The Boy Scouts to the Rescue

Cover art

They sent the message quickly, accurately.

THE BOY SCOUTS
TO THE RESCUE

By
GEORGE DURSTON

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Chicago — AKRON, OHIO — New York

Made in U. S. A.

Copyright, MCMXXI
By
The Saalfield Publishing Co.

THE BOY SCOUTS
TO THE RESCUE

CHAPTER I

FROM SHELL CRATER TO FIRST AID

There were three figures lying in the bottom of the great shell crater that yawned close to the German line. It had been made by a French shell, so a great mound of dirt had been cast up on the side next the enemy. One of the bodies in the close group lay in the stiff, distorted attitude in which a sudden and horrible death had frozen him. The second lay quite limp, unseeing, uncaring—the attitude of a man desperately hurt. Only the third, rather small and slender, lay curled up much as a vigilant cat might, trying to give the impression of sleep or death, but with every faculty and nerve like live wires. His eyes were open, and with every ounce of force in him he was listening, plotting and planning.

Under the thick mud the uniforms worn by the different men were indistinguishable. The coating was a thick, slimy, even gray. The figure whose alert, piercing eyes studied his surroundings so carefully shivered steadily. He was chilled to the bone. As it grew darker, he rolled slowly over on his back, and for a while studied the edge of the crater as its rough edges showed dark against the sky. All seemed well. Not a head, not a bayonet, could cut that jagged line without his knowing it. The Huns would not make a sortie now. Exhausted themselves, they were depending on the exhaustion of the French for a short, unspoken truce of a few hours.

The living figure in the crater rolled over and on hands and knees crept to the body nearest him. He felt over it carefully. The face, drained of blood, was ghastly cold in the steady, fine rain that beat on it; but there was life in that still body. If he could only get help!

He laid the head back on its slimy resting place and crawled carefully to the top of the crater next the French trenches. He must get help! Otherwise the Lieutenant would die. The wet ground gave with him, but he persisted and with a mighty effort raised his face over the edge. Then with a stifled cry he dropped back. Another face, dim and strange in the darkness, was there. It met him eye to eye, not three inches from his face.

The cold, drizzling rain fell steadily into the sodden trench chilling the soldiers who crouched and huddled against the streaming sides of the shelter, if shelter it could be called. The trench was very close to the enemy. An almost constant succession of flares sent up by the Germans lit the racked and tattered landscape. In the fitful light it looked unreal, impossible.

Torn fields, shattered trees, ploughed fields everywhere, with yawning shell craters on every side.

The expanse of ground between the lines was made terrible by the shell craters. Day was ending, and in the dim, yellow half light the uneven, edges of the deep and ragged holes threw narrow, black shadows that seemed to gash the riven fields. Above, a couple of French airships circled. The German planes had disappeared, and the Frenchmen flew in widening circles above the enemies' lines. The roar of the guns had diminished to an occasional popping, with once in a while a bellowing roar as some iron giant launched its terrible missile. All day the Huns had hammered at the stubborn line; all day the French, with their American allies, had hammered in return. It had commenced, this big battle, at daybreak; all day had it raged without lull or pause, now from the trenches, now frightful conflicts in the open. Now, as though both sides acknowledged exhaustion though not defeat, a lull had come. The men in the trenches, almost delirious with fatigue, dropped in the mud and water and slept. Red Cross bearers came splashing along with their burdens. Men wounded to the death whimpered pitifully and babbled of home, or bore their agony in stony silence. Out somewhere in No-Man's-Land, the terrible stretch lying between the two lines, out there in the gathering darkness, a clear, high tenor voice commenced to sing:

"We're going home, we're going home,

We're going home to-morrow."

Clear and sweet the voice sounded. Another flare went up; then a German gun commenced to drop shells in the direction of the voice. It was as though they would gladly waste a dozen shells on the chance of stilling that sweet singer. The voice went on, growing gradually weaker, but lifting true, sweet notes until there came a little break and—stillness. A last venomous shot whined toward the spot where the singer lay, his young voice hushed forever.

The darkness deepened, and the flares, increasing in number, gave the place an unreal, ghastly light, like some gigantic and unending nightmare. Something that could not be possible, must not be possible, but which was to go on and on and on endlessly, relentlessly.

At last it was black night.

A sergeant made his way along the trench, slipping and sliding through the mud and ooze. He gave commands in muffled whispers, and a number of the exhausted men turned and followed him when he returned to the outlet of the trench. Lying so close to the border of No-Man's-Land, across which it was possible for an occasional spy to invade their trench, the greatest care was taken in every possible way to discover and check such invasion. When there was no firing to cover the sound, the men talked in whispers when they talked at all, which was seldom. The bitter business of war had seemed to strip from them all desire to talk.

They were moving stealthily along when a slight figure bounded into the trench and slid and tumbled to the bottom. He hurried back and forth the length of the trench, then plunged like a human ferret into the small, twisted tunnel that led down and down twenty feet or more underground to the rest house, a scooped-out chamber of clay where there was actual safety unless—unless the tunnel caved! Looking in on the group of wounded and exhausted men who occupied the space, he spoke a name. No one answered. The men paid no attention. They were wholly wrapped up in their own misery. He climbed once more into the trench, then, glancing round to see if he was observed, he scrambled lightly up the side and in another moment was over the top and, flat on the ground, was wriggling a cautious, snake-like way across the horrors of No-Man's-Land.

His heart beat heavily; it seemed as though it could be heard twenty feet away. He was bent on a fearful and almost impossible errand; an errand that might cost him his life. And life was sweet to the boy who proceeded to work his way across the terrible stretch of No-Man's-Land.

He had no reason for going, no plan; simply something told him the direction to take in his strange quest. Every time a flare burst against the murky sky he dropped flat on his face and, assuming some strained, distorted position, lay motionless until the light died out once more. This happened every two minutes or so. It took endless patience to work his way forward. He was impelled to hurry, to take the chance of continuing his course even under the bright light of the flares. But he knew that it would be death to him and possible death to the one he sought. As he wormed his way forward he turned slowly to the right. Stronger and stronger he felt the strange certainty that never failed to tell him that he was right. He was approaching the person whom he sought.

The feeling of coming success buoyed him and gave him courage. He scarcely dared to breathe. Slower and slower he crawled, worming his way along, over and around the horrors in his path. The moments seemed like hours, the hours like days. Finally he came to a huge shell crater. He approached its edge and looked over as a flare, brighter than usual, lit the desolation of No-Man's-Land. And as he looked, a face, mud covered, bruised yet familiar, looked into his. So close were the two faces that they nearly touched. Just for an instant the face in the deep ditch drew back; then two voices, whispering in a low tone, said, "Hello!"

The fellow in the crater sagged wearily against the steep incline of the side of the pit. He looked at the other and sighed a sigh of unutterable relief.

"Gee, I thought you would never come!" he said in a low tone.

"Keep still!" whispered the other, taking the boy below him by the collar and scarcely breathing the words aloud. "Are you hurt?"

"Not a scratch!"

"Well, take a hand and come along out. This is no place for us; and you have some tall explaining to do to the General!"

"We have to take the Lieutenant with us," said the boy in the crater.

"What Lieutenant?" demanded the other.

"Lieutenant Bogardus. The General sent me after him. That's why I am here."

"What ails him?" demanded the boy on the ledge.

"All shot up," said the other. "Darned if I know how badly. He is unconscious but was alive the last time I felt of him."

The boy on top turned cautiously around and slid, feet first, into the slippery, oozy pit. He followed to the side of the unconscious man, and as the next flare illumined the sky he ran a hand delicately over the tattered body. He shook his head.

"Not much hope, I should say," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter," declared the other; "we have got to get him back to our lines."

"All right!" said the other.

