the officer saw Poe and Ewers, he snapped off a straight-backed salute.
'I am Oberst Theo von Kretschmar-Schuldorff. I have looked forwards immensely to meeting the great writer, Mr Edgar Allan Poe.'
The officer spoke in clear English. He was a sharp new-born.
'Well, this is him,' Ewers said, in German.
Poe shook the officer's hand. Kretschmar-Schuldorff's eyes swivelled sideways tinily, taking in the condition of the new arrivals. Poe had wiped himself with a handkerchief but Ewers's clothes and face were spotted with drying blood. The officer had formed an opinion but would do his duty and keep it to himself.
Ewers stormed off to reclaim his trunks from the martinet-in-the-making. Poe was helped into the car by Kretschmar-Schuldorff. The Oberst treated him with the deference due a very old lady whose dreadful smell must never be mentioned.
What Poe had taken from Gigi was gone completely. His red thirst was abated but fearful realities returned. The noise of shelling and the stench of death were again paramount.
'I no longer use my stepfather's name,' Poe told the officer. '1 am simply Edgar Poe.'
Kretschmar-Schuldorff took mental note. Names and ranks were as important as uniforms and decorations to his class. He was a Uhlan, attached to the Air Service. Many gallant cavalrymen traded steeds for wings in this war.
Ewers returned with his serf, each dragging a trunk. The corporal's black olive eyes were alive with resentment.
'We thought ourselves abandoned,' Ewers said, brusquely. 'What kept you?'
Oberst von Kretschmar-Schuldorff did not shrug, but his eyes narrowed minutely. Hanns Heinz Ewers was not making a comrade of this man.
The war,' he said, explaining everything.
16
Twice Bitten
The rule of 'once bitten, twice shy' seems to have no currency with you,' said Major Cundall.
'Under the circumstances, you might say 'once bitten' means we're on to something.'
Cundall sighed but his blood was up. Winthrop saw past the mask now. Behind the cynicism, the flight commander was a tiger. He had not won his DSO and Bar with wittily cutting remarks.
'So Diogenes insists we have another bash at Malinbois?'
'It's the general thought,' Winthrop explained.
Through an enchantment, Albright's cracked plates had been developed. Jagged white lines streaked across the photographs and areas were blank, but the castle could be seen. Winthrop laid out the photographs on the farmhouse table. The vampire pilots gathered round.
'This is the tower we're interested in,' he said.
Cundall considered the indicated area. 'Looks like a diving board. Do the air pirates of JG1 make prisoners walk the plank?'
The top of the tower was sheared off. A board affair jutted out of it. The area of interest corresponded with the most damage to the plate.
'What's that shadow?' Bigglesworth asked, 'mostly under the blotch? Is that an observer? A gun position?'
Diogenes had also thought it a puzzle. Winthrop tapped the scale marks at the edge of the photograph.
'If it's an observer, he must be a giant,' he said. 'Fifteen feet tall.'
'It's a gargoyle, old thing,' put in Courtney. 'Devilish fond of gargoyles, the Hun.'
'Malinbois was French until JG1 moved in.'
Some pilots laughed bitterly. Winthrop suffered less ragging on this visit. Nobody mentioned Spenser or Albright. He noticed the odd new face and tried not to think which old ones were absent. There was an army show on, readying for the enemy push everyone expected before spring. Cundall's Condors had spent the last few days knocking spotters out of the sky.
'Looks like we're in for a twilight patrol,' Lacey said, almost keen. 'If we flit over
'Baron von Richthofen,' Roy Brown said, miserably. 'Someone has to kill him some time.'
'Someone has to kill everyone some time,' said Cundall, thinking it over. At bottom, he was a cautious sort. It was probably why he had survived this long.
'Diogenes suggests a full patrol this time,' Winthrop said, knowing the flight commander was entitled to be annoyed with the change of policy.
'Fair enough,' Cundall said, mildly. 'Courtney, pick an observer and take the Harry Tate.'
The pilot - a Tasmanian, Winthrop had learned - groaned. The RE8 was not a popular kite. They were called 'flapping ducks', close relatives of the sitting variety.
'I'll fly the tip of the formation. Don't fret so, Courtney. I'll baby you through.'
Courtney theatrically clutched his heart. For his part, Winthrop was pleased the flight commander was choosing the men for this patrol rather than delegating the task.
'Since we had such little fortune with the As last time,' Cundall said, cruelly, 'we'll put the Bs in the air this show. Bigglesworth, Ball, Brown, you're up. And, to add a little alphabetical variety, let us, by all means, have a Williamson to balance things out.'
The pilots began climbing into their Sidcots and hauling on fleece-lined boots. Albert Ball, bent the wrong way in several places, wriggled into flying kit by unorthodox but efficient means. Roy Brown, the sour little Canadian, drank from a pitcher of milk and cow's blood.
'Tummy trouble,' Ginger explained. 'Brown's soothing his ulcer.'
Brown looked pained but kept drinking. Winthrop understood how a man in this line of work could nurture an ulcer.
'I say,' Courtney said, 'my usual dance partner in the Harry Tate is Curtiss Stryker and he's off sick. Ate someone who disagreed with him, I fear.'
Allard looked grim, expecting to be volunteered. Instead, Cundall turned to Winthrop, smiling evilly.
'Winthrop, my precious prince, have you ever fired a Lewis gun in anger?'
'I know which end to hold.'
'That'll do you.' He thumbed towards the ceiling. 'Ever been up?'
'I've been given a lift across the Channel a couple of times. I've even held the stick and not plunged to earth.'
'A veteran,' Courtney snorted.
'Topping,' Cundall said, 'you won't puke or anything. Care to come along on this jaunt? After all, it is Diogenes' show. Not mandatory, or anything. Just thought you might like the trip. The scenery is terribly picturesque at sunset.'
'I'd love to come,' Winthrop said, evenly. He was not entitled to be afraid.
'Good man,' said Cundall. 'Ginger, find our friend some kit, would you? He's a warm one, so we'd best keep him that way.'
Whatever the patrol was like, it could not be as bad as hanging around waiting for it to come back. If it came back. He had the impulse to jot a few lines. He pulled out his pocketbook and a stub of pencil.
Last will and testament?' Courtney asked.
No, just notes. Gathering intelligence is a matter of making notes.'
'Whatever you say, old son. I always cheer myself up thinking of people I owe money to. If I go west, plenty will be mightily browned off.'
Winthrop thought hard, and wrote 'Dear Cat, if you get this, I've run into serious bother. Don't let it knock you too much. Love you desperately. Edwin.'
It was feeble but it would have to do. He begged an envelope from Algy Lissie and gummed the letter in. It
