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Title: The Moving Picture Boys on the War Front
       Or, The Hunt for the Stolen Army Films

Author: Victor Appleton

Release Date: February 10, 2006 [EBook #17744]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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THE
MOVING PICTURE BOYS
ON THE WAR FRONT

OR

The Hunt for the Stolen Army Films

BY
VICTOR APPLETON

AUTHOR OF "THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS," "THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS
UNDER THE SEA," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT
AND HIS AERIAL WARSHIP," ETC.

_ILLUSTRATED_

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS





Copyright, 1918, by GROSSET & DUNLAP

_The Moving Picture Boys on the War Front_

[Illustration: IT TOOK ALL THE NERVE OF THE THREE LADS TO STAND AT
THEIR POSTS AND SEE MEN KILLED.]


=CONTENTS=


CHAPTER                         PAGE

I     A CALL TO BATTLE             1

II    THE ACCIDENT                11

III   MONSIEUR SECOR              20

IV    ALL ABOARD                  29

V     ANXIOUS DAYS                39

VI    A QUEER CONFERENCE          47

VII   "PERISCOPE AHOY!"           56

VIII  BEATEN OFF                  65

IX    SUSPICIONS                  72

X     THE FLASHLIGHT              80

XI    THE DEPTH CHARGE            88

XII   IN ENGLAND                  97

XIII  UNDER SUSPICION            105

XIV   IN CUSTODY                 114

XV    THE FRONT AT LAST          121

XVI   THE FIRING LINE            130

XVII  BOWLED OVER                138

XVIII TRENCH LIFE                145

XIX   GASSED                     153

XX    "GONE!"                    161

XXI   ACROSS NO MAN'S LAND       170

XXII  CAPTURED                   179

XXIII THE AIRSHIP RAID           189

XXIV  BURIED ALIVE               199

XXV   THE END OF LABENSTEIN      206




=THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE WAR FRONT=




CHAPTER I

A CALL TO BATTLE


"Come on now, ready with those smoke bombs! Where's the Confederate
army, anyhow? And you Unionists, don't look as though you were going to
rob an apple orchard! Suffering snakes, you're going into battle and
you're going to lick the boots off the Johnnie Rebs! Look the part! Look
the part! Now, then, what about the cannon? Got plenty of powder in 'em
so there'll be lots of smoke?"

A stout man, with perspiration running down his face, one drop trickling
from his nose, was hurrying up and down the field.

On one side of him was a small army composed of what seemed to be Civil
War Union soldiers. A little farther back was a motley array of
Confederates. Farther off was an apple orchard, and close beside that
stood a ramshackle farmhouse which was soon to be the center of a
desperate moving-picture battle in the course of which the house would
be the refuge of the Confederates.

"The old man is sort of on his ear this morning, isn't he, Blake?" asked
Joe Duncan of his chum and camera partner, Blake Stewart. "I haven't
heard him rage like this since the time C. C. dodged the custard pie he
was supposed to take broadside on."

"Yes, he's a bit nervous, Joe; but----"

"Nervous isn't the word for it, Blake. He's boiling over! What's it all
about, anyhow? Is he mad because I was a bit late getting here with the
extra reels of film?"

"No, he didn't say a word about that. It's just that he can't get this
battle scene to suit him. We've rehearsed it and rehearsed it again and
again, but each time it seems to go worse. The extras don't seem to know
how to fight."

"That's queer, considering all the war preparations that have been going
on here since we got in the game against Germany," observed Joe Duncan,
as he made some adjustments to his camera, one of several which he and
Blake would use in filming part of a big serial, a number of scenes of
which were to center around the battle in the apple orchard. "With all
the volunteering and drafting that's been going on, soldiers quartered
all over and as thick as bees around the cities, you'd think these
extra fellows would know something about the game, wouldn't you?"

"You'd think so; but they seem to be afraid of the guns, even though
they are loaded with blanks. Here comes Mr. Hadley again, and he's got
fire in his eyes!"

Mr. Hadley, producer of the Consolidated Film Company, approached Jacob
Ringold, a theatrical manager who was in charge of the company taking
the parts in "The Dividing Line," which was the name of the Civil War
play.

"Look here, Jake!" exclaimed Mr. Hadley, "is this supposed to be a
desperate, bloody battle, or a game of tennis?"

"Why, a battle scene, of course, Mr. Hadley!"

"Well, I'm glad to know it! From the way most of your people just
rehearsed it, I thought I might be in the wrong box, and looking at a
college football game. But no, I wrong the college game! That would be
more strenuous than this battle scene, at least as far as I've watched
it. Can't you get a little more life into your people?"

"I'll try, Mr. Hadley," answered the manager, as the producer walked
over to the two boys who stood near their cameras waiting for the word
to be given, when they would begin grinding out the long reels of
celluloid film.

"This is positively the worst production I've ever been in!" complained
Mr. Hadley to Blake. "Did you ever see such a farce as when the
Confederates were hidden in the orchard and the Unionists stormed over
the stone wall? You'd think they were a lot of boys going after apples.
Bah! It makes me weary!"

"It isn't very realistic," admitted Blake.

"Mr. Ringold's talking to them now like a Dutch uncle," observed Joe, as
he idly swung the crank of his camera, the machine not being in gear.

"Well, I hope it does some good," observed the producer. "If it isn't
better pretty soon, I'll let all these extra men go and hire others
myself. I want that battle scene to look halfway real, at least."

"It'll be a failure, I know it will," observed a melancholy-looking man
who strolled up at this juncture. "I saw a black cat as I came from my
room this morning, and that's always a sign of bad luck."

"Oh, leave it to you to find something wrong!" exploded Mr. Hadley.
"Can't you look on the cheerful side once in a while, C. C.?" he asked,
forgetting that he, himself, had been prophetic of failure but a few
moments before.

"Humph!" murmured C. C., otherwise Christopher Cutler Piper, a comedian
by profession and a gloom-producer by choice, "you might have known
those fellows couldn't act after you'd had one look at 'em," and he
motioned to the mobs of extra men, part of whom formed the Confederate
and the other half the Union armies. "There isn't a man among them who
has ever played Macbeth."

"If they had, and they let it affect them as it does you, I'd fire them
on the spot!" laughed Mr. Hadley; and at this, his first sign of mirth
that day, Blake, Joe and some of the others smiled.

"I don't want actors for this," went on the producer. "I want just plain
fighters--men who can imagine they have something to gain or lose, even
if they are shooting only blank cartridges. Well, I see Jake has
finished telling them where they get off. Now we'll try a rehearsal once
more, and then I'm going to film it whether it's right or not. I've got
other fish to fry, and I can't waste all my time on 'The Dividing Line.'
By the way," he went on to Joe and Blake, "don't you two young gentlemen
make any long-time engagements for the next week."

"Why?" asked Blake.

"Well, I may have a proposition to submit to you, if all goes well. I'll
talk about it when I get this battle scene off my mind. Now, then, Jake,
how about you?"

"I think it will be all right, Mr. Hadley. I have talked to my extra
actors, and they promise to put more verve and spirit into their work."

"Verve and spirit!" cried the producer. "What I want is _action_!"

"Well, that's the same thing," said the manager. "I've told them they
must really get into the spirit of the fight. I think if you try them
again----"

"I will! Now, then, men--you who are acting as the Confederates--you
take your places in and around the farmhouse. You're supposed to have
taken refuge there after escaping from a party of Unionists. You fortify
the place, post your sentries and are having a merry time of
it--comparatively merry, that is, for you're eating after being without
food for a long time.

"The farmhouse is the property of a Union sympathizer, and you eat all
the more heartily on that account. He has two daughters--they are Birdie
Lee and Miss Shay," he added in an aside to the moving picture boys.
"Two members of your company--yes, I'm speaking to you Confederates, so
pay attention--two members of your company make love to the two
daughters, much to their dislike. In the midst of the merry-making and
the love scenes the Union soldiers are reported to be coming. You
Johnnie Rebs get out and the fight begins.

"And let me tell you if it isn't a better fight this time than any
you've put up before, you can pack your duds and get back to New York.
You've missed your vocation, take it from me, if you don't do better
than you have! Now, then, Union soldiers, what I said to the enemy
applies to you. Fight as though you meant it. Now, one more rehearsal
and I'm going to start you on the real thing."

Under the direction of the assistants of Mr. Ringold, while Mr. Hadley
looked on critically, the Confederates took their positions in and about
the old house. They rehearsed the merry-making scenes and Miss Lee and
Miss Shay took the parts of the daughters of the Union sympathizer. The
two girls, being actresses of some experience, did very well, and the
extra people evidently improved, for Mr. Hadley nodded as if satisfied.

"Now, then, Unionists, move up!" he called. "March along the road as if
you didn't care whether you met Stonewall Jackson and his men or not.
Get a reckless air about you! That's better. Now, then, some action!
Lively, boys!"

This part, too, went better; and after a little more rehearsal the
producer called to Blake and Joe.

"Go to it, boys! Get the best results you can from this mimic battle.
Maybe you'll soon be where it's hotter than this!"

"What does he mean?" asked Joe, as he picked up his camera and took his
position where he could film the scenes at the farmhouse.

"I don't know," answered Blake, who was to take pictures of the
marching Unionists. "Maybe there are more stunts for us to do in
Earthquake Land."

"If there are I'm not going! I'd rather do undersea stuff than be around
volcanoes."

"So would I. But we'll talk about that later. Say, that looks better!"
and he motioned to the so-styled Confederates, who did seem to be
putting more life into their work.

"Yes," agreed Joe. "I guess when it comes to shooting, and all that,
there'll be action enough even for Mr. Hadley."

A little later the mimic battle scene was in full swing. Hundreds of
blank cartridges were fired, smoke bombs filled the air with their dense
vapor, and in the distance bursting shells tore up the earth, far enough
removed from the positions of the men to preclude any danger.

The Unionists closed in around the farmhouse. Close-up scenes were made,
showing Birdie Lee and Miss Shay fighting off their Confederate
admirers.

Then came the turn in the battle where the Southern force had to give
way.

"Burn the house, boys!" cried their officer; and this would be flashed
on the screen later as a lead.