Together they lifted and pulled the limp body to the level of the ground, and then as carefully as they could they lifted it and, stumbling and swaying and falling, they made their way back. They could not wait for caution; the flares went up unheeded. A sharpshooter near the enemy's line discovered the strange, shambling group and commenced peppering at it as each flare brought them into view. The bullets whined over and around them. One cut its way through the sleeve of one boy, but did not touch the skin beneath. They felt no fear. The man whom they were carrying was thin and rather small, but his limp body weighed cruelly on their young muscles. With set teeth and streaming faces they kept on in their flight. At last when their breath cut them like knives and their knees almost refused to support them, they reached the safety of their own line and, laying their burden down on the edge of the trench, they slipped down and in a moment were surrounded by helpers. The wounded man was hustled into the nearest shelter and given first aid, while a quick little corporal scrambled off and was back almost at once with stretcher bearers and a canvas litter. The two boys accompanied the wounded man back to the First Aid Station, an underground, roughly boarded chamber where desperate looking men worked silently at their task of keeping life in the tattered forms brought in to them.

While they labored over the still form just brought in, the boys dropped wearily down on the wet ground outside the first aid room, and looked at each other.

A pale glow from the first aid room below them shone upward on their white faces. They were caked with mud and grime but even through that mask a marvelous resemblance could be seen. Feature for feature, line for line, they were alike. Even their gestures were alike. As they sat staring at each other, they looked like some queer, repeated design; a double boy smirched and hollow-eyed.

They stared steadily at each other, then the boy on the ledge cleared his throat and spoke, still in the guardedly low tone that gets to be a habit with the men in the trenches.

"Well, Porky, old sport," he said, affectionately patting the other's soggy knee, "you gave me a nice little old jolt this time for fair! How in the name of time did you get out there in that shell crater? Gosh, if it wasn't for my hunches I dunno where you would be when you pull off these stunts!"

"What's the matter with my hunches?" demanded the boy called Porky. "I don't see but what I have about as many as you have. I was waitin' for you. Knew you would hunt me up if I gave you time."

"Gave me time!" exclaimed the boy addressed. "Gave me time! I hustled out there as soon as I commenced to feel you wanted me. Honest, I don't see how people who are not twins ever get along. But I tell you they are laying for you at headquarters. The General is mad; just plain honest-to-goodness mad at you. I don't see why you had to pull off this and get us in all wrong." He leaned forward and whispered. "There is something doing up there—something big; and I think we are in on it. I don't know just how, but I heard enough to let me know that much. Perhaps you have queered it by cutting up this caper. Honest, Porky, what possessed you?"

"Possessed me?" exploded Porky. "Possessed me! Why, all I did was what I was told to do!"

"According to the General, you were sent on an errand that should have taken you half an hour. Instead you stay all day and I have to come dig you out of a shell crater about fifty feet from the German line. That's a peach of a way to do!"

"Say, hold up a minute!" said Porky. "Just you hold on! Of course I was sent on an errand! Know what it was? I was told to go get Lieutenant Bogardus and fetch him over to the General's headquarters. Well, I'm bringing him, ain't I? I have got him this far, anyhow. I am doing the best I can. I wish you could have seen me chasing that loon all over the place. I'm all in! I tell you, Beany, I have had some time! It makes me sore, too. I might have brought in a prisoner all by myself if I hadn't had to fool with the Lieutenant. Go down and see what they are doing, will you, please? I'm dog tired, and I've got to get a move on and report to the General as soon as I know whether Bogardus can go along up there with me. I bet he can't; and I was told to bring him back with me!"

He leaned back and shut his eyes while Beany slid down to the first aid room. A glance showed him the condition of the unfortunate Lieutenant, and he hurried back to his brother.

"He won't go anywhere with you this evening," he said with the unconcern of those who are used to terrible scenes and fearful wounds.

"Let's get on, then," said his brother, rising stiffly and moving off in the darkness.

The other followed, and without further conversation they wound their way through the ruined streets of a devastated village where unsightly heaps of stones and mortar marked the site of pleasant homes. Stumbling along over the shell-ploughed, uneven ground, they walked for perhaps a mile until they turned into what had been a magnificent private estate. Nothing but cracked and crumbling posts were left of the splendid gateway. They passed onward through the ruins of a wonderful old park where they were twice stopped by vigilant sentries who demanded the countersign and turned a flashlight on their muddy faces. Turning and twisting, they followed the path up to the ruined castle which stood on a little rise of ground.

At the door, a high carved portal hanging and swaying on one hinge, they were stopped by another soldier, who recognized them, saluted, and stepped aside. They were not delayed again. Through what had once been a magnificent entrance hall they went, turned down one passage after another, sometimes finding themselves in unroofed and utterly wrecked portions of the great building. At last they were in a narrow, covered hallway, at the end of which was a door.

The hall was quite dark; they could just see to make their way along. As they approached the door at the end, the form of a man stooping against the panels slipped aside and seemed to disappear into space. There was no turn, no further passage down which he could have gone. One moment he was outlined against the white surface; the next he had vanished.

The boys stopped involuntarily and turned to each other.

"Did you see that?" said Porky. "Or am I getting batty?"

"Where did he go!" said Beany quickly for answer.

They slowly approached the door. There was a little L in the passage at the end but no outlet, no doorway. The walls, heavily faced with ancient oak, had no opening.

"What was he doing?" said Porky.

"Listening, I should say," said his brother.

They looked the door over carefully, and listened with keen ears pressed against it. Not a murmur could be heard through its heavy surface. It was queer. Behind that door was the council room and private office of General Pershing. No one without proper credentials was ever allowed to enter the passageway leading to it. Yet both boys had seen the stooping figure, and both boys had seen it apparently vanish into space.

"Come on in," said Porky at last. "I have got to make my report."

"You go on," said Beany. "I don't have to report anything, and I want to look into this a little. It looks mighty queer to me. Where do you suppose that guy went?"

"Search me!" said Porky. "I know where this guy will go if I don't get on something dry and have a chance for a little sleep. Go ahead, prowl around and see what you can find."

He knocked, using a peculiar shuffling rap on the white panel. The door was instantly opened by a soldier and Porky stepped into the presence of the Commanding General.

CHAPTER II

THE PANEL IN THE WALL

A pair of piercing yet kindly eyes were fixed on Porky as he came to attention and awaited permission to approach the huge table at which sat General Pershing and several members of his staff. Porky was conscious of something serious in the air. The faces that looked up as he entered were serious, and some of them frowning. Colonel Bright threw him a glance, then continued his restless tramp up and down the further end of the large apartment. Only General Pershing seemed wholly at ease. He beckoned the boy. Porky came and stood opposite the General, the width of the table between them.

"Your report," said the General.

Porky breathed more freely. He was to be given a chance to explain his tardy arrival, at least, before being reprimanded.

"I report, sir, that I brought Lieutenant Bogardus as far as the First Aid Station in trench D," he said. "He is unconscious and could not come here. They think he will not die."

"He is unconscious," repeated the General, while Colonel Bright stopped his steady stride and stared at the boy.

"Yes, sir," said Beany.

"Did you find him at the wireless station?" asked the General.

"No, sir," said Porky.

"Where then?" snapped the officer with seeming impatience.

"In a shell crater, sir, just outside the German lines," said the boy.

The General started to his feet, then settled back in his chair.

"Make your report," he said quietly. "Make it unofficially, in your own way. I can follow it better."

"Yes, sir," said Porky, saluting again. He was so tired that he swayed, and involuntarily he caught at the edge of the table. The keen eyes watching him noticed.

"A chair!" he demanded, and some one shoved a seat toward Porky, who gratefully sank into it. He passed a weary, shaking hand across his brow.

"It is a pity to make you tell your story now," said the General kindly. "I am sorry. When you have finished you shall have a rest for a few days. But time means everything just now."

"I don't mind, sir," said Porky. Some one offered him a cup of hot tea and he drank it greedily. It revived him.

"I'm awfully obliged, General, sir," he said gratefully. "I guess I can tell the story clearer if I tell it sort of plain and fast.

"I went away from here, and went straight to the wireless station where you told me. I found the men all working over the instrument. One of the pins had come loose and had fallen out. They couldn't find it anywhere, and they were having a great fuss.

