hy am I here? For exactly the same reason that all the rest are
here, sir!" The aviator swept his arm comprehensively at the ranks of
eagerly listening men. "To resume active service. To get back to duty.
To live, again! In short, to join this expedition and to share all its
adventures!"

"Hm! Either that, or to interfere with us."

"Not the latter, sir! I swear that!"

"How did you know there was going to be an expedition, at all?"
demanded the Master, his brows tensed, lips hard, eyes very keen. The
aviator seemed smiling, as he answered:

"I know many things. Some may be useful to you all. I am offering you
my skill and knowledge, such as they may be, without any thought or
hope of reward."

"Why?"

"Because I am tired of life. Because I want--must have--the freedom of
the open roads, the inspiration of some great adventure! Surely, you
understand."

"Yes, if what you say is true, and you are not a spy. Show us your
face, sir!"

The aviator loosened his helmet and removed it, disclosing a mass of
dark hair, a well-shaped head and a vigorous neck. Then he took off
his goggles.

A kind of communal whisper of astonishment and hostility ran round the
apartment. The man's whole face--save for eyeholes through which
dark pupils looked strangely out--was covered by a close-fitting,
flesh-colored celluloid mask.

This mask reached from the roots of his hair to his mouth. It sloped
away down the left jaw, and somewhat up the cheekbone of the right
side. The mask was firmly strapped in place around the head and neck.

"What does all this mean, sir?" demanded the Master, sharply. "Why the
mask?"

"Is that a necessary question, sir?" replied the aviator, while a buzz
of curiosity and suspicion rose. "You have seen many such during the
war and since its close."

"Badly disfigured, are you?"

"That word, 'disfigured,' does not describe it, sir. Others have
wounds, but my whole face is nothing but a wound. No, let me put it
more accurately--there is, practically speaking, no face at all. The
gaping cavity that exists under this mask would certainly sicken the
strongest men among you, and turn you against me.

"We can't tolerate what disgusts, even if its qualities be excellent.
In exposing myself to you, sir, I should certainly be insuring my
rejection. But what you cannot see, what you can only imagine, will
not make you refuse me."

The Master pondered a moment, then nodded and asked:

"Is it so very bad,