“The pilot may have jumped before the fire lit up the sky,” the captain replied. The sudden flare of excitement was followed by an equally sudden lull except for the sound of soldiers’ voices across the fields. The flack guns lapsed into silence. Captain Dobie said, “Whew! Next time, André, you go down to the cellar. I forgot all about you for a minute.” Slim and a detail of men were sent off to look for the fallen Nazi plane, and also for the pilot. “Better send out word to the French people around here to be on the lookout,” Dobie added, “till we’re sure about him.” When Slim and the men had been gone only a few minutes, Weller began to fidget restlessly. “How about I just take a look-see down the road, Captain?” he suggested. Captain Dobie said okay, and Weller swept up a Tommy gun and went off into the night. He had gone only a few yards when André caught up with him. In a field, the last flames were flickering from the fallen Messerschmitt. A faint drizzle blurred the scene, but the figures of many soldiers were dimly silhouetted against the light. “No good goin’ over there,” Weller said, after studying the scene a moment. They had just begun to retrace their steps when Weller said, “Listen.” André had heard sounds too--a creaking and the clop, clop of hoofbeats. Coming down the wet road a new, unpainted cart rattled into sight. Between the shafts clumped La Fumée. And, waving the reins behind the dashboard, stood Victor. “André!” he shouted. “Where did you go?” He brushed at his enormous mustache nervously. “Well, never mind now. Get in. Get in. I’ll drive you home.” André gulped with relief. Weller demanded, “Ask him how he got home.” André repeated the question in French, and Victor threw out his hands indignantly. “How _should_ I come?” he shouted. “By any open road those soldiers and tanks left for my use. Americans, Americans everywhere! Tanks! Guns! I have been halfway around the world to get here, it seems.” “But where did you find your cart? I thought it was blown up!” André cried. [Illustration] Victor’s eyebrows expressed more astonishment. “Where _would_ I find it? Just where Jacquard said he would leave it, of course. Beyond his shop, among the holly trees.” When this was translated, Weller shook his head. “Well, climb in an’ let’s go home.” La Fumée, sensing the nearness of her own stable, started briskly. When they had said good night to Victor, Weller yawned loudly. André watched Weller, and laughed. “I’m pretty sleepy, myself,” he admitted. Ten minutes later he was in his mother’s big bed, sprawled sound asleep. CHAPTER ELEVEN _André and the Nazi Pilot_ Falling into bed, André’s thoughts had turned to his family, but his worries were quickly drowned in sleep. When he awoke, he ran downstairs to see what the sunrise had brought. It had brought Victor.