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BOY SCOUTS WITH JOFFRE

_OR IN THE TRENCHES IN BELGIUM_

_By_

CAPT. V. T. SHERMAN

Author of

THE WAR ZONE

SCOUTING THE BALKANS IN A MOTOR BOAT

Chicago M. A. DONOHUE & CO.

COPYRIGHT 1912.
M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Made in U. S. A.

CONTENTS

A Mysterious Hot Box            7

Secret Service Duty            19

Jimmie Stops a Gang            31

Fire and Its Result            41

Jimmie Finds a Spy             54

A Murderous Act                66

Greeted With Bullets           78

Imperiled in a Trap            90

A Mysterious Warning          102

Boy Scouts for Targets        114

A Boy Scout Rescuer           126

At the War Office             138

Left to Starve                150

The Gray Eagle Damaged        162

A Battle in the Air           174

A Journey With Joffre         187

The Rat Repulsed              199

An Interrupted Race           211

Captured and Under Fire       223

Lost Above the Lines          235

Coffee With the Kaiser        247

Thrown From the Clouds        259

A Mysterious Door             271

Under the Castle              284

The Musketeer's Mistake       296

Boy Scouts in Belgium;

or,

Under Fire in Flanders

CHAPTER I.

A Mysterious Hot Box.

On a warm day in October three motorcyclists were speeding over Long
Island roads toward New York City. One of the group was apparently
setting the pace for his fellows. He was at least a hundred yards in
the lead. With mufflers deadening perfectly the clamor of their engines
the riders sped across the country like fleeting ghosts with never a
sound to indicate their presence.

All three riders appeared to be about eighteen years old and were
dressed in the well-known khaki uniform of the Boy Scouts of America.
Could one have examined closely the badges upon their sleeves he would
have discovered that two of the boys were members of the Black Bear
Patrol of New York City. The third member of the group, a lad slightly
smaller in stature than his comrades and with a very freckled face and
very red hair, was a member of the Wolf Patrol of the same city. A
Black Bear was on the leading machine that seemed to be making the pace.

Approaching the outskirts of a village the leader's speed perceptibly
slackened and his machine veered abruptly from side to side of the
roadway. He seemed in imminent peril of dashing into a nearby row of
telephone poles. Instantly the others slackened speed.

"What's up, Harry?" inquired he of the red hair.

"Crossing cop, maybe!"

"Nix on the cop!"

"When Jack's in trouble, slow up!"

Without a moment's delay both boys shut off power and applied brakes,
bringing their machines to a standstill beside their comrade.

Dismounting hurriedly the riders approached their friend.

"What's the trouble, Jack?" inquired the red-headed lad. Then without
waiting for an answer he wrinkled his freckled nose in disgust and
stepped back with loud sniffs of displeasure.

"You needn't tell me; I know," he cried. "Somebody tried to take
lessons in cooking and burned the water before it could boil!"

Both his comrades laughed at Jimmie's remark. Jack, however, turned
again to an examination of his machine with a worried look on his face.
Touching the parts gingerly he went carefully over the engine.

"Whew, Jack," spoke up the third boy, "you're surely some loud smeller!
What did you run over and why did you do it?"

"I know!" cried Jimmie excitedly. "He's got a hot box!"

"Sure?" inquired Jack teasingly.

"Hope I never see the back of my neck!" declared Jimmie.

"Guess I know now what that freight train conductor out in Montana
meant when he spoke of a 'stinker,'" Harry mused.

"But how did you get it?" persisted Jimmie.

"Boys, if you want to know the truth, I think some one was unkind
enough to wish this onto me!" soberly declared Jack.

"You don't mean it!" gasped Harry with a startled look.

"I do! When did we overhaul these motorcycles?"

"Yesterday. Each boy worked on his own machine, and I know I did a
good job on mine. It runs like a scared rabbit!"

"All did good jobs! Mine, too, was in perfect shape. But look at that
main crank bearing now! It's positively frozen!"

"Ho! Ho!" jeered Jimmie. "Frozen! Why, it's so hot you daren't even
touch it! Just see it frying grease this minute!"

"That's the correct term for a bearing that gets so hot it won't let
the shaft or axle turn. Maybe you didn't know that!"

"Well, Great Jumpin' Catfishes!" gasped Jimmie.

"It's a good thing Ned isn't here to listen to that slang!" declared
Harry. "As leader of the Wolf Patrol, Ned objects to slang!"

"Well, if 'Catfishes' is any more slang than 'Frozen Hot Boxes,'"
stoutly decided Jimmie, "I'll quit for keeps. Besides," he continued,
"it's a good thing Ned isn't here or he'd laugh at us for a lot of
amateurs who don't know how to run a motorcycle yet. I guess 'Yes'!"

"Look here!" cried Jack in an excited voice. Then instantly glancing
about as if afraid of being overheard he continued in a lower tone:
"This looks to me like a sure case of someone's having planned that we
should have trouble. Feel the grit in that oil cup!"

"Let me see," urged Jimmie, stepping forward to bend over the
machine for a careful exploration of the hot oil cup. Presently he
straightened, and with wide open eyes glanced in wonderment toward his
comrades as he extended a greasy forefinger for examination.

"That's emery!" he choked. "Emery will cut any bearing!"

"Emery!" echoed the two Black Bears in chorus.

"Yes, sir, emery! Some one must have put it there meaning to bring
disaster to us. Tell you what," Jimmie went on hurriedly in a hushed
voice, "it looks as if somebody had it in for us and we are due to go
through the old story of having difficulties just before we reach a
stage of success! Someone's trying to delay the Grey Eagle!"

"Let's not mind that just now," urged Jack, "the thing to do is to get
this machine off the road and then hasten as fast as we can to the
Black Bear Club Rooms to meet Ned. It's only two or three blocks to
French Pierre's machine shop. One of you can tow me over there and
we'll leave all three machines with him for the day at least."

"Right-O!" answered Jimmie springing to his motorcycle and starting the
engine. "I'll tow you as fast as you can ride!"

In a few moments the three boys were again under way, but this time
their progress was decidedly slower. Their course was laid toward a
portion of the village devoted to factories. Here was located the
machine and repair shop of a Frenchman whom the boys knew well. He had
assisted them with his expert knowledge in many of their experiments,
and the boys regarded him as a friend who could be safely trusted.

While the boys are proceeding on their errand it may be well to make
a more careful observation of them. To those of our readers who have
had the pleasure of following the adventures of the lads as related
in previous volumes of this series, no introduction is necessary. For
the benefit of those who have not become acquainted with the work and
play of our Boy Scout friends a word of explanation may not be out
of place at this time. Their adventures in the States, in Alaska, in
the Philippines, in China, in Mexico, were thrilling in the extreme
and gave many situations of peril from which only the most energetic
efforts on the part of the boys themselves brought safety.

Jimmie McGraw, the lad with the red hair and freckles, had been a
Bowery newsboy in New York until he had fallen under the observation of
Ned Nestor, a well-known member of the Boy Scouts of America. He was
of slight build, and though of about the same age as the other lads,
was somewhat shorter. His active manner, quick wit and rash boldness
in times of danger, coupled with a keen perception and an ability to
correctly weigh values, more than made up for any apparent lack in the
matter of size. Wise beyond his years, Jimmie always proved a welcome
member of any party whether on business or pleasure bent.

Jack Bosworth, who had just suffered the disablement of his motorcycle,
was the son of a well-known New York capitalist and corporation lawyer.
Like Jimmie, he was exceedingly active. A strict observance of the
"setting-up" exercises, diet and health regulations such as had been
insisted upon by Ned Nestor had developed in Jack, as well as the
other lads, a wonderful endurance. He possessed a skill in athletics
that stood him well in hand when occasion required feats of endurance
or agility that might well have taxed the ability of many men older
or of greater physical proportions. Jack's dark complexion contrasted
strongly with Jimmie's ruddy face and wealth of auburn hair, yet the
two lads were warm friends despite their difference in appearance.

Harry Stevens, the son of a prominent automobile manufacturer, was the
third of this trio of travelers. His marked ability along mechanical
lines had been given full play by his father. Harry's ambition was to
produce an engine that would be suitable for use in air craft and that
would excel anything heretofore known. How well he and his comrades had
succeeded we shall presently learn.

Just now the three lads were hastening to New York to meet at the club
rooms of the Black Bear Patrol their chum Ned Nestor, who had summoned
them by telegraph from their stopping place on Long Island.

For purposes of greater seclusion during their experiments a hangar
had been constructed on some vacant property owned by Jack Bosworth's
father. In addition to being out of the regular line of travel the
place afforded the further advantage of being within easy reach of a
railroad as well as being near the beach of Long Island Sound. Here Ned
and his friends had worked industriously for several weeks constructing
an aeroplane along lines conceived by the boys themselves.

On this particular day Jimmie, Jack and Harry had been making the
final adjustments on the frame and planes of the new air craft when
a message had come over a "pony" wire from the nearby railroad
station. Wonderingly, but unhesitatingly the boys had at once dropped
their tasks and, at a suggestion from Jack, had chosen to use their
motorcycles rather than wait for the next train. A watchman whose
services in the past had been invaluable had been left in charge of
the hangar and its precious contents. Their start had been without
incident, and it was not until they approached the village a few miles
from the hangar that they experienced any difficulty. Apparently the
run would be a quick one.

At the village, however, Jack's mount had, indeed, developed a "hot
box" which effectually prevented operating the machine.

In spite of Jimmie's threat to tow Jack's disabled machine at a rapid
pace he was using a great deal of care and was running slowly. The boys
had not proceeded far when Jack called out:

"Cut across lots, Jimmie! Go through the old foundry yards. It'll save
nearly two blocks of travel!"

Jimmie's only reply was to nod his head. At the next street
intersection he steered his motorcycle toward a foot path which led
diagonally across a vacant lot formerly used by a foundry. A thick
screen of shrubbery and bushes growing near the walk hid the lot from
the view of anyone on the street. Not until they had passed through
the opening in the bushes did the boys observe that a group of young
fellows of about their own age were engaged in a game of ball on the
vacant lot. These lads seemed to be rather low characters.

It was too late to turn back, however, so Jimmie gave a discordant
squawk of his horn and held to the path, nearly colliding with a base
runner who was sliding for second. Shouts of wrath and execration
rose from the throats of the roughly dressed crowd of players and
spectators. In an instant fists were being shaken toward the intruders,
while chunks of cinder were wrenched from the ground and hurled in
the direction of the cyclists. Coarse threats and foul language were
mingled freely with appellations of scorn and hatred.

"Get out of here, you're buttin' into a game!" shouted one.

"Soak the snobs!" cried another, brandishing the bat he held.

"Get 'em, fellers!" yelled a lad, hurling a piece of cinder with poor
aim. "Everybody soak 'em good and hard!"

One lad more venturesome than the others hurled a bat at the machines,
now almost clear of the crowd. Jimmie had opened the muffler and turned
on the power. Mingled with the roar of the exhaust came a sharp musical
twanging that told of broken spokes. The bat had reached Jimmie's rear
wheel, but fortunately the machine did not collapse under the now
uneven strain. In another minute they would be clear.

"Don't let 'em get away!" yelled one of the toughs, drawing a revolver.
"Don't let 'em get away! Stop the snobs!"

Seeing that the machines were winning their way to safety, the excited
youth pulled the trigger again and again.

CHAPTER II.

Secret Service Duty.

"Great Smoking Fireboxes!" exclaimed Jimmie.

"No, Jimmie, you should say 'Hot Boxes,'" corrected Jack.

"I meant to say 'Great Frozen Hot Boxes,'" smiled Jimmie.

"Here, here!" Harry cried impatiently, holding up a warning hand. "Just
imagine what Ned would say if he heard that!"

"All right, when I see him I shall ask his permission to use that as an
intense explosive when the occasion requires."

"You mean 'expletive,' Jimmie," Jack again suggested.

"You win the argument!" Jimmie announced resignedly, sinking further
into the depths of a great chair. "I wish Ned would hurry!"

The three boys were seated in the club rooms of the Black Bear Patrol
and were the only members present. Nearly the entire fourth floor of
the handsome residence of Jack Bosworths's father had been given over
to the use of the Black Bear Patrol. All the members had lent their
best efforts to fitting the rooms up in a manner becoming the use to
which they were being put. About the walls hung trophies of their
prowess as hunters and fishermen. Rugs of skins were on the floors,
chairs and settees fashioned by the boys themselves offered comfort,
while pennants and ribbons indicating prizes awarded in athletic
contests were plentifully in evidence.

By great good fortune the boys had succeeded in escaping from the
attention of the gang of rowdies they had unwittingly disturbed earlier
in the day. Having just time to leave the damaged motorcycles with
their friend Pierre they caught the next train for New York, and had
proceeded at once to the club rooms, where they now rather impatiently
awaited the coming of Ned Nestor.

"Maybe Ned didn't think we could get here so quickly," Harry suggested,
moving a camp stool nearer the window and seating himself.

"Maybe he didn't think we nearly failed to get here at all!"

"If it hadn't been for the good qualities of that little 'buzz-wagon'
of mine we would be arguing with that gang of toughs out on Long
Island this minute!" declared Jimmie with some force.

"Right you are, Jimmie! You can handle a motorcycle. I'll hand you
that. But they nearly got us in spite of your ability!"

"They're a tough lot of lads," admitted Jack. "They work only when
they have to and loaf around living on someone else. It is getting to
be a caution the way they annoy us, too. There ought to be some way of
stopping them. We should see father about it."

"Good idea, Jack! Just now, it's too hot to think about that subject.
What do you say to having a pitcher of lemonade?"

"The ayes have it!" declared Jimmie in a grave manner.

A step on the stair interrupted further remarks.

Ned Nestor, accompanied by an older man whom the boys at once
recognized as Mr. Nobles, an attorney associated with Jack's father,
came into the club room, glancing quickly about with a worried look
on his usually bright and sunny face. His dark eyes were positively
somber.

"Guilty, your Honor, as charged in the indictment," gravely remarked
Jimmie in greeting as he rose to his feet and lifted his right hand.
"I'm guilty. My alibi's no good!"

