Pretending
to have been in American training-camps, it was easy
to bring up my name in a casual way. Laughing that rather
sinister laugh of his, which you will remember, Herter told a
couple of flying chaps he had promised a girl to find Jim Beckett's
grave. One of the fellows laughed too, and made a remark
which set Herter thinking. Later, he was able to refer to
the subject again, and learned enough to suspect that there was
something fishy about the Bosch announcement of my death and
burial. He tells me that, at this point, he was able to send you a
verbal message by a consumptive prisoner about to be repatriated.
Whether you got that message or not who knows?
"His idea was to send another (in a way he won't explain
even to me) when he'd picked up further news. But as things
turned out, there was no time. Besides, it wasn't necessary.
It looked hopeful that we might be our own carrier pigeons, or
else--cease to exist.
"What happened was that Herter heard I was alive and in a
hospital not far behind the lines. Just at this time he had got
hold of the very secret he'd come to seek. The sooner he could
make a dash for home the better: but if possible, he wished to
take me with him. He had the impression that to do so would
please his friend Miss O'Malley! How it was to be worked he
didn't see until an odd sort of American bombing machine fell,
between an aerodrome it had attempted to destroy, and Herter's
hospital.
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