shed up. "A very unfortunate
incident, but I've already told you it was my fault."

The big German, shrugged, started to speak but checked himself and
swiveled around in his chair to peer at the well marked map that took up
most of the wall in back of him. Presently he turned front again and
fixed his eyes on Dave.

"And you?" he grunted. "Where were you forced to leave your car? And
where is this French Army lieutenant your friend mentioned?"

"I don't know where he is," Dave said. "When the German planes started
shooting and bombing those refugees I...."

"One moment!" the Colonel grated harshly. "Our pilots do not shoot or
bomb helpless civilians. Those were undoubtedly French planes, or
British ones, made to look like German planes. Go on."

Anger rose up in Dave Dawson. He had seen those planes with his own
eyes. And he knew enough about foreign planes to know that they were
neither French nor British. They were German, and there were no two ways
about that. He opened his mouth to hurl the lie back in the German's
face, but suddenly thought better of it.

"The spot was about seventy miles north of Paris, I think," he said. "I
know that a few minutes before, we had passed through a small village
named Roye. And I remember looking at my watch. It was a little after
one this afternoon."

"I see," murmured the German, and an odd look seeped into his eyes. "And
when you awoke it was night? You saw the ambulance of this English
boy's, and he picked you up?"

"That's right, sir," Dave said with a nod.

"And so?" the German said in the same murmuring tone. "So from a little
after one this afternoon until your friend picked you up you traveled
over thirty miles ... _while unconscious_? You expect me to believe
that?"

"I'm not telling a lie!" Dave said hotly. "You can believe what you darn
well like. It's still the truth, just the same. I don't know how I got
there. Maybe some passing car picked me up, and then dumped me out
thinking that I was dead. Maybe somebody took me along to rob me because
of my American clothes. They might have thought I had some money,
and...."

Dave slopped short at the sudden thought and started searching the
pockets of his torn clothes. All he could find was a handkerchief, a
broken pencil, and a bent American Lincoln penny that he carried as a
lucky piece. Everything else was gone. His wallet, his money, his
passport ... everything. He looked at the Colonel in angry triumph.

"T