A general laugh went round the group as this characteristic greeting
was given. The boys noticed, however, that Jimmie's hand formed the
well-known Boy Scout signal, and also detected the quick lift of the
lawyer's hand with the palm outward, the thumb and little finger
touching and the other three fingers extended upward. Instantly they
all followed suit and then a general handshake followed.

"And now, Ned," began Jimmie as they all took seats, "why the
'four-eleven'? Somebody trying to run away with the town?"

"It looks mighty serious!" Ned soberly replied.

"Great Frozen Hot Boxes!" ejaculated Jimmie.

"What's that?" inquired Ned, instantly half rising.

"I've got a new 'by-word,'" Jimmie hastened to explain. "I'm using it
only on special occasions, such as getting shot at or some little
thing like that, or having a motorcycle put out of business."

"That's fine!" ironically declared Ned. "Now we'll omit the special
occasions and it will be all right. Where did you get it?"

"Where Jack got his real hot box!" declared Jimmie.

In answer to Ned's puzzled looks the boys quickly detailed the events
of the morning. Their previous experiences had taught them to overlook
nothing no matter how trifling it might at first appear.

A big pitcher of lemonade was prepared and passed about, to which the
attorney helped the boys do full justice.

"Now," began Jimmie, as the pitcher was emptied and he sat with a huge
slice of lemon in each hand, "can't you do something to stop that gang
of rowdies out there? They bother us a lot! Only the other day they
threw several milk bottles into the road in front of our machines. The
broken glass nearly cut our tires to scrap!"

"Possibly I might hire a detail of guards to protect you and make the
lads stop," laughingly decided the attorney, "but they'd only stop
while the guards were there. If you stop them yourself, Jimmie, they'd
stop while you are there! See the point?"

"I'll think about that!" declared Jimmie, sinking back into the big
chair and meditatively chewing on a lemon rind.

"But, Ned," protested Harry impatiently, "we're anxious to hear the
story of this hurry call. What's the reason for such haste?"

Ned's face, which had cleared somewhat, again became grave.

"I wanted you boys to help me. I need your advice."

"We're the regular little advisers!" stoutly maintained Jack. "What we
don't know we can find out from Jimmie and his dream book!"

"You're wonderfully kind. This case needs more than a dream book, I'm
afraid. It looks to me like international complications, with some
treason and a few other things on the side!"

"Whew, what big words!" gasped Jack. "Why don't you give the case right
over to the Secret Service Department and be done with it?"

"Because it isn't considered polite to return presents!"

"Do you mean to say----?" began Jack in astonishment.

"Just that!" nodded Ned. "The Chief has asked me to take this case in
hand and make an attempt to forestall a dangerous man in his suspected
attempt to sell out the United States!

"This fellow is a 'bad man' who has been engaged in various enterprises
of a very suspicious nature whereby he always made money. He has a
reputation for being a 'gunrunner' and an opium smuggler, as well as
several other things that are decidedly not nice.

"His latest act is the alleged theft of some plans of the defences of
the Panama Canal, and it is thought that he is going to try to get
across the Atlantic and endeavor to sell these plans to one of the
nations now concerned in the European war! What makes it worse is that
he is a naturalized citizen of the United States, is a trained military
man as well as a navigator, and knows that he is wanted to the extent
of a very handsome reward. He's a desperate man."

"Then all we've got to do is run out and pick him up, return him to
the United States Marshal, take a receipt and collect?"

"That's all!"

"Fine!" put in Harry. "Do we visit the burning mountains of Mexico
again or go to the North Pole or into Death Valley?"

"Worse than any of those!" soberly declared Ned. "It looks as if we'd
have to go across the Atlantic and get mixed up in the scrap over in
Europe if we get our man! He is reported to have left Colon some days
ago and, if indications are correct, is now on the Atlantic ocean bound
for the other side where he hopes to sell the plans."

"And the Chief hands us a package like that? Kind of him, I must say!"
Harry rather indignantly answered. "No older men handy?"

"He asked me to take the case," returned Ned. "If you boys want to help
me, all right. It's a dangerous mission, and you are not required to
go. There's no disgrace if we fail, and there may be no little credit
if we succeed. But he's a dangerous character!"

"Let's get out the big car and take a ride around the park to settle
our brains," suggested Jack. "I'm all in a whirl!"

Gleefully accepting the proposition, the entire party made for the
garage. Jimmie alone pleaded that he was hungry and asked to be excused
from the trip. He declared that Wolves were always hungry, especially
red-headed ones, and that he would await the boys' return to the club
rooms. Accordingly he was left behind.

A ride through the pleasant scenes of Central Park did much to relieve
the boys of the strain under which they had been laboring during the
earlier part of the day. They were accompanied by their friend the
attorney, who thoroughly enjoyed their company.

"We'll have the engine in place tomorrow," Harry announced joyfully,
"and then maybe we can plan to take the aeroplane along!"

"It seems to be settled, then, that we shall undertake the mission?"
inquired Ned, much relieved to note the attitude of his chums in the
matter. "This is volunteer service, remember!"

"Do you think for a minute that we'd see you undertake a trip of this
kind and remain quietly at home?" asked Jack, dividing his attention
between the car and Ned. "Why, Ned, Old Scout, we couldn't think of
such a thing. It's enough for us if you decide to go anywhere. We'll
trail along and do what little we can to help!"

"That's the talk, Jack!" declared Harry heartily. "We're with you, Ned,
on anything you see fit to undertake!"

"If the 'Grey Eagle' only comes up to our expectations," Ned hesitated,
"I'd not be afraid to cross the Atlantic in her!" Then, turning to
the attorney, he continued: "The new airship is expected to mark a
revolution in aerial navigation. We've been working on it this long
time, and tomorrow sees the installation of the engines."

"Yes, sir," gleefully put in Harry, "that little craft has greater
lifting power than any aeroplane of which we have any record. It
handles better than a Taube or a Voisin or a Curtiss, and we have had
a twenty-four-hour trial of her with the old engines while we were
carrying nearly nine hundred pounds weight besides we four boys!"

"It's simply marvelous," put in Jack, "the way the craft handles. In
the fuselage is room for we four comfortably, and on occasion we can
crowd in two more, with plenty of room for stores. Not an inch of space
is wasted, but there is no crowding."

"To what do you attribute this wonderful lifting power and the other
remarkable qualities?" inquired their friend.

"Principally to the way the planes are set and balanced," replied Jack.
"That is the idea of Ned, here. He has been studying that end of it
ever since he shot the eagle on the cliff in California. Really, it
is remarkable! Then, with the new engine that Harry has designed, we
should be able to make a twenty-four-hour flight as a matter of course,
instead of considering it a remarkable matter!"

"Come, come, Jack," protested Ned, "you take none of the credit
yourself, when you know full well that your share in the affair was not
a small one. But let's get back to the club rooms. Jimmie The Wolf will
have satisfied his appetite by this time."

Accordingly, the car was turned toward home, and in a short time the
party again ascended the stairway to the club rooms.

Imagine their astonishment to find that Jimmie was not there!

For a long time they sat about the rooms discussing the equipment
needed for the trip. Details of the case were gone over again and again
and discussed from all angles. Intense interest was manifest on the
part of all the boys as they talked.

A stumbling step on the stair interrupted their talk.

Covered with blood, his clothing in tatters, Jimmie half fell into the
room, reeling toward a chair in utter exhaustion.

"Well, Great Frozen Hot Boxes, I stopped 'em!" he cried.

CHAPTER III.

Jimmie Stops a Gang.

Jimmie apparently forgot his hunger as his chums in the big motor car
left the vicinity of the Black Bear club rooms. Casting aside the
lemon rind upon which he had been meditatively chewing while they were
present, he stepped to the window to watch their departure. Assured
that they were safely out of sight, he dashed madly down the stairs
with hair rumpled and jacket but half buttoned.

Not many minutes passed ere he was seated in one of the numerous
east-bound trains on the Long Island Railroad. His destination appeared
to be the station nearest the hangar where the boys had located their
workshop. His impatience at the frequent stops increased as the
distance lessened. He could scarcely sit still.

With his lower lids puckered up into a straight line, drawing crow's
feet about the corners of his usually wide-open, frank blue eyes, with
little lumps of hard muscle protruding from the corners of his jaws,
and a bright flush showing in his cheeks underneath the ever-present
freckles, Jimmie looked very unlike the merry lad his chums were so
well accustomed to greet. He was plainly angry.

Scarcely had the train halted at the station where the boys had
experienced their difficulty with the motorcycle earlier in the day
before Jimmie dropped off. He ran a few steps quickly, then forced
himself to a walk. Again he started to run.

"Great Frozen Hot Boxes!" murmured the lad, as he strode rapidly along
the nearly deserted street. "If Ned could see me now he'd call me to a
finish! That's slang, I know, but it goes today!"

Turning a corner, Jimmie slowed his pace a trifle until he came near
the vacant lot marking the scene of the encounter with the gang of
ruffians. Apparently controlling himself with an effort, the boy walked
along the fringe of bushes that hid the lot from passers-by. A glance
through an opening showed him that the lot was not deserted. Apparently
the same group of young fellows occupied the place. Their game of ball,
however, had been finished, and they were gathered about a rudely
constructed shelter before which blazed a small fire. In a tin bucket
simmered a stew of vegetables and meat. All were intently watching the
cook's operations.

"Howdy do, gentlemen!" Jimmie quietly said as he neared the group.
Several jumped up in amazement, for all had been too absorbed to note
the advent of the newcomer.

"Well, what do you want, now?" demanded one of the lads, addressing
Jimmie in a gruff tone of voice with a note of menace.

"I'm looking for your captain, or whatever you call him," announced
Jimmie in even tones that belied the feelings surging within his
breast. Not a hint did he give of the storm within.

"This ain't no time to be runnin' around disturbin' us!" growled the
spokesman. "You've done enough of that already!"

"That's just what I wanted to speak about, if you please," replied
Jimmie in his most suave tones. "I feel that there has been too much
interference already, and I wanted to square things!"

"Oh, you do, do you?" roughly demanded another lad of burly
proportions, shoving his way through the group now gathered in a close
knot. "Who give you any license to be runnin' around squarin' things? I
don't see any streets named after you!"

A hot retort was on Jimmie's lips, but he choked it back.

From the rear of the crowd came the voice of another lad who, following
the instincts of his kind, was ready to give advice, but slow to follow
it with actions of his own:

"Soak de guy, Pete. He's too lippy, anyhow. His whole gang's too fresh!
Dey tink dey can run us 'cause dey got money!"

"Sure, soak him!" cried another, edging forward.

"If you'll let me know which one of you is captain or leader of your
gang, I'll talk business with him!" announced Jimmie, not a particle
disturbed by the rough talk and menacing attitude of the tough
characters whom he confronted.

"I'm de captain of dis bunch!" announced the burly lad boastfully. "If
you got any squarin' to do you better take us all down to de corner and
set 'em up for de whole lot of us!"

Ignoring the suggestion that he buy refreshments for the entire gang,
Jimmie faced the lad squarely, and, although his height was much less
than that of the fellow whom he addressed, he took a step forward and
looked fearlessly into the other's eyes.

"There's been a lot of rough stuff pulled off lately," Jimmie stated
in a low tone. "Somehow, we've been unable to travel back and forth
without running foul of you or your friends. Purely by accident we have
had the misfortune to incur your displeasure and----"

"Sure, you pulled rough stuff," interrupted the self-styled captain.
"You've pulled too much of de rough stuff. You got to quit!"

"That's just what I'm here for!" snapped Jimmie, dropping the suave
manner. "I came back purposely to put a stop to it."

"Well, stop it and get out!" returned the other.

"Surest thing you know," gritted Jimmie, "I'll stop it if you've got
sand enough to give me a chance. I don't suppose I can handle the whole
gang of you, but if you're Americans you'll pick out a man to represent
you, and I'll stop him. If I do that, you are to agree that your gang
lets us alone. If he stops me, we'll pull up stakes and stay away from
this section. Is that fair?"

A general laugh went up around the group at this offer, for Jimmie was
much smaller than many of the boys, and the proposition appeared so
ridiculous that they could not at first believe he could really mean to
challenge any of them to combat.

"Sure thing," jokingly remarked one of the lads at length, "take him
on, Pete, and break him in two. We'll see fair play!"

"Is it a go?" asked Jimmie, unbuttoning his jacket.

"Why, kid," warned the one addressed as Pete, "you better run home and
tell your mother to wipe your nose. This ain't no place for a nice
little boy like you. You'll get stepped on!"

"You're not able to do that!" flashed back Jimmie, paling with anger.
"Your feet are big, but not big enough!"

"Now, don't get personal, or I'll have to hurt you!"

Jimmie's jacket and hat were on the ground. He stood erect, keeping a
watchful eye on the group gathering more closely.

"Come on, now," he offered, "I'm giving you a fair chance. If you
fellows want to be square and right, pick out one of your gang, and if
I lick him, we win. If not, you are welcome to the town. This trouble
has got to stop some time, and it might as well be now!"

"You guys started it, anyhow!" declared Pete, with an air of injured
innocence. "We ain't done nothin' to you!"

"You don't call throwing milk bottles into the road to cut our tires
anything, then? Maybe you don't call it anything to throw a bat into my
machine or to shoot at us?" queried Jimmie.

"Aw, go on!" sneered Pete, loftily. "You're too little!"

"You're a coward!" declared Jimmie, stooping as if to pick up his
jacket and hat. "You're a big bluff! You're afraid!"

"You're liar!" retorted the larger lad, adding an epithet of extreme
insult as a final rejoinder.

Like a flash Jimmie straightened from his crouching posture. Without
pausing to recover his poise he shot out a stinging blow that landed
on the jaw of the bluffing braggart with a resounding smack. It was
followed by another of equal force. Under the unexpected onslaught the
lad dropped in his tracks. A gasp went around the group.

