Le Saboteur: IV.

By O.R. Kirkpatrick and C.C. Gaylord

Chapter IV.
C’est la Guerre

Randolph glanced at the barrack room clock a trifle anxiously. There were only ten minutes left before “C” flight had to go out on the next job and Allison was still in bed. Everybody knew why: Allison and Renhard had stayed up late the night before in the bar. Renhard had gotten up on time (although he had been obliged to take some headache powder and drink several cups of coffee with his breakfast) but Allison was still snoring away.
Randolph did not like to call Allison, for he felt it was a man’s own responsibility to get himself out of bed, but today he had no choice. He went to the foot of the stairs and shouted Allison’s name. The major came to the door of his office.
“What’s all the ruckus?” he asked.
“I’m trying to get Allison up, sir.”
“Well, get him up some other way. Let’s not have all this noise so early in the morning.”
“Very good, sir.”
Randolph rubbed the back of his head in perplexity. He did not like the thought of going into somebody’s room and waking him up. Especially if he were as grumpy in the morning as Allison generally was.
“Would you like me and Hayes to get him up?” volunteered Kearns.
“All right, carry on,” said Randolph, relieved.
Kearns and Hayes went into the bar to get something and Randolph went out to the airstrip to check that the ‘planes were ready. As he returned, he saw Allison coming out of the barracks. His face and the front of his shirt were soaking wet.
“What happened?” asked Randolph.
Allison didn’t reply, but headed straight for the pump. There were no taps in the barracks, so in the mornings the men washed at the pump in the barracks yard. They did not like the inconvenience, but what could they expect with a war on? Randolph followed Allison to work the pump for him, not daring to ask further questions. Allison was in a dreadful humor, and besides, Randolph had his own suspicions.
He pumped furiously while Allison put his head under the spout. The latter said a great many things in the intervals in which he was obliged to come up for air, but Randolph couldn’t make out what they were.
“Just wait,” was the first articulate thing he said. “I’ll teach them!”
“Who?”
“That Kearns and that other fellow who always hangs about with him.”
“Hayes?”
“Yes.”
Randolph offered Allison his comb, which he accepted ungraciously and proceeded to put his spiky blond hair in order. Randolph said nothing.
“They said you told them to get me up,” said Allison after a minute.
“I did, but I didn’t mean that way.”
“Ah, just let them wait: I’ll get even!”
“You’d better hurry and get into your togs,” said Randolph. “We’ve only a few minutes left, but I guess there’s time for you to get some breakfast if you hurry.”
“No thanks. I don’t want any.”
“You’d better have some coffee at least—good for headaches,” said Randolph slapping him on the shoulder.
Allison went off without another word.

“Kearns,” said Randolph as Kearns climbed into his airplane, “how did you wake Allison up?”
“Soused him with the siphon bottle.”
“Thought it was something like that. Let’s not have any more of that sort of thing, all right?”
“All right, but it was Hayes’s idea.”
“Well tell Hayes when you get the chance. No practical jokes, see? We don’t want any trouble.”
“Very well,” said Kearns strapping himself into the cockpit. Randolph climbed into his own machine and as soon as Allison appeared they took off.