The dwelling, which had been purchased with the right to burn it, was
set afire, and then began a scene that satisfied even the exacting
producer. Great clouds of smoke rolled out, most of it coming from
specially prepared bombs, and amid them and the red fire, which
simulated flames, could be seen the Union leader carrying out his
sweetheart, Birdie Lee.

Blake and Joe ground away at their cameras, faithfully recording the
scenes for the thrill and delight of those who would afterward see them
in comfortable theaters, all unaware of the hard work necessary to
produce them.

The Confederates made a last stand at the barn. They were fired upon by
the Unionists and finally driven off down the road--such as were left of
them--while the victorious Northern fighters put out the fire in the
house and the scene ended in the reuniting of long-separated lovers.

"Well, I'm glad that's over!" remarked Mr. Hadley, as he came up to
Blake and Joe where they were taking their cameras apart in readiness
for carrying them back to the studio. "It didn't go so badly, do you
think?"

"I think it'll be a fine picture!" declared Joe.

"The last stand of the Confederates was particularly good," observed
Blake.

"Good!" cried the producer. "That's a fine line for a leader--'The Last
Stand.' I must make a note of it before I forget it. And now you boys
can go back to New York. Have the films developed the first thing and
let me know how they have come out."

"They'll probably be spoiled," put in the gloomy voice of C. C.

Mr. Hadley looked around far something to throw at him, but having
nothing but his note book, which was too valuable for that, contented
himself with a sharp look at the gloomy comedian.

"When will you want us again, Mr. Hadley?" asked Blake, as he and Joe
made ready to go back in the automobile to New York, the "Southern"
battle scene having taken place in a location outside of Fort Lee on the
New Jersey bank of the Hudson River, where many large moving picture
studios are located.

"Oh, that's so! I did want to talk to you about something new I have in
mind," said Mr. Hadley. "Blake--and you, too, Joe--are you game for some
dangerous work?"

"Do you mean such as we had in Earthquake Land?" asked Blake.

"Or under the sea?" inquired his partner.

"This is a call to battle," replied Mr. Hadley. "And it's real battle,
too! None of this smoke-bomb stuff! Boys, are you game for some actual
fighting?"




CHAPTER II

THE ACCIDENT


Not at all to the discredit of the moving picture boys is it to be
considered when it is recorded that, following this question on the part
of Mr. Hadley, they looked sharply at one another.

"A call to battle!" murmured Joe.

"Actual fighting?" added his chum wonderingly.

"Perhaps I'd better explain a bit," went on the film producer. "Most
unexpectedly there has come to me an opportunity to get some exceptional
pictures. I need resourceful, nervy operators to act as camera men, and
it is only paying you two a deserved compliment when I say I at once
thought of you."

"Thank you," murmured Blake.

"No thanks necessary," responded Mr. Hadley.

"So now I am ready to put my offer into words. In brief, it is----"

At that moment back of the farmhouse (which was partly in ruins, for
the fire had been a real one) a loud explosion sounded. This was
followed by shouts and yells.

"Somebody's hurt!" cried Mr. Hadley, and he set off on a run toward the
scene, followed by Blake and Joe.

And while they are investigating what had happened, advantage will be
taken of the opportunity to tell new readers something of the former
books in this series, so they may feel better acquainted with the two
young men who are to pose as "heroes," as it is conventionally termed,
though, in truth, Joe and Blake would resent that word.

"The Moving Picture Boys" is the title of the first volume of the
series, and in that the readers were introduced to Blake Stewart and Joe
Duncan while they were working on adjoining farms. A moving picture
company came to the fields to make certain scenes and, eventually, the
two young men made the acquaintance of the manager, Mr. Hadley.

Blake and Joe were eager to get into the film business, and their wish
was gratified. They went to New York, learned the ins and outs of the
making of "shifting scenes," as the Scotchman called them, and they had
many adventures. The boys became favorites with the picture players,
among whom were the gloomy C. C., Miss Shay, Miss Lee, Harris Levinberg
and Henry Robertson. Others were added from time to time, sometimes
many extra men and women being engaged, in, for instance, scenes like
these of "The Dividing Line."

Following their adventures in New York, which were varied and strenuous,
the moving picture boys went out West, taking scenes among the cowboys
and Indians.

Later they moved on, with the theatrical company, to the coast, where
they filmed a realistic picture of a wreck. In the jungle was where we
next met Blake and Joe, and they were in dire peril more than once,
photographing wild animals, though the dangers there were surpassed when
they went to Earthquake Land, as they called it. The details of their
happenings there will be found in the fifth volume of the series.

Perilous days on the Mississippi followed, when Blake and Joe took
pictures of the flood, and later they were sent to Panama to make views
of the digging of the big canal.

Mr. Hadley was a producer who was always eager for new thrills and
effects. And when he thought he had exhausted those to be secured on the
earth, he took to the ocean. And in "The Moving Picture Boys Under the
Sea," the book that immediately precedes the present volume, will be
found set down what happened to Blake and Joe when, in a submarine, they
took views beneath the surface.

They had not long been home from their experiences with the perils of
the deep when they were engaged to make views for "The Dividing Line,"
with its battle pictures, more or less real.

"What's the matter? What happened? Is any one hurt?" cried Mr. Hadley,
as he ran toward the scene of the explosion, followed by Blake and Joe.
They could see, by a large cloud of smoke, that something extraordinary
had occurred. The figures of several men could be noted running about.

"Is anybody hurt?" demanded the producer again, as he and the two boys
reached the place. "I'll send the ambulance, if there is." For when a
film battle takes place men are often wounded by accident, and it is
necessary to maintain a real hospital on the scene.

"I don't believe any one's hurt," remarked Mr. Robertson, who did
juvenile leads.

"Unless it might be C. C.," remarked Mr. Levinberg, who was usually cast
as a villain. "And small loss if he was laid up for a week or so. We'd
be more cheerful if he were."

"Is C. C. hurt?" asked Joe.

"No; but I guess he's pretty badly scared," answered Mr. Robertson.
"After this I guess he'll have more respect for a smoke bomb."

"Was that what exploded?" asked Mr. Hadley.

"Yes," replied the "villain." He pointed to Mr. C. C. Piper walking
along in the midst of a group of soldiers. "It happened this way: We
were talking about the battle scene, and C. C. kept saying it would be a
failure when projected because the smoke bombs were not timed right. He
said they should explode closer to the firing line, and some of the men
who handled them said they held them as long as they dared before
throwing them.

"Old C. C. sneered at this, and said he could hold a smoke bomb until
the fuse was burned down out of sight, and then throw it and get better
results. So they dared him to try it."

"Well?" asked Mr. Hadley, as the actor paused.

"Well, C. C. did it. He held the smoke bomb, all right, but he didn't
throw it soon enough, and, as a result, it exploded almost in his face.
Lucky it's only made of heavy paper and not very powerful powder, so he
was only knocked down and scorched a little. But I guess he'll have more
respect for smoke bombs after this."

"Foolish fellow!" remarked Mr. Hadley. "He never will listen to reason.
I hope he isn't badly hurt."

"It's only his feelings, mostly," declared the juvenile actor.

Mr. Piper, otherwise called C. C., came limping along toward the
producer and the moving picture boys.

"Mr. Hadley, you may have my resignation, effective at once!" cried the
tragedian.

"Oh, don't say that, Mr. Piper. You're not hurt----"

"Well, it isn't any thanks to one of your men that I'm not. I offered to
show them how to throw a smoke bomb, and they gave me one with an extra
short fuse. It went off almost in my face. If my looks aren't ruined my
nerves are, and----"

"No danger of your _nerve_ being gone," murmured Blake, nudging his
chum.

"I should say not!"

"Anyhow, I resign!" declared C.C. savagely.

But, as he did this on the average of twice a week, it had become so now
that no one paid any attention to him. Mr. Hadley, seeing that he was in
no danger and hardly even painfully scorched, no longer worried about
the gloomy comedian.

"And now to get back to what we were talking about before that
interruption came," said Mr. Hadley to the moving picture boys. "Do you
think you'd like to tackle the job?"

"What is it?" asked Blake.

"Give us an idea," added his chum.

"Well, it isn't going to be any easy work," went on the producer. "And I
might as well tell you, first as last, that it will be positively
dangerous on all sides."

"Like anything we've done before?" Blake wanted to know.

"Not exactly. Earthquake Land is as near like it as anything that occurs
to me. In short, how would you like to go to Europe?"

"To the war?" cried Joe.

"Yes; but to take films, not prisoners!"

"Great!" cried Blake. "That suits me, all right!"

"The same here!" agreed Joe instantly. "Tell us more about it!"

"I will in a few days," promised the producer. "I have several details
to arrange. Meanwhile, I have a little commission for you along the same
line, but it's right around here--or, rather, down in Wrightstown, New
Jersey, at one of the army camps.

"I can tell you this much: If you go to Europe, it will be as special
agents of Uncle Sam, making films for the use of the army. You will be
commissioned, if my plans work out, though you will be non-combatants.
The war department wants reliable films, and they asked me to get some
for them. I at once thought of you two as the best camera men I could
pick out. I also have a contract for getting some films here of army
encampment scenes, and you can do these while I'm waiting to perfect my
other arrangements, if you like."

"Down at Wrightstown, is it?" cried Joe. "Well, I guess we can take
that in. How about it, Blake?"

"Sure we can. That is, if you're through with us on this serial."

"Yes. The most important scenes of that are made now, and some of my
other camera men will do for what is left. So if you want to go to the
Jersey camp I'll get your papers ready."

"We'll go," decided Blake.

Two days later, during which they wondered at and discussed the
possibilities of making films on the battle fronts of Europe, the two
youths were in Wrightstown.

One incident occurred while they were at work there that had a
considerable bearing on what afterward happened to them. This was after
Joe and Blake had finished making a fine set of films, showing the
drilling of Uncle Sam's new soldiers, the views to be used to encourage
enlistments about the country.

"These are some of the best views we've taken yet in this particular
line," observed Joe to Blake, as they sent the boxed reels to New York
by one of their helpers to be developed.

"Yes, I think so myself. Of course, they're peaceful, compared to what
we may take in France, but----"

He was interrupted by the unexpected return of Charles Anderson,
nicknamed "Macaroni," their chief helper, who hurriedly entered the
tent assigned to the two boys.

"What's the trouble, Mac?" asked Joe, that being the shortened form of
the nickname. "You look worried."

