrroubles are just startin’. Ye’ll see.”
Marge Stahl spoke.
“With a man like Mr. Benson to follow, I wouldn’t care how bleak the future looked. I’d be sure everything would come out right. Though I’ll admit that right now the future looks very, very bleak!”
CHAPTER XI
“Secret Orders”
The airfield made no pretension at being secret, but it wasn’t right out in plain sight, either. A person would have to live around Cayenne to know that it was there, six miles off. All around it was thick tropical growth, not the impenetrable stuff of the jungle proper, such as was found south of here, but plenty thick enough.
The field was fairly good, leveled off, covered with crushed shell and fine gravel. Probably, it was the result of convict labor. Enclosing the field and a large space all around it was a high fence. A couple of birds lying near it told of electrically charged wires.
There was a gate, and at the gate sat two men. They were big fellows, sloppily dressed, with guns at hand. They looked mean.
The Avenger took a large wallet out of his pocket.
That wallet contained a great many fascinating things.
Smitty had seen some of them. But not even the aides of The Avenger knew all that was in there. Sufficient to say that in many a tight situation it had yielded helpful cards and documents.
Benson now took a large card from it. The card had the official German seal in the corner.
“You speak German, Smitty, don’t you?”
The giant nodded. “I have an accent, though.”
“I’ll do the talking,” Benson nodded. He seemed to speak all major languages without an accent. “This card was given me several years ago by a German military attaché in Chile. We’ll see if it has any effect on the gate guards. They’re French. I doubt if they know much German.”
The Avenger straightened his shoulders so they slanted almost backward. From another pocket he took a monocle, which he thrust into his right eye socket. Smitty marveled.
With these few changes, The Avenger had become a Prussian officer.
Benson marched rigidly to the gate. Smitty came behind, ramrod-straight, too, but not doing the impersonation The Avenger was. Benson stopped with a heel click at the gate. One of the two guards got up and came over.
The Avenger thrust the card arrogantly through the wire mesh, staring meanwhile through the monocle as though the guard were some peculiarly low form of insect.
“I desire to see Herr Wassmuller immediately,” he said. “You will open the gate, please.”
“We have orders not to—” began the man.
“Open the gate, please.”
“I’ll take your card in—”
The man quailed under the monocle’s icy glare. He meekly opened the gate, and Smitty and Benson walked in.
“Stay here on guard. Let no one in after us.” The orders clicked from Benson’s lips in Germanic French. He went toward the shabby little shack that obviously served as an administration building.
Behind them, the two guards still looked doubtful.
They approached the shack openly. And now they could see the planes, a long line of them, with canvas covers lashed over the cowls and motors, and most of them with wings off.
Also, through the window, they caught a glimpse of two men. One was lean, string-straight, with grim, thin lips and eyes almost as light as Benson’s. The other was heavy-set, lolling, gloomy-looking. The thin man sprang erect and snapped to the door as he heard steps.
He opened the door with his hand in his pocket. And more than just his hand bulked under the material. He was carefully dressed in civilian clothes, but wore them like a uniform.
“You are Herr Wassmuller?” said The Avenger in the man’s own tongue. “I am Ober . . . I mean Herr Drach. I would like to speak to you alone.”
Suspicion shone in the man’s eyes. But he
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