It was late morning by the time they returned. They had had a hot time of it and everybody had at least one bullet hole in his plane. Randolph climbed down from the cockpit and leaned against his fuselage with his eyes closed. Renhard strode up.
“Quite a battle, wasn’t it?” asked Randolph, straightening up quickly.
“Anderson’s had some trouble, I think,” said Renhard.
Randolph glanced over in Anderson’s direction. His ‘plane had pulled up all right, but he hadn’t gotten out yet.
“Get a couple of men,” said Randolph and hurried over to Anderson’s machine.
It required the efforts of three of them to lift Anderson out and carry him into the barracks. They set him in a chair and cut away his sleeve. It was the first time Allison had seen anything of the kind and he turned away quickly.
“Incendiary bullet,” said Randolph, inspecting the wound. “One of you see if you can locate some morphine tablets.
“When were you hit?” he asked Anderson.
“Just near the end,” said Anderson. “I was going after you to see if I couldn’t help you out a bit and somehow I picked up a stray bullet.”
The color mounted in Randolph’s face.
“Don’t follow me again if I go off like that,” he said.
“Why not?” asked Anderson. “It’s only what you’d do for one of us.”
“Yes, well—don’t do it again, that’s all,” he said confusedly. “Now I’ve got to report to the major, now. See if you can’t get his arm tied up somehow.”
And he left in a hurry.
“Woodward,” said Hayes when he’d gone, “there’s something we’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“What?”
“Well, you know Randolph. We don’t think he ought to take so many chances. He’s bound to be killed some day, you know.”
“Yes,” put in Kearns, “and being he’s the best flyer in the squadron and all that, we can’t very well do without him.”
“Well, why do you tell me?”
“Well, it doesn’t seem quite right for us to put it to him,” said Hayes, “to be more careful and all, as we’re only lieutenants, you know. We thought it would be better for you to, since you’re a fellow captain and what not, and his best pal, too.”
“I’ll mention it, but I don’t think he’ll listen,” said Woodward.
Randolph emerged from the major’s office.
“What’s the billet?” asked Hayes.
“Pitt’s bringing ‘round the major’s staff car,” said Randolph.
The men picked Anderson up (he was too weak to walk) and carried him out and deposited him in the back seat of the car with his arm swathed in bandages to the shoulder. Everyone was very quiet as Pitt drove away. They knew they would never see that arm again.
“Hayes,” said Kearns, after the rest of the men had split up.
“What?”
“Captain told me this morning not to play any more tricks on Allison.”
“All right. I wasn’t going to, anyway. He was too mad about the last one.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about that. He keeps saying he’s going to get even.”
“It’s a good thing we both pulled that trick off; now he has to split up his revenge between the two of us. So all we have to do is, I’ll watch your back—so to speak—and you watch mine.”
“All right,” said Kearns. “But I think he’s madder at me for some reason. Anyway, I wish he would split the dirty looks fifty-fifty.”

