"Modest enough," Cowan approved. "It seems that G 2 thinks the same thing. They have reason to believe that he is in the neighborhood of this point here,"--he put a finger on the map--"where the railroad between Soissons and Chateau-Thierry crosses the Ourcq." He turned now directly to Siddons, his eyes cold and piercing. "Lieutenant Siddons, you seem to be a most excellent map flyer. You find your way here alone, and you tour this part of France with admirable ease. To-morrow morning, if the visibility is good, you will take off at dawn, cross the line above Bouresches, push on toward Bonnes and as far inland as the railroad crossing on the Ourcq--if possible. Is that clear?" "Perfectly, sir." Siddons was as unconcerned and unruffled as though he had received an order to fly to Paris. "You will get the greatest possible altitude before crossing the line, and you are to avoid combat. Your mission is to bring us information, if possible, concerning the location of enemy 'dromes--and especially von Herzmann's base. Am I clear?" "Perfectly, sir." One could not but admire the cool confidence of the fellow. His complacency was not what Cowan had expected. "If you think the risk is too great, alone," Cowan said, after watching his face for any hint of quailing, "I will send two other planes with you. They might help reduce the odds in case of unavoidable combat." "Oh, that's not necessary," Siddons replied. "In fact, one plane has a better chance to escape combat, especially if there are some clouds to duck into. Anything else, sir?" Cowan made a clicking sound with his tongue. The fellow wasn't human; he was an iceberg! "That is all. And I wish you luck." "Thank you, Major. And thanks for the mission." He gave McGee and Larkin the pitying look of one who has just drawn the grand prize in an open competition, and without another word turned quickly and passed through the door. Cowan's face had a baffled look. "Well," he finally said, "he acts like a gamecock, anyhow." "Do you realize the danger of the mission?" McGee asked. "It's not for me to consider that angle," the Major replied. "G 2 wants information, and I am under orders to help supply it. Danger? Yes. That's war. If we lose--well, I'd rather not discuss it." At that moment the door opened. There, framed against the night, stood Nathan Rodd! In salute he brought a gauze-wrapped hand to his head, a head so thickly swathed in bandages that only his face was showing and his service cap sat perched at a ridiculous angle. "Lieutenant Rodd reports for duty, sir," he said. Cowan, McGee and Larkin had stood transfixed, as men might who thought they were seeing a ghost. But Rodd's words, concise and strikingly characteristic of the taciturn Vermonter, snapped them into action. This was no ghost! "Rodd!" Major Cowan exclaimed, and rushed across the room to grip Rodd's unbandaged left hand. "You here?"