other, like a falling leaf—at last it dived headlong and from its last dive it never recovered. My ammunition was gone, but to the greatest of luck and horseshoes, I attributed the fact that the other three planes were also gone. In a few moments more we again passed over Montfaucon and crossed the lines. The balloons were just beginning to rise again. “Well,” I thought as we passed them, “you seem to be safe enough this time, and I must say I admire you for going up again so soon after such a narrow escape, but for me—never again! I’m going to stay on the ground the rest of my life.” Of course, I often wondered why those other three Huns had left the fight. Here is the solution of the mystery. At Christmas time, three months later, I was in Coblenz, on the Rhine. The war was over and we were a part of the Army of Occupation. Under the terms of the Armistice the Germans had to turn over two hundred airplanes to the Americans and were to send twenty German flyers along to test the planes in the presence of competent American judges before they were accepted. Late in the evening, after a joyous Christmas dinner, at which wine and merriment abounded, an orderly came in and told us there were two German officers to report. We found that they were two of the flyers detailed by the German Government to turn over the planes. One of them was a lad named Donhauser, who claimed to have shot down twenty-six allied planes, among them Quentin Roosevelt; the other was a lad named Teske, who also was an Ace. We invited them to join us, and during the conversation that followed it was interesting to note the many battle fronts over which we had fought against each other. Upon discussing the Argonne it developed that Donhauser’s squadron was opposite the area in which I had this fight on the twenty-eighth of September, so, I took occasion to clear up the incomprehensible reason why these three had left the fight. I casually asked him if at a certain hour, at a certain place, on a certain date, he had a patrol, evidently bent upon attacking balloons, diverted by a bi-place observation plane. He took out a little book from his pocket and after hastily scanning the well-kept notes, he looked up and said, “Was one of the Deutschen planes shot down?” I answered “Yes.” “Do you know if it was the leader?” he inquired. I told him I thought it was. He again verified the time and the place and then opened up. This was his story: “The leader, who was shot down, was an exceptionally good flyer and had several victories to his credit. There was something queer about it—in the squadron it was known as the ‘Mystery Mission’ for the reason that three of the German planes left the fight when the Observation Plane was absolutely helpless with jammed machine guns. They claimed that the German leader had fired a signal rocket to them, which was their signal for that day which meant for all the planes to leave the fight at once as larger allied patrols were approaching.”