The men of 11 squadron were surprised to find a notice posted on the bulletin board one morning which stated in official terms that fewer leaves were in future going to be issued. No reasons were given, but several of the men suspected that it had something to do with Renhard and Allison’s late-night drinking bouts, and were rather annoyed with the two culprits for spoiling things for the whole squadron. But of course they had no proof.
After a week or two the men began to get rather tired of being confined to the airdrome all day. The only thing they ever did in town was go to the small French restaurants, but when one has to live on army fare the food at those restaurants was a great temptation. Of course for some, food was not the only temptation. Allison had run out of whisky again and walked around muttering about how he would get some more, orders or no orders. Renhard missed whiskey too, but seemed to mind the new order less than the other men, strangely enough. So when the major was obliged to send Randolph into Dupond on official business, several people thought it wasn’t quite fair that Renhard was the one chosen to go with him.
It happened to be a splendid afternoon that they set out. The major’s car sped along the road, bouncing over the ruts and leaving a coating of yellow dust on the poppies by the roadside.
“I hope this dry weather keeps up,” said Randolph for the sake of conversation. “Good for the fellows in the trenches.”
“Yes, poor devils,” said Renhard.
“They’re certainly that,” said Randolph absently, and then realizing what he’d said, added quickly, “that is, I don’t mean they’re devils, but—”
“Yes, I didn’t mean that, either. It’s just an expression.”
“I was just thinking about my brothers. There’s two of ‘em in the trenches and one in Arabia. Worry about them sometimes.”
“Oh, well, for the matter of that, we’re no safer than they are,” said Renhard. “It’s just as likely we’ll get killed ourselves—maybe more likely.”
“What made you switch, then?”
“I was fed up with being shelled all day long. I thought I would rather fall and be killed than have something dropped on top of me.”
Randolph looked troubled.
“Well,” he said slowly, “I suppose it’s a better death, but I’ve always been afraid of burning alive before I hit the ground. It happens sometimes, you know, and it must be awful for the poor fellows who die that way.”
“Occupational hazard,” said Renhard.
“I suppose so. Does it bother you much?”
“Not really. One gets used to it.”
Randolph was silent for several minutes and Renhard took the opportunity to count the trucks in a convoy passing in the opposite direction.
“Do you ever think about what you’ll do after the war’s over, Renhard?”
“Sometimes. (24, 25,) What about you?”
“Oh, every once in a while. I think the first thing I’ll do is get a hot bath. How much longer do you suppose this war will last, anyway?”
“Oh, a year or so, I’d say.”
“I hope not. It’s lasted far longer than it ought to have already.”
Renhard neither granted nor contradicted this statement.
“Here we are: Dupond,” said Randolph, slowing down for a man and his cow who were also entering the village.
Dupond was a sleepy French country town. The villagers were quite used to seeing les Americaines by now and the two pilots did not attract much attention. They dispatched the errand the major had sent them on and were pulling onto a side avenue when they saw a disheveled individual up ahead.
“Why, it’s Allison!” exclaimed Randolph.
“What’s he doing here without leave?” said Renhard.
They leaped out of the car and caught hold of Allison on either side of his collar.
“Allison! What’s happened, old boy?” asked Randolph.
“Who did it?” —this from Renhard.
“Frenchies,” Allison mumbled. “A whole platoon of ‘em. Didn’t like something I said about Foch so the beastly chaps jumped me all at once. I settled the score on several of ‘em, though.”
“By the looks of you you did,” said Randolph. “Where was this?”
“Some rum shop. I couldn’t read the name on the sign. There were a lot of Frog soldiers sitting about drinking and I had a couple of drinks too, and then the fight started. We wrecked the place up pretty bad.”
“I suppose you didn’t hear the new order,” said Renhard.
“You mean about leaves?”
“No, about fighting.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, some general got fed up with all the fighting among the troops—mostly American, I’m sorry to say—and made an order that anyone caught fighting gets two weeks hard labor. And you’ve got AWOL* on your record too.”
“Come on,” said Randolph. “No good talking here. Get into the back seat, Allison, and duck down in case anyone comes by.”
“Duck down? There’s absolutely no room back here.”
“Well, do the best you can. It’s only until we get out of town.”
Randolph turned the car onto the main street and sped up.
“Of course we won’t rat on you to the major, Allison,” said Randolph, steering adroitly around a villager, “but the trouble is, anybody who sees you will know at once that you’ve been in a fight.”
“Well, the other fellows started it.”
“You know, don’t you,” said Renhard addressing Allison, “that Randolph and I will get in trouble too, if we’re seen with you.”
“What are friends for?” smirked Allison.
“I may be your friend, but I see no reason why I should have to get you out of every scrape you happen to be stupid enough to get yourself into.”
