As usual, the first ruse of the German was to find the location of our airdrome, for, since they found an identification tag on Davis, they knew his squadron was the 104th. Of course, I didn’t belong to that squadron, but I said nothing, for the reason that it would serve no useful purpose to dispute this presumption. He showed us some absolutely marvelous photographs of our airdrome taken by German cameras at extremely high altitudes and also pictures of other airdromes close by. I recognized them all right, but, believe me, I gave no signs of it. After about thirty-five minutes of dickering with those photographs in which he tried by every possible manner and means to catch a clue as to the location of our airdrome, he pulled the very subtle change in conversation from airdromes to the general feeling about the war. He wanted to know what schools we had attended and what subjects we had taken, and what Americans did for diversion in their colleges, whether or not they fenced, and then he nicely asked us to explain a little about football; in other words, perfectly harmless questions. We gladly talked football, but kept on the alert lest we be taken unawares. Suddenly in the midst of these immaterial questions and discussions about our schools, customs and life in general, from a clear sky and in a very nonchalant manner, came a new surprise. “Oh, about your relatives and friends,” he remarked sympathetically—“they will be very worried to hear that you have been reported missing in action.” We both agreed to that, of course. “Well,” he went on as if he had been inspired by a solution, “if you wish to write a little note to some of your friends back in the squadron the German flyers will very gladly drop the messages over the lines on the next patrol, which will be to-night. You see,” and he cleared his throat by way of emphasis, “by this method your parents and your friends will not worry; otherwise, they may think you have been killed.” I was surprised, really, at this ostensible kindness—it was attractive enough to bear investigating. As a matter of fact, the recent illness of my mother convinced me that she could not withstand the shock of my reported casualty. I immediately decided that if it was possible to adopt this expedient news service, provided I did not have to give any military information, I would do so. Like every boy, I knew that the one person in the world who loved me most was my mother. She had a right to know. So, accepting his pencil, I wrote very rapidly: “To Any Allied Officer or Man: Kindly Notify American General Headquarters that Lieutenants Raymond Davis and Elmer Haslett, Air Service, are safe prisoners of war in Germany.”