"Now," announced Jimmie hoarsely, "I'm going to lick somebody, if it
takes in the whole gang of you. If you've got a scrapper in this bunch,
trot him out, and let's get this thing settled!"

"I'll take you on!" announced another lad, stepping forward.

"I'm trusting to you fellows to see fair play!" announced Jimmie,
watching his new antagonist closely. "Are you ready?"

"You bet!" airily replied the new champion. "Come on!"

And Jimmie did "come on." Like a whirlwind he went after the larger lad
with a vim that kept him on the defensive.

Shortly blood was trickling from an injured nose, while cut lips
indicated where Jimmie's vicious left had reached the target. From the
very first it was apparent that the larger lad had none of the better
of the argument. His very weight told against him, in that he was not
able to move about as quickly as his lighter antagonist.

Fighting rapidly but cautiously, Jimmie dodged heavy swings, always
coming back with a return that carried a sting. He was playing a game
that he had learned years before when it had been necessary for him
to protect his corner on the Bowery from the encroachments of other
newsboys. In these encounters he had learned the truth of the old
saying that "continual dropping will wear away a stone," although he
would not have put it exactly that way.

His theory was that if a telling blow were landed early in a fistic
encounter, another in the same place would accomplish more than if
planted in another spot that was not already sore. Therefore, he
endeavored to play for one spot, while his antagonist scattered his
attention to any portion of Jimmie's body that he thought might be
reached. Oftener than not Jimmie was well out of reach by the time his
opponent arrived. In this manner the smaller lad kept up a continual
rain of light jabs, waiting for an opening at the other's jaw. His
theory was soon proven correct.

Becoming enraged at his unsuccessful attempts to land a knockout, the
larger lad at length tried to rush Jimmie. This, apparently, was just
what was wanted. A sidestep, a quick forward lunge, accompanied by a
lightning-like hook, and the bully went down to stay. Jimmie's fist had
connected squarely.

Absorbed in watching the defeated lad, Jimmie had failed to observe
that Pete had regained his feet. Too late to protect himself, he
realized his danger. A terrific smash full in the face felled the Wolf,
to the cheers of some and shouts of disapproval from others.

"Cut it, Pete! Play square! Have a heart!" some shouted.

Although staggered by the unexpected and brutal attack, Jimmie lost no
time in getting to his feet. Exhausted by his recent battle, and with
no time to recover his wind, the lad was scarcely a match for his burly
foe. Employing all the tricks of which he was master, he managed to
avoid the other's rush, but was compelled to take severe punishment, in
exchange for which he offered little aggressiveness.

Directly an opening appeared, to Jimmie's delight. One straight arm
punch, delivered with his entire remaining strength, fell squarely on
the bully's face. He tripped and fell backward, landing bodily on the
kettle wherein the boys had been cooking their stew.

Several of his comrades hastened to rescue their fallen friend, while
others crowded around Jimmie to offer congratulations.

Disengaging himself from their attentions as quickly as he could,
Jimmie hastened back to the station and, without attempting to make
himself presentable, took the next train to the city. Arriving there he
made his way in a taxi to the club rooms of the Black Bear Patrol.

Well nigh exhausted from his severe struggle, the boy staggered up the
stairs, burst into the club room and announced his victory:

"Great Frozen Hot Boxes, I stopped 'em!"

Ned jumped to his feet, preparing to go to Jimmie's assistance. He was
interrupted by the whirring of the telephone bell.

"Hello! This is Nestor. What's that? We'll be right out!"

Turning a startled face to his companions, Ned cried:

"The watchman says the hangar is burning!"

CHAPTER IV.

Fire and Its Result.

"Get the big car out as quick as you can, Harry!" suggested Jack. "Ned,
help me wash up this young Wolf, and we'll put him to bed and then
hurry out there. Things are moving pretty fast today!"

Despite a weakness in his knees, Jimmie was already on his feet. With
a protesting hand raised to decline assistance, he made unsteadily for
the wash room. He would not admit defeat.

"No, you don't!" he announced. "You don't put me to bed while you
fellows go out and have a lot of fun. I'm going with you!"

"But you are in a horribly messed-up state! What happened?"

"Get out that new uniform from my locker," Jimmie urged, "and I'll wash
up a bit, and be on hand in a jiffy. I'm all right!"

After a questioning glance at Ned, which was answered with a nod,
Jack dashed for the locker and produced a clean uniform. Willingly
the two lads assisted Jimmie to remove as much as possible the marks
of his recent encounter. Quickly divesting himself of his soiled and
blood-stained garments, the lad slipped into his new uniform and dashed
down the stairs, fastening buttons as he went. Behind him clattered
Jack and Ned, followed by the attorney.

"I'm going, too, if you have room for me," stated Mr. Nobles.

"Hop in," invited Jimmie, "but you'll have to hang onto your teeth,
for Harry gets absent-minded sometimes, and drives as if there were no
speed ordinances. He likes to burn up tires!"

Not a second was lost by the party in stowing themselves into the
big car, which Harry at once headed for the east side. Across the
Williamsburg bridge he began to demonstrate the value of Jimmie's
advice. The lad dashed under the noses of teams, in front of trolley
cars, and through traffic generally in a way that threatened collision
a dozen times. However, he was completely master of the car and by his
daring and skill avoided accident.

During the time that the congestion of traffic required a moderate
pace, Jimmie enlightened Mr. Nobles with stories of Harry's ability
and skill as a driver of automobiles in dangerous places.

"Why, one time when we were out west," he related, "we saw a cyclone
coming. We knew that if it ever caught us we would be surely goners,
so Harry just got us into the car and started ahead of it. He went so
fast that we couldn't see anything at all of the landscape. A man with
us thought he'd look ahead, but there were so many chickens and things
caught on the wind shield he couldn't see, so he put up his head once
to look over. Do you know, we were going so fast the wind actually blew
that fellow's teeth right down his throat when he opened his mouth to
tell us there was a big canyon right ahead?"

In spite of the nervous tension under which the boys were laboring,
they joined in the laugh which the attorney started.

"Where was this, Jimmie, and what car did you use?"

"Up in Montana," gravely answered Jimmie, the while his eyes twinkled.
"The car was that same little old 'Scout' we had when we found the
'Hidden Dynamo' that those train robbers used. It was near Kicking
Horse Canyon in the Crazy mountains. Some ride!"

"You'll do, all right, Jimmie!" laughingly remarked Mr. Nobles. "For
speed, you certainly have made a record!"

"Hang on!" warned Harry over his shoulder. "We're going to get out of
town, as that freight conductor used to say."

For a few miles conversation was impossible. Harry's expert
manipulations of the big car produced a burst of speed that would have
been positively dangerous in less skillful hands. The boys took great
pride in keeping every piece of machinery used by them in perfect order
at all times, in preparation for an emergency such as the present, and,
therefore, felt no less confidence in the machine than they did in its
driver. To the attorney, however, the ride was anything but pleasant,
and he was glad when Harry abruptly slackened pace.

At once the reason for this sudden change in speed was apparent. A
burly constable with raised hand blocked the path.

"What's the charge, officer?" demanded Harry.

"Speedin'," was the laconic response, grimly delivered.

"Where's your station house?"

"About half a mile ahead," was the reply. "I'll ride."

"Climb in!" heartily invited Harry. "Get into the back seat, there," he
added, with a wink at his chums. "Hurry up!"

Scarcely had the officer seated himself when Harry again started the
car, urging it to a high speed in spite of the protests from their
guest, who was wedged fast between the other occupants.

"We're goin' to a fire!" announced Jimmie impatiently. "If you'll just
quit that noise you're makin' we'll give you a fast ride, and then
bring you back to the station house right side up with care!"

Regardless of vigorous threats from the unwilling captive, Harry
maintained a rapid pace, and was soon out of the village, and in sight
of the hangar which the boys had left earlier in the day.

Scarcely had the car stopped before a gate leading into the enclosure
surrounding the hangar ere the boys leaped to the ground. Ned already
had his key in hand, so that no time was lost in gaining an entrance.
Dashing toward the hangar the boys were surprised to observe a group
of lads of about their own age standing about the watchman, who was
inspecting a partly burned side of the building. At once these boys
were recognized as members of the gang which had been encountered by
the three motorcyclists earlier in the day.

Ned paused a moment, swung his hand to his hip pocket, where he carried
an automatic pistol, and then advanced toward the crowd.

"What does this mean?" he inquired brusquely of the watchman, who stood
nervously wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Why, Mr. Nestor," replied that individual, "I was sitting in the
little office there by the gate not thinking of any danger when I
happened to look out of the window and saw smoke coming up from behind
the hangar there. I telephoned to the club rooms right away and then
came out here with the fire extinguisher.

"Just as I came around the corner I saw a man squeeze through the fence
there where some boards are pried off and then I went at the fire. I
guess it would have got the best of me even then if it hadn't been for
these young men who came through the same hole in the fence and helped
by throwing dirt on the blaze. They saved the hangar and the Grey
Eagle, too, Mr. Nestor. They have done bravely!"

Releasing his grasp on the automatic Ned stepped forward with hand
outstretched to the foremost member of the group. The leader, with
badly bruised lips and a blackened eye, confusedly extended his hand to
grasp Ned's proffered palm. Ned's shake was a hearty one.

"I want to thank you on behalf of the Boy Scouts," he began. "You have
given us valuable service and we will not be apt to forget it. My
name's Nestor. I want you to meet my friends," he added, turning toward
his chums, who had followed him closely.

"We met them earlier in the day," smiled the lad. "In fact, we met the
little fellow twice. I remember the second meeting well! He handed me
this and this," indicating his injured eye and lips. "He surely is some
scrapper, all right, and we're glad to get acquainted!"

"Pete thinks so, too!" announced another member of the group.

With a sheepish grin the boy called Pete now stepped forward, extending
his hand first to Ned and then to Jimmie.

"I'm obliged to you," he stated, addressing Jimmie. "I guess it was
just that trimmin' I needed. We've been talkin' things over since you
left us and we've decided we'd like to join the Boy Scouts if you'll
have us. You look pretty good to all of us!"

"Hurray!" shouted Jimmie through his own bruised lips. "Ned, here's a
chance to form a new Patrol. What do you say?"

"We'll talk it over," Ned answered. "It means a great deal."

"Well, your fire is out and if you've got a hammer and some nails we'll
fix the fence for you and then we might as well go home," volunteered
one of the boys. "We can't do any more here. But you mustn't forget to
let us know about our joining the Scouts."

Having followed more slowly, the constable now approached the boys.

"Well," he growled, "if you fellows are ready, you might come along
back with me and visit the station. But I warn you, no more speedin'!"
Then examining the group more closely he cried:

"Hello, Pete, what you doin' here? You git home!"

"Hello, Dad!" replied Pete. "I'm ready to go now."

"How'd you get here, anyhow?" inquired the constable, who proved to be
none other than the father of the lad known as Pete.

Explanations of the day's adventures so far as Pete was concerned were
given, wherein Jimmie and his chums received full credit from the now
friendly Pete and his comrades. They dwelt at some length on Jimmie's
courage and ability as well as his spirit of fairness.

"Well, all I've got to say," decided the constable at the conclusion
of the tale, "is that I rode with you fellers and I didn't see no
speedin'! If you'll give me a ride back to town, I'll be much obliged.
Anybody that can lick that boy of mine can't get arrested for speedin'
in this town while I'm constable!"

"Thank you," replied Ned. "We won't exceed the limit in your town
unless we know it is necessary. Just now, I'm great puzzled about the
identity of the fire-bug and his reason for burning the hangar."

"Maybe it's some anarchist who's sore because he hasn't got an airship
of his own," ventured Jack. "Some folks play 'dog in the manger,'
especially if they're down on their luck a little!"

"My dream book," interrupted Jimmie, "says to look out for a tall,
short, dark complexioned man who is smooth-shaven and wears pink
whiskers and light hair. He is in some way connected with the Panama
Canal and hates water! Perhaps he's trying to stop something!"

"A most accurate description of the very fellow!" laughed Jack. "I
think I saw him in my dreams last night!"

Ned glanced quickly towards Jimmie. Often in the past he had discovered
that Jimmie's insight and powers of jumping at conclusions had been the
means of leading the boys out of puzzling situations and now assumed
that the boy's jocular manner was simply a cloak for more serious
thoughts. Using the deaf and dumb language, he signalled:

"Come to one side. I want to talk to you."

Walking slightly apart from the group now proceeding toward the gate
where the big automobile had been left he asked in a low tone:

"What do you know, Jimmie? Did you see anything?"

"Not a thing!" declared his fellow Wolf. "I just happened to have a
stray thought go through my head. That's all!"

"That's funny! I was sure you had discovered a clue!"

"No. It just seemed to me to be the only natural conclusion to be
reached. Here we are getting ready for a trip in the Grey Eagle.
Also you just come in with a story about this traitor who has stolen
the plans of the Panama defences. Then the hangar is set afire. Why
shouldn't it be the work of--well, some interested party?"

"That's as good a solution as any other we now have," decided Ned,
dropping the subject on approaching the gate. "Let's get back to town.
I have some important matters to discuss with the boys."

After instructing the watchman in regard to repairs on the fence and
the hangar, Ned talked a few moments with the group of boys who had
expressed a desire to become Boy Scouts. Then entering the machine he
gave the word to return to the Black Bear Club Rooms.

The return journey was completed without incident. Mr. Nobles declared
that he would attend the conference to be held and would then proceed
to other work of importance requiring his attention.

Entering the rooms the boys found this message:

"Call Mr. Bosworth on the phone at once. He has important news!"

CHAPTER V.

Jimmie Finds a Spy.

"But I'm hungry!" protested Jimmie. "I'm nearly starved!"

"Come to think of it, I guess you have a right to feel a little gaunt
and underfed," admitted Ned. "We ought to get down to Mr. Bosworth's
office as quickly as we can, though. He needs us."

"If you'll let me inveigle a little sustenance under my surcingle,"
Jimmy replied, "I'll go with you as far as you like, but right now I'm
so thin that I can't tell whether this pain is a backache or a stomach
ache. I'm hungry, I tell you!"