"And so would you, Joe, if you'd had an accident like mine!"

"An accident?" cried Blake, in some alarm.

"Yes! At least, he _said_ it was an accident!"

"Who said so?"

"That Frenchman!"

"What accident was it?"

"Why, he ran into me with his auto, and the army films are all
spoiled--light-struck!"

"Whew!" whistled Blake, and Joe despairingly banged his fist against his
camera.




CHAPTER III

MONSIEUR SECOR


Macaroni sank down on a chair. Blake said, afterward, their young
assistant gave a very fair imitation, as far as regarded the look on his
face, of C.C. Piper.

"Ruined! Just plumb ruined!" murmured Charles Anderson.

"But what happened? Tell us about it!" begged Joe. "You say some one ran
into you?"

"Yes. I was in the small auto taking the films you gave me to the
station, and I had just about time to catch the express when I saw this
fellow turning out of one of the side streets of the camp."

"What fellow?" asked Blake.

"I don't know his name," answered Macaroni. "But he's a Frenchman sent
here, I've heard, to help instruct our men. He's some sort of officer."

"And his machine ran into yours?" asked Blake.

"Smack into me!" answered his helper. "Knocked the box of films out on
the road, and one wheel went over it. Cracked the box clean open, and,
of course, as the film wasn't developed, it's light-struck now, and
you'll have to take all those marching scenes over again!"

"That's bad!" murmured Joe. "Very bad!"

"Did you say it was an _accident_?" asked Blake pointedly.

"That's what _he_ said," replied Charlie. "He made all sorts of
apologies, admitted it was all his fault, and all that. And it was,
too!" burst out Macaroni. "I guess I know how to be careful of
undeveloped films! Great hopping hippodromes, if I couldn't drive a car
any better than that Frenchman, I'd get out of the army! How he has any
license to buy gasolene, I can't imagine! This is how it was," and he
went into further details of the occurrence.

"I brought the films back, covering 'em with a black cloth as soon as I
could," went on Charles; "but I guess it's too late."

"Let's have a look," suggested Blake. "It may not be so bad as you
think."

But it was--every bit, and Joe and Blake found they would have to make
the whole series over, requiring the marching of thousands of men and
consequent delay in getting the completed films to the various
recruiting centers.

"Well, if it has to be done, it has to be," said Joe, with a philosophic
sigh. "And making retakes may delay us in getting to Europe."

"That's right!" agreed Blake. "But who is this fellow, anyhow, Charlie?
And what made him so careless? An accident like this means a lot to us
and to the Government."

"I should say it did!" agreed Macaroni. "And it was the funniest
accident I ever saw!"

"How so?" asked Joe.

"Well, a little while before you finished these films this same French
officer was talking to me, asking if there were to be any duplicates of
them, and questions like that."

"And you told him?"

"Yes. I didn't see any reason for keeping it secret. He isn't a German.
If he had been I'd have kept quiet. But he's an accredited
representative from the French Government, and is supposed to be quite a
fighter. I thought he knew how to run an auto, but he backed and filled,
came up on the wrong side of the road, and then plunged into me. Then he
said his steering gear went back on him.

"Mighty funny if it did, for it was all right just before and right
after the accident. He was all kinds of ways sorry about it, offered to
pay for the damage, and all that. I told him that wouldn't take the
pictures over again."

"And it won't," agreed Blake. "That's the worst of it! Did you say you
had seen this Frenchman before, Mac?"

"Yes; he's been around camp quite a while. You must have seen him too,
you and Joe; but I guess you were so busy you didn't notice. He wears a
light blue uniform, with a little gold braid on it, and he has one of
those leather straps from his shoulder."

"You mean a bandolier," suggested Joe.

"Maybe that's it," admitted Macaroni. "Anyhow, he's a regular swell, and
he goes around a lot with the other camp officers. They seem to think he
knows a heap about war. But, believe me, he doesn't know much about
running an auto--or else he knows too much."

"Well, seeing that he's the guest of this camp, and probably of Uncle
Sam, we can't make too much of a row," observed Blake. "I'll go and tell
the commandant about the accident, and have him arrange for taking a new
series of views. It's too bad, but it can't be helped."

"It could have been helped if anybody with common sense had been running
that auto, instead of a frog-eating, parlevooing Frenchman!" cried
Macaroni, who was much excited over the affair.

"That's no way to talk about one of our Allies," cautioned Joe.

"Humph!" was all Charles answered, as he looked at the wrecked box of
film. "I s'pose he'll claim it was partly my fault."

"Well, we know it wasn't," returned Blake consolingly. "Come on, we'll
get ready to do it over again; but, from the way Mr. Hadley wrote in his
last letter, he'll be sorry about the delay."

"Is he eager for you to get over on the other side?" asked the helper.

"Yes. And I understand he asked if you wanted to go along as our
assistant, Mac."

"He did? First I wasn't going, but now I believe I will. I don't want to
stay on the same side of the pond with that Frenchman! He may run into
me again."

"Don't be a C. C.," laughed Joe. "Cheer up!"

"I would if I saw anything to laugh at," was the response. "But it sure
is tough!"

The moving picture boys felt also that the incident was unfortunate, but
they were used to hard luck, and could accept it more easily than could
their helper.

The commanding officer at the camp was quite exercised over the matter
of the spoiled films.

"Well," he said to Blake when told about it, "I suppose it can't be
helped. It may delay matters a bit, and we counted on the films as an
aid in the recruiting. There have been a good many stories circulated,
by German and other enemies of Uncle Sam, to the effect that the boys in
camp are having a most miserable time.

"Of course you know and I know that this isn't so. But we can't reach
every one to tell them that. Nor can the newspapers, helpful as they
have been, reach every one. That is why we decided on moving pictures.
They have a wider appeal than anything else.

"So we army men felt that if we could show pictures of life as it
actually is in camp, it would not only help enlistments, but would make
the fathers and mothers feel that their sons were going to a place that
was good for them."

"So they are; and our pictures will show it, too!" exclaimed Blake. "On
account of the accident we'll be a bit delayed, and if that Frenchman
runs his auto----"

"Well, perhaps the less said about it the better," cautioned the
officer. "He is our guest, you know, and if he was a bit awkward we must
overlook it."

"And yet, after all, I wonder, with Mac, if it was a pure accident,"
mused Blake, as he walked off to join Joe and arrange for the retaking
of the films that were spoiled. "I wonder if it was an accident," he
repeated.

In the days that followed the destruction of the army films and while
the arrangements for taking new pictures were being made, Joe and Blake
heard several times from Mr. Hadley. The producer said he was going to
send Macaroni abroad with the two boys, if the wiry little helper would
consent to go; and to this Charles assented.

He would be very useful to Joe and Blake, they felt, knowing their ways
as he did, and being able to work a camera almost as well as they
themselves.

"Did the boss tell you just what we were to do?" asked Blake of Joe one
day, when they were perfecting the details for taking the new pictures.

"No. But he said he would write us in plenty of time. All I know is that
we're to go to Belgium, or Flanders, or somewhere on the Western front,
and make films. What we are to get mostly are pictures of our own boys."

"Most of them are in France."

"Well, then we'll go to France. We're to get scenes of life in the camps
there, as well as in the trenches. They're for official army records,
some of them, I believe."

"And I hope that crazy Frenchman doesn't follow us over and spoil any
more films," added Charles, who was loading a camera.

"Not much danger of that," was Joe's opinion.

"Come, don't nurse a grudge," advised Blake.

It was about a week after this that the two boys were ready to take the
first of the camp pictures over again.

"Better make 'em double, so there won't be another accident," advised
Charles.

"Oh, don't worry! We'll take care of them this time," said Blake.

The long lines of khaki-clad soldiers marched and countermarched. They
"hiked," went into camp, cooked, rushed into the trenches, had bayonet
drill, and some went up in aeroplanes. All of this was faithfully
recorded by the films.

Blake and Joe were standing together, waiting for the army officer to
plan some new movements, when a voice behind the two lads asked:

"Pardon me! But are these the new official films?"

Joe and Blake turned quickly before replying. They saw regarding them a
slim young fellow with a tiny moustache. His face was browned, as if
from exposure to sun and air, and he wore a well-fitting and attractive
blue uniform with a leather belt about his waist and another over his
shoulder.

"Yes, these are the official films," answered Blake.

"And are you the official artists?"

"Camera men--just plain camera men," corrected Joe.

"Ah, I am interested!" The man spoke with a slight, and not unpleasing,
accent. "Can you tell me something about your work?" he asked. "I am
very much interested. I would like to know----"

At that moment Macaroni slid up to Blake with a roll of new film, and
hoarsely whispered:

"That's the guy that knocked into me and spilled the beans!"

The Frenchman, for it was he, caught the words and smiled.

"Pardon," he murmured. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Monsieur
Secor, and I believe I did have the misfortune to spoil some films for
you. A thousand pardons!" and Monsieur Secor, with a quick glance at the
two boys, bowed low.




CHAPTER IV

ALL ABOARD


Blake was about to make a sharp reply to the polite Frenchman, when he
happened to remember what the commanding officer had said. That was that
this man was, in reality, a guest of the nation. That he had come over
instructed to give as much help as he could in getting the new soldiers
in readiness to go "over the top."

"And so I guess I'd better not say what I was going to," mused Blake.
Then, to Monsieur Secor he replied:

"I'm sorry, but we're not supposed to talk about our work without the
permission of the commanding officer. You see----"

"Ah, I comprehend!" exclaimed the Frenchman, with another bow--a bow
altogether too elaborate, Joe thought. "That is as it should be! Always
obey orders. I asked, casually, as I am much interested in this motion
picture work, and I have observed some of it in my country. So it was
your films that I had the misfortune to spoil? I greatly regret it. I
suppose it made much extra work for you."

"It did, Monsieur Secor," replied Joe rather shortly. "That is the work
we are doing now."

"And if you will excuse us," went on Blake, "we shall have to leave this
place and go to the other side of the parade ground. I'm sorry we cannot
tell you more of our work, but you will have to get an order from----"

"Non! Non!" and the blue-uniformed officer broke into a torrent of rapid
French. "It does not matter in the least," he began to translate. "I
asked more out of idle curiosity than anything else. I will watch as
much of your work as is permissible for me to see. Later I shall observe
the finished films, I hope."