"The planes were trying to communicate with them, and signaling them to answer. One plane came so low we could see that they were crazy to say something. We didn't find out what they wanted, at least I didn't, because I started on after Lieutenant Bogardus. He had left the station just before I got there. I kept after him all afternoon. It seemed like every place he went, I got there just after he had gone on. He had that bunch of papers you gave him, General, and was leaving them all around at the different sectors and with the different officers you had had them addressed to. He certainly was a busy chap. I never could catch up with him. I guess I walked a million miles. It was fierce, too. Wherever I went, I found trouble. Just one of those days, you know, General."

"I know," said the General, smiling strangely.

"Well, sir, just before dark I was up in that opening between the trenches, just beyond the next village, you know, where the church used to stand. Somebody had told me that Lieutenant Bogardus had been seen walking that way, and it struck me that perhaps he had a few hours' leave, and was just roaming around for a rest. But I knew I had to collar him, so I went on looking, and pretty soon I saw somebody way ahead sort of going along among the tree trunks, as though he didn't care much to see anybody. He had on our uniform, and I had a hunch it was Lieutenant Bogardus. So I followed.

"He went on to a rise of ground, and before I could get close enough to see who it was, he whipped out a little bit of a pistol that made a funny little pop when it went off, and he shot it off; all the shots it held, I guess. He made a sort of code of it like a telegraph. Right off there was a couple of little pops in the same sort of voice, from over by the Germans. I thought it came from a tree over there. Anyhow, the man I was following looked around, didn't see anybody, and started right across in the open. Well, sir, that was pretty queer, it seemed to me! Some one in our uniform walking around out there and it made me forget all about Lieutenant Bogardus, and I commenced to follow. Only I got down and crawled. It was getting darker, but I could see perfectly plain. Then I guess somebody saw us, or a plane reported, or something. Anyhow, all at once both sides commenced to shoot. Well I thought I was a gone goose, sir. They hit everything but me, I should say. Then the Germans commenced to throw smoke bombs, and I nearly lost my man. But I hurried and most caught up to him, when I saw a German captain come sneaking along, and I guessed I would wait before I spoke to Lieutenant Bogardus, if it was him. Of course I was sure I was on the wrong trail by this time, but I thought as long as I was there I had better see what was doing, and look for Lieutenant Bogardus when I got back. I knew something pretty important was up, because those men wouldn't risk moseying around right in daylight almost. Gee, I didn't feel as big as anything!

"And in a minute I felt smaller than ever because a shell the size of a church came along from our lines, and bing! I was all dirt, and cut up with little stones, and when I could look around, there ahead was a big shell crater. I ran over and looked in. There was a bayonet lying there right on the edge, and I grabbed it. I don't know why, except you know how you feel about having a stick or something to hold and I was pretty glad I did afterwards. The man I had followed was lying there in the shell crater, on his back. I could see he was hurt pretty bad. A flare went up, and I saw it was Bogardus. He looked pretty bad. But what got my alleys, General, was that the German was beside him, and he was going through his pockets just like lightning. The German had a broken leg himself, but I didn't know that. Well, I let out a yell that was some yell, and I jumped down, bayonet and all, right on the German's neck. I was so mad I didn't think what I did. And I guess I sort of twisted his neck or something, because he crumpled right up, and I thought I had killed him. So I tried to straighten Bogardus out, and I put the papers that the Germ had back in his pocket, and what to do next I didn't know.

"And all at once I felt something behind me, and it was the other man. He had come to, and was trying to get his revolver out of his pocket. Gee, he looked at me ugly! I said as polite as I could, 'You cut that out!' but he got it loose, and shot at me, and he just did miss me and that was all. And then he tried again, and I had to do something quick, so I just took that bayonet—just took that bayonet—"

"All right," said the General. "All in the day's work, my boy. Go on!"

Porky swallowed hard a couple of times.

"Well, sir, there I was with Bogardus, and your orders to have him report to you; and he was not in any condition to report to anybody. So I had to wait until my brother could come and help me."

"How did he know where you were?" demanded the General in astonishment.

"He always knows," said Porky. "We are twins, and we always know when the other is in trouble of any sort. So I knew he would find me, and I just sat tight, and I did get a little worried, but I knew he would come, and he did."

Porky chuckled.

"And when he looked at me over the edge of that crater, I most threw a fit. I was looking for him so hard that it scared me when I saw him. Anyhow, there he was, and it was dark pretty soon, and we brought Bogardus back."

"You carried him?" asked the General.

"Yes, sir. He is pretty thin," said Porky simply.

"What became of the German?" asked the General.

"Back there in the shell crater," said Porky, frowning.

"I wonder if he had any valuable papers on him," mused the General.

"I don't know, sir," said Porky, beginning to fish in his pockets. "I thought of that, so I just went through him and took everything he had." He commenced to lay things out on the table in little piles. The men watched him with interest.

The collection was well worth while. Several official letters, some maps, a number of orders, and some codes. There was also a packet of blank paper that Porky put carefully aside. The General leaned over and picked it up.

"Nothing here," he said, tossing it down.

Porky picked it up.

"I don't know, sir," he said. "We had something like this at home awhile ago. We came near missing out on it, too. If you will excuse me!"

He leaned over and held the first page near the heat of the candle. On the instant the sheet was covered with fine writing.

The General gave a muttered exclamation and leaned back in his chair. "What next?" he demanded.

"That's about all," said Porky. "Bogardus is in hospital by now, I suppose, and I'm sorry it took me so long. I certainly did seem to miss him all around. I'm real sorry, sir. Next time you give me anything to do, I will try to do better."

"That would be impossible," said the General. "Just a moment, my boy, while I make a note or two, and then you can be relieved from all duty for forty-eight hours. You have earned a rest. We will have to go through these papers and plans carefully before we can decide anything for your future reference. Just sit there while I write."

He turned to his desk and, pulling a sheet of paper toward him, commenced covering it with his strong, distinctive handwriting. Porky, in the big chair opposite, watched him for a little, then he rested his head on his hand and commenced to think of all the events of the long, gruelling, wearisome day.

And presently he did not think at all; just listened to the steady scratch, scratch, scratch of the General's pen and the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of the Colonel as he softly paced up and down the length of the somber room. And presently that sound died away. Porky was asleep.

Beany, left to himself in the hall, went cautiously and with noiseless touch over every portion of the oak paneling. He could not find a joint or crack that looked like a secret door or hidden entrance. Then he examined the floor. It too appeared solid. But Beany had one of his hunches. It looked solid but he felt that it wasn't solid. The man he had seen was not a ghost. He was certainly too solid to disappear into thin air. He had come from somewhere, and he had gone somewhere. Benny made up his mind that he would find out if it took all night. He stood thinking. Then he whistled in an offhand manner, and walked loudly down the hall to the turn. Round the turn he went, until well out of sight. Then Beany tried a trick of his boyhood days. He knew from experience that any one watching for any one else always fixes his eyes about where they expect to see the face appear, never lower than that.

So Beany, dropping flat on the floor, worked his way back to the corner, flattened himself out to his flattest, and with face against the tiles waited patiently, his eyes fixed on the distant doorway. The hallway was lighted with a small and feeble kerosene lamp set high on a bracket. It gave a dim light, but Beany could see the door distinctly and the high wainscot on either side.

He stared at it steadily—so steadily and so long that when at last a narrow panel in the woodwork slid noiselessly over and a face looked out into the hall, Beany did not start; he did not feel surprised. All he was conscious of was a sort of triumph. He wanted to sing out for his own benefit, "I told you so."

The face staring from the panel looked straight down the hall, as Beany had known it would. A pair of bright, ferrety eyes stared at the turn, but not once did they drop to the floor where Beany's bright eyes watched every move. Beany had to smile, it was so funny. The unknown person leaned from the panel and watched four feet above Beany's face, while in plain sight on the floor Beany lay motionless and unnoticed.