"What do you want to eat, Jimmie?" queried Harry. "Say the word and
I'll get it for you if I can."

"Not very much," The Wolf stated with twinkling eyes, "just a couple
orders of ham and eggs, five or six cups of coffee, some potatoes, some
cauliflower in cream, a little roast lamb, some turkey and cranberry
sauce, a side order of macaroni, some stewed corn, some lettuce with
dressing, an order of celery, some Parker House rolls and any other
little odds and ends that may be lying around loose. I guess if I could
get a little lunch like that I'd be good for a couple of hours or until
dinner is ready. You know, I'm hungry!"

"Jimmie, you always were hungry!" declared Ned, joining in the general
laugh which greeted Jimmie's modest demands. "If it were not for you
and your appetite I suppose we'd forget to eat."

"Maybe so," the smaller lad admitted, "but if that's the case there's
something wrong with you. You better go see a doctor."

"What doctor would you suggest that we visit?"

"Go to see my old-time favorite, Dr. Cook!" shouted Jimmie. "Now I'm
off for a restaurant. Who's with me?"

A canvass of the group showed that all felt the need of lunch and it
was determined to visit a restaurant on the way to Mr. Bosworth's
office. In a short time the boys were seated in a nearby establishment
supplying their needs. Darkness had now fallen.

"What did Mr. Bosworth say he wanted, Ned?" asked Harry while the lads
accompanied by Mr. Nobles were waiting for their orders to be filled.
"Is it something more referring to the Panama plans?"

"Hush!" warned Ned. "Not so loud in here, please."

"Excuse me, Ned, I forgot this was a public place."

"Yes," went on Ned, nodding his acknowledgment to Harry. "He said that
some new developments have been discovered and he wants us to make
haste. He asked how soon we can be ready to go."

"What did you tell him? Right away, I hope."

"I think you heard me say we'd do the best possible," replied Ned.
"Much depends on the delivery of that engine, Harry, for I'm convinced
from what I've read of the European conflict and from what I have been
told of police regulations on the Continent that we will probably have
to make some quick jumps in order to catch the fellow. It does not
seem probable that we can apprehend the man before he gets across the
Atlantic," the boy finished with a sigh.

"That engine will be delivered tomorrow morning!" announced Harry.
"When our Superintendent promises delivery on anything you may be sure
that it will be there at the appointed time."

"Good!" was Ned's satisfied comment. "There's a lot of work ahead of us
if my understanding of the matter is at all correct, and we ought to
feel extremely thankful that a good start is assured."

"What's that about a bad beginning making a good ending?" queried
Jimmie, rousing himself from a study of the menu.

"You mean to say 'There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the saucer,'"
purposely misquoted Jack, grinning at the boy.

"There's many an egg has quit playing the shell game, too!" retorted
Jimmie pleasantly. "Be quiet, boys, here comes the waiter!" he added,
unfolding his napkin. "I'm glad to see I have one friend!"

"Speaking of slips," remarked Mr. Nobles, "just take a look at the
hungry face of that fellow looking in at the window. He's evidently
missed connections with a good square meal for several days!"

"I've been looking at him for this long time," declared the red-headed
Wolf. "You thought I was studying this menu to order some more steaks
and things, but I've been looking at him. He's been there ever since
we sat down and he's been eyeing us all the while!"

"What does he look like?" asked Ned, who sat with his back toward the
window. "I don't want to turn unless it's necessary."

"He's a slight built, rather dark, smooth shaven fellow with a cast
in his left eye and a scar at the corner of the right one. Looks like
a tough character wearing good clothes as if unaccustomed to them. I
should say he's a 'Panhandler' by profession," replied Jimmie.

"Maybe he thinks he's going to beg a meal from us as we go out of this
place," suggested Harry. "Lots of them try that."

"Forget him, here are the steaks!" cried Jimmie.

During the progress of the meal conversation turned upon ordinary
subjects remote from the project in hand. None of the boys cared to
discuss the matter in a public place and by mutual consent the talk
drifted to other topics. Shortly they prepared to proceed to Mr.
Bosworth's office, where the lawyer was awaiting their coming.

As the boys left the restaurant they looked about for the man who had
been seen at the window, but he was nowhere in sight.

Not long after this they were seated in Mr. Bosworth's office
discussing with that gentleman the details of their proposed journey.
It appeared that their experience on other trips would enable them to
reduce their baggage and other impedimenta to a minimum.

"Now, boys," proceeded Mr. Bosworth after reviewing the points already
known, "we are informed by the Chief that the man you are after left
Colon by means of a launch. It appears that he must have trans-shipped
to a United Fruit Company's steamer somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico,
for his hat and coat were discovered in the abandoned launch.

"At first it was believed he had accidentally fallen overboard. Later a
drunken deckhand from the fruit steamer, after the manner of sailors,
was enjoying himself in Mobile. He confided to one of the Secret
Service agents there, who (in the guise of a dock laborer) was on
another mission, that his vessel had picked up a man from a launch east
of Colon. This party had later been transferred while in the Gulf, he
said, to a vessel bound for some European port with a cargo of cotton
from Galveston."

"Then he's well on his way by this time!" exclaimed Ned with a note of
regret. "We'll have to hurry to catch him!"

"Yes," returned Mr. Bosworth, "but remember that the cotton steamer is
a tramp vessel. Probably her bottom is covered with barnacles and she
won't be able to make her usual speed, which at best is slow. You ought
to beat him across by taking one of the faster vessels from this port.
I've been looking up the sailings somewhat."

"If the trial of the new engine proves to be half what we expect, as we
have every reason to believe," Ned remarked, "we ought to be able to
have the Grey Eagle dismantled and ready for shipment in two days. That
being the case, we could then sail next----"

Loud voices from the outer office attracted the attention of the group.
Jimmie's angry tones were heard.

"What do you want here?" the lads heard him ask someone.

A muffled reply from the other was not intelligible.

"You clear out of this or you'll wish you had!" retorted Jimmie. "I
think you're a fake, that's what I think!"

"What's the matter, Jimmie?" called Ned, rising.

With flashing eyes the younger lad entered the room. He had left
without attracting the attention of the others.

"Our friend from the restaurant window was out in the corridor with
a wiping cloth," replied Jimmie. "My dream book told me that someone
was doing a little eavesdropping and I slipped from this room into the
outer one. I stood by the door listening until I heard someone there.
It was the same fellow and he had his ear glued to the crack. When I
opened the door he made a bluff at wiping off the marble wainscoting,
but he wasn't quick enough! I think he's a spy!"

Quick glances of apprehension were exchanged by the members of the
little group. They were recalling the numerous incidents of the day,
not forgetting the attempt to burn their hangar.

"What do you think of that?" gasped Harry in amazement.

"I know what I think!" snapped Jimmie. "I think we're up against an
organized gang! Just one fellow didn't go and steal those plans on an
independent footing. Somehow there's either a leak in the Service or
else the gang is posted to watch us to prevent our taking a hand in the
matter. They're not overlooking many bets!"

"Jimmie, I think you're more than half right!" stated Ned. "But I wish
you'd omit the slang just a little more. What's to be done?"

"About the slang?" queried Jimmie.

"No, about the opposition to our trip which seems to have developed,"
replied Ned. "I'm leaving the slang for you to conquer!"

"What do you suggest, Mr. Bosworth?" asked Harry.

"If I remember correctly, you Boy Scouts have a watchword," was the
lawyer's reply. "What is it?"

"Our motto is 'Be Prepared,'" answered Harry.

"And I further suggest that you boys make haste."

"Thank you," acknowledged the lad. "Now what do you say, boys, are we
ready to return? We ought to get a little sleep."

"Look around and see that all fire is out," warned Jimmie.

"Thank you, Jimmie!" Mr. Bosworth exclaimed. "That remark reminds me
that I nearly overlooked giving you these pictures of the alleged
thief. They arrived only today. The chap has used so many names that
his last one is not worth remembering. This is his face!"

"With that sharp nose and chopped-off chin, he looks like a rat!"
commented Jimmie as the boys inspected the pictures of the alleged
thief.

All the boys at once observed the striking resemblance.

Good-byes were soon said and the boys departed. Long after their
departure Mr. Bosworth sat with Mr. Nobles discussing the venture, the
issues at stake and their confidence in the lads.

Little time was lost by the four in making their way to the hangar,
where they found the watchman had repaired the damaged fence and had
put everything to rights so far as possible. The Grey Eagle rested
lightly in its position under the shelter, as if anxious for flight.

Early the following morning the lads were astir. Breakfast was
dispatched quickly and all took up the tasks of the previous day which
had been interrupted by the events already related.

Soon a motor truck approached the enclosure, its driver sounding his
Klaxon for attention. Admitted by the watchman he drove to a position
in front of the hangar, adjusted a pair of skids and helped unload his
burden. Ned signed a receipt and the driver then made haste to depart.
Just as the truck was leaving the grounds Jimmie appeared.

"Upon my honor as an expert," he cried, "that driver is our hungry spy
of last night! How does it come he's out here?"

"That's strange!" mused Harry. "Where did the factory get him?"

"I don't know," admitted Jimmie, "but he's there all right!"

"The fellow's gone now," Harry exclaimed impatiently. "Let's get a
little gasoline and turn the engine over. I'm getting anxious."

"Wait a bit," interrupted Ned. "Wouldn't it be a good idea to inspect
the machine first? Maybe they forgot to put in the piston rings or
something. Hurry-up jobs are sometimes neglected a little."

"Not in our shop!" boasted Harry. "This engine's all right!"

"Better look it over, anyway, Harry," suggested Jimmie. "Here's a
wrench. It's easy to remove the cylinder heads and crank case cover."

Shortly a startled cry from Harry drew the boys to his side.

"Look, fellows," he shouted. "Look what's in here!"

"Candles!" scorned Jimmie. "Two candles in the crank case!"

"Those are not candles!" gasped Jack. "Go easy there!"

CHAPTER VI.

A Murderous Act.

"Guess you're right," admitted Jimmie, picking up one of the objects.
"But they're about the size of candles, though. I see now this is
wrapped in heavy oiled paper. Besides, there isn't any wick. Why, it
bends like a gum drop!" he exclaimed, manipulating the object.

"For pity's sake, Jimmie, let that thing down easy! Do you want us all
to be blown to bits? That stuff is dynamite!"

"Huh! Dynamite!" scorned Jimmie. "Why, you're talking like a fish!
How'd dynamite get in there? That just came from the factory!"

"Sure thing," acquiesced Jack. "But remember who drove the truck to
this place with the engine on it! The hungry spy was on the job!"

"Well, Great Frozen Hot Boxes!" ejaculated Jimmie gingerly, holding the
object at arm's length. "If I ever catch him!"

"Lay it down gently. Don't let it drop!" advised Harry.

"It looks innocent enough--just like a big bunch of vaseline wrapped in
paper," commented Jimmie, depositing his burden on the ground.

"But for all that, the engine, and perhaps we boys, would have been
blown to bits if we had started the machine with those things in the
crank case!" advised Ned, approaching the spot.

"We're lucky!" Harry breathed. "How shall we get rid of it?"

"Let's drown it!" suggested Jack. "That's the best way!"

"It won't drown! They use it to blast under water!"

"Then we'd better explode it. Let's take it down to the beach, put it
on that old piece of wreckage and shoot at it."

With the prospect of a little target practice this suggestion
was accepted by all. No time was lost in securing automatics and
ammunition. The boys were shortly at the spot indicated.

"Now, boys, I'll tell you what we'll do," spoke up Jimmie. "We'll
pretend that we have caught the traitor and he's been sentenced to be
shot at sunrise. These two sticks of dynamite will be the spy and we
the firing squad. This is the wall. Are you ready?"

"Bloodthirsty as ever, I see!" laughed Ned as Jimmie became
enthusiastic over the game. "Always looking for trouble!"

"We ought to put a black mask on the Wolf," added Jack, "and give him
first shot. Executioners in the olden days wore black masks!"

"I'm no train robber!" protested Jimmie indignantly. "Keep the masks
for the other fellows. I'll stand up and play fair!"

"But you'll oblige us by taking the first shot, won't you?"

"Thanks!" dryly responded the lad, wrinkling his freckled nose.

"Firing squad, attention!" sung out Jack in an authoritative tone.
"'Tenshun! Ready! Aim! Fire!"

At the command Jimmie raised his automatic directed toward the target.
With the word "Fire" he rapidly touched the trigger, sending all eight
shots hurtling toward the dynamite.

Mingled with the reverberations of his shots a loud, sharp detonation
from the wreckage told the boys that Jimmie's aim had been true.
Pieces of timber thrown high in the air by the explosion came tumbling
to the beach in confusion. Astonished, the boys viewed the result.

"Just imagine where we would have been with that stuff in the crank
case!" whispered Jimmie in an awestruck tone.

"Let's get back to work and get out of this place!" suggested Jack.
"This makes me nervous! I want to get busy!"

Accordingly the boys hastened back to the hangar to still the alarm of
the watchman and proceed with the work in hand.

Long before dinner time the engine had been properly located, tried out
and pronounced fit. The boys were jubilant at the result.

"Now we're ready to start just as soon as we pack our kit!" announced
Ned. "Boys, let's make things hum around here!"

"Let's telephone Mr. Bosworth that the engine's running great and ask
him to arrange for our passage," suggested Harry.

"Good idea, Harry; get him on the wire for me, will you?"

Mr. Bosworth was pleased at the announcement. Arrangements had been
made, he said, to secure passage for them on a swift vessel leaving
New York two days later. They would thus have ample time for trials and
adjustments of the engine before dismantling the "Grey Eagle."

Accordingly the boys worked with a vim that afternoon.

"I tell you what," Ned spoke up as the boys were eating supper at the
close of a busy day, "we have been very fortunate so far in avoiding
serious trouble. I hope we get away all right!"

"Oh, we're the regular little side-steppers!" gleefully assented
Jimmie. "I wish we knew who the guys are who seem to be trying to put
us out of business. What is that saying, 'Know about it ahead of time
and you've got four arms'?"