"If you don't bust 'em again!" murmured Macaroni, when out of the
officer's hearing. "I wouldn't trust you any too much," he added, as he
and the two chums moved away to get views of the soldiers from a
different angle.

"What's wrong between you and Monsieur Secor?" asked Joe. "I mean, aside
from his having run into you, which he claims was an accident?"

"Well, maybe it was an accident, and maybe it wasn't," said Charles.

"But that isn't all. I know you, Mac. What else do you mean?" demanded
Blake, as Joe began to set up the camera in the new location.

"Well, I don't want to make any accusations, especially against a French
officer, for I know they're on our side. But I heard that Sim and
Schloss are pretty sore because you fellows got this work."

"Sim and Schloss!" repeated Blake. "That Jew firm which tried to cut
under us in the contract for making views of animals in Bronx Park?"

"That's the firm," answered Macaroni. "But they're even more German than
they're Jews. But that's the firm I mean. One of their camera men was
telling me the other day they thought they had this army work all to
themselves, and they threw a fit when they heard that Hadley had it and
had turned it over to you."

"It goes to show that Duncan and Stewart are making a name for
themselves in the moving picture world," said Blake, with a smile.

"It goes to show that you've got to look out for yourselves," declared
Charlie Anderson. "Those fellows will do you if they can, and I wouldn't
be surprised to hear that this frog-eating chap was in with them, and
maybe he spoiled your films on purpose, by running into me."

"Nonsense!" cried Blake, speaking confidently, though at heart a little
doubtful. "In the first place. Monsieur Secor wouldn't do anything to
aid a German firm. That's positive! Again he would have no object in
spoiling our films."

"He would if he's in with Sim and Schloss," suggested Joe, taking sides
with their helper. "If he could throw discredit on us, and make it
appear that we were careless in doing our work, our rivals could go to
the war department and, in effect, say: 'I told you so!' Then they could
offer to relieve us of the contract."

"Well, I suppose that's true," admitted Blake. "And we haven't any
reason to like Sim and Schloss either. But I don't believe they could
plot so far as to get a French officer to help them as against us.

"No, Charlie," he went on, having half convinced himself by his
reasoning, "I can't quite agree with you. I think it was an accident on
the part of Monsieur Secor. By the way, what's his army title?"

"He's a lieutenant, I believe," answered Joe. "Anyhow, he wears that
insignia. He's mighty polite, that's sure."

"Too polite," said Macaroni, with a grim smile. "If he hadn't waited for
me to pass him the other day he might not have rammed me. Well, it's all
in the day's work, I reckon. Here they come, boys! Shoot!"

Blake and Joe began grinding away at the camera cranks, with their
helper to assist them. Charles Anderson was more than a paid employee
of the moving picture boys. He was a friend as well, and had been with
the "firm" some time. He was devoted and faithful, and a good camera man
himself, having helped film many large productions.

In spite of what he had said, Blake Stewart was somewhat impressed by
what Charles had told him. And for the next few days, during which he
was busily engaged on retaking the films, he kept as close a watch as he
could on Lieutenant Secor. However, the attitude and conduct of the
Frenchman seemed to be above suspicion. He did not carry out his
intention, if he really had it, of seeking permission from the
commanding officer to observe more closely the work of Blake and Joe.
And for a few days before the last of the new films had been taken the
blue-uniformed officer was not seen around the camp.

Blake and Joe were too busy to ask what had become of him. Then, too,
other matters engaged their attention. For a letter came from Mr.
Hadley, telling them and Charles to hold themselves in readiness to
leave for England at any time.

"It's all settled," wrote the producer. "I have signed the contracts to
take moving picture films of our boys in the French trenches, and
wherever else they go on the Western front. You will get detailed
instructions, passes, and so on when you arrive on the other side."

"When do we sail?" asked Joe, after Blake had read him this letter, and
when they were preparing to go back to New York, having finished their
army camp work.

"The exact date isn't settled," answered his partner. "They keep it
quiet until the last minute, you know, because some word might be
flashed to Germany, and the submarines be on the watch for us."

"That's so!" exclaimed Joe. "Say, wouldn't it be great if we could get
one?"

"One what?" asked Blake, who was reading over again certain parts of Mr.
Hadley's letter.

"A submarine. I mean film one as it sent a torpedo to blow us out of the
water. Wouldn't it be great if we could get that?"

"It would if the torpedo didn't get us first!" grimly replied Blake. "I
guess I wouldn't try that if I were you."

"I'm going to, if I get a chance," Joe declared. "It would make a great
film, even a few feet of it. We could sell it to one of the motion
weeklies for a big sum."

"It's hardly worth the risk," said Blake, "and we're going to have
plenty of risks on the other side, I guess."

"Does Mr. Hadley say how we are to go?" asked Joe.

"From New York to Halifax, of course, and from there over to England.
They search the ship for contraband at Halifax, I believe, or put her
through some official form.

"From England we'll go to France and then be taken to the front. Just
what will happen when we get on the other side nobody knows, I guess.
We're to report at General Pershing's headquarters, and somebody there,
who has this stunt in hand, will take charge of us. After that it's up
to you and Charles and me, Joe."

"Yes, I suppose it is. Well, we'll do our best!"

"Sure thing!" assented Blake.

"We will if some ninny of a frog-skinning Frenchman doesn't try to ram
us with an airship!" growled Macaroni. He had never gotten over the
accident.

"I believe you are growing childish, Mac!" snapped Blake, in unusual
ill-humor.

The last of the army camp films had been made and sent in safety to the
studios in New York, where the negatives would be developed, the
positives, printed by electricity, cut and pasted to make an artistic
piece of work, and then they would be ready for display throughout the
United States, gaining recruits for Uncle Sam, it was hoped.

Blake and Joe said good-bye to the friends they had made at the
Wrightstown camp, and, with Macaroni, proceeded to Manhattan. There they
were met by Mr. Hadley, who gave them their final instructions and
helped them to get their outfits ready.

"We'll take the regular cameras," said Blake, as he and Joe talked it
over together, "and also the two small ones that we can strap on our
backs."

"Better take the midget, too," suggested Joe.

"That's too small," objected the lanky helper. "It really is intended
for aeroplane work."

"Well, we may get some of that," went on Joe. "I'm game to go up if they
want me to."

"That's right!" chimed in Blake. "I didn't think about that. We may have
to make views from up near the clouds. Well, we did it once, and we can
do it again. Pack the midget, Charlie."

So the small camera went into the outfit that was being made ready for
the steamer. As Blake had said, he and his partner had, on one occasion,
gone up in a military airship from Governor's Island, to make some views
of the harbor. The experience had been a novel one, but the machine was
so big, and they flew so low, that there was no discomfort or danger.

"But if we have to go over the German lines, in one of those little
machines that only hold two, well, I'll hold my breath--that's all!"
declared Joe.

Finally the last of the flank films and the cameras had been packed, the
boys had been given their outfits, letters of introduction, passports,
and whatever else it was thought they would need. They had bidden
farewell to the members of the theatrical film company; and some of the
young actresses did not try to conceal their moist eyes, for Blake and
Joe were general favorites.

"Well, do the best you can," said C. C. Piper to them, as he and some
others accompanied the boys to the pier "somewhere in New York."

"We will," promised Blake.

"And if we don't meet again in this world," went on the tragic comedian,
"I'll hope to meet you in another--if there is one."

"Cheerful chap, you are!" said Blake. "Don't you think we'll come back?"

Christopher Cutler Piper shook his head.

"You'll probably be blown up if a shell doesn't get you," he said. "The
mortality on the Western front is simply frightful, and the percentage
is increasing every day."

"Say, cut it out!" advised Charlie Anderson. "Taking moving pictures
over there isn't any more dangerous than filming a fake battle here when
some chump of an actor lets off a smoke bomb with a short fuse!"

At this reference to the rather risky trick C. C. had once tried, there
was a general laugh, and amid it came the cry:

"All aboard! All ashore that's going ashore!"

The warning bells rang, passengers gathered up the last of their
belongings, friends and relatives said tearful or cheerful good-byes,
and the French liner, which was to bear the moving picture boys to
Halifax, and then to England, was slowly moved away from her berth by
pushing, fussing, steaming tugs.

"Well, we're off!" observed Blake.

"That's so," agreed Joe. "And I'm glad we've started."

"You aren't the only ones who have done that," said Macaroni. "Somebody
else has started with you!"

"Who?"

For answer the lanky helper pointed across the deck. There, leaning up
against a lifeboat, was Lieutenant Secor, smoking a cigarette and
seemingly unconscious of the presence of the moving picture boys.




CHAPTER V

ANXIOUS DAYS


For a moment even Blake, cool as he usually was, seemed to lose his
head. He started in the direction of the Frenchman, against whom their
suspicions were directed, thinking to speak to him, when Joe sprang from
his chair.

"I'll show him!" exclaimed Blake's chum and partner, and this served to
make Blake himself aware of the danger of acting too hastily. Quickly
Blake put out his hand and held Joe back.

"What's the matter?" came the sharp demand. "I want to go and ask that
fellow what he means by following us!"

"I wouldn't," advised Blake, and now he had control of his own feelings.

"Why not?"

"Because," answered Blake slowly, as he smiled at his chum, "he might,
with perfect truth and considerable reason, say it was none of your
business."

"None of my business? None of our business that he follows us aboard
this ship when we're going over to get official war films? Well, Blake
Stewart, I did think you had some spunk, but----"

"Easy now," cautioned Macaroni. "He's looking over here to see what the
row's about. There! He's looking right at us."

The Frenchman did, indeed, seem to observe for the first time the
presence of the boys so close to him. He looked over, bowed and smiled,
but did not leave his place near the rail. He appeared to be occupied in
looking at the docks and the shipping of New York harbor, glancing now
at the tall buildings of New York, and again over at the Jersey shore
and the Statue of Liberty.

"Come on back here--behind the deckhouse," advised Blake to his chum and
Macaroni. "We can talk then and he can't see us."

And when they were thus out of sight, and the vessel was gathering way
under her own power, Joe burst out with:

"Say, what does all this mean? Why didn't you let me go over and ask him
what he meant by following us on board this vessel?"

