by E. J. Craine
CHAPTER VII
TOM'S FATHER
With anxious hearts the Air Service boys ran on. There was no need toask their way, for they had but to follow the throng toward the scene ofthe most recent exhibition of the Hun's frightfulness and horror.
As they drew near the Rue Lafayette, where Mr. Raymond had said heintended to stay while in Paris, the boys were halted by an officer onthe outskirts of the throng.
"Pardon, but you may not go farther," he said, courteously enough."There is danger. We are about to sound the alarm so that all may taketo shelter. The Boches are raiding Paris again."
"We know it," said Tom. "But it is no idle curiosity that takes us on."
"No?" politely questioned the policeman.
"No. I am seeking my father. He wrote to me that he would stop in theRue Lafayette, and I have not heard from him since. I was told that thelast shell fell in that street."
"It did," assented the officer, "and it demolished two houses and partof another. Many were killed and injured."
"Then I must see if my father is among them!" insisted the youngaviator.
"Pardon, monsieur, it is not possible. I have my instructions, and--"
He stopped, and for the first time seemed to become aware of theuniforms worn by Tom and Jack. Then the officer saluted as though proudto do it.
"Ah," he murmured. "Of the Lafayette Escadrille! You may go where youwill. Only I hope it is not into danger," he said, as he drew aside forthem to pass. "Pardon, I did not at first sense who you were. Franceowes you much, messieurs. Keep your lives save for her!"
"We will," promised Tom, as he hurried on, followed by Jack.
They came to the head of the street they sought, and, looking down it,beheld ruins greater than they had seen before. As the officer had said,two buildings had been completely demolished, and a third partly so, thewreckage of all mingling. And amid these ruins police and soldiers wereworking frantically to get out the injured and remove the dead, of whomthere was a sad number.
Tom's face was white, but he kept his nerve. He had been through toomany scenes of horror, had been too near death too often of late, as hadhis chum, to falter now, even though his father might be among thoseburied in the wreckage caused by the German shell.
"Do you know what number your father was to stop at?" asked Jack.
"Yes, I have his letter," Tom answered. "I'm afraid, Jack, it was in oneof those buildings that have been blown apart."
"No, Tom!"
"I'm afraid so. But, even at that, he may have had a chance for hislife. He may have been out, or, after all, he may not have arrived yet.I'm not going to give up hope until I have to."
"That's the way to talk, old man. I'm with you to the last."
They pressed on, and populace and officers alike gave way before them asthey saw the uniforms.
"We've got to help!" declared Tom. "We must pitch in, Jack, and lend ahand here. The soldiers seem to be in charge. Let's report to thecommanding officer and offer our services."
"But your father?"
"That's the best way to find him if he's in those ruins. Let us help getthe unfortunates out. I hope I don't find him, but I must make sure."
Making their way through the press of people, which, under order of thepolice and military authorities, had begun to disperse in some smallmeasure, Tom and Jack reported to the officer in charge, giving himtheir names and rank, at the same time showing their papers.
"We want to help," the lads told him.
"And I ask no better," was the quick response. "There are dead and dyingunder that pile. They must be gotten out."
And then began heart-rending scenes. Tom and Jack did valiant work incarrying out the dead and dying, in both of which classes were men,women and children.
The German beasts were living up to the mark they had set for themselvesin their war of frightfulness.
Each time a dead or injured man was reached, to be carried out forhospital treatment or to have the last sad rites paid him, Tom nervedhimself to look. But he did not see his father, and some small measureof thankfulness surged into his heart. But there were still othersburied deep under the ruins, and it would be some time before theirbodies, dead or alive, could be got out.
As the soldiers and police worked, on all sides could be hearddiscussions as to what new form or manner of weapon the Germans wereusing thus to reach Paris. Many inclined to the theory that it was a newform of airship, flying so high as to be not only beyond ordinaryobservation, but to be unreachable by the type of planes available atParis.
"If we could only find a piece of the shell we could come nearer toguessing what sort of gun fired it," remarked Tom, as the two AirService boys rested a moment from their hard, terrible labors.
"Do you mean if it was dropped from an airship it wouldn't have anyrifling grooves on it?" asked Jack.
"That's it. A bomb, dropped from an aeroplane, would, very likely, beonly a sort of round affair, set to explode on contact or by a timefuse. But if it was a shell fired from a long-range gun, there might beenough of it left, after the explosion, to observe the rifling."
"There isn't a gun with a range long enough to reach Paris from thenearest German lines, unless they have broken through," said Jack.
"Well, the last may have happened; though I should think we'd have gotsome word of it in that case. There'd be fierce fighting if the Germanstried that, and we'd rush reinforcements out in taxicabs as the Parissoldiers went out once before."
"Do you think then," asked Jack, as they went back, after their briefrespite, to their appalling labors, "that they have a gun long enoughto fire from their nearest point, which is about seventy miles from thiscity?"
"I don't know what to think," remarked Tom. "It seems like a wild dreamto speak of a gun that can shoot so far; and yet reality is over-toppingmany wild dreams these days. I'm going to reserve judgment. My chiefconcern now, though of course I'm not going to let it interfere with mywork, is to find my father. If he should have been in here, Jack--"
Tom did not finish, but his chum knew what he meant, and sympathizedwith his unexpressed fear for the safety of Mr. Raymond.
Digging and delving into the ruins, they brought out the racked andmaimed bodies, and there was more than one whose eyes were wet withtears, while in their hearts wild and justifiable rage was felt at theruthless Germans.
Ten had been killed and nearly twice that number wounded in the thirdshell from the Hun cannon.
From a policeman Tom learned that one of the two buildings that had beendemolished was the number given by Mr. Raymond as the place he wouldstay.
"The place he picked out may have been full, and he might have gonesomewhere else," said Tom. "We've got to find out about that, Jack."
"That's right. I should think the best person, or persons, to talk towould be the janitors, or '_concierges_,' as they call 'em here."
"I'll do that," responded Tom.
Aided by an army officer, to whom the boys had recommended themselves,not only by reason of their rank, but because of their good work in theemergency, they found a man who was in charge of all three buildings asa renting agent. Fortunately he had his books, which he had saved fromthe wreck.
"You ask for a Monsieur Raymond," he said, as he scanned the begrimedpages. "Yes, he was here. It was in the middle building he had a room."
"In the one that was destroyed?" asked Tom, his heart sinking.
"I regret to say it--yes."
"Then I--then it may be all up with poor old dad!" and Tom, with amasterful effort, restrained his grief, while Jack gripped his chum'shand hard.