"'Forewarned is forearmed,' Jimmie," corrected Jack. "You seem to think
only of boxing gloves and other things like that!"

"If I could get the chap that put that dynamite in the engine, tried to
burn the little old 'Grey Eagle' and has been spying on us, he'd think
I had brass knuckles on!" stoutly maintained the lad.

"He deserves it, all right!" agreed Jack. "But how will you manage
when you get across the water?" he continued. "Those fellows over there
don't understand English and you can't understand French!"

"Why, I'll point to my mouth and rub my belt buckle! Then they'll know
I'm hungry!" was Jimmie's reply. "That goes anywhere!"

A general laugh went around the group at this solution of linguistic
difficulties. Jimmie's appetite was a subject of general knowledge and
many a joke did the boys have at his expense.

"What will our first move be, Ned?" inquired Harry.

"Pass the potatoes!" put in Jimmie.

"After we land," replied Ned, ignoring the interruption, "we'll have to
discover whether this cotton steamer has arrived. If she has not, we'll
wait until we learn what port she makes. Mr. Bosworth stated that she
was the "Nymph" and cleared from Galveston for Le Havre. I figure that
we ought to beat her across by at least two days."

"But cotton is contraband, isn't it?" asked Jack.

"I believe it is," admitted Ned. "If discovered, she may be seized and
the chase lead us to another place. We must take a chance."

"Why should cotton be contraband?" demanded Jimmie. "They can't use
cotton to fight with! Who'd shoot a cotton bullet?"

"You forget, Jimmie, they shoot the bullets with the cotton!"

"Go on, now, you're trying to complete my education!"

"Fact," asserted Ned. "You see, cotton is used largely in manufacturing
high explosives. If all the cotton supply were exhausted there could be
no powder or other such explosive made, I understand!"

"What else do they use for making powder?"

"Well, they use a lot of nitrogen and so on. I don't know all the
ingredients. Each country has a formula of its own."

"Believe me," announced Jimmie forcefully, "when I get back I'm going
to read up on that subject in the encyclopedia!"

"When we get back with this traitor," announced Harry, "we'll all have
money enough from the reward so we can go through college!"

"Hurray! When we get back! Shall we decide which college we'll honor,
or shall we leave that for later consideration?"

"Better wait," advised Ned. "No knowing what might happen!"

How true his words were to prove! Could the boys have anticipated the
many incidents that were to occur and the dangers which confronted
them, perhaps their hearts would not have been so light. However, care
and gloomy forebodings had no place in their healthy young minds and
they discussed the future only with thoughts of success.

Three days later our four friends were standing in the bows of the
Compagnie Generale Transatlantique's steamer "Havre" watching with
interest the flying fish dart from the curling waves at the vessel's
prow. Already they had become familiar with the vessel, had visited
every place from stem to stern and had been favored by all the crew.

Although the rules of navigation forbid passengers occupying the bridge
while a vessel is under way, the captain had laughingly promised to
give the lads lessons in navigation. To avoid any complications he had
asked them to sign articles which would make them members of the crew
and thus permit them on the bridge under his directions.

Accordingly the lads had signed the papers, considering the matter a
huge joke, and had speculated on various ways of spending the sum of
one dollar each, which had been stipulated as the wage they were to
receive for their services as assistant stewards.

"We'll be rich by the time we get back!" Jimmie had declared.

Below decks were stowed the boxes containing their precious "Grey
Eagle" and other belongings. At the dock in New York the lads had
checked each box as it went on board, noting the number carefully and
comparing it with the list they had previously prepared.

Eagerly now they rehearsed every step of unpacking and assembling the
airship. A special duty was assigned to each lad so that no time need
be lost when they were once ashore in France. Between their excitement
over the proposed task, the wonders of the sea and the prospects of the
trip before them the lads were busy during all their hours.

As the Lizard Light was passed on their port and the vessel headed to
pass Cherbourg Light to starboard the boys felt that their journey was
nearing its end. Imagine their surprise to receive a summons to the
captain's cabin which the steward delivered.

Wonderingly the boys obeyed the call, speculating on the cause.

In answer to their ring an under steward received them and admitted
them to the captain's reception room. They had not long to wait before
the captain appeared, holding in his hand a paper which the boys at
once recognized as a wireless telegraph blank.

The serious look on the captain's face filled the lads with
apprehension. Wonderingly they conjectured what might be in store.

"Gentlemen," began the captain, "you probably know that I am a subject
of the country of France and that war has been declared between that
country and Germany?" He glanced from one to another.

"Yes, Captain," admitted Ned, acting as spokesman, "we understand that
such is the case and we are very sorry, indeed!"

"It pains me," continued the captain after a pause, "to state that I
have information here," indicating the wireless message, "which, if
true, makes the situation a very delicate one for you!"

Puzzled, the boys waited anxiously for the captain to continue.

"This message" the captain at length proceeded, "comes from some
private individual and, of course, cannot be regarded by me as
official. It states, however, that you four young men are German spies.
While I should dislike very much to do anything of the sort, it will be
my duty to detain you until you can assure me that this message is the
result of a mistake. I hope you will be able to do so!"

"That's our friend 'Hungry' again!" declared Jimmie. "Oh, the brass
knuckles for 'Hungry' when I lay my eyes on him!"

Wonderingly the captain listened to Jimmie's outburst and then turned
to Ned for explanation. It was forthcoming without delay, the boys
considering it better to be absolutely frank with their friend. All
the important features of their connection with the case were laid
before the captain, together with their passports and other means of
identification. As a final proof of their innocence of the charge, Ned
suggested that the captain send an inquiry by wireless to Mr. Bosworth.

This the captain was not willing to do, declaring that he was
satisfied the warning he had received was untrue.

"It seems," he said, "that this party is determined to cause you
trouble and in my estimation there is but one thing you can do to
protect yourselves against him while you are here."

"What is that?" asked Ned eagerly.

"Enlist in the aviation corps of the French army!"

CHAPTER VII.

Greeted With Bullets.

"Thank you, Captain," Ned replied after a short pause. "You have
certainly treated us royally and we appreciate it. We believe you mean
well, but it is a matter of importance and we'd like a little time in
which to consider the subject. May we think it over?"

"Certainly!" replied the captain heartily. "You are right! Consider it
well and remember that I shall help you if I can!"

"We are now citizens of the United States!" spoke up Harry. "We
wouldn't want to complicate international matters at all."

"True!" rejoined the captain, "but remember that you have a bold and
desperate man to deal with. Judging him by what I now know I believe
he will not stop at trifles. Remember that if you are enlisted in the
French army you have the protection of that nation."

"While I don't want to underrate the ability of your army," put in
Jack, "I feel that this fellow is a man of ability and cunning and that
he would attempt harm to us just the same, enlisted or not."

"But think also of the glory that would be yours if you assist my
country in her time of need. You would also be rewarded!"

"We'll think of that, too," agreed Ned. "But we must remember that
we are citizens of the United States and that we do not wish to do
anything that will draw our country into the war!"

"I shall say no more!" declared the captain. "You have several hours
before we arrive at Havre. After you have reached a decision, please
inform me and be assured of my desire to assist you."

With protestations of their gratitude the boys left the captain's
quarters and sought the seclusion of their own room. There a conference
was at once held to consider the weighty subject which had just been
presented. All felt that the anticipated step was one of great moment
and that more than their own personal safety or inclination was
involved. After reviewing the facts now known, Ned said:

"Boys, you are the ones to decide this matter. What do you think? Shall
we do as the captain suggests or remain neutral?"

"There isn't any such thing as remaining neutral!" declared Jimmie.
"If there is a fight started a fellow just naturally sides with one or
the other and that's all there is to it!"

"Sure," spoke up Jack, "but he can keep out of trouble, can't he? He
don't have to mix in where he's not wanted!"

"If we take sides with France we'll have to do scouting and other work
for that country against Germany, won't we?" asked Harry.

"Why, certainly!" stated Jimmie with some impatience. "We'll have to
go up and find out where the Germans are located. Then we'll come back
and tell our friends where they are and they'll drop a nice little bomb
over there and scatter Dutchmen all over the landscape!"

"Well, the Germans never did anything to us, did they?"

"They have never harmed us at any rate!" put in Jack. "For one, I
believe we'd better go ahead as we are and leave the scrap to the other
fellows! Our business is to try to intercept this thief and to keep
him, if possible, from getting the United States into trouble. We're
here on a mission of peace only!"

"And I say we'd better secure peace even if we have to start a scrap
to get it!" declared Jimmie seriously.

A general laugh greeted this announcement. Jimmie's desire for peace
even at the expense of a fight was well known. All the boys knew well
his sense of fair play as well as his readiness to settle arguments by
forcible means. Not for nothing was his hair red.

"Let's take a ballot," suggested Ned. "Of course, there are but four of
us, so there may be a deadlock."

"Not much chance of a deadlock with four votes cast one way!" quickly
put in Harry. "I know how you and Jack and The Wolf stand!"

Laughingly Ned handed a slip of paper to each boy.

"Each of you put his sentiments on the paper and drop the slip into
this hat," he directed. "Jimmie will count the vote."

Only a few moments were required for the boys to prepare their ballots.
A hat was then passed and into it the slips were dropped.

Jimmie at once thrust in a hand and drew forth a folded ballot.

"Number one!" he announced. "Hear ye! Hear ye! The solemn work of Ned
Nestor, Chief of the Wolf Pack!"

"Never mind the comedy, Jimmie! What does he say?"

"He says to remain neutral, whatever that is!" replied Jimmie. "Then
this next fellow," he continued, reaching for another ballot, "has made
a picture of a potato vine as his sentiments. That's surely some fine
artist! That picture makes me hungry!"

"That's mine!" declared Jack. "That's an olive branch!"

"Thanks!" dryly responded Jimmie, reaching for another ballot. "This
one," he went on, "has made a picture of the Stars and Stripes!"

"I'll take that!" cried Harry. "Old Glory Forever!"

"Noble sentiments for a Black Bear!" was Jimmie's comment. "Now this
last fellow has made a picture of a Hawk or a Falcon or an Owl. I can't
tell exactly which it is intended to represent!"

"That's your ballot, let's see it!" cried Jack, reaching for the paper.
"I don't believe you're much of an artist!"

A friendly argument resulted in which it was left as a matter of doubt
whether Jimmie had intended to draw a picture of the Dove of Peace or
the American Eagle. Much good-natured chaffing resulted, but it was
decided that either bird would serve as a vote for neutrality.

"Now, Ned, it's up to you to inform the captain that we are much
obliged for his kindness, but that we'll stick to the U. S. A.!"

"All right, here goes! Come along with me, boys."

Although somewhat disappointed, the captain received the announcement
of the boys' decision pleasantly and took occasion to compliment them
on their loyalty to country and principles, declaring at the same time
that he would be glad to aid them in any way possible.

With lighter hearts now that their decision had been made, the boys
repaired to the deck to watch the approach of the coast of France. Not
long afterward they were gazing at the scenes in the harbor of Havre
and were greatly interested in noting the differences between the
customs of that place and those of New York.

Due to the friendly assistance of the captain, their belongings were
speedily passed through the Customs office and the boys were free to
proceed at once with their task of assembling the Grey Eagle.

Ned secured the services of a carter to haul the boxes to a spot
favorable for their purpose and after lunch at a restaurant near the
wharf the boys superintended the work of loading.

By mid-afternoon the boys viewed with satisfaction the completed
aircraft which had been taken to a field a short distance outside the
city limits. An interested crowd of boys hovered near to watch.

Just as Ned announced everything ready a motor drew up near their
position, discharging the captain as its only passenger. He was greeted
with enthusiasm by all four boys and asked to inspect their work.

"I have some news for you," announced the captain after proclaiming his
astonishment at the results so speedily obtained.

"Hurray!" shouted Jimmie. "News is always welcome."

"It is this," went on the captain. "The Nymph came into harbor about
noon today. She evidently made good time across the Atlantic."

"And what about the passenger?" asked Ned eagerly. "Did he land in good
shape or has he been lost overboard?"

"I am informed by the captain of the Nymph," replied their friend,
"that his passenger left the vessel as they were entering the harbor. A
launch drew up alongside and the passenger entered that after squaring
his accounts properly. He is no doubt ashore now."

"Then look out, Boy Scouts!" declared Jimmie, drawing a deep breath.
"The rascal is probably going to head for Paris at once!"

"According to the Chief of Police," continued the captain, "he has not
yet presented his passports for inspection. If he is found he will be
apprehended and required to explain his presence."

"That won't help us much, I'm afraid," Ned ventured. "He is crafty
enough to keep out of the way of the police for a while. I only hope he
doesn't get to Paris or to Berlin before we find where he is!"

"Now I must return," declared the captain. "I have done all I could for
you and I wish you every success."

Good-byes were said rather reluctantly, for the boys had become
quite attached to their friend. Turning their attention to the final
adjustments of the Grey Eagle the boys soon had everything completed.
They were provisioned and prepared for a long flight.

"What is the first move, Ned?" asked Jack, stowing the last article in
place. "Do you suppose this thief will head for Paris?"

"Possibly we would be wise to try out the Grey Eagle a bit to make sure
everything is all right," replied Ned thoughtfully. "Then if it proves
in good shape, we can return and try to learn what the fellow did upon
landing. Maybe he's here in town yet."

"In case he has not left town we will, of course, try to get hold of
him here, won't we?" inquired Harry.

"I think it would be best to nab him as soon as possible."

"Maybe he has already gotten to a place where he can hide the plans
until he finds a market for them," suggested Jimmie.

"He's a shrewd chap, all right," assented Ned, "and we can't tell what
he may do. I think we can find the launch that put him ashore and
possibly induce the owner to tell us where our friend has gone."

"Unless the French are different from any other nation on earth," Jack
laughed, "they are afflicted with an itching palm and if we can give
the launch owner a chance to increase his revenue he will be as willing
to tell us where he put the thief ashore as he was to do the job in the
first place. Let's try out the Grey Eagle and hurry back."