“We can’t leave him in the lurch,” said Randolph.
“No,” said Renhard, considering, “I suppose not.”
“I’ll fix you up as best I can,” said Randolph to Allison, “but you’re dreadfully messed up.”
“You ain’t seen nothing,” said Allison. “Why, I’ve been in fights where men lost fingers and ears. The Frogs can’t fight worth a plug nickel.”
“All the same, the fellow whose bar you smashed up might press charges against you.”
“Ah, let him. See if he gets a dime out of me.”
“You’ll feel a bit differently once you’ve gotten some of the liquor out of your head,” said Randolph.
Allison had reached that clearer state of mind by the time they pulled into the airdrome. Randolph had discreetly chosen the back entrance and pulled up behind one of the hangars.
“Here you are, hop out,” he said. “Meet me upstairs. Try not to run into any of the others.”
Allison climbed out and sneaked off. Randolph parked the car, reported to the major and then went to dig up a first-aid kit. Allison was waiting in the bedroom when he got there and so was Renhard.
“I’ve got just the thing for you, Allison,” said Randolph. “See here” (reading from the label) “’Bruise Paste. Apply liberally to injured area. Reduces swelling and conceals discoloration caused by bruises, swollen blood vessels, etc.’ Sounds good, eh?”
“Anything sounds good, so long as the major doesn’t see me like this,” said Allison.
“A good layer of that round your eye and nobody will be the wiser,” said Randolph. “That lump on your jaw could probably use some too and your nose has stopped bleeding—that’s good. But I don’t know what to do about the cut on your chin.”
“You could always say you cut yourself while shaving,” suggested Renhard.
“Well,” said Randolph dubiously, “that wouldn’t be true, you know.”
“Who cares if it isn’t?” asked Allison wickedly.
“You’ve given me an idea, though,” said Randolph. “We can fix it up with a stiptic pencil, maybe.
“There, that’s the best I can do,” he said, laying aside the first-aid kit and taking up his housewife. “Let’s see to your coat, now.”
The coat was in even worse condition than Allison had been. One of the sleeves was torn halfway off, a pocket was ripped and several buttons were missing. Randolph was not fond of sewing, but he plugged away cheerfully for he hated to see anyone get into trouble.
“Oh, there’s my thumb!” he cried, putting the injured member in his mouth. “I’m always doing that.”
“Why do you squint so much?” asked Allison.
“Why don’t you mend your own uniform for yourself?” asked Renhard in turn. “I don’t see why the captain should have to do it for you.”
“I don’t know how to mend. Never cared to learn.”
“What ho!” cried Kearns, coming in just then. “Tore your jacket, Cap? Always hate it when that happens. Why don’t you send it to the tailor?”
“No leaves, remember?” said Randolph.
“But you were just in town today.”
“Yes, well,” mumbled Randolph, bending over his work.
“Who won the bridge tournament?” asked Renhard, hoping to distract him.
“I wasn’t really paying attention. I think Ross did. Maxwell used to win all the time until he got killed. Went west, as they say; it sounds better. I suppose you new fellows weren’t here when Maxwell was. He was good. Knew just about every card trick there is.”
“You’re sitting on my bed,” remarked Allison.
“Oh, sorry. You’re sitting on mine, you know.”
Allison got up quickly.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” said Kearns.
Hayes and several others entered the room just then. It was a strange thing about Kearns that wherever he went he collected a crowd of people.
“Oh, hullo,” said Kearns. “I was just telling them about Maxwell. You remember Maxwell, don’t you?”
“Ah, yes, Maxwell,” said Hayes.
“Speaking of which, Randolph,” said Farnsworth, “which one of those French aces was it that was killed recently?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Ask Paddy,” said Allison. “He never stops talking anyway.”
“Who’s he?” asked Kearns.
“He means you,” said Farnsworth.
“Oh. Actually my name is Finbar.”
“It smells like supper’s ready,” said Renhard. “I’m going down to see.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” said Randolph, surreptitiously tucking Allison’s coat under his bed.
“I wonder why they call it ‘going west’, anyhow,” mused Kearns.
Crump! Thump!
Everyone turned around in surprise. Randolph sat on the floor nursing his shin.
“Bally rucksack! Who left it there, anyhow?”
“It’s been there all afternoon,” said Farnsworth. “Couldn’t you see it?”
“Oh,” said Randolph in embarrassment. “It’s so dark in here. Why doesn’t someone turn up the lamp?”
He left quickly.
“I say, Woodward, do you think it’s dark in here?” asked Hayes.
“It seems bright enough to me.”
“Me too. Poor ‘Dolphy. Somebody ought to talk the major into giving him a month’s leave. He’s been working too hard.”
Allison picked up a little can that had rolled into his foot.
“Moustache wax,” he read aloud from the label. “Who’s is this?”
“Renhard’s,” said Garrett.
“But Renhard doesn’t have a moustache.”
“Well, I don’t know; it rolled out of his rucksack just now when Randolph fell over it.”
Allison turned the can over in his hands.
“Why don’t you go ask him if it’s his?” suggested Hayes.
“Maybe I will,” said Allison, getting up.
“And tell us if supper is ready,” said Kearns.