"I told you," answered Blake, "that he'd probably tell you it was none
of your business."

"Why isn't it?"

"Because this is a public vessel--that is, public in as much as all
properly accredited persons who desire may go to England on her.
Lieutenant Secor must have his passport, or he wouldn't be here. And, as
this is a public place, he has as much right here as we have.

"And of course if you had asked him, Joe, especially with the show of
indignation you're wearing now, he would have told you, and with perfect
right, that he had as much business here as you have. He didn't follow
us here; I think he was on board ahead of us. But if he did follow us,
he did no more than some of these other passengers did, who came up the
gangplank after us. This is a public boat."

Joe looked at his chum a moment, and then a smile replaced the frown on
his face.

"Well, I guess you're right," he announced. "I forgot that anybody might
come aboard as well as ourselves. But it does look queer--his coming
here so soon after he spoiled our films; whether intentionally or not
doesn't matter."

"Well, I agree with you there--that it does look funny," said Blake
Stewart. "But we mustn't let that fact get the better of our judgment.
If there's anything wrong here, we've got to find it out, and we can't
do it by going off half cocked."

"Well, there's something wrong, all right," said Charlie Anderson,
smiling at his apparently contradictory statement. "And we'll find out
what it is, too! But I guess you're right, Blake. We've got to go slow.
I'm going below to see if our stuff is safe."

"Oh, I don't imagine anything can have happened to it--so soon," said
Blake. "At the same time, we will be careful. Now we must remember that
we may be altogether wrong in thinking this Frenchman is working against
us in the interests of our rivals, Sim and Schloss. In fact, I don't
believe that firm cares much about the contract we have, though they
have tried to cut in under us on other matters. So we must meet
Lieutenant Secor halfway if he makes any advances. It isn't fair to
misjudge him."

"I suppose so," agreed Joe. "Yet we must be on our guard against him.
I'm not going to give him any information about what we are going across
to do."

"That's right," assented Blake. "Don't talk too much to
anybody--especially strangers. We'll be decent to this chap, but he is
no longer a guest of our nation, and we don't have to go out of our way
to be polite. Just be decent, that's all--and on the watch."

"I'm with you," said Joe, as Macaroni came back to say that all was well
in their cabin where they had left most of their personal possessions.
The cameras and the reels of unexposed film were in the hold with their
heavy baggage, but they had kept with them a small camera and some film
for use in emergencies.

"For we might sight a submarine," Joe had said. "And if I get a chance,
I'm going to film a torpedo."

By this time the vessel was down in the Narrows, with the frowning forts
on either side, and as they passed these harbor defenses Lieutenant
Secor crossed the deck and nodded to the boys.

"I did not know we were to be traveling companions," he said, with a
smile.

"Nor did we," added Blake. "You are going back to France, then?"

The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders in characteristic fashion.

"Who knows?" he asked. "I am in the service of my beloved country. I go
where I am sent. I am under orders, Messieurs, and until I report in
Paris I know not what duty I am to perform. But I am charmed to see you
again, and rest assured I shall not repeat my lamentable blunder."

"No, I'll take good care you don't run into me," muttered Macaroni.

"And you, my friends of the movies--you camera men, as you call
yourselves--you are going to France also?"

"We don't know where we are going, any more than you do," said Blake.

"Ah, then you are in the duty, too? You are under orders?"

"In a way, yes," said Blake. "We are, if you will excuse me for saying
so, on a sort of mission----"

"Ah, I understand, monsieur! A thousand pardons. It is a secret mission,
is it not? Tut! Tut! I must not ask! You, too, are soldiers in a way. I
must not talk about it. Forget that I have asked you. I am as silent as
the graveyard. What is that delightful slang you have--remember it no
more? Ah, I have blundered! Forget it! Now I have it! I shall forget
it!" and, with a gay laugh, he smiled at the boys, and then, nodding,
strolled about the deck.

"He's jolly enough, anyhow," remarked Joe.

"Yes, and perhaps we have wronged him," said Blake. "The best way is not
to talk too much to him. We might let something slip out without knowing
it. Let him jabber as much as he likes. We'll just saw wood."

"I suppose he'd call that some more of our delightful slang, and
translate it 'render into small pieces portions of the forest trees for
the morning fire,'" laughed Joe. "Well, Blake, I guess you're right.
We've got to keep things under our hats!"

"And watch our cameras and films," added Charlie. "No more
accidental-purpose collisions for mine!"

In the novelty and excitement of getting fairly under way the moving
picture boys forgot, for the time being, the presence of one who might
be not only an enemy of theirs but of their country also. It was not the
first time Blake and Joe had undertaken a long voyage, but this was
under auspices different from any other.

The United States was at war with a powerful and unscrupulous nation.
There were daily attacks on merchantmen, as well as on war vessels, by
the deadly submarine, and there was no telling, once they reached the
danger zone, what their own fate might be.

So even the start of the voyage was different from one that might have
been taken under more favorable skies. Soon after they had passed into
the lower bay word was passed that the passengers would be assigned to
"watches," or squads, for lifeboat drill, in anticipation of reaching
the dangerous submarine zone.

And then followed anxious days, not that there was any particular danger
as yet from hostile craft, but every one anticipated there would be,
and there was a grim earnestness about the lifeboat drills.

"I have been through it all before--when I came over," said Lieutenant
Secor to the boys; "but it has not lost its terrible charm. It is a part
of this great war!"

And as the ship plowed her way on toward her destination the anxious
days became more anxious, and there were strained looks on the faces of
all.




CHAPTER VI

A QUEER CONFERENCE


Halifax was safely reached, nothing more exciting having occurred
between that port and New York than a severe thunder storm, and, after
the usual inspection by the English authorities, the ship bearing the
moving picture boys was once more on her way.

The lifeboat drills were rigorously kept up, and now, as the real voyage
had begun, with each day bringing nearer the dreaded submarine peril,
orders were given in regard to the display of lights after dark. The
passengers were ordered to be in readiness, to keep life preservers at
hand, and were told that as soon as the actual danger zone was reached
it would be advisable for all to keep their clothing on at night as well
as during the day.

"But the destroyers will convoy us, won't they?" asked Charlie Anderson.

"Oh, yes! They'll be on hand to greet us when the time comes," answered
Blake. "Uncle Sam's as well as King George's. But, for all that, a
submarine may slip in between them and send a torpedo to welcome us."

"Then's when I'm going to get busy with the small camera," declared Joe.

"A heap of good it'll do you to get some pictures of it, if the ship is
blown up," remarked his chum.

"Oh, well, I'm going to take a chance. Every ship that's torpedoed
doesn't sink, and we may be one of the lucky ones. And if I should
happen to get some views of a destroyer sinking a submarine--why, I'd
have something that any camera man in the world would be proud of!"

"That's right!" agreed Blake. "But don't take any chances."

Joe promised to heed this advice, and he was really enthusiastic about
his chance of getting a view of an oncoming torpedo. That he might get
views of a warship or a destroyer sinking one of the Hun undersea boats
was what he dreamed about night and day.

It was the day before they were actually to enter the danger zone--the
zone marked off in her arrogance by Germany--that something occurred
which made even cautious Blake think that perhaps they were justified in
their suspicions of the Frenchman.

The usual lifeboat drills had been held, and the passengers were
standing about in small groups, talking of what was best to be done in
case the torpedo or submarine alarm should be given, when Macaroni, who
had been down in the cabin, came up and crossed the deck to where Blake
and Joe were talking to two young ladies, to whom they had been
introduced by the captain.

By one of the many signs in use among moving picture camera men, which
take the place of words when they are busy at the films, Macaroni gave
the two chums to understand he wanted to speak to them privately and at
once. The two partners remained a little longer in conversation, and
then, making their excuses, followed their helper to a secluded spot.

"What's up?" demanded Joe. "Have you made some views of a torpedo?"

"Or seen a periscope?" asked Blake.

"Neither one," Charlie answered. "But if you want to see something that
will open your eyes come below."

His manner was so earnest and strange, and he seemed so moved by what he
had evidently seen, that Blake and Joe, asking no further questions,
followed him.

"What is it?" Joe demanded, as they were about to enter their cabin, one
occupied by the three of them.

"Look there!" whispered the helper, as he pointed to a mirror on their
wall.

Blake and Joe saw something which made them open their eyes. It was the
reflection of a strange conference taking place in the stateroom across
the passageway from them, a conference of which a view was possible
because of open transoms in both staterooms and mirrors so arranged that
what took place in the one across the corridor was visible to the boys,
yet they remained hidden themselves.

Blake and Joe saw two men with heads close together over a small table
in the center of the opposite stateroom. The tilted mirror transferred
the view into their own looking-glass. The men appeared to be examining
a map, or, at any rate, some paper, and their manner was secretive,
alone though they were.

But it was not so much the manner of the men as it was the identity of
one that aroused the curiosity and fear of the moving picture
boys--curiosity as to what might be the subject of the queer conference,
and fear as to the result of it.

For one of the men was Lieutenant Secor, the Frenchman, and the other
was a passenger who, though claiming to be a wealthy Hebrew with
American citizenship, was, so the boys believed, thoroughly German. He
was down on the passenger list as Levi Labenstein, and he did bear some
resemblance to a Jew, but his talk had the unmistakable German accent.

Not that there are not German Jews, but their tongue has not the knack
of the pure, guttural German of Prussia. And this man's voice had none
of the nasal, throaty tones of Yiddish.

"Whew!" whistled Joe, as he and Blake looked into the tell-tale mirror.
"That looks bad!"

"Hush!" cautioned Blake. "The transoms are open and he may hear you."

But a look into the reflecting glasses showed that the two men--the
Frenchman and the German--had not looked up from their eager poring over
the map, or whatever paper was between them.

"How long have they been this way?" asked Blake, in a whisper, of
Charlie.

"I don't know," Macaroni answered. "I happened to see them when I came
down to get something, and after I'd watched them a while I went to tell
you."

"I'm glad you did," went on Blake; "though I don't know what it
means--if it means anything."

"It means something, all right," declared Joe, and he, like the others,
was careful to keep his voice low-pitched. "It means treason, if I'm any
judge!"

"Treason?" repeated Blake.

"Yes; wouldn't you call it that if you saw one of our army officers
having a secret talk with a German enemy?"