Accordingly the boys took their places and Ned in the pilot's position
started the engine. After the first few explosions to warm the
cylinders he closed the muffler, eliminating the sound of the exhaust.

A touch of the throttle, a tilt of the planes and the machine began to
move forward. Accelerating the speed of the motor and with a greater
inclination of the planes the Grey Eagle swept majestically off the
earth, soaring into the air above the heads of the crowd gathered
about. Cheers reached the boys as they arose.

"Let's circle the city and go over the harbor," suggested Harry. "We
can get a pretty good view of the city that way."

"I can get a good view of a monoplane over to the north," Jimmie
stated. "It is coming this way, too!" he added.

It was as Jimmie had said. A giant monoplane, resembling in its
conformation a great bird, was rapidly approaching the Grey Eagle.

"Let's give him a run, Ned!" cried Jack excitedly.

"Sure!" acquiesced Ned. "We'll show him a little speed!"

Accordingly he turned on power and in a moment the Grey Eagle was
skimming along at a great rate. In order to better manipulate the
machine Ned inclined the planes and ascended several hundred feet.

"The other fellow is climbing, too!" reported Jimmie.

"Is he gaining any?" inquired Ned, busy with the levers.

"You're right, he is!" answered Jimmie. "He's overhauling us!"

"Well, let him come," Harry suggested. "This is a trial trip!"

"How near is he now?" asked Ned over his shoulder.

"About a quarter of a mile behind us, I should judge!"

"After a bit we'll make it a whole mile," smiled Ned.

At that instant the boys heard a peculiar whizzing noise. It was
followed by a sharp report from the rear. A puff of white smoke showed
from the pursuing machine, but quickly disappeared.

"He's shooting at something!" declared Jack.

Ned glanced at his companions. Again the peculiar noise was heard,
followed by another report and another cloud of smoke.

"Great Frozen Hot Boxes!" cried Jimmie. "He's shooting at us!"

CHAPTER VIII.

Imperiled in a Trap.

"He can't be shooting at us!" protested Harry vigorously. "We haven't
done anything to him. It must be a mistake!"

"Mistake or not, I know the sing of a bullet by this time, and if that
wasn't one that just passed us, I'll give up!"

"Watch out!" shouted Jack, peering through a pair of binoculars he had
hurriedly seized. "He's aiming at us again!"

Again the peculiar sound as of quickly torn silk cloth greeted the ears
of the boys. Jimmie involuntarily ducked his head.

"Perhaps we'd better slow up a bit, Ned, and see what this chap wants,"
suggested Harry anxiously. "This is a warm reception to France, I must
say! Wonder if they always do this to newcomers?"

"Don't know, I'm sure," replied Ned as he slackened speed.

"Let's descend a little and see if he follows. Maybe we can land and
he'll explain himself. Try it and see, Ned."

"Pick out a good spot and I'll make a landing," Ned replied.

"Here's a good one," Jimmie announced. "Come down in that field by the
barn with the thatched roof. See, by that clump of trees."

"Sure I do! But do you notice how the houses are set close to the
barns? How neat the country looks from this position!"

"Don't try to get our attention off the chap behind us like that, Ned!"
protested Jimmie. "If he shoots again, I'll get sore!"

Evidently the aviator in the monoplane divined their intention of
landing, for he fired no more shots, but contented himself with
following closely in their wake, although keeping slightly above them.

In a short time Ned had brought the Grey Eagle gently to earth in a
vacant field beside the buildings indicated by Jimmie.

The monoplane was circling slowly about, evidently in an effort to make
a good landing. The pilot did not seem to be sure of his ground.

Directly the machine had reached the earth, however, the pilot,
accompanied by another person, leaped from the machine and with a
drawn revolver in his right hand walked rapidly toward the boys.

"What uniform is that he's wearing?" questioned Jimmie.

"I don't know. Possibly that of the French Aviation Corps."

As the two men neared the Grey Eagle the one in uniform addressed the
lads in French. They shook their heads to indicate that they did not
understand. At this he addressed his companion.

With the stoop of his slender frame accentuated by the sloping
shoulders, his quick, shifty movements of the hands and hurried glances
from small, beady black eyes, the other man did not compare favorably
with the erect carriage and frank, honest appearance of the man in
uniform. Jimmie tapped Ned excitedly on the arm.

"I've got his number!" he whispered eagerly. "That's The Rat or I'm a
Dutchman! Look at his chopped-off chin and peaked nose."

"He looks remarkably like the pictures Mr. Bosworth gave us!" declared
Ned in a startled tone. "I wonder if it is really he?"

"If it is the same one, we'll soon find out!" declared Jimmie.

Then clearing his throat the lad called out brazenly:

"Well, Old Horse, how's Panama?"

Accustomed as he evidently was to surprises of all sorts, the
suddenness of this question startled the man under discussion. He gave
a quick start and glanced keenly at the lad. A flush overspread his
face.

"The Nymph made a quick voyage, didn't she?" continued Jimmie in an
aggravating tone. "I didn't think she could do it!"

Evidently recovering himself with an effort the man did not deign a
reply to the lad's remarks. Instead, he directed his conversation to
the officer, evidently endeavoring to convince that functionary of
something. Apparently he was having a hard time doing so.

At length the officer spoke again to the boys, this time using rather
imperfect English. He smiled pleasantly as he said:

"Your pardon, gentlemen, but I shall ask you to excuse my English. I am
an officer of the French army and shall have to ask you to show your
passports and explain your presence here."

"Your English seems to be all right," answered Ned, speaking slowly and
in a low tone. "We are citizens of the United States and are here on a
pleasure trip. Our passports will convince you. Will you be pleased to
examine them?" he continued, drawing forth a document from his inner
pocket. The other boys followed his example.

In a manner that impressed the boys very favorably the officer examined
the papers, comparing the descriptions given therein with the lads
standing before him. Evidently he was satisfied. Turning to his
companion the officer spoke a few words in French, whereat the other
turned and made for the monoplane. As he departed the officer said:

"I am sorry to make you trouble, but I have a report that you are
German spies. I shall have to place you under guard for a short time
while I go for assistance and orders. You will not object?"

"Certainly not!" replied Ned pleasantly. "We will do everything we
can to help you to establish our identity. But I wish to ask," he
continued, "that you do not let that other fellow get away."

"Why not?" asked the officer in surprise.

"Because we suspect him of having committed a crime in America and it
is our purpose to arrest him and have him extradited!"

A look of astonishment came over the officer's face.

"But he gave me the information concerning you!" he protested.

"Ah, ha! Just as I thought!" declared Jimmie with some heat.

"However," continued the officer, "I shall make sure he remains until
my return. I shall leave him on guard!"

"Good night!" wailed Jimmie. "The Rat! That's the limit!"

Evidently pleased at his solution of a difficult problem the officer
turned to his companion, who came hurrying back from his trip to the
monoplane. Addressing him rapidly in French, the officer evidently
outlined his plan, for the boys saw a crafty look of satisfaction
appear on the repulsive face. He eyed the boys with a disgusting leer.

"I shall be compelled to search you, gentlemen!" announced the officer,
stepping forward. "One at a time, please!"

Rapidly he felt the pockets of the lads, but discovered nothing.

"Now, if you please, will you not step into the stable so convenient?"
he asked pleasantly as if inviting the boys to lunch. "I shall leave
the gentleman on guard armed with my pistol and shall return with my
superior officer as quickly as I can. Thank you," he added as the boys
stepped toward the stable in obedience to his request.

Adjusting a big bar across the door, their captor called out:

"Await me with patience. I shall not be gone long."

"Here's hoping he falls and breaks his neck!" growled Jimmie, kicking a
post. "What a rotten jail this is, anyhow!"

"Wonder what's the idea, anyway?" mused Jack. "This Rat chap seemed to
have the officer fellow hypnotized!"

"Oh, it's just the Continental idea of policing a place, I suppose,"
Ned answered with an attempt at cheerfulness. "He'll return soon with a
squad and they'll take us to some place for examination."

"And I suppose The Rat will be on his way by that time!" protested
Harry with an injured air. "Or maybe he'll shoot us up a little first.
He's got a gun that officer gave him!"

"If he goes doing any stunts like that," Jimmie flashed, "I'll show him
two can play at the same game! I've got my automatic!"

"Where did you have it?" asked Ned incredulously.

"In my breast pocket holster," replied Jimmie. "The brainy officer just
punched my hip pocket and forgot that I had this slung around my neck.
He's a bright chap, that fellow!"

"Wonder what's the chances of getting out of this place," Jack
ventured. "This window looks too small for us to climb through."

"Maybe we could get out through the roof!" Ned suggested.

"I don't believe it," Jack replied thoughtfully. "That roof is good,
old-fashioned thatch put on to stay and we couldn't burst through
unless we had a hole made in it to start with!"

"Let Jimmie pretend he's hungry and burrow out below the walls,"
laughed Harry. "Set a full meal outside the place and I'll wager Jimmie
would be out of this prison inside of five minutes!"

"I'm going to endeavor to get the ear of our pleasant looking jailer!"
Jimmie announced suddenly. "I have an idea that his beautiful white
soul might by some chance be sullied to the tune of a bribe!"

"Don't do it!" advised Ned. "He's not worth wasting time on!"

"But we've got to get out of this hole some way!" protested Jimmie
impatiently. "Do we sit around here all night?"

"It isn't night yet by a long ways!" argued Harry. "Keep your temper,
Jimmie; we're coming out all right! We're not down yet!"

"I'd like to know what you call it!" Jimmie answered, somewhat
aggrieved because his plan was not accepted. "They've got us fast!"

"Listen!" commanded Ned, holding up a warning hand. "What's that?"

"That," cried Jimmie excitedly, "is Monseer Le Officaire on hees
r-r-return. He brings wiz heem zee whole French ar-r-my!"

"Not much!" declared Harry at the window. "It doesn't sound like his
engine! If this stack of fodder wasn't in the way I could see!"

"Ask The Rat to remove the stack!" suggested Jimmie. "Let me look!"

Although the boys did their best to catch a glimpse from the window
of the approaching motor they found it impossible. However, the noise
grew more distinct and presently the droning of the motor sounded
nearly overhead. As Harry had said, the reports of the exhaust had a
sound unlike those from the monoplane. Evidently a third machine was
approaching the place where the boys were held prisoners.

"Let's break out!" protested Jimmie. "This is fierce!"

"Wait a minute!" cautioned Ned. "We'll know soon enough!"

"Anyhow, he's got a hot box!" declared Jimmie. "I can smell smoke and
he has landed close by. He's been running pretty fast!"

"You've got a great nose on you, Jimmie!" declared Jack, laughing. "If
everything you smell was true, what would we do?"

"I smelled your hot box out on Long Island!" Jimmie returned tartly.
"Besides," he added, "my nose is as good as the rest of 'em!"

"Nothing the matter with your nose," maintained Jack, "only it's
stubbed and freckled and wrinkles when you lose your temper!"

"Yes," agreed Jimmie with a laugh, "and it's got a perfectly good
smeller inside! That's more than some folks can say!"

"Wonder what our friend The Rat is doing just about now?" put in Harry.
"We haven't heard from him for quite a few minutes."

"Call to him and ask him for a drink of water!"

"Maybe he wouldn't pay any attention," protested Harry.

"I'll shoot through the door, then! That'll fetch him!"

"Jimmie, you're reckless!" laughed Ned, knowing full well that Jimmie
would not consider such a dangerous experiment. "Perhaps we'll find out
in a short time just what is going on."

"Yes, I think so!" agreed Jimmie. "I can smell that hot box again! It
is getting stronger! I'll bet he's got two hot boxes!"

At this a general laugh went up. The boys found it impossible to resist
Jimmie's droll humor in trying moments. Many times had the lad held
courage in their hearts by his comments on trivialities.

Directly the boys heard the loud clamor of an engine which evidently
belonged to the aircraft that had so recently approached.

"Now, what's he up to?" queried Harry, trying vainly to look from the
one small window. "Sounds as if he were starting away!"

"That's what he's doing!" replied Jack. "Cooled his hot box!"

"He did not!" protested Jimmie vigorously. "I smell it yet!"

"That doesn't smell like burning grease!" protested Ned as he sniffed
the air. "It smells more like hay or straw burning!"

"Listen!" commanded Harry, raising a hand for attention.

All distinctly heard a crackling noise just outside the barn.

"Boys, this barn's on fire!" shouted Jimmie.

CHAPTER IX.

A Mysterious Warning.

Ned gave a gasp of astonishment at the statement.

Rushing toward the window he attempted again to secure a view of their
surroundings. Driven before a gust of wind a puff of smoke entered,
causing the boy to step back choking.

"Can you crawl through that window, Jimmie?" asked Ned.

"Guess it's too small!" returned Jimmie, eyeing the window
speculatively. "I'll try it, but I don't believe I can make it!"

Accordingly the lad stripped off his jacket, handed his automatic and
holster to Jack and prepared to make the attempt.

"Look out for The Rat, Jimmie!" cautioned Harry anxiously.

"Yes, look out for him!" put in Jack. "It would be just like him to
stand to one side and pot you as you drop from the window!"

"I'll keep an eye out for him!" Jimmie answered. "Just as soon as I
get out of here I'm going to devote a few minutes to using the brass
knuckles on that fellow! He surely needs something!"

Ned and Harry stood by to give Jimmie any possible assistance in his
endeavor to leave the building. A cloud of smoke drifted past the
window. The crackling of flames grew louder momentarily.

"That's some smoke!" declared Jimmie, coughing as he approached the
narrow opening. "I'll bet the fellow that built this shack never
intended to have it burn! Wish he'd made the window a bit bigger!"

"Are you ready, Jimmie?" asked Ned. Then as the lad nodded his reply,
continued, "Scoot around in front and let down the bar from the door
just as quickly as you can. That thatch won't last long!"

"Sure, Jimmie," put in Jack, "don't stop to put the knuckles on with
The Rat until you let us out of here. We'll referee the bout!"

Jimmie did not reply to this suggestion, but shut his jaws with an
expression familiar to the boys. They knew that the lad would do his
best to rescue them from their dangerous situation.