He watched while the person (he could not tell at first whether it was a man or woman) looked and listened. Then as if assured that the coast was clear, the man, (for it was a man), stepped out of the dark slit in the wall, carefully closed the panel, and once more stood listening at the door. He listened intently, then stooped, and bending in a comfortable position on one knee, looked fixedly through the great old-fashioned keyhole.

Beany watched breathlessly.

For a long time—it seemed days to Beany—the man held his stooping position. Beany wished he too could see what was going on inside that door. He was sure, however, that it was nothing more exciting than Porky's account of his chase after Bogardus; and as Porky was an aggravatingly low talker, he was pretty sure the man at the keyhole would not be able to hear very much. Just the same, Beany knew that here was something serious and threatening. The man listened and looked so intently that Beany seriously thought of trying to creep up behind him, give the alarm, grab him and hang on, trusting to luck that the door would be opened soon enough to prevent the man from killing him. It was a crazy idea and Beany banished it. It was well that he did, for at that moment the panel, which had been left partly opened, slid wide and a second man appeared. He was a tall man, apparently in uniform. What his uniform was, Beany could not see. It was closely covered with a long, closely-buttoned linen coat and a nondescript cap covered his head. He tapped the man at the keyhole sharply, and the fellow straightened to a stiff salute. Beany could not help admiring their utter coolness in the face of discovery. At any moment the door might open; at any moment some one might come down the hall. Of course in that case, reflected our self-appointed sleuth, they would walk over his legs, and stop to make a fuss, during which the two men would pop into the wall again.

Then while Beany watched, there followed a violent, soundless discussion between the two. One and then the other stooped to the keyhole. Then the second man noiselessly stepped back into the hole in the wall and closed the panel after him.

By this time Beany was so excited that he had no conception of time. It seemed a long while before he saw the man at the door turn his head and look at the panel. Then at last Beany saw what he so wanted to see—the secret of its opening. The man's hand sought something in the upper left corner, Beany could not see in the poor light just what it was, but the man pressed hard, swinging considerable weight against it, and the panel slid smoothly back. Another figure appeared. It was a little, stooped woman. She had a worn broom in her hands.

Beany recognized her at once as the deaf and dumb peasant woman who pottered around the offices brushing up and doing what odd jobs they could make her understand about.

At the present moment, however, she was anything but deaf and dumb. She seized the man at the door by the shoulder and shook him violently, whispering a stream of comment in his ear. She waved her broom threateningly, with an eye on the door meanwhile. Beany wondered what she would do if any one did come out.

He felt sure she would manage to carry off the situation.

Whatever she said was badly received by the man. He pulled back and shook his head violently. She stamped her old foot noiselessly. He still rebelled, but she insisted in a continuous rush of whispered words, while Beany felt his mouth sag open and his eyes bulge with amazement. Even in the midst of his surprise he could not help wondering just what personal remarks he and Porky had made about her on a dozen different occasions in the few weeks that they had been there. However, there was one happy thought. He and his brother had spoken in English, a tongue that must as a matter of course have meant nothing to her ignorant old ears.

Beany was not to learn for a long while that the old, stooped, ugly peasant, looking so typically French and so pitifully silent and stupid, had once been a famous German actress, as well as one of the most brilliantly educated women of her time. Once there had been a day when her parlors in Berlin had been filled with the most renowned and high-born men and women in the world. Not only members of the highest circles of Germany, but representatives from every other country. To be asked to the home of Madame Z—— was the dream of every young diplomat, writer, artist and court favorite.

Yet now, perfectly disguised, stooped, bent, and old, clad in rags, she stood clutching in one hand a coarse home-made broom, while with the other she kept a tight grip on the shoulder of the rebellious man beside her.

At last he nodded, and she turned and shoved him before her into the passage in the wall, following close behind and closing the panel.

Beany was alone.

He leaped to his feet and tiptoed down to the door, a cautious eye on the panel. He lifted a hand to knock on the door, then paused, and in his turn applied an eye to the keyhole. It was a huge old keyhole, made in the days when keys were large enough to almost take the places of trench billies. He could see most of the room. The General sat writing at the desk. Across in an armchair Porky leaned on the table, sound asleep. There had been nothing for the spies to see this time, at any rate. Then a wild thought came into Beany's head.

He did not wait to consider it. It was a crazy thought, but to Beany in his excited state it was a sane idea.

He approached the panel, felt carefully in the upper corner, pressed a dozen carvings and then, just as he despaired, felt the heavy wood give under his touch. He pushed the trap open and without a moment's hesitation entered and closed the door behind him.

The passage was pitch dark.

CHAPTER III

MARKING TIME

Sitting at his great carved table, once part of the fittings of a glorious old library and now a desk littered with official papers and maps, in the room of one of the greatest commanders in the world, the General finished the paper he was filling out with so much care, and lifted his eyes to the boy sitting so silently across the table. Then a smile lighted the General's tired eyes.

"Asleep!" he said. "Brave lad, he is worn out! Can't we manage to get him off to bed without waking him?"

He pointed to a room opening off the one they were in. "There is an extra cot in my room," said the General. "A couple of you take him in there." He beckoned his orderly. '"Get him undressed and cover him well. Let him sleep as long as he may."

So it came about that this was done; and in the General's own room, Porky, like the healthy boy that he was, slept and slept and slept. He did not dream of the past hard hours. He did not think of home, the pleasant house so far away where the dear father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, lived their busy, helpful lives, trying not to let each other know just how they longed for the two splendid boys they had given to their country. But like others who had given their all, each knew just how the other felt, and so tried by countless little unaccustomed acts of tenderness to help each other along. Nor did Porky dream of the other boys, or the famous swimming hole. There were no nightmares of school; no visions of Professor Wilcox bearing a sheaf of examination papers. Porky just slept and slept!

Night passed, breaking into such a wild and storm-tossed morning that it was scarcely light at all. There was a lull in the fighting that day and, except for the sound of distant guns booming at close intervals, the place was silent enough. The office work went on quietly. A couple of typewriters clacked busily. It might almost have been an office on Broadway. The General sat long at his desk, then mounted and rode off, accompanied by his orderlies.

Colonel Bright, after scribbling a note which he addressed to "the Potter boys" and left on the desk, also took his horse and went clattering away toward Paris.

Noon came. Still Porky slept, but at about two o'clock he was awakened by the most faithful of all the alarm clocks that a boy can have. He was hungry, he was frightfully hungry, and his eyes came open with a pop as he rose to his elbow and tried to place himself.

When he recognized his surroundings, he bounded to his feet in a moment, and after some prodigious stretching, hurried into his clothes, which he found nicely dried and on a stool by his cot. There was a table by the cot, and on it a good breakfast; cold, of course, but it was food, and there was plenty of it. What more can a fellow ask?

When he went out into the office expecting to find the group he had left the night before, there were only a couple of Captains, strangers to him, officers who had just been transferred. Porky, found the note from Colonel Bright.

It said simply:

"Boys:

"General Pershing has gone away for a conference. I am off on almost the same errand, in another direction. When you wake up, Porky, you are to do as you like for forty-eight hours. It is a leave given you on account of your good work yesterday. I have not seen Beany at all to-day. I enclose a pass that will take you wherever you want to go within the lines. Don't go to the outer trenches. Better take time to write some letters home. We are in for some hot work here. I don't mind telling you that there is a leak somewhere. Keep your eyes and ears open.

"Your friend,

"COLONEL BRIGHT."

Porky folded the note and put it deep down in his pocket. Then he turned to look at the two officers. One of them was running the typewriter like a veteran; the other, with a puckered brow, was stabbing the keys with his middle fingers. He was making awful work of it.

Porky watched him for a while, then he went over and saluted.

"I would be glad to write to your dictation, sir," he said. "That is, if it is nothing personal."

"Well, I should say not!" said the officer. "I am Captain Dowd, and this is a letter to a military journal back home. They wrote me some time ago for some dope, and I jotted down something then. It is on scraps of paper, and they couldn't read it as it is now written. I wanted to put it in shape, and then add something of our later experiences. Do you think you can do it, and do you want to take the trouble?"