* absent without leave

Le Saboteur: III.

By C.C. Gaylord and O.R. Kirkpatrick

Chapter III.
C’est du Véritable Sabotage!

The next day was Sunday. It was the major’s habit to read some verses of scripture aloud to the men in the main barracks room before the day’s work commenced. No one was required to attend but most everybody did anyway. Even Allison lent his presence to the proceedings, sitting near the door with his chair tipped back and a cigarette in his mouth. Randolph could not fathom why Allison had come, for the fellow had often evinced his dislike of anything “religious”.
The major was reading from the first chapter of Romans.
“Now I would not have you ignorant, brethren, that oftentimes I purposed to come unto you, (but was not let hitherto,) that I might have some fruit among you also, even as among other Gentiles.
I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians; both to the wise, and to the unwise.
So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gospel to you that are at Rome also.
For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first and also to the Greek.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Randolph saw Allison fidgeting. He needn’t have come if he didn’t want to, he thought.
“For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith: as it is written, THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH.”
The major had chosen this particular passage with the vague thought that it might be some good to men who were in danger of being killed several times per diem. Unfortunately, it did not seem to affect Allison at all. He looked out the window and began to absently rock his chair on two legs. “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who—”
BANG!
Everybody jumped. It was not an air raid; it was just Allison’s chair falling over. He got up in embarrassment and went out.
The airdrome was quite deserted. Allison wandered across the barrack yard feeling unpleasantly silly. Why ever had he jumped like that and knocked his chair over? Well, it served him right. He couldn’t understand why he had gone to the service anyhow. He didn’t believe in all that.
He came across Renhard behind one of the hangars.
“What, you here?” said Renhard. “Didn’t you go to hear the sermon either?”
“I didn’t want to be put to sleep,” said Allison.
He was glad he’d met Renhard. It made him feel better to not be the only one who wasn’t in church. He offered Renhard a cigarette.
“Thanks. By the way, the major gave me leave to go into Dupond this morning. Shall I pick up anything for you?”
“A bottle of whisky would be appreciated.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Allison took out his wallet.
“Oh, never mind that,” said Renhard amiably. “I’ll foot the bill.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t bother. Well, so long.”
Renhard got on his bicycle and pedaled off.
Allison wandered about for a while longer with his hands in his pockets.
They really ought to be finished by now, he thought, looking at his watch.
He strolled over in the direction of the barracks, but on coming closer he could tell that the others were not finished after all. They were singing a hymn and the sound drifted out of the building. It is true that none of the men were particularly good singers, but their singing had this in its favor—they sang as if they meant it. It had a queer effect on Allison. He wanted to walk away from it—he felt that they were making fools of themselves—but he felt himself held there, looking idly at the birds flying over the distant trenches and listening to the music.
“A—men,” sang the men.
“Well that’s that,” said Allison, for the service was over.
Suddenly, he felt rather silly just standing there. He hurried behind the barracks lest somebody should come out and see him. The wall against which he leaned presently was the back of the major’s office. Allison saw the major’s telephone cord where it came through the wall and down to the ground. He got down on one knee and had a closer look at it, turning it slowly from side to side. It had evidently been tampered with. It may have been just an accidental thing, but it looked just as if someone had tapped it.
Allison considered. So there was a spy about, was there? A local, sympathetic to the Germans, perhaps? He would have to keep his eyes open.
The major was tacking the orders for the day on the bulletin board when Allison entered the barracks. Nobody seemed to have missed him.
“Has Renhard come back yet?” asked the major of Randolph, pausing on his way into his office.
“No sir, I didn’t know he’d gone out.”
“I gave him leave to go into Dupond earlier this morning, but I expected him back by now.”
Randolph noticed Allison was eavesdropping. Allison mumbled something to himself.
“What’s that you said?” asked Randolph after the major was gone.
“I was thinking out loud, that’s all,” said Allison. “Renhard only left about half an hour ago, you know. He hasn’t had enough time to get back yet.”
“I wonder what the major meant, then.”
“A” flight was assigned to go out on the morning mission, so its pilots began to get ready, but the rest of the men had some time to pass before their services would be required and so sat about in little groups, reading or playing cards.
“Bird-watching, Allison?” asked Randolph, for Allison had been staring out of the window for nearly five minutes.
“I’m watching the back of the major’s office,” Allison replied.
“Why?”
“I—” said Allison and then changed his mind. “Oh, nothing.
“Hey fellows,” he said after a moment, “what sort of attractions do they have in Dupond?”
“What do you mean?” asked Randolph.
“I mean, what is there to do there?”
“I don’t know. It’s rather a quiet town, I think.”
“Well it’s dull as spoons here,” said Allison, yawning. “And cards are no fun as long as there’s a silly rule that you can’t gamble with ‘em.”
“Hearts are trumps, Morgan; take that back,” said Kearns, who wasn’t paying attention.
“Here, Woodward, what do you do when you go into town?” asked Allison.
Woodward looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
“I’ve never been there,” he said.
“Play the queen,” said Hayes, looking over Morgan’s shoulder.
“Look after your own hand, will you?” said Morgan.
“I can’t believe you fellows!” said Allison. “Don’t you ever do anything besides fly airplanes and bum about the barracks?”
“What would you have us do?” asked Hayes.
“Well, this is France. Everybody in the world wants to go to France and here you are right in the middle of it and all you can do is play Bridge. Why, there’s Paris only twenty miles from here.”
“So?” said somebody.
“Who wants to go to Paris?” asked Randolph.
“Well, there’s the Eiffel Tower. You could go see that.”
“Anybody could see it on a picture postcard,” said Kearns. “Who played the trick? Was that Garrett?”
“No, I played the jack.”
“It’s my trick,” said Hayes.
“Well I don’t know, why does everybody want to go to Paris?” asked Allison, considering. “It’s supposed to be the finest place on earth. The best of everything, you know—the finest foods, the oldest wines, the prettiest women…”
Everyone looked at him as if they didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Oh, forget it,” said Allison.
They all did, except for him. He sat observing the card game but really his mind was miles away.
“Care for a game of Rummy, Allison?” asked Randolph.
“I wonder what Renhard means to do there,” he said, not hearing him.
“Do where?”
“In Dupond.”
“Oh. Perhaps he just wanted the exercise.”
“I doubt it. Maybe he has a girl-friend.”
Everyone was surprised into silence at this unexpected thought.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Kearns. “Renhard’s a sensible fellow. Besides,” he said after a moment’s thought, “he’s too ugly to get a girl-friend.”
Whatever support there had been for Allison’s theory dissipated at this remark.
“I remember in New York,” said Kearns, “there was a show where you paid two cents to see the ugliest man in the world.”
“Did you ever see him?” asked Hayes.
“No. I never had two cents. I was just thinking, I wonder if we could make any money off of Renhard.”
“What time is it?” asked Randolph.
“The clock is right behind you,” Hayes remarked.
“Oh, so it is,” said Randolph, blushing, “but—that is, isn’t it slow?”
Farnsworth looked at his watch.
“Only by a minute,” he said. “It’s 9:02. Don’t you have a watch, Randolph?”
“I left it upstairs. I suppose I might as well go get it.”
He left, more to conceal his embarrassment than for any other reason.
Everyone was quiet for a few minutes after he’d gone.
“Is he—well, sort of, you know?” asked Allison.
“The captain? Oh, no,” said Kearns. “He’s got heaps of brains; not a bit funny at all. And he’s a splendid flyer too.”
All the men agreed, although if Randolph had just been committed to Bedlam they would have defended his sanity just as strongly. No one was going to admit to Allison that there was anything wrong with the captain.

