Dans ce deuxième récit, les mousquetaires revenus à la vie pendant la Deuxième Guerre Mondiale sont dans Paris occupé, accompagnés de leur ami "contemporain" Phillip Poincare. Cherchant à se procurer des papiers d’identité, Phillip, Porthos et Aramis sont arrêtés par les nazis. Ils sont interrogés par l’infâme colonel Rinehart, qui se révèle être un fanatique d’escrime. Pour le plaisir, il défie Aramis en duel et le bat. Il s’apprête à le défigurer quand les prisonniers sont sauvés par l’irruption de d’Artagnan, qui se fait passer pour un officier allemand chargé d’emmener les prisonniers.
Ayant ainsi échappé aux griffes de colonel Rinehart, les quatre hommes vont récupérer Marie, une agent de la France libre tombée aux mains des Allemands. Toute la bande décide alors d’aller sauver deux savants atomistes français prisonniers dans un château occupé par les Allemands près de Paris.
Là, les quatre hommes et Marie sont capturés par Rinehart, très désireux de se venger. Le colonel s’apprête à torturer Marie avec son épée, son arme favorite, quand Athos apparaît. Ce dernier a assisté à l’arrestation de ses amis et vient à la rescousse. Un duel s’ensuit où, cette fois, Rinehart a le dessous et est tué. La bande libère les deux savants et s’enfuit vers de nouvelles aventures…
Et surtout, le fait que l’écrivain américain McGivern, écrivant
en 1943 et 1944, aux heures les plus noires de l’histoire de
la France, ait choisi d’envoyer les mousquetaires à l’aide
de notre pays est un geste assez touchant de solidarité qui
His blade moved again, but just as its tip grazed Aramis' cheek there was a sudden knock on the door.
"See who that is," the colonel said over his shoulder to his orderly. "And send him away, whoever it is."
The orderly answered the door and turned to the colonel.
"I'm sorry, Herr —"
"Fool!" the colonel blazed, "I told you to send whoever it is away."
The door was thrust violently open, almost knocking the small orderly off his feet, and a tall slim young man strode arrogantly into the room.
"I am not accustomed to waiting rooms," the new arrival said curtly. He glared about the room and his eyes centered on the colonel and Aramis.
"Am I to report to Herr Goebbels," he said scathingly, "that Colonel Rinehart of Paris has nothing better to do with his time than practice fencing lessons on defenseless prisoners?"
The new arrival was tall, wide-shouldered, and he moved with the lithe grace of a jungle cat. His peaked officer's cap shadowed his face, but his eyes, flashing and hard, were like twin diamonds.
Colonel Rinehart lowered his blade slowly and faced the young man. His face was hard with suppressed rage.
"At whose orders do you break into my offices?" he demanded.
"I am from the Ministry of Information," the young man snapped. "Herr Goebbels has sent me here to escort three prisoners back to Berlin for intensive questioning. I wish to leave immediately." He whipped a sheaf of papers from his pocket and handed them curtly to the colonel. "My authorization and identification."
The colonel glanced at the papers and the anger faded from his face. A worried, nervous frown collected over his eyes.
"Why does Herr Goebbels want the prisoners questioned in Berlin?" he asked.
"I did not ask Doctor Goebbels the reasons behind his orders," the young man said sarcastically. "But after my insight into the strangely juvenile operation of your office, Colonel, it is not difficult to hazard a guess. Herr Goebbels wants the job done efficiently, and he doubtless realizes that that would be a literal impossibility under your bungling direction."
Colonel Rinehart sucked in his breath sharply and his cheeks flushed angrily.
"You will pay for your insulting attitude," he stormed. "I refuse to release these men until I have talked to your superiors."
The young man gestured sharply to the orderly.
"Get Doctor Goebbels’ office on the wire immediately," he said crisply.
"Yes sir," the orderly said. He started for the phone.
"Wait!" the colonel said. His voice had changed. "There is no necessity for our being hasty. We mustn't bother Herr Goebbels with anything so trivial as our slight misunderstanding. I am sure we understand each other. Perhaps I was a bit hasty, and for that I'm sorry."
"Good!" the young man said. "Now, where are these men?"
"These three in the room are the ones referred to in your authorization," the colonel said.
The young man glanced from Porthos to Phillip and finally to Aramis. Then he shook his head disgustedly.
"A miserable looking group," he said.
He took off his peaked, swastika-emblazoned cap and ran a hand through his brown curly hair. His features were youthful and handsome and there was a curiously humorous glint in his brown eyes, as if he might be struggling to keep from laughing.
Phillip heard Porthos draw a sudden sharp breath; and then Phillip recognized the slim, brown-haired young man in the Nazi officer's uniform and his heart began to beat with a fierce, frantic excitement.
For the mocking, insolent young man who stood nonchalantly facing the colonel was the cavalier Gascon from Artagnan — the bold, cheerful, danger-loving young man who had led the musketeers through their most glorious exploits and whose sword and name had been known in every corner of France.
He was D'Artagnan!