"Yes, sir," said Porky heartily. "I just woke up, and there is nothing for me to do until my brother blows in. There is no use for me to go after him, because he knows where I am. I can write it for you in no time."

"That's fine!" said the Captain in a relieved tone. "At the rate I can work that old machine, the war will be over about the time I finish; and that's not hurrying the war any too much either. I have a page done. You may go on from where I left off if you will."

Porky sat down and the Captain drew up a chair, and lighted a cigarette while he scanned the soiled, ragged sheets of paper in his hand.

"Here we are," he said. "Fire away!"

"We are now getting the finishing touches to our training, and you can rest assured that it is of the most finished description, and we are ready to get into the big fight at any time. Our regiment, one of the first over, was inspected by General Pershing the other day, and we feel that he was fully satisfied with it. We have been told so at any rate. Our regiment has learned the French open order drills which is by sections instead of squads. We have also had any amount of rifle shooting and certainly know how to shoot. Then, besides, we have had practice in throwing live hand-grenades until our arms ached, but the use of this deadly bomb is of the utmost importance for close fighting as one grenade properly thrown among the enemy is liable to wipe out a hundred men. Besides this, we have been taught to shoot hand-grenades and automatic rifles, and do about everything that is infernal in warfare. Our regiment and many of the others have all been supplied with steel helmets, which have been dubbed 'tin lizzies.' They are not so very comfortable to wear, but they have proved extremely valuable, just the same, and have saved many lives and more bad head wounds.

"We understand that the gas we are to greet the Germans with is a better article than their own. We surely do hope it is. We have had trench work galore, with dugouts and wire entanglements, some of them close on the enemy's front, and others in our own training area. We have marched about ten miles to the trenches, relieving other battalions about three A.M. and holding the trench until about six P.M. next day. At that time we are relieved by another battalion and get back to our billet about ten P.M. and by that time, what with trench work and the tramp of twenty miles, oh how precious we do find sleep!

"When we are within our training area, we do everything exactly as it is done on the firing line, including the guard work, which is divided into two reliefs, and everybody turns out at dawn, which is the usual time the enemy makes his raids, and we must be on the alert.

"We have had long marches, battalion, regimental and divisional maneuvers, and we always march with full pack and a gas mask slung over each shoulder."

The Captain laid down his papers and rolled another cigarette. Porky rested his hands on the desk.

"They have some new kind of mask, haven't they?" he asked.

"Yes; haven't you seen them!" asked the Captain.

"No, sir," said Porky. "I just heard them talking about them."

"They are similar to the old ones, but I believe they last longer," said the Captain. "They have a filter can for the air that is strapped at your belt Then there is the usual tube to your mouth. There is a rubber cap that sets over the front teeth and fits close to the gums, with little rubber dew hickeys to bite on so you won't lose it out. There are automatic rubber lips that close tight if you try to breathe in any outside air, but open for the air from the filter can."

Once more he picked up his papers.

"Our gas masks and our rifles we consider our best friends and never lose them.

"Perhaps some data regarding the numerous details of the military life we have to meet here may be of interest, and I will give you some of it.

"Stringent orders have been given to all organization commanders that they will be held strictly responsible for any dirty or rusty arms and equipment found among their men, and they must also see that their men are clean-shaven and that their billets are clean and orderly.

"A number of men who have disregarded orders have been seriously injured while riding on the top of cars. The French tunnels are very low, and the men have been knocked off. Other men, through carelessness, have fallen out of the cars. The failure to assemble organizations at the time set before the departure of trains has resulted in the leaving of a number of men behind, and the provost guards have had the job of rounding the men up and forwarding them to their command.

"Even in France the destination of the detachment must be kept absolutely secret throughout the journey. No matter how long or how short the journey turns out to be, the preparations are the same. Organizations must entrain with two days' field rations on the person of each man, two days' travel rations for each man in the car with men, and ten days' field rations in the baggage car.

"The field train of the organization entraining, must accompany it, with all its wagons loaded for the field, especially with the cooking utensils, water cans, paulins, three days' field rations for each man, together with two days' field rations for each animal.

"The French town major points out the training area and no other area can be used. Distances to other posts will generally be found on posts on the side of the road, shown in kilometers. A kilometer is five-eighths of a mile.

"All time commences at naught, and ends at twenty-four. Thus, for instance six P.M. would be eighteen."

"That's what gets my goat!" said Porky, stopping to fix the ribbon. "It does make the longest day, even after you get the hang of things, so you know whether you are in to-day, or some time next week."

"It would seem something that way," said the Captain, laughing. He continued to read from his paper.

"All troops proceeding to the front will have issued to them a small quantity of firewood with which to cook one meal on detraining. In the area of concentration a supply train will be forwarded each day to the rail head, from which supplies will be carried to the troops by the wagons of the train. All arrangements for the movements of troops and supplies by rail are made by the railway transport officer at the base port."

"Gee, some busy officer!" commented Porky.

"I'll say so," said the Captain, and went on reading.

"French military trains are made up as follows: One passenger car (first- or second-class, or mixed), thirty box cars, or third-class cars; seventeen flat or gondola cars; two caboose; total, fifty. Third-class cars are not provided for troops. They will carry eight men to a compartment. Box cars are usually provided for the troops. They will hold from thirty-two to forty men. Sometimes seats are provided, sometimes straw to lie on. Spaces at each end of the car are to be left clear for rifles, travel rations, and accouterments, the rifles being secured by a temporary rack made with screw rings and a strap for same. The horse cars hold eight horses in two rows of four, facing each other. The central space between doors is used for saddles and harness, forage, water cans and buckets, as well as the two men who travel in each car. Flat cars usually accommodate one, but sometimes two, wagons."

The Captain folded up the paper.

"Is that all?" asked Porky. "It sounds mighty interesting."

"I would like to add something more, if you don't mind writing it," said, the Captain.

"Of course not," said Porky. "I'm mighty glad to do it."

"Thanks," said the Captain. "It is certainly a relief to me." He leaned back in his chair, stared up at the ceiling, and commenced to dictate.

"The pages sent under this cover were jotted down by me some time ago. I can not give you the exact date, and up to the present time have not had the opportunity to put my notes in readable order or to get them mailed. We are now doing very interesting work at the front, living underground. We have very comfortable and well ventilated quarters, and are sleeping in bunks, on clean bed sacks filled with clean straw. The only objection is the rats, of which there are great numbers, but we have a cat and two dogs. The cat is a crackajack. I don't know how many rats he averages a day—would be afraid to say, in fact—but he is on the job all the time, and is wearing himself thin over it. The two dogs, small and of no known breed, run the cat a close second.

"I have never seen the boys happier than they are now. They feel as if they were really doing something worth while. I have heard the German shells and have seen German territory, and it certainly puts pep into a fellow, but as yet I can't say I've been scared.

"This place has seen some very heavy fighting, and the ground is covered with all sorts of debris. For many square miles there is not a single tree to be seen which has not been hit and killed. The ground is torn up to such an extent that there is no grass to be seen, and the only way I can describe it is to say that it looks like the ocean on a very rough day. The shell holes run into each other, and are often ten or twelve feet deep and thirty feet across. This place, which was once a French village, has been taken from the Germans, and the ground is covered with unexploded shells, hand-grenades, German helmets, old rifles, and all sorts of things that would make wonderful souvenirs if we could only get them home. In every little village around here, there is not a house or tree standing. I am writing in a room in the wing of what was once a magnificent old castle. It was evidently saved from destruction by the Germans, who wished it for the accommodation of their higher officers. We are using it for that same purpose.

"One of the most interesting things here is to watch the airplanes, both ours and the Germans. They are very hard to hit, and they usually don't pay much attention to the firing, but we watch the little bursts of white smoke from the French shells, and the black smoke from the Germans. I have often seen twenty-five or thirty little puffs of smoke at the same time around one machine, but have never seen one hit. The other day a German came over in a cloud while other German planes attracted the attention of our guns.