"I suppose so," assented Blake. "And yet Lieutenant Secor isn't one of
our officers."

"No, but he's been in our camps, and he's been a guest of Uncle Sam.
He's been in a position to spy out some of the army secrets, and now we
see him talking to this German."

"But this man may _not_ be a subject of the Kaiser," said Blake.

"Sure he is!" declared Charlie. "He's no more a real Jew than I am! He's
a Teuton! Germany has no love for the Jews, and they don't have any use
for the Huns. Take my word for it, fellows, there's something wrong
going on here."

"It may be," admitted Blake; "but does it concern us?"

"Of course it does!" declared Joe. "This Frenchman may be betraying some
of Uncle Sam's secrets to the enemy--not only our enemy, but the enemy
of his own country."

"Yes, I suppose there are traitorous Frenchmen," said Blake slowly, "but
they are mighty few."

"But this means something!" declared Macaroni.

And Blake, slow as he was sometimes in forming an opinion, could not but
agree with him.

In silence the boys watched the two men at their queer conference. The
tilted mirrors--one in each stateroom--gave a perfect view of what went
on between the Frenchman and the German, as the boys preferred to think
Labenstein, but the watchers themselves were not observed. This they
could make sure of, for several times one or the other of the men across
the corridor looked up, and full into the mirror on their own wall, but
they gave no indication of observing anything out of the ordinary.

The mirrors were fastened in a tilted position to prevent them from
swinging as the ship rolled, and as they did not sway there was an
unchanged view to be had.

"I wonder what they're saying," observed Blake.

They could only guess, however, for though the men talked rapidly and
eagerly, as evidenced by their gestures, what they said was not audible.
Though both transoms were open, no sound came from the room opposite
where the boys were gathered. The men spoke too low for that.

"I guess they know it's dangerous to be found out," said Joe.

"But we ought to find out what it's about!" declared Macaroni.

"Yes, I think we ought," assented Blake. "This Frenchman has been in our
country, going about from camp to camp according to his own story, and
he must have picked up a lot of information."

"And he knows about our pictures, too!"

"Well, I don't imagine what we have taken, so far, will be of any great
value to Germany, assuming that Lieutenant Secor is a spy and has told
about them," Blake said.

"We've got to find out something about this, though, haven't we?" asked
Joe.

"I think we ought to try," agreed his chum. "Perhaps we should tell
Captain Merceau. He's a Frenchman, and will know how to deal with
Secor."

"Good idea!" exclaimed Joe. "If we could only get him down here to see
what we've seen, it would clinch matters. I wonder----"

But Joe ceased talking at a motion from Blake, who silently pointed at
the mirror. In that way they saw the reflection of the men in the other
cabin. They arose from their seats at the table, and the map or whatever
papers they had been looking at, were put away quietly in the
Frenchman's pocket.

He and the German, as the boys decided to call Labenstein, spoke in
whispers once more, and then shook hands, as if to seal some pact.

Then, as the boys watched, Lieutenant Secor opened the door of the
stateroom, which had been locked. He stepped out into the corridor, and
was now lost to view.

The next moment, to the surprise of Blake and his two friends, there
came a knock on their own door, and a voice asked:

"Are you within, young gentlemen of the cameras? I am Lieutenant Secor!"




CHAPTER VII

"PERISCOPE AHOY!"


Sudden and unexpected was the knocking, and it found the boys unready to
answer it. They had no idea that the conspirators--either or both of
them--would come directly from their conference to the room where a
watch had been kept on them.

"Do you think he saw us?" asked Joe, in a whisper.

"S'posing he did?" demanded Charlie. "We have the goods on him, all
right."

Blake held up a hand to enjoin silence, though the remarks of his
friends had been made in the lowest of tones.

The knock was given again, and the voice of the Frenchman asked:

"Are you within, my friends of the camera? I wish to speak with you!"

"One moment!" called Blake, in a tone he tried to make pleasant. Then
he motioned to Joe and Charlie to seem to be busy over the midget
camera, which was kept ready for instant use. At the same moment Blake
threw a black focusing cloth over the mirror, for he thought the
Frenchman might notice that it was in a position to reflect whatever
took place in the opposite room.

"Act natural--as if you were getting ready to make some pictures," Blake
whispered in Joe's ear, and then opened the door.

"Pardon me for disturbing you," began Lieutenant Secor, "but I have just
come down from on deck. They are having a special lifeboat drill, and I
thought perhaps you might like to get some views of it. Also, I have a
favor to ask of you."

"Come in," said Blake, as he opened the door wider. At the same time he
noticed that the door of the stateroom across the corridor was shut.

"Just came down from deck, did he?" mused Joe, as he took note of the
Frenchman's false statement. "Well, he must have run up and run down
again in jig fashion to be able to do that. I wonder what he wants to
ask us?"

Joe and Charlie pretended to be adjusting the small camera, and Blake
smiled a welcome he did not feel. Black suspicion was in his heart
against the Frenchman. An open enemy Blake could understand, but not a
spy or a traitor.

"I thought perhaps you might like to get some of the views from on
deck," went on Lieutenant Secor, smiling his white-toothed smile. "They
are even lowering boats into the water--a realistic drill!"

Blake looked at Joe as much as to ask if it would be advisable to get
some views. At the same time Blake made a sign which Joe interpreted to
mean:

"Go up on deck and see what's going on--you and Charlie. I'll take care
of him down here."

"Come on!" Joe remarked to their helper, as he gathered up the small
camera. "We'll take this in."

"I thought you might like it," said the Frenchman. "That's why I hurried
down to tell you."

"Now I wonder," thought Blake to himself, as Joe made ready to leave,
"why he thinks it worth his while to tell that untruth? What is his
game?"

At the same time an uneasy thought came to Joe.

"If we go up and leave Blake alone with this fellow, may not something
happen? Perhaps he'll attack Blake!"

But that thought no sooner came than it was dismissed, for, Joe
reasoned, what harm could happen to his chum, who was well able to take
care of himself? True, the Frenchman might be armed, but so was Blake.
Then, too, there could be no object in attacking Blake. He had little of
value on his person, and the films and cameras were not in the
stateroom. And there were no films of any value as yet, either.

"Guess I'm doing too much imagining," said Joe to himself. "This fellow
may be a plotter and a spy in German pay--and I haven't any doubt but
what he is--but I reckon Blake can look after himself. Anyhow, he wants
me to leave Secor to him, and I'll do it. But not too long!"

So Joe and Charlie, taking the small camera with them, went up on deck.
There they did find an unusual lifeboat drill going on. The danger zone
was now so close that Captain Merceau and his officers of the ship were
taking no chances. They wanted to be prepared for the worst, and so they
had the men passengers practise getting into the boats, which were
lowered into the water and rowed a short distance away from the ship.

The women and children, of whom there were a few on board, watched from
the decks, taking note of how to get into the boats, and how best to act
once they were in their places.

"Going to film this?" asked Charlie of Joe.

"No, I think not," was the answer. "It's interesting, but there have
been lots of drills like it. If it were the real thing, now, I'd shoot;
but I'm going to save the film on the chance of getting a sub or a
torpedo. This is a sort of bluff on the part of you and me, anyhow.
Blake wanted to get us out of the cabin while he tackled Secor, I
reckon. What _his_ game is I don't know."

"I can come pretty near to guessing," said Macaroni, as he stretched his
lank legs, which had, in part, earned him the nickname. "That fake
lieutenant is planning some game with the German spy, that's his game."

"Maybe," admitted Joe. "But I don't see how we figure in it."

"Perhaps we will after we've gotten some reels of valuable film,"
suggested Charlie. "Don't crow until you've ground out the last bit of
footage."

"No, that's right. Look, that boat's going to spill if I'm any judge!"

Excited shouts and a confusion of orders drew the attention of the boys
and many others to a lifeboat where, amidships on the port side, it was
being lowered away as part of the drill. There were a number of sailors
in it--part of the crew--and, as Joe and Charlie watched, one of the
falls became jammed with the result that the stern of the boat was
suddenly lowered while the bow was held in place.

As might have been expected, the sudden tilting of the boat at an acute
angle threw the occupants all into one end. There were yells and shouts,
and then came splashes, as one after another fell into the ocean.

Women and children screamed and men hoarsely called to one another. For
a moment it looked as though the safety drill would result in a tragedy,
and then shrill laughter from the men who had fallen into the water, as
well as cries of merriment from those who still clung to the boat,
showed that, if not intended as a joke, the happening had been turned
into one.

The sailors were all good swimmers, the day was sunny and the water
warm, and in a short time another boat had been rowed to the scene of
the upset, and those who went overboard were picked up, still laughing.

"I might have taken that if I had known they were going to pull a stunt
like that," said Joe, a bit regretfully. "However, I guess we'll get all
the excitement we want when we get to the war front."

"I believe you!" exclaimed Charlie. "There's our German spy," he added,
pointing to the dark-complexioned and bearded man who had been seen,
through the mirrors' reflections, talking to the Frenchman. He had
evidently hurried up on deck to ascertain the cause of the confusion,
for he was without collar or tie.

The boat was righted, the wet sailors went laughing below to change into
dry garments, and the passengers resumed their usual occupations which,
in the main, consisted of nervously watching the heaving waves for a
sight of a periscope, or a wake of bubbles that might tell of an
on-speeding torpedo.

Mr. Labenstein, to credit him with the name on the passenger list, gave
a look around, and, seeing that there was no danger, at once went below
again.

"Wonder how Blake's making out?" asked Charlie of Joe, as they walked
the deck. "Do you think we'd better go down?"

"Not until we get some word from him. Hello! Here he is now!" and Joe
pointed to their friend coming toward them.

"Well?" asked Joe significantly.

"Nothing much," answered Blake. "He was as nice and affable as he always
is. Just talked about the war in general terms. Said the Allies and
Uncle Sam were sure to win."

"Did he want anything?" asked Charlie. "He said he was going to ask a
favor, you know."

"Well, he hinted for information as to what we were going to do on the
other side, but I didn't give him any satisfaction. Then he wanted to
know whether we would consider an offer from the French Government."

"What'd you say to that?"

"I didn't give him a direct answer. Said I'd think about it. I thought
it best to string him along. No telling what may be behind it all."