Jimmie's first attempt to crawl through the window met with
unquestionable defeat. Without a doubt the opening was too narrow to
permit him to pass with any degree of ease.

Supported from the floor by his two chums, Jimmie gave a backward
glance and shook his head doubtfully, then turned again to the task in
hand. It would be a tight squeeze, but he was determined.

Thrusting up one arm he put that through the window first, then laying
his head on his shoulder he attempted to push that through the opening.
Only with the greatest difficulty did the lad manage to get his head
through. Wriggle as he might, he found it impossible to follow with his
chest. Evidently the passage could not be negotiated.

"Come back, Jimmie," called Ned in fear. "We don't want you to get
stuck in that place if the old trap is going to burn down!"

"Come on back, Jimmie; we'll find some other way!" cried Jack.

By this time the smoke swirling around the stack of fodder had
filled Jimmie's eyes. With every breath he drew in great draughts of
smoke-laden air until he was nearly choking. Reluctantly he admitted
defeat and endeavored to return. That seemed far from easy.

Just as he was about to draw his head through the opening a gust of
wind fanning the growing fire dashed a burst of flame toward the lad.
Caught fast in the vise-like embrace of the frame the boy could not
escape this scorching onslaught. Quickly he jerked himself back, badly
lacerating one ear. He was not in time, however, to escape the loss of
his eyebrows and a part of his red hair.

"Don't try that again, Jimmie," advised Harry. "It won't do!"

"Much obliged, I'm sure!" coughed Jimmie. "You're right!"

"How about the door, fellows?" suggested Ned. "Do you suppose we could
batter it down? It may not be as solid as it looks!"

"Never can tell till you try!" hopefully spoke up Jack. "What shall we
use as a battering ram? They failed to leave us anything."

"Pull loose some floor boards," Jimmie advised, wiping the blood from
his injured ear. "Get a good heavy plank!"

"Guess not this trip!" said Harry, rejecting the suggestion. "This
floor is made of hard packed dirt and there are no boards!"

"If it was lighter in here, we could see better!" Ned cried. "Have any
of you got an electric searchlight with you?"

A quick canvass of the group showed that none of the boys had the
desired article. All had been left on the Grey Eagle.

"Pull out that post there!" advised Jack, handing the pistol and jacket
back to Jimmie. "All of us get hold of it."

"I'm going to turn in a 'four-eleven'!" announced Jimmie, adjusting the
strap of his holster over his head and drawing his automatic from its
place. "Maybe someone will hear it and unbar the door!"

"Shoot straight up, Jimmie!" cautioned Ned.

"All right, Boss!" replied the lad, pointing the weapon toward the
thatch and pressing the trigger. "Look at that fire up there!" he
added, directing the attention of his chums toward the roof.

"The thatch is burning through!" gasped Harry excitedly.

"It won't be long before the roof falls!" added Jack.

Jimmie pressed the trigger again and again in the hope that the sound
of his shots would reach friendly ears and procure their release.

Fire now began dropping from several places in the thatch, while the
barn filled with smoke. The crackling of the flames grew louder as the
fire spread. All the boys were coughing and choking from the smoke they
were compelled to inhale. They grouped near the door.

"Here comes the fireman!" yelled Jimmie in delight, as the others were
preparing again to attempt an onslaught on the post that had resisted
their previous efforts. "Go, slow, lads! One at a time!"

His shout had been called forth by a rattle at the barred door.
Springing quickly toward the entrance he called out:

"Hurry up, there! Pull that bar off the door! We're choking!"

A few words unintelligible to Jimmie came in reply.

Directly the bar was removed and the door opened, letting in a great
rush of fresh air. As if urged to greater effort in its mad attempt to
destroy the boys, the fire blazed up with redoubled fury. The entire
roof burst out in flame, no doubt augmented by the sudden rush of air
through the now wide opened doorway. The barn was doomed.

Bursting through the entrance, the boys nearly ran over an old man
trembling with excitement. His peculiar costume excited their curiosity
at once. Dressed in a loose fitting jacket that fell outside baggy
trousers, his bare feet thrust into wooden shoes, and with his long
white hair falling down over his shoulders, he presented a sight the
boys long remembered. He was talking excitedly in French.

"Well, Rip Van Winkle," offered Jimmie, after his first full breath of
pure air, "we're much obliged to you, I'm sure. Come away from there,
now," he added, "the roof will fall presently!"

But in spite of Jimmie's urging the old man tried to enter the stable
again, all the time mumbling to himself.

"What is he saying?" inquired Ned, detaining the old man.

"Listen!" commanded Jimmie. Then addressing their rescuer:

"What did you say? What do you want in there?" he shouted.

"Jimmie, Jimmie!" cautioned Ned. "Maybe he isn't deaf!"

"Sure enough!" agreed Jimmie, in a self-condemnatory tone, "I forgot,
and tried to shout at him because he doesn't understand English!"

"What is he saying?" again asked Ned, drawing nearer.

"La vasche, la vasche!" repeated their friend.

"Oh, it's the boss you want?" triumphantly responded Jimmie. Then,
indicating Ned, he said: "This is our boss; ask him!"

But the old man shook his head and tried again to enter the barn.

"I'll bet I know what he wants!" cried Jack. "He thinks his cow is in
the barn, and he's looking for it! Here, Mister, is this it?" Jack
emitted a long and very dignified "Moo-oo-oo!"

A smile overspread the aged features as the man nodded vigorously.

Ned glanced at Jimmie with a twinkle in his eye. Catching Ned's glance,
the lad turned away with a very red face and mumbled:

"She ain't here! She went down to the delicatessen about half an hour
ago to get a pint of milk. You needn't wait!"

"That's a good one, Jimmie!" Ned laughed. "He didn't want me!"

"That's a horse on me, all right!" admitted Jimmie sheepishly.

Taking the old gentleman by the arm, Ned led him carefully away from
the burning building. He pointed back and shook his head as if to
indicate that nothing remained inside the building. In a short time the
roof fell with a crash. Silently weeping, the old man sat watching the
destruction of his stack of fodder and barn.

"Well, where is The Rat?" asked Jimmie, recalling the boys to the
present. "If I could get hold of him, I'd warm his jacket!"

"Don't know, I'm sure!" replied Ned. "Maybe he went away in the other
airship that arrived just as the fire started!"

Jimmie gave a gasp. Turning to Ned in astonishment, he said:

"Ned, you don't suppose that the officer returned and then they burned
the place and left us there to die! I don't believe it!"

"Say," put in Jack, "if it wasn't so hard to believe, that would be the
most reasonable solution of the whole matter!"

"Wonder what they did to the Grey Eagle before they left!" suggested
Harry. "Suppose we take a stroll over there and look about."

"I can see the machine there in the field where we left it," spoke up
Jimmie. "Suppose we ask the old party here for some supper!"

"Hungry again, Jimmie?" laughed Ned.

"Sure I am, and so are you, if you'd admit it!" returned the boy.
"Let's get something to eat and ask the old fellow if he noticed which
way the airship went as it left here. He must have seen it!"

"All right, go ahead and ask him!" grinned Ned.

"Aw, shucks!" sputtered Jimmie. "You know I can't talk French!"

"Go on, Jimmie, say 'Polly Voo' to him, anyway!" laughed Jack.

"Polly Voo, yourself, if you want to!" answered Jimmie, somewhat
sulkily. "I've made a fool of myself once, and that's enough! Besides,"
he added, "I want to wash this blood and dirt off my ear!"

"That's right, Jimmie, we nearly forgot you!" said Ned. "We ought to be
scolded for neglecting you after your brave effort!"

Approaching the old man, who still bemoaned the loss of his property,
Ned indicated by signs that they wanted water to bathe the injured
boy's bleeding ear. Comprehending at once, the man fetched a basin of
water and set it down before them.

"Now, when it comes to the supper, I'll ask him for it myself!"
declared Jimmie. "You promised while we were in New York I might do
that!"

"Sure as you live!" agreed Jack. "I remember that!"

Filled with enthusiasm at the prospect of his venture in sign language,
Jimmie tapped the man's shoulder and then pointed to his own mouth.
Describing a circle with his hands, he indicated a plate heaped high,
and then patted his stomach. His efforts were effective.

Instantly comprehending, the man smiled and disappeared into his
cottage, to return at once with a bowl of stew and loaf of black bread.

Under the attack of four hungry boys the bread and soup were soon
dispatched, and Ned pressed upon their host a piece of money.

"Let's be on our way now," suggested Harry. "I don't believe we need to
wait for the officer's return. He and The Rat are probably miles away
by this time. Maybe they're in Paris!"

"We'd better head for Paris, too!" advised Jimmie.

"Let's overhaul the Grey Eagle first, and see if it's all there!"

"Come on, fellows, we've paid the landlord, and I'm ready!"

Jimmie raced the short distance to the airship. Followed by his chums,
the lad examined closely every part of the machine.

"Hello, what's this?" he cried in a moment. "It looks as if The Rat and
the officer left us a farewell note!"

"Not The Rat!" urged Harry. "That's a Boy Scout message!"

CHAPTER X.

Boy Scouts for Targets.

"Pooh!" scorned Jimmie. "I suppose you think the old gentleman is
leader of the Patrol and wrote this note to ask us to come again!"

"Maybe he's asking us to return his lost----. What was it he was
looking for and couldn't find?" asked Ned, with twinkling eyes.

"He said he wanted his 'Vosh'!" was Jimmie's brazen reply, for he had
now quite recovered from his embarrassment. "I've got a French word
that I won't forget in a hurry! Oh, I'm learning!"

"Let's examine that message a little more closely," requested Ned, from
his position on the ground beside the machine. "It surely looks like
Boy Scout work, but was evidently prepared in a hurry."

"It looks like a leaf from a memorandum book!"

"I believe that's what it is! Where did you find it, Jimmie?"

"Right here, under the spark lever. It was jammed beneath the click. I
was just going to throw it away when I saw the marks on it!"

"Look at the signature!" spoke up Harry, peering over Ned's shoulder.
"That's English, anyway! Can you read it, Ned?"

"Yes, it says 'Jean Voisin,' just as plain as can be!"

"That isn't English!" put in Jack. "That's French!"

"What Patrol does he belong to?" asked Jimmie. "Look for his mark. If
he's a friend of ours he'll put that in, too."

"Here's a picture of a Hawk's head. Maybe that's his Patrol. And then
here are some other marks that indicate his rank, no doubt!"

"He makes a pretty good picture of 'Signs in Stones!'" was Jack's
comment. "Three stones piled one on top of another. That's a neat
picture. Why," with a startled glance around, "that's 'Danger!'"

"Correct! Go to the head of the class!" decided Jimmie.

"I vote we get going somewhere!" put in Harry, moving around the end of
the planes. "Hello!" he added, stumbling over an object on the ground.
"Guess my eyesight is poor! I didn't see those stones!"

"Take another look!" advised Jimmie. "Weren't they piled on top of each
other? I thought I saw the pile just as you kicked it!"

"Guess they were," admitted Harry. "Who did that, I wonder?"

"Maybe The Hawk did it," Jimmie suggested from his perch in the
aeroplane. "It would be just like him to add that to the note."

"Hello!" cried Ned, as he examined the ground near Harry's position.
"There's another little pile of three stones!"

"I see them!" shouted Harry, pointing out their position. "And
here's another one lying beside the pile. That means 'Danger in this
direction,' according to my understanding. What do you think it means?"

"Wait a minute!" cried Jimmie. "Ned, in what direction is Paris from
our present location?"

"Roughly speaking, southeast," answered Ned.

"Then I'll bet that's a warning for us not to go to Paris!" Jimmie
exultantly went on. "The compass shows that the two piles of stones
lie almost directly southeast from the Grey Eagle! That's it!"

"I wonder if The Rat knows Boy Scout signs and put those things there
to head us off from following him! It is a sure thing that he was
headed for Paris when he left here!" decided Jack.

"Guess you're right, Jack," Ned agreed. "But why should he sign himself
'Jean Voisin'? I can't understand that!"

"What does 'Voisin' mean, Jimmie?" asked Jack, laughing.

"Search me!" replied the lad. "I'm not up on French!"

"I think it means 'Neighbor'," Ned answered thoughtfully. "Wasn't that
the meaning given in the article we were reading about airships where
it told that 'Taube', the German name, means 'Pigeon' and that 'Voisin'
means 'Neighbor?' I believe that's it!"

"Rather sarcastic, I should say!" ventured Harry. "It wasn't a very
neighborly act to shut us up in that barn and then burn it down, while
he flew away! He added insult to injury when he left this note! How did
he expect us to find the note if we were burned in the barn?"

"That was rather a nervy piece of business!" scornfully decided Jimmie.
"I vote we use the brass knuckles on him!"

"It's too bad you didn't live a hundred years or so ago, Jimmie!" Ned
laughed. "If we didn't know you so well, we'd be thinking all the time
that you were a pirate and itching for a fight!"

"I'm not much of a scrapper," Jimmie stated, "but if we ever meet, you
will have a chance to practice 'First Aid' on The Rat!"

Laughingly the boys received this statement, for they all knew well
Jimmie's tendency to exaggerate, yet they all felt that he had ample
grounds for feeling aggrieved at the one called "The Rat."

It was decided that their recent captor and his companion had departed
for Paris and that, as nothing could be gained by returning to Havre at
this time, their best course would be to go to Paris also.

No time was lost in preparing for flight. Waving a farewell to the
friendly old man who had saved their lives, the boys seated themselves
in the Grey Eagle and were soon under way.

Dusk was falling as they rose above the row of trees at the roadside,
and as Jimmie turned on the switch controlling the lights illuminating
the instruments under the pilot's cowl, he asked:

"Shall we put on the searchlight, Ned?"

"No, I don't think we'd better have that going," Ned decided. "Some of
the country people hereabouts might become alarmed and send word to the
War Department that a German invasion is taking place!"

"Good idea!" assented Jimmie. "But do you know how to steer?"

