"Correct, yes," the heavy-jowled officer replied in German, "but not pleasing, Count von Herzmann. _Himmel!_ How I hate the sight of the Englander's uniform and the sound of his thin, squeaky tongue. And I say to you again that this wild plan of yours is a fool's errand. I would forbid it, had you not gained the consent of the General Staff. I do not understand it. You are too valuable to the cause for the General Staff to permit you to take such a chance. I say again, it is a fool's errand." Count von Herzmann smiled reassuringly. "Fool's errand, _Herr Hauptmann?_" he responded in German. "Is there anything more precious to our cause than to learn just now where this next blow is to be struck? For the past ten days all of our secret operatives have sent us conflicting reports. The English and the French are too quiet on their fronts. It presages a storm. As for the Americans, we need not worry. They are still boasting of their victory at St. Mihiel. They will not be ready to strike again before late Fall--perhaps not until Spring. We must--" "Speak in English," interrupted one of the other officers. "Much as we hate it, we must see to it that it is perfect." "Right you are!" von Herzmann replied with the perfect accent of a well-bred Englishman. "My three years' schooling in England was not for nothing, sir. Accent top hole, eh, what! Rawther." He smiled at his own mimicry. "I was saying," he went on, "that we must discover where the English will strike next. Victory depends upon it." "_Ja_, _das ist richtig_" spoke up the stolid _Oberst-leutnant_, who had been listening without comment as his grey eyes, deep set under stiff, bristling eyebrows, appraised the confident von Herzmann. "_Ja_, we must learn where the swine strike next. But must it be you to take the chance? You know the cost--should you fail?" "Quite well, sir," von Herzmann replied, smiling. "A little party in front of a firing wall with myself as the center of attraction. Ah, well! What matter. I have about played out my string of luck in the air. Sooner or later, there must be an ending. I have a great fear that it will be the luck of some cub, fresh at the front, to bring me down. Ha! How he would swank around, boasting how he brought down the great von Herzmann. Bah! Death, _Herr Hauptmann_, I do not fear in the least, but I hate the thought of a cub boasting over my bones. Besides, there are no new adventures left for me in the air. I am a little weary of it all. But this--this is new adventure and--" "And deadly dangerous," reminded the cadaverous, thin-faced officer at the far end of the table.