The wreath in a tin box, firmly corded and attached to a little parachute, was placed in the fuselage of a small Morane--his own machine being in the hands of the mechanics--and Tam climbed into the seat. In five minutes he was pushing up at the steep angle which represented the extreme angle at which a man can fly. Tam never employed a lesser one. He had learnt just what an aeroplane could do, and it was exactly all that he called for. Soon he was above the lines and was heading for Ludezeel. Archies blazed and banged at him, leaving a trail of puff balls to mark his course; an enemy scout came out of the clouds to engage him and was avoided, for the corps made it a point of honor not to fight when engaged on such a mission as was Tam's. Evidently the enemy scout realized the business of this lone British flyer and must have signaled his views to the earth, for the anti-aircraft batteries suddenly ceased fire, and when, approaching Ludezeel, Tam sighted an enemy squadron engaged in a practise flight, they opened out and made way for him, offering no molestation. Tam began to plane down. He spotted the big white-speckled cemetery and saw a little procession making its way to the grounds. He came down to a thousand feet and dropped his parachute. He saw it open and sail earthward and then some one on the ground waved a white handkerchief. "Guid," said Tam, and began to climb homeward. * * * * * The next day something put out of action the engine of that redoubtable fighter, Baron von Hansen-Bassermann, and he planed down to the British aerodrome with his machine flaming. A dozen mechanics dashed into the blaze and hauled the German to safety, and, beyond a burnt hand and a singed mustache, he was unharmed. Lieutenant Baron von Hansen-Bassermann was a good-looking youth. He was, moreover, an undergraduate of Oxford University and his English was perfect. "Hard luck, sir," said Blackie, and the baron smiled. "Fortunes of war. Where's Tam?" he asked. "Tam's up-stairs somewhere," said Blackie. He looked up at the unflecked blue of the sky, shading his eyes. "He's been gone two hours." The baron nodded and smiled again. "Then it was Tam!" he said. "I thought I knew his touch--does he 'loop' to express his satisfaction?" "That's Tam!" said a chorus of voices. "He was sitting in a damp cloud waiting for me," said the baron ruefully. "But who was the Frenchman with him?" Blackie looked puzzled. "Frenchman? There isn't a French machine within fifty miles; did he attack you, too?" "No--he just sat around watching and approving. I had the curious sense that I was being butchered to make a Frenchman's holiday. It is curious how one gets those quaint impressions in the air--it is a sort of ninth sense. I had a feeling that Tam was 'showing off'--in fact, I knew it was Tam, for that reason."