"You're right," agreed Joe. "Lieutenant Secor will bear watching. Did
he have any idea we were observing him?"

"I think not. If he did, he didn't let on. But I thought sure, when he
came across the corridor and knocked, that he'd discovered us."

"So did I, and I was all ready to bluff him out. But we'll have to be on
the watch, and especially on the other side."

"What do you mean?" asked Blake.

"Well, I have an idea he's after our films, the same as he was before,
either to spoil them or get them for some purpose of his own. Just now
we aren't taking any, and he hasn't any desire, I suppose, to get
possession of the unexposed reels. But when we begin to make pictures of
our boys in the trenches, and perhaps of some engagements, we'll have to
see that the reels are well guarded."

"We will," agreed Blake. "What was going on up here? We heard a racket,
and Labenstein rushed up half dressed."

"Lifeboat spilled--no harm done," explained Charlie. "Well, I might as
well take this camera below if we're not going to use it."

"Come on, Blake," urged Joe. "They're going to have gun drill. Let's
watch."

The vessel carried four quick-firing guns for use against submarines,
one each in the bow and stern, and one on either beam. The gunners were
from Uncle Sam's navy and were expert marksmen, as had been evidenced
in practice.

"Are we in the danger zone yet?" asked one of the two young women whose
acquaintance Blake and Joe had made through the courtesy of Captain
Merceau.

"Oh, yes," Blake answered. "We have been for some time."

"But I thought when we got there we would be protected by warships or
torpedo-boat destroyers," said Miss Hanson.

"We're supposed to be," replied Joe. "I've been looking for a sight of
one. They may be along any minute. Look, there comes a messenger from
the wireless room. He's going to the bridge where the captain is. Maybe
that's word from a destroyer now."

Interestedly they watched the messenger make his way to the bridge with
a slip of paper in his hand. And then, before he could reach it, there
came a hail from the lookout in the crow's nest high above the deck.

He called in French, but Joe and Blake knew what he said. It was:

"Periscope ahoy! Two points off on the port bow! Periscope ahoy!"




CHAPTER VIII

BEATEN OFF


Decks that, a moment, before, had exhibited scenes of quietness, though
there was a nervous tenseness on all sides, at once assumed feverish
activity. Officers on duty, hearing the cry of the lookout, called to
him to repeat his message, which he did, with the added information that
the submarine, as evidenced by the appearance of the periscope cutting
the water, was approaching nearer, and with great swiftness.

"Here she comes, Blake!" cried Joe, as the two boys stood together at
the spot from which they had been watching the wireless messenger a
moment before. "Here she comes! Now for a chance at a picture!"

"You're not going below, are you?" cried Blake.

"Why not?" asked Joe, pausing on his way to the companionway.

"Why, we may be blown up at any moment! We may be hit by a torpedo! I
don't see why they haven't loosed one at us before this, as their
periscope is in sight. You shouldn't go below now! Stay on deck, where
you'll have a chance to get in the boat you're assigned to!"

"I've got to go below to get the small camera," answered Joe. "I ought
to have kept it on deck. I'm going to, after this, to have it ready."

"But, Joe, the torpedo may be on its way now--under water!"

"That's just what I want to get a picture of! I guess if we're going to
be blown up, being below deck or on deck doesn't make much difference. I
want to get that picture!"

And, seeing that his chum was very much in earnest, Blake, not to let
Joe do it alone, went below with him to get the camera. But on the way
they met Charlie coming up with it.

"She's all loaded, boys, ready for action!" cried the lanky Macaroni. "I
started down for it as soon as I heard the lookout yell! I didn't know
what he was jabbering about, seeing I don't understand much French, but
I guessed it was a submarine. Am I right?"

"Yes!" shouted Joe. "Good work, Mac! Now for a picture!"

And while Joe and his two friends were thus making ready, in the face of
imminent disaster, to get pictures of the torpedo that might be on its
way to sink the ship, many other matters were being undertaken.

Passengers were being called to take the places previously assigned to
them in the lifeboats. Captain Merceau and his officers, after a hasty
consultation, were gathered on the bridge, looking for the first sight
of the submarine, or, what was more vital, for the ripples that would
disclose the presence of the torpedo.

But perhaps the most eager of all, and certainly among the most active,
were the members of the gun crews. On both sides of the vessel, and at
bow and stern, the call to quarters had been answered promptly, and with
strained but eager eyes the young men, under their lieutenants, were
watching for the first fair sight of something at which to loose the
missiles of the quick-firing guns.

"Give it to her, lads! Give it to her! All you can pump in!" yelled the
commander of the squad on the port side, for it was off that bow that
the lookout had sighted the periscope.

And while the hurried preparations went on for getting the passengers
into the lifeboats, at the falls of which the members of the crew stood
ready to lower away, there came from the port gun a rattle and barking
of fire.

The periscope had disappeared for a moment after the lookout had sighted
it, but a slight disturbance in the water, a ripple that was different
from the line of foam caused by the breaking waves, showed where it had
been.

And by the time Joe and Blake, with the help of Charlie, had set up
their small camera, the tell-tale indicator of an undersea boat was
again in view, coming straight for the steamer.

"There she is!" cried Blake.

"I see her!" answered Joe, as he focussed the lens of the machine on the
object "I'll get her as soon as she breaks!"

The mewing picture boys, as well as Charlie, had forgotten all about the
need of taking their places at the stations assigned to them, to be in
readiness to get into a boat. They were sharply reminded of this by one
of the junior officers.

"Take your places! Take your places!" he cried.

"Not yet!" answered Joe. "We want to get a shot at her first!"

"But, young gentlemen, you must not shoot with that. It will be
ineffectual! Let the gunners do their work, I beg of you. Take your
places at the boats!"

"That's all right!" exclaimed Blake "We're only going to shoot some
moving pictures."

"Ah, what brave rashness!" murmured the French officer, as he hurried
away.

Blake and Joe, with Charlie to steady the machine, for the steamer was
now zigzagging at high speed in an effort to escape the expected
torpedo, were taking pictures of the approach of the submarine. The
underwater craft was still coming on, her periscope in the midst of a
hail of fire from the steamer's guns. For, now that the vessel was
making turns, it was possible for two gun crews, alternately, to fire at
the German boat.

"There goes the periscope!" yelled Charlie, as a burst of shots,
concentrated on the brass tube, seemed to dispose of it.

But he had spoken too soon. The submarine had merely drawn the periscope
within herself, it being of the telescope variety, and the next moment,
with a movement of the water as if some monster leviathan were breaking
from the ocean depths, the steel-plated and rivet-studded back of the
submarine rose, glistening in the sun and in full view of those on deck,
not two hundred yards away.

"There she blows!" cried Charlie, as an old salt might announce the
presence of a whale. "There she blows! Film her, boys!"

And Blake and Joe were doing just that.

Meanwhile even wilder excitement, if possible, prevailed on deck. There
was a rush for the boats that nearly overwhelmed the crews stationed to
lower them from the sides, and the officers had all they could do to
preserve order.

"The torpedo! The torpedo at the stern!" cried the lookout, who,
notwithstanding his position of almost certain death should the ship be
struck, had not deserted his elevated post. "They have loosed a torpedo
at the stern!"

Blake and Joe, who were well aft, looked for a moment away from the
submarine, and saw a line of bubbles approaching the stern and a ripple
that indicated the presence of that dread engine of war--an air-driven
torpedo.

And as if the ship herself knew what doom awaited her should the torpedo
so much as touch her, she increased her speed, and to such good purpose
that the mass of gun-cotton, contained in the steel cylinder that had
been launched from the submarine, passed under the stern. But only a few
feet from the rudder did it pass. By such a little margin was the ship
saved.

And then, having a broader mark at which to aim, the gunners sent a
perfect hail of lead and shells at the underwater boat, and with such
effect that some hits were made. Whether or not they were vital ones it
was impossible to learn, for there was a sudden motion to the submarine,
which had been quietly resting on the surface for a moment, and then she
slipped beneath the waves again.

"Driven off!" cried Blake, as he and Joe got the final pictures of this
drama--a drama that had come so near being a tragedy. "They've beaten
her off!"

"But we're not safe yet!" cried Charlie. "She may shoot another torpedo
at us from under water--she can do that, all right! Look out, boys!"

There was need of this, yet it was impossible to do more toward saving
one's life than to take to the boats. And even that, under the inhuman
and ruthless system of the Huns, was no guarantee that one would be
saved. Lifeboats had, more than once, been shelled by Germans.

The appearance of the submarine had added to the panic caused by the
sight of the periscope, and there was a rush for the boats that took all
the power and authority of the officers to manage it.

There was a period of anxious waiting, but either the submarine had no
other torpedoes, or, if she did fire any, they went wide, or, again, the
gunfire from the vessel may have disabled her entirely. She did not
again show herself above the surface. Even the periscope was not
observed.

Having nothing to picture, Blake and Joe turned away from the camera for
a moment. Some of the lifeboats had already been filled with their loads
when Charlie, pointing to something afar off, cried:

"Here comes another boat!"

On the horizon a dense cloud of black smoke showed.




CHAPTER IX

SUSPICIONS


For a moment there was more terror and excitement aboard the _Jeanne_,
if it were possible, after it became certain that another craft, the
nature of which none knew, was headed toward the French steamer. Then an
officer gifted with sound common-sense, cried out in English, so that
the majority could understand:

"It is a destroyer! It is a destroyer belonging to the Stars and Stripes
coming to our rescue. Three cheers!"

Nobody gave the three cheers, but it heartened every one to hear them
called for, and the real meaning of the smoke was borne to all.

"Of course it can't be a submarine!" exclaimed Blake. "They don't send
out any smoke, and there aren't any other German boats at sea. It's a
destroyer!"

"One of ours, do you think?" asked Charlie.

"Perhaps. Uncle Sam has a lot of 'em over here to act as convoys.
Probably this is our escort coming up a little late to the ball," said
Joe.

"But we did very well by ourselves," observed Blake. "It was a narrow
squeak, though."

And indeed it was a narrow escape. The _Jeanne_ had, unaided, driven off
the undersea boat, and perhaps had damaged her by the rain of shot and
shell poured at her steel sides. They could not feel sure of this,
though, for the approach of the destroyer was probably known to the
submarine, for they have underwater telephones which tell them, by means
of the throbbing of the screws and propellers in the water, just about
how far away another ship is, and what speed she is making, as well as
the direction from which she is coming.