"He went right up to one of our observation balloons and fired his machine gun into the balloon, setting it on fire. The two men, an American and a Frenchman, came down in a parachute. They said they didn't mind it. Perhaps they didn't, but both were about as pale as they could be. I watched the whole performance. To-day we sent up another observation balloon with exactly the same result, except that the balloon didn't burn, but both men jumped out, coming down in two parachutes.

"It was exciting and a very pretty sight to see the white silk parachutes open up and glisten in the sun. Both landed safely, and wanted to go up again immediately, but could not, owing to the damaged balloon.

"There is some firing going on most of the time, even when there is no pitched battle, and our guns shake the dugout a bit, but we are supposed to be safe here underground and, anyway, the Boche shells don't seem to come this way, though we often hear them. By the way, our machine guns drove the Boche planes off this afternoon, and the balloon was pulled down safely.

"Another day, if I remain unhurt, which I have every intention of doing, I will give you further details of the life and work. As I said in the beginning, the men are well and happy. Strange as it may seem, there is much less illness than there in the training camps at home. I can't make this out unless the men as a general rule reach here greatly benefited by the sea voyage. Certainly the work is much harder, the conditions no better, and I guess 'sunny France' is an invention of the poets. However that may be, our splendid fellows are fit and fine, trim, and hard. We are going to win!"

The Captain leaned over and clapped Porky on the shoulder. "Kid, you're a brick!" he said. "That's all, and thank you a thousand times. It ought to hold 'em for a while, don't you think?"

"I should say it was some letter," said Porky. "And you are perfectly welcome." He rose and looked at his wrist watch, frowning as he did so. "Most night again," he said. "Seventeen o'clock by their queer old way of counting. It's mighty funny where my brother is." He walked restlessly to the window and with unseeing eyes stared hard at the ragged uptorn world outside.

CHAPTER IV

WHERE WAS PORKY?

Where was Beany?

Beany himself, trussed up neatly with many cords and wearing a scientific gag which made speech or yells impossible, yet which did not hurt him very much, would have been glad to have been able to answer that question.

Where was Beany? Beany didn't know where Beany was, and also he felt a natural and lively curiosity as to where Beany was going to be in the near future.

He had entered the passage in the wall on the spur of the moment; he had acted without counting the possible cost or the probable consequences.

Usually the boys acted together; if possible, they always left some clue for the other to follow. Hence they had hitherto come out of some pretty dark and serious scrapes with whole skins and a desire for further adventures. But this time Porky, in the General's office, Porky, sound asleep with his head on the General's desk, could not know that his twin brother was faring forth alone on a desperate adventure. If he had known at the moment what was happening, if any warning could have pierced his sleep-drugged brain, well, this story would not have been written.

Beany popped into the secret passage and slid the panel shut behind him with a careless backward-reaching hand. His eyes and his thoughts were on the pitchy dark before him. He thought with a sense of relief that he had a tiny flashlight in his pocket, but whether it would flash when required to do so was quite another matter.

Beany was bitter on the subject of flashlights, knowing well how apt they are to respond to every touch when not required particularly to do so, and having learned by sad experience that it was when the festive burglar was in the room, the pet kitten down the well, or the diamond in the crack that they would not flash at all. So he merely felt of the pocket where the flash reposed, and stood silent, back against the panel, waiting to accustom those marvelous eyes of his to the dense darkness.

Beany Potter had a gift given to few—eyesight that served him almost equally well by day or by night. There was scarcely a limit to his strange focus. And at night, like members of the cat family, he was able to make out not only forms, but in many cases features and colors as well.

When he had become used to the pitch blackness of the tunnel, he discovered that he was in an arched stone passage just wide enough for one person to walk without brushing the sides. It wound forward on an incline, and ten feet from where Beany stood turned a corner. Still forgetful of danger, he ran noiselessly forward and gained the turn, where he stood listening. There was not a sound to guide or warn him, so he went on, scarcely breathing. His footsteps made not the slightest sound, and he could feel that there was something soft and deadening under his feet, either fine sand or bran, or something of that nature, that had been spread for the purpose of stifling the sound of passing steps. Now he could clearly hear voices above, and decided that he was near or right under the room where the General had his office and held all his staff meetings.

Beany stopped at once and commenced tracing the sound. After a little he found the source. At one side of the passage a common funnel was set in the wall. Beany placed his ear to the funnel and was startled by the clearness with which he was able to distinguish sounds in the General's office. He could hear the scratching of the pen as the General wrote, the steady tramp, tramp of Colonel Bright as he paced the room. Even the steady breathing of his sleeping brother was plainly audible.

Beany seized the edge of the funnel and was about to tear it loose but decided that it was better to leave it apparently untouched. So he rammed his handkerchief tightly down the neck of the funnel, and chuckled to note that the sounds from the room were suddenly silenced. If any one should come behind him and try to listen, they would get one good big surprise, but no information, for the handkerchief was packed well out of sight.

This done, Beany turned and, smiling over his precious information, started back, when a sound, a far distant sound, rooted him to the spot. It was a woman crying in a low stifled tone. "Oh, oh, oh!" cried the voice with choking sobs.

Then another voice spoke, and a sneering, low laugh floated back to Beany. The sobbing voice cried out again in English.

"Oh, don't! Oh, please! Oh, I can't tell you because I don't know! Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!"

Beany forgot that he was alone, unarmed, a boy. He forgot the dark passage; he forgot caution. Afterwards he wondered why he did not think to call up the funnel for the help he needed. He just turned and, trusting to his wonderful eyes to take him safely over the black unknown path, he ran swiftly in the direction of the voice.

Around a corner, down a short, straight passage, around another corner, then through a low, narrow door that swung half way open, Beany shot into a large room or cavern. He did not stop to see where he was, but continued his chase across the space. There was another door beyond. A light shone through this door and Beany headed for it. From within the choked sobbing continued. Half way he smashed into something—a piece of heavy furniture of some sort. He rebounded as if from a blow, and staggered. Before he could get his balance again, a form appeared against the light in the door ahead and another form seemed to take shape from the dark bulk of the piece of furniture he had stumbled against. He was seized in a pair of steel-muscled arms, a heavy cloth was thrown over him and rolled tightly around him.

In the instant he was made helpless, powerless.

He heard rapid orders. Through the thick cloth he could see a dim glimmer of light. He was laid down on a couch of some sort, and tied, hands and feet.

Then and only then was the heavy cloth removed, and Beany, blinking in the glare of half a dozen electric lanterns, stared at the group around him.

He was lying on a great bed that was occupying the middle of the room. It seemed a funny place for a bed, but later Beany noticed that the moisture was thick on the walls and was dripping down the corners. The middle was about the only dry place. The covers had been luxurious—soft and silken comfortables padded with feathers, and delicate blankets, but they were soiled and torn by careless spurs. At the foot of the bed, staring at him with amazement in her face, was the old scrubwoman. It was evident that she recognized him. She had seen him often enough, Beany reflected. He returned her look and nodded. A big man, the one in the duster, standing close at Beany's side, noted the nod and rasped out a remark, directing it at the old woman. She did not condescend to notice him. Two other men were there. From the inner room the sobbing continued. Beany scowled. He fixed his eyes on the old woman.

"Somebody is being hurt," he remarked.

No one spoke. Beany did not take his eyes from the woman's face.

"I know you can hear," he informed her, "and I bet my hat you speak English! I wish you would talk and tell me who is getting hurt. I can't do any harm just at present."

The woman continued to stare at him for a moment, then bared her toothless gums in a cackling laugh. She nodded quite gaily.

"No, you can't do much harm either now or later, my little sparrow-hawk."

She spoke in clear, perfect English, with only the slightest accent to betray her German blood.

"I liked you two boys, up above. You were always agreeable to the poor old deaf and dumb woman. No sneers, no jokes about her, always nice and pleasant. Two nice boys! Made just alike, and such fonny names—Peany and Borky; so fonny!" She laughed again.

The man in the duster commenced to swear in German. Beany knew it was swearing, and recognized it as German.