"Yes. Southeasterly is the general course. I'll make it a little
southeast by east about a quarter south, for we flew some distance to
the southward of Havre in crossing the river before we were overhauled."

"We ought to see the lights of Paris when we get up higher, anyway,"
Jimmie suggested. "How big a place is Paris? How far is it?"

"It is a little bigger than Peapack, N. J.," replied Jack, "and is just
about a hundred miles from Havre, unless they have moved it since the
last maps were made. I don't think they've moved it, though!"

"Would they move it if the Germans took it?" asked Jimmie, with a grin
at his tormentor. "I don't suppose the river is near enough the ocean
to be 'tied'!" he added. "That last is a pun!"

"Well," returned Jack, "I understand they would move all but the stores
where writing paper and envelopes are sold!"

"Oh, I know that one!" shouted Jimmie. "They're 'stationery'!"

"I see a light ahead!" cried Harry. "What is it?"

Out of the darkness ahead the boys descried a train with lights
carefully guarded. In a short time the Grey Eagle was sweeping near the
flying monster as it wound its way across the country.

"Chase 'em a little way, Ned!" suggested Jimmie.

Ned nodded his head in response, and veered the planes a trifle.

Soon the people on the train became aware of the presence of their
flying visitor. Heads were thrust out, but quickly withdrawn.

"Goodness!" cried Jimmie, aghast. "Just look at that, will you! Why,"
the lad continued in a horrified tone, "that whole train seems to be
filled with injured persons. Every one is bandaged up!"

"Probably a train with wounded coming from the battle front," suggested
Ned, giving a touch to the levers. "Let's get out of here!"

"I should say 'Yes'!" replied Jimmie, horrified at the sight of so many
wounded men. "Why, they had a whole trainload of injured!"

"That's the way they injure them nowadays--by the trainload!" declared
Jack. "They tell me those guns the Germans have are awful!"

"I guess they can't be much worse than the machine guns the French
use!" put in Harry. "Six hundred shots a minute, I understand to be the
capacity of one of the modern machine guns. That's going some!"

"And if the United States got into war with some nation, we'd probably
have to see things just like this, with Americans instead of Frenchmen
as the wounded!" shuddered Jimmie. "That is awful!"

"Well, what can you expect when a whole nation gets to shooting up
another nation? They try to kill as many as they can!" said Ned.

"But I can't comprehend why they do it!" declared Jimmie emphatically.
"It doesn't seem right! I think it is cruel!"

"Imagine a nation represented by one man," suggested Harry. "Take your
own case. Didn't you go out and declare war on Pete and his gang on
Long Island? And see what chance The Rat has if you ever get him!"

"Well, that wasn't so very different, come to think of it," admitted
Jimmie. "But I had a perfectly good reason!"

"That's what these nations think!" declared Harry. "They don't stop to
think of the individual soldiers any more than you stopped to think
of your lips and fists. The ones to suffer are the fellows like that
trainload of wounded boys bound for Paris!"

"You win the argument!" admitted Jimmie. "But that makes me think----.
If they're bound for Paris, why not follow their trail, and we'll get
there, too. That's Boy Scout trailing for you!"

"All right, we'll follow," replied Ned, turning on power. "Only we're
not going to poke along like that train!"

At Ned's touch the Grey Eagle responded with an increase of speed that
soon left the train far behind. Jimmie sighed as it disappeared from
view. Jack noticed the sigh and comfortingly said:

"You should worry about that stuff, Jimmie. Forget it!"

"I'm worrying about what would happen to the boys of the U. S. A. if we
get into a war with some other country! Maybe they couldn't lick us,
but before it stopped a good many would be hurt!"

"What's that thing over there to the northward?" asked Harry, pointing
in the direction indicated.

"Where?" asked Ned. "I can't see anything!"

"It looks like a tall pole or something standing straight up!"

"I see it!" cried Jack, looking through a pair of binoculars. "It looks
like the pictures of the Eiffel Tower! That's what it is!"

"Let's see," requested Jimmie, reaching for the glasses.

"Yes, sir, that's what it is, I believe!" he added. "Look, Ned!"

Ned surrendered the levers to Jimmie and gazed at the object.

"I believe you're right, Jimmie!" he agreed. "We're near Paris!"

"Then we'd better decide where we want to stop," suggested Jimmie.
"Have you any idea as to localities?"

"Not in the slightest," replied Ned. "I think we'd better get in touch
with the War Office as quickly as possible to head off The Rat!"

"I can see the houses below us!" spoke up Harry.

"Nobody home but the clock, and that's on a strike!" put in Jimmie.
"Why don't they have a few lights going down there? The town's as dark
as a miser's pocket! Have they all gone visiting?"

"Probably it is an order on account of the war!" explained Jack.
"They're afraid of German aeroplanes flying over and dropping bombs."

"Well, we won't drop any bombs!" asserted Jimmie.

"Yes, but they don't know it!" argued Jack. "Let's put on the
searchlight and try to find a good landing place. What do you say?"

It was agreed that this would be the proper thing to do, and the boy
turned the switch. He directed the shaft of light downward.

Housetops, trees, streets, were revealed in the glare from the powerful
flame. By its light the boys saw that they were only a short distance
above the earth. No place for landing appeared.

"I see the river," announced Jimmie. "Don't get us wet!"

"Guess we'll have to swing around and land in one of these wide
streets, Ned!" suggested Harry. "I can't make out any other vacant spot
big enough for a safe landing. Is that a good idea?"

"I guess it's as good as any," replied Ned. "I'll swing around and try
that broad street we just crossed!"

"Hope there's somebody home when we land!" Jimmie put in.

At that moment the boys saw below them a flash of light. A sharp
report assailed their ears, and again they heard the peculiar tearing,
whistling sound of a bullet in its flight through the air.

CHAPTER XI.

A Boy Scout Rescuer.

"That's getting entirely too common nowadays!" protested Jack.

"Maybe it was some nervous resident who thought we were coming to blow
him out of his happy home," Jimmie responded. "It isn't often a fellow
can hit anything shooting straight up like that!"

As he spoke, another flash of light and a report from the street
bespoke another attempt to fire upon the Grey Eagle and its occupants.
This time the bullet came nearer the mark, for it tore its way through
one of the lower planes. Alarmed, the boys peered downward.

"Hurry up and get landed, Ned!" urged Jimmie. "This isn't so funny as
it might be! Maybe that fellow will hit us accidentally!"

"And go around covering himself with glory ever afterward!" put in
Harry. "I wish they'd pass a law against carrying concealed weapons!"

"Watch out now," commanded Ned, tersely. "I don't know what this street
is like. Maybe there are telephone wires there!"

"I'll handle the searchlight!" volunteered Jimmie, seizing the
controller as he spoke. "I'll give you plenty of chance to see."

Under the skillful handling of Ned the Grey Eagle came gracefully to a
landing on the broad, smooth asphalted street. The boys were not even
jarred by the impact as the aeroplane slid to a resting place.

Although the muffler had been deadening the sound of the engine's
exhaust to a mere hum, and no clamor of the motors had, therefore,
disturbed the city's inhabitants, a large crowd of boys and old men
quickly gathered.

Talking volubly and excitedly in the French tongue, they clustered
about the machine, addressing shouts and inquiries at the boys.
Uncertain what course to pursue, the lads remained in their positions.
Scarcely had the machine come to a standstill, however, before
uniformed police dashed out of side streets, approaching the Grey Eagle
on the run.

"Here come the cops!" cried Jimmie, catching sight of the foremost.

"Ned, I guess it's up to you to be spokesman, as usual," suggested
Jack, as the crowd parted to afford the officer a nearer approach.

"Sure, he knows more French than any of us!" chuckled Jimmie.

A rapid question in French was addressed to the boys by the policeman,
who had now gained the side of their machine. Ned spread his hands palm
upwards and shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating gesture.

Again the officer spoke in the same language, but more vehemently this
time. Apparently he was demanding an answer to his former question.

"We heard you the first time, Old Scout!" replied Jimmie. "But if it's
just the same to you, we don't know what you mean! If you expect to
hold conversation with us, you'll have to start talking United States!"

Instantly a murmur went round the crowd. The boys could hear various
ones repeating in awed tones "Etats Unis, Etats Unis."

Noticing the murmur, Jimmie swelled out his chest and said:

"You see, lads, I made them understand me first shot! Notice how
quickly they grabbed that United States stuff? I'm good, eh?"

But evidently the officer was not satisfied. Brandishing a club, he
started to climb up the frame work of the Grey Eagle.

"Now take it easy, there, Buddie!" warned Jimmie. "You've got all
night, so take it easy! Go slow, and it'll last longer!"

Without heeding him the policeman, evidently determined to carry out
his purpose, continued to mount the structure. Jimmie was fast losing
his temper at this familiarity, and quickly produced his automatic.

"Now, back up, you rough-neck!" he gritted, aiming his pistol at a spot
well above the officer's head. "You are going too far!"

Evidently the tone if not the words penetrated the officer's
comprehension, for he precipitately retreated to the pavement. He
was rescued from complete rout only by the approach of several other
officers who came running up at that moment. Jimmie took advantage of
the confusion to slip the automatic back into its holster inside his
jacket.

"I wonder if these fellows are not the 'Gendarmes' of Paris that we've
read about?" queried Harry from his seat in the darkness.

"Possibly they are," replied Ned. "I understand they are very efficient
as protectors of the public, too! They look like fine men."

"Aw, shucks!" protested Jimmie. "One of the Broadway Squad could eat a
half dozen of these fellows! They don't look like so much!"

"Just the same, let's go easy with them. We'd better not start anything
that will result in our getting into trouble of any kind."

"All right, Ned," acquiesced Jimmie. "Just as you say."

"Better throw on a little light and let them see what we look like,
they're coming in a bunch!" warned Jack, who had been watching.

With the snap of the switch a flood of light swept over the four boys
in the Grey Eagle. It revealed to the approaching officers their
visitors seated, and with their right hands raised in salute.

Instantly comprehending the situation, the one who seemed to be in
command of the squad smiled at the lads and raised his own hand in
return. He seemed immensely relieved when he saw the character of those
who had surprised them by the nocturnal visit.

Approaching as near as possible, he spoke politely in French,
addressing the group of lads. Ned shook his head and replied:

"Excuse me, officer, but we can't understand you. Perhaps you
understand English. That's the only language we can speak."

"Ah!" answered the officer pleasantly. "And whom have I the honor of
addressing? I do not seem to recognize you!"

"We are four boys from the United States," replied Ned pleasantly,
"making a trip through France for pleasure. We have been detained and
are, therefore, somewhat confused as to our location in Paris. Perhaps
you could direct us to a good hotel, and also to the War Office."

"Certainly, gentlemen," responded the officer, "I shall be most
happy to accommodate you in any way possible. But, first, it will be
necessary for me to examine your passports and to report your presence
to the Prefect of Police. It is only my duty, you know!"

"If we can be sure of a guard to protect our aeroplane," Ned suggested,
"we shall be glad to accompany you to the office of the Prefect. We
must communicate with your War Office at the earliest moment possible.
We wish to avoid international complications."

A look of astonishment and interest overspread the features of the
officer. Turning to his companions, he rapidly gave orders. Two of
the Gendarmes at once began forcing back to a respectful distance
the curious crowd. Ned and his companions were impressed with the
respectful promptness with which the onlookers obeyed the officer's
commands.

Alighting from their positions, the boys stretched their cramped legs
in relief, and stood at attention ready for the next move.

"When does the next 'Jitney bus' arrive?" asked Jimmie.

"Your pardon, please," spoke up the officer, "I do not understand the
term you have just used. My use of English is imperfect."

"My use of English is also imperfect," spoke up Jimmie, confusedly,
"and I am the one to apologize. That term is United States slang for a
public motor bus. Ned, here, says I use too much slang!"

"I comprehend," laughed the officer, "and you are not at all at fault.
I regret to say, however, that since the war began no busses are run in
the streets of Paris. We shall be compelled to walk."

Leaving the Grey Eagle in charge of the two men detailed to protect
their precious property, the boys set off at a brisk walk in company
with their new-found friend, and were soon standing before the desk in
a police station. A white-haired sergeant confronted them.

A glance at the kindly expression in his eyes told the boys that they
would not fare illy at his hands. Ned determined to confide fully in
the officer and to tell him the object of their visit.

Immediately upon arriving the officer who had accompanied them
conferred with his superior in a low tone, using the French tongue.
Watching closely, the boys were convinced that his report was not
unfavorable.

At length the elderly sergeant made an entry in a book, and then
addressed the boys. His manner was dignified, yet conciliatory.

"Very much to my regret, gentlemen, I have to inform you that, although
your passports and identification seem to be perfectly proper, there is
lodged with the police department a complaint that you are here seeking
information that would be put to improper use."

"In other words," Ned put in, as the sergeant paused, "we are
suspected, and perhaps accused, of being here as spies!"

"I don't like to use just that term," returned the sergeant, and then
added: "But, after all, a name matters very little."

"Your informant," spoke up Jimmie, "is probably well known to us. We
have had dealings with him before this. You may not believe it, but we
know him to be not only a thorough rascal, but a traitor as well!"

This statement was received by the sergeant with considerable
astonishment. His glance at Jimmie was plainly a question.

Briefly the boys gave a synopsis of the events already known, not
forgetting to mention the dangerous situation in which their enemy had
succeeded in placing them only a short time previous to the present.

Not a word of the story was lost by either the officer or the sergeant,
who occasionally exchanged quick glances full of meaning.

"You surely have occasion to suspect this person whom you call 'The
Rat,' and I am sure your efforts will be crowned with success," the
sergeant offered, at the conclusion of the story. "However, my orders
are to detain you if found, and present you at the War Office. You
will, of course, appreciate my position and understand what 'duty'
means."

"Yes, sir," Ned returned, "we believe we know what 'duty' means, and
we surely cannot object to your doing yours, but we would like very
much to know where this man we referred to is located at the present."

A smile overspread the face of the sergeant.

"He is under surveillance. He cannot get far away until permitted to do
so by agents of the War Office. Although his credentials appeared to be