The time passed slowly until 10:00 when “A” flight returned. The men came in silently with troubled faces.
“Have any trouble?” asked Lt. Hadley.
“More than trouble,” one replied. “We lost two men.”
“Who?”
“Harris and Gardiner.”
“Sorry about it. Hope they came down on our side of the lines.”
“The fight was uneven from the start,” said a fellow by the name of Ross. “We ran into a whole nest of Bosche ‘planes—outnumbered us five to one. Jerries were making some sort of advance and that was their air cover. Thing was, somebody knew we were coming. Our guns had been tampered with.”
“Tampered with?”
“Jammed up,” said another fellow. “All of ‘em. That’s what put paid to Harris and Gardiner. I could see them signaling something was wrong and the next second my own gun quit and I couldn’t get it going again. There was nothing to do but bolt; we had hardly a working gun in the whole flight.”
“Who did it?”
“Who knows? Some German sympathizer, most likely.”
The men discussed this piece of news excitedly.
“Don’t you suppose it could have been an inside job?” asked Allison.
“Oh, no,” replied Morgan. “Most everyone here is above suspicion.”
He was too polite to say that the only ones who weren’t above suspicion were the two new men, as they hadn’t been there long enough for the others to be sure of them.
The major called the men together a short time later.
“I’ve just had a telephone call from the hospital in Crécy,” he said. “Harris was picked up in no-man’s-land injured, but likely to recover. No word yet of Gardiner. There seems to be some suspicion of sabotage, so we will have to take extra precautions. Security will be tightened and if anyone sees any suspicious activity he is to report it immediately.”
The door opened just then and Renhard came in. Seeing everybody standing about, he quietly shut the door and slipped to the back of the room.
“I’ve notified headquarters,” the major continued. “They promised to send somebody to look into it. That’s all, men. Dismissed.”
Randolph saw Renhard disappear into the bar and wondered why his rucksack clanked so oddly.