The old woman raised her hand.

"Calm yourself, Excellency!" she said, with the air of royalty. "There is no need for excitement. Why should I not say what I please to this foolish child who has made such a great mistake; ah, such a great mistake?"

"It iss his last!" snarled the man in the duster, breaking into English. "His last; his last!" he kept repeating.

"Calm yourself," said the old woman, frowning. "We know that; it is all so easy; why do you annoy yourself? I am only sorry that it is one of those nice boys. Such pleasant, polite boys! The other will feel the lonesomeness very much; is it not so, my little sparrow-hawk?"

She smiled in the boy's face. Then she came to the side of the bed, and with a not ungentle hand arranged him in a more comfortable position. Then she touched the man in the duster, whom she called Excellency, and together they went into the farthest corner of the big room and whispered for a long time, while the two other men stood motionless beside the bed and watched Beany as closely as though they thought he might float off through the ceiling. Presently, as though they had come to a decision, Excellency returned, the old woman, whom he called Madame, at his side. They too stood and looked long at the boy.

"How did you get here?" asked Madame finally.

"Through the panel," said Beany, who knew there was no use keeping back anything they could so easily find out for themselves.

The old woman started to ask another question when the low sobbing in the other room was accented by a moan. With a glance at Beany's cords, the group beside him all went out of sight through the open doorway. In a few moments there was silence, with the sound of heavy breathing.

"Drugged!" guessed Beany.

Presently the two men returned. They took Beany from the bed, and sat him down in a chair, binding his legs tightly and, after searching him for a pistol, released his arms. A cord cunningly wrapped around his waist held him firmly in his seat. Beany was glad to have his hands free.

Hours passed. Beany felt cramped and was furiously hungry. His brain milled round and round in a ceaseless effort to find some way out of the situation. He did not feel proud of this last exploit. He had acted rashly and without the least glimmer of caution. He knew well that he was doomed. There was no possible finish but death, and if it could be a swift death without torture, it would only be on account of the ray of friendship that Madame felt for the two youngsters who had respected her infirmities and age.

Beany was against a blank wall. Knowing that he had no possible chance of escape, Madame climbed up on the bed, the three men disappeared in the inner room, and finally, to his amazement, Beany too dozed off, although he could not help thinking that it was not at all the thing to do under the circumstances.

When he woke, he was dazed and stiff. His legs, strapped tightly to the chair, felt asleep. Madame, fully dressed, as she had lain down hours before, sat blinking on the side of the bed.

"Well! Wie befinden sie sich?" she said, grinning at the prisoner.

Beany accepted the friendly tone, although he did not understand the words.

"Morning!" he offered in return.

Madame clapped her wrinkled hands sharply.

The man who had stared through the keyhole appeared.

"Coffee!" said Madame abruptly. It was a command.

The man saluted and withdrew, to return with a tray and a. steaming cup. Madame sat sipping the boiling draft, gazing at the boy meanwhile.

"It is really too bad," she said finally, in her careful, clear English. "Such a boyish, silly thing to do! And you see how it is. You are such a nice boy; I do hate to let them kill you, yet you cannot go back; you must see that. However, you shall have an easy way. I shall assert my authority. You look surprised. Do you think it strange that so old a woman, so frightful an old woman, should still have authority? Even so, I have plenty of it. I am powerful. If I chose, I could call the Emperor cousin. What do you say to that?"

She seemed to expect an answer. Beany did not know what to say, but after a pause in which she stared at him unwinkingly, he managed to retort, "Some dope!"

"Indeed, yes!" said Madame, to whom the slang was Greek. "Indeed, yes! Well, your coming has spoiled nothing but your own life. We have the information that we want, we have two prisoners who are most valuable. The others will go on to-day, while I, the cousin of an emperor, will for the time continue to wait on those pigs of officers upstairs. Deaf and dumb!"

She laughed silently, with queer little cackles. Then setting down the empty cup, she went into the inner room.

Beany sat thinking the big thoughts that come at hours so filled with doom. Yet somehow it did not seem possible to him that he was to be snuffed out so soon; he, Beany Potter! He looked at his wrist watch. The crystal was broken but the watch was still running. Beany started to wind it, then stopped. What would be the use?

"Well, it may as well go as long as I do," he reflected, and finished winding it. It sounded loud as thunder in the quiet room.

He commenced to think of his brother with all his might. His spirit called to him over and over. He thought again of the time and remembered that although he had looked at his watch, he had not noticed the time at all.

Once more he looked. To his amazement it was noon.

Beany commenced idly feeling through his pockets. If he could only find some way of communicating with Porky before it was too late! All at once his fingers closed on an object that he knew. His face lighted..... If there was any way—Oh, if there was any way!

Then Beany's clean boy soul went down upon its knees, while Beany, lashed to the chair, closed his eyes and prayed. Earnestly, humbly he prayed for help; and then, feeling that he had done all he could in the way of asking, opened his eyes and set his whole mind on Porky. He kept his hand in his pocket closed on the object he had chanced on.

Presently the two men came back, untied the cords that bound Beany to the massive chair, tied his hands behind his back, untied his ankles and led him into the inner room. Beany flashed a curious glance around it.

The room was not dark, like the room he had just left. It was well lighted by grated windows overgrown outside with heavy underbrush. Beany guessed that they were away from the ruined castle itself and somewhere out on the grounds. There was more furniture, and another bed like the one in the room that he had just left.

On this tumbled couch lay a form closely covered with a blanket.

"Dead, whoever he is," said Beany to himself.

Facing him was a straight chair and in it, bound and gagged, was a young man in the uniform of the French army. He was trussed up until movement of any sort seemed impossible. Most of his face was covered with the cloths that formed the gag, but over the bandages a pair of sharp, intelligent eyes flashed a message to Beany. He had been buffeted and racked, threatened with all the horrors imaginable and subjected to some of them, but from out those eyes looked a spirit that blows could never break and death itself could never quell. Beany returned the look with a long gaze. He underwent a new agony. Not only was he unable, through his foolhardy action, to save his own life, but here was another as well that he could not save. For he knew that the youth before him must be doomed. His gaze roved to the bed. There was something strangely graceful and soft about the outlines of the form under the comfortable. He felt his hair prickle on his head. All at once he knew. It was a girl! It had been her voice he had heard sobbing. As he looked, he hoped and prayed that she was indeed dead. He stifled a groan.

Madame gave an order. He was once more fastened securely in a chair and the old woman came beside him and offered him a paper and pencil.

"You may write a note to that twin brother of yours," she said. "We are through with this underground hole. It is damp, anyway. I do not need any further help. But you shall write and tell your brother where to look for you. I will see that he gets it in good season. Not to-day, nor yet to-morrow. Little boys in these war-times must be taught not to meddle. Write what you will."

Beany took the pencil obediently, and wrote:

"Open panel at right of office door by pressing upper left-hand carving. Send some one else to look for me. Love to Mother and Father. Good-by.

"BEANY."

Madame took the brief note and read it. "That is short, but it will do," she said. Then she turned to the others. "As soon as it is dark take your prisoners to the foot of the garden. There will be a French car there. The girl, as you know, is to be taken unharmed. Go to our own base. We will make her speak when we get her there. You know what to do with this other."

She picked up a broom and grinned down at Beany. "I am going up to see what they are doing above. Don't you wish you had had the sense not to meddle?"

As she passed him Beany strained forward against his bonds and caught her by the dress. He clasped her knees in his agony.

"Please, please, Madame!" he cried. "Please don't let them kill me! I promise that I won't tell!" His voice went up in a cry that was almost a whine. The old woman broke away from him in disgust.

"Bah! You are all alike! live, live, live always! Why don't you learn to die, you Americans! That is what we have got to teach you!" She struck him smartly across the face, and moved to the door with a backward look of command.

"Be ready when I return," she said. "In the meantime not a sound!" She grinned at Porky. "I will see you once more, young man," she chuckled, and left the room.

As the door hid her from view, Beany drew a long breath. He seemed strangely excited and relieved. Once more he consulted his watch. It would be at least an hour before dark. There was a fighting chance. Death or life? Life or death? His fate was trembling in the balance.

Where was Porky?

CHAPTER V

TO THE RESCUE

Porky was getting worried. It was growing late, and there was no sign of Beany.

He asked a couple of the aides when they came in if they had seen anything of his brother, but no one had any news for him. Porky looked into the narrow hall at intervals, and twice he went out and wandered around the grounds that surrounded the castle. But nothing of Beany!

Finally he returned to the office, and took up his station at the window where he could see far down what had been the drive. The office was in a room in what had been the wing, and jutted out into the space now soiled and useless, which had once been a lovely, widespread garden of lawns and flowers, but which now looked worse than any ploughed field.

Something kept pulling at Porky's heart. He knew the feeling, had had it often; and it told him, as it always did, that his twin brother, whom he loved so well, was in trouble and needed him. Usually he felt something that impelled him to go in a certain direction in search of Beany; something, a force directing him—he never could tell just what it was. But he always obeyed it, and so did Beany, to whom the same feelings came. But now Porky sat irresolutely at the window, baffled and worried. He felt anchored to the spot, yet knew in his heart that his brother's need was great. Every time he got to his feet and started out of the room, something pulled him back. Finally in despair, he settled down and stared with unseeing eyes into the growing darkness of the ruined gardens.

His heart beat heavily. His mind and soul called his brother, demanding an answer from the silence and the night. The officers and aides who had been in the room left it, and Porky was alone. Presently, as the waiting grew almost more than the boy could endure, a slight sound caused him to turn around. It was the old scrubwoman, broom in hand.

"Hullo!" said Porky, and turned back to the window. He was too badly worried to be polite.

"Hay-loo!" said the old cracked voice in broken English. Porky looked around again. She was standing at his side, smiling at him, a queer grinning leer not at all pleasant. Porky felt an insane desire to ask her if that was the best she could do. But he did not. He simply stared at her, at the wrinkled face and bright, twinkling, keen eyes. Porky felt that those eyes were almost too keen, almost too intelligent for that old peasant woman.

They looked steadily at each other, Porky wondering more and more at the expression on the old mask of a face. She was little, bent and feeble; she scarcely came to tall Porky's shoulder; yet to the sensitive, worried boy as he gazed at her there came a feeling of something wicked, powerful, and threatening. There seemed to the alert senses of the boy that there was a knowing twinkle in the old eyes when she looked questioningly around the room, and said, "Your brodder. Ware iss he?"

"I don't know," said Porky slowly. "You didn't see him outside, did you?"

"No, I dit not see heem outsite; me, I have seen nozzing outsite."

She smiled and wagged her old head, looked piercingly at Porky again, and turned away. Porky watched her squat old bent figure, then drew his breath sharply as something caught his eye! It was something caught on one of the ample folds of her ragged skirt, something that glittered! All the blood in Porky's body seemed to make a mad rush to his head, then ebbed back to his heart. He started toward the old woman, then stopped and thought, staring at the object on her skirt. He knew it well. The old woman stooped to pick up something and the object on her skirt swung free and glittered in the uncertain light. Porky drew a sharp breath as he recognized his brother's message. For a message he knew it to be. The little glittering object was a leather fob strap. At the end dangled a swimming medal that Beany had won long ago. He had always carried it as a pocket piece, and in some way it had accompanied him on the Great Adventure. It had never been out of Beany's pocket.

Yet there it was, hanging to a fold of the old woman's tattered dress swinging and glittering! Evidently she did not know that it was there.

Porky, suddenly alert, started to his feet and took an impulsive step toward the old woman. Then, before she had time to notice his action, he stopped. He could not remove the dangling medal without letting her know that something was up, and his only move was to watch her when she left the room. Somewhere, Beany was in trouble! Porky realized that the message of the medal was a desperate, last resort. A million to one shot, he told himself anxiously; but it had reached him, and while he lived there was hope for Beany. He studied the old scrubwoman with a new understanding. She no longer appeared harmless, stupid and ignorant. The keen twinkle in her old eyes; what had it meant? The seemingly simple and innocent question, "Your brodder. Ware iss he?" was just to sound him, the boy decided. He knew, all at once, that she knew all about Beany. To follow her was to find his brother, alive, or ... Porky could not say the rest even to his own soul. He would follow her! He would find the brother whom he loved better than his own life! His blood boiled when he thought of the condition he might find that dear one in, and he set his jaw in a way that promised desperate things.

Old Elise went pottering around the room, unconscious of the glittering eyes bent steadfastly on her, and ignorant of the glittering trifle fastened to her dress. Porky felt that he would gladly barter years of his life to know how it came to be there, but he clung to the happiest reason that he could think up: Beany himself had in some way fastened it on the old woman. Porky decided to obey the summons as he imagined them to have been sent. By hook or crook, he would follow the old woman, sly and crafty as he now believed her to be. By hook or crook, he would find his brother. Starting towards the old woman, he waited until she stooped over the General's table, wiping off the papers with a careful, shaking old hand. Porky, suspicious of everything now, fancied that she swiftly read the words on the uppermost pages, but he was busy with deft fingers unfastening the fob from the tattered skirt. He slipped it in his pocket, picked up a pencil and pad from the table, and once more sat down by the window. A few minutes later, while the old woman still pottered around, Porky rose and idly left the room, whistling as he did so. He unconsciously repeated Beany's performance in the dusky hall. He went to the turn, and dropping on one knee, bent a steady gaze on the door he had just closed. He was rewarded in a moment by a sight of the old woman. She came out of the General's office, softly closing the door behind her, and commenced feeling over the secret panel. It opened, and she entered, closing it as she went, but not before Porky was beside it, his eye on the spot he had seen her old fingers press. He waited for what seemed to him an eternity, then pressed the carved ornament of old oak. It gave, and the opening panel disclosed the passage in the wall down which Beany had so recklessly followed his quarry.

Porky was cautious, yet determined. Noiselessly he trailed the old spy until they reached the great chamber where the big bed was. Not once did she look behind. It did not occur to her that she could possibly be watched or followed. She had grown careless. She did not even mind the fact that she had left the heavy door swinging ajar behind her. Why, indeed, should she? Was not the door in the panel too cunningly contrived for any one to find, except perhaps that Boy Scout who now sat fettered in his chair waiting his end? His brother ... bah! She had left him above. She crossed the room, and stooped to reach a shawl she had thrown on the high bed. As she bent, something light and strong and cat-like leaped upon her seizing her wrinkled throat in a vise-like grip. She could not scream. In a second the curtain of the bed was wrapped over her, fold on fold. She struggled furiously, but to no avail. She was nearly smothered. Porky didn't much care. He worked in a frenzy of haste. He pulled down the thick cords that had been used to pull the bed curtains open and shut, and tied his human bundle securely. Then with a cautious thought he shoved her under the high bed, and made for the inner room.

It was silent. A single candle burned on the table. Beany sat in his chair. He was bound and gagged. As Porky sped across the room he saw the diabolical contrivance hanging above the boy's head.

A massive blade with a heavily weighted handle hung directly over the boy, point down. The cord which held the weapon passed through a pulley to another pulley, and from there to the table. There it was fastened to a short stick that was strapped to the alarm key of a common alarm clock. As Porky's quick glance took in the whole scene, the little alarm clock gave the cluck that precedes the striking of the alarm. Porky made a dash across the room, as the alarm commenced to sound and, seizing his brother's chair, swung him aside as the whirling alarm key tightened the cord. One after another, with deadly swiftness, the cords tightened until a quick pull on the smallest cord of all, a mere thread, snapped it.

The heavy blade seemed for a moment to balance in air, then it dropped down and buried its razor point six inches deep in the old floor.

Not until then did Porky slash the cords which bound his brother, and as Beany shook himself free, with many faces to ease his tired jaw where the gag had pressed it, Porky dropped limply into a chair and mopped his brow.