Whether the submarine had expended her last torpedo, or whether having
missed what she intended for a vital shot she deemed there was not time
to launch another and had sunk out of sight, or whether she were
disabled, were questions perhaps never to be answered.

At any rate, the approach of the destroyer, which came on with amazing
speed, served to make the _Jeanne_ comparatively safe. The lifeboats
were emptied of their passengers, and once more there was a feeling of
comparative safety as the passengers again thronged the decks.

On came the destroyer. She proved to be one of Uncle Sam's boats, and
the joy with which she was greeted was vociferous and perhaps a little
hysterical. She had learned by wireless of the appearance of the French
craft in the danger zone, and had come to fulfill her mission. She had
been delayed by a slight accident, or she would have been on hand when
the submarine first approached.

The wireless message that had come just as the German craft appeared had
been from the destroyer, to bid those aboard the _Jeanne_ have no fear,
for help was on the way. And soon after the grim and swift craft from
the United States had begun to slide along beside the _Jeanne_ two more
destroyers, one of them British, made their appearance, coming up with
the speed of ocean greyhounds.

There was great rejoicing among the passengers, and much credit was
given the lookout for his promptness in reporting a sight of the
submarine. Formal thanks were extended to the gun crews for their
efficient work, without which the undersea boat might have accomplished
her purpose. Nor were the boiler room and engineer forces forgotten, for
it was because of the sudden burst of speed on the part of the _Jeanne_
that she escaped that one torpedo at least.

"Now we'll be all right," Charlie said, as he helped his friends make a
few pictures of the approach and the convoying of the destroyers to add
to the views they had of the submarine and her defeat--temporary defeat
it might prove, but, none the less, a defeat.

"Well, hardly all right," remarked Blake, as the camera was dismounted.
"We're still in the danger zone, and the Huns won't let slip any chance
to do us harm. But I guess we have more of a chance for our white alley
than we had before."

Though the French ship was now protected by the three convoying vessels,
the crews of which kept a sharp watch on all sides for the presence of
more submarines, there was still plenty of danger, and this was felt by
all.

At any moment a submarine, approaching below the surface with only her
periscope showing--and this made a mark exceedingly hard to see and
hit--might launch a torpedo, not only at the merchant-man but at one of
the destroyers.

"It's like sleeping over a case of dynamite," observed Joe, as he and
his chums went below. "I'd rather be on the war front. You can at least
see and hear shells coming."

"That's right," agreed Blake. "Well, if nothing happens, we'll soon be
there now."

"_If_ is a big word these days," observed Charlie.

"Now that we're comparatively safe for the moment, I want to ask you
fellows something," said Blake, after a pause.

"Ask ahead," returned Joe. "If you want to know whether I was scared,
I'll say I was, but I was too busy getting pictures to notice it. If it
is something else----"

"It is," interrupted Blake, and his manner was grave. "Come below and
I'll tell you. I don't want any one else to hear."

Wondering somewhat at their friend's manner, Joe and Charlie went to
their stateroom, and there Blake closed the door and took the dark cloth
down from the mirror. A look into it showed that the transom of the room
opposite--the cabin of Levi Labenstein--had been closed.

"So we can't tell whether he's in there or not," said Blake.

"Did you want to talk about him?" asked Joe.

"Yes, him and the lieutenant. Did you fellows happen to notice what they
were doing when the submarine was attacking us?"

"Not especially," answered Joe. "I did see Lieutenant Secor looking at
us as we worked the camera, but I didn't pay much attention to him."

"It wasn't him so much as it was the German," went on Blake.

"In what way?"

"Did you see where he was standing when the submarine came out of the
water?"

Neither Joe nor Charlie had done so, or, if they had, they did not
recall the matter when Blake questioned them. So that young man resumed:

"Well, I'll tell you what I saw: Labenstein was leaning over the rail on
the side where the submarine showed, and he was holding a big white
cloth over the side."

"A big white cloth?" cried Joe.

"That's what it was," went on Blake. "It looked to me like a signal."

"Do you mean a signal of surrender?" asked Charlie. "A white flag? He
wouldn't have any right to display that, anyhow. It would have to come
from Captain Merceau."

"Maybe he meant that he'd surrender personally," suggested Joe, "and
didn't want his fellow-murderers to hurt him."

"I don't know what his object was," went on Blake, "but I saw him take
from his pocket a big white cloth and hold it over the side. It could
easily have been seen from the submarine, and must have been, for he
displayed it just before the underwater boat came up."

"A white cloth," mused Joe. "From his pocket. Was it his handkerchief,
Blake?"

"He wouldn't have one as large as that, even if he suffered from hay
fever. I think it was a signal."

"A signal for what?" Charlie again asked.

"To tell the submarine some piece of news, of course--perhaps the port
of sailing, something of the nature of our cargo, or perhaps to tell
just where to send the torpedo. I understand we are carrying some
munitions, and it may be that this German spy directed the commander of
the submarine where to aim the torpedo so as to explode them."

"But he'd be signaling for his own death warrant!" cried Joe.

"Not necessarily," answered Blake. "He may have had some understanding
with the submarine that he was to be saved first. Perhaps he was going
to jump overboard before the torpedo was fired and was to be picked up.
Anyhow, I saw him draping a white cloth over the side, and I'm sure it
was a signal."

"Well, I guess you're right," said Joe. "The next question is, what's to
be done? This fellow is a spy and a traitor, and we ought to expose
him."

"Yes," agreed Blake. "But we'd better have a little more evidence than
just my word. You fellows didn't see what I saw, that's plain, and
perhaps no one else did. So it would only make a big fuss and not result
in anything if I told the captain."

"Then what are you going to do?" asked Charlie.

"Just keep watch," Blake answered.

"What about Lieutenant Secor?" asked Joe.

"Well, I didn't see him do anything," admitted Blake. "Though I have my
suspicions of him also. He and Labenstein weren't talking so earnestly
together for nothing. We'll watch that Frenchman, too."

"And if he tries any more games in spoiling films I'll have my say!"
threatened Macaroni.

The boys talked the situation over at some length as they put away the
films they had taken of the submarine attack, and agreed that "watchful
waiting" was the best policy to adopt. As Blake had said, little could
be gained by denouncing Labenstein with only the word of one witness to
rely on.

"If all three of us catch him at his traitorous work, then we'll
denounce him," suggested Blake.

"Yes, and the Frenchman, too!" added Charlie, in a louder voice, so that
Blake raised a cautioning hand.

At that moment came a knock on their door, and a voice said:

"I am Mr. Labenstein!"




CHAPTER X

THE FLASHLIGHT


Almost like conspirators themselves, the boys looked at one another as
the voice and knock sounded together. Blake was the first to recover
himself.

"Come in!" he called, in as welcoming a tone as he could muster under
the circumstances. Then as the knob of the door was ineffectually tried,
he added:

"Oh, I forgot it was locked! Wait a moment!"

A moment later he had swung the door open, and the man who, the boys
believed, was a German spy confronted them, smiling.

"You are locked in as if you feared another submarine," he said. "It is
not the best way to do. You should be on deck!"

"But not on deck as you were, with a flag to signal to the Huns,"
thought Joe; and he wished he dared make the accusation.

Blake motioned to the caller to seat himself on a stool.

"I came to see if I might borrow something," began the caller. "I find
that mine is out of order for some reason," and he held out a small, but
powerful, electric flash lamp, of the sort sold for the use of soldiers.
"Have you, by any chance, one that you could spare me?" asked Mr.
Labenstein.

"I do not want it, if it is the only one you have, but they are a great
convenience in one's berth, for the lights must be kept turned off, now
that we are in the danger zone made by those terrible Germans. Ah, how I
hate them!" and his anger seemed very real and earnest.

"Did you say you wanted to borrow a pocket electric flash lamp?" asked
Blake, wishing to make the caller repeat his request. As he asked this
question Blake looked at his chums, as though to ask them to take
particular note of the reply.

"I should like to, yes, if you have one to spare. There are three of
you, and, I presume, like most travelers, you each have one. I am alone
in a single stateroom, and I may have need of a light. I will return it
to you at the end of the voyage, or buy it of you at a good price. You
see, I have a little Jew in me. I will make a bargain with you. And I
will pay you well, something a Jew proverbially does not like to do. But
I realize the value of what I want, and that the market is not well
supplied, so you may take advantage of my situation. My battery is
either worn out or the light is broken. It will not flash."

He shoved down the little sliding catch, but there was no glow in the
tiny tungsten bulb.

"You have me at your mercy if you wish to sell me a lamp," he went on,
with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders, not unlike that of Lieutenant
Secor.

"Hasn't your friend a spare light?" asked Joe quickly.

"My friend?" repeated the German, as though surprised. "You mean----?"

"I mean Lieutenant Secor."

"Oh, him!" and again came the deprecatory shrug of the shoulders. "He is
an acquaintance, not a friend. Besides, he has but one lamp, and he
needs that. So, also, will you need yours. But as there are three of you
together, I thought perhaps----"

"We each have a light," said Blake, interrupting the rather rapid talk
of Labenstein. "In fact, I have two, and I'll let you take one."

"That is very kind of you. Ah, it is like mine!"

The visitor was watching Blake eagerly as he brought forth one of the
flat, three-cell nickel-plated holders of tiny batteries, with the
white-backed and tungsten-filamented incandescent light set in a
depressed socket.

"Yes, this is the best type," Blake said. "You may have this."

"And the price?" asked Labenstein, as his hand quickly went into his
pocket.

"Is nothing," answered Blake. "It is a gift."

"Ah, but, my dear sir, that is too much! I could not think of taking it
without pay!" insisted Mr. Labenstein, as he flashed on the light and
then slipped the switch back in place again. "I protest that I must pay
you."

"Please don't insist on paying," begged Blake, "for I shall only have to
refuse to take any money. Please consider the light a gift. I have a
spare one."

"You are very kind, I'm sure," said the other, bowing with some
exaggeration, it seemed to the boys. "I appreciate it, I assure you, and
I shall look for a chance to repay the favor."

"That's all right," said Blake, and he tried to make his voice sound
hearty. "You are welcome to the light."

"A thousand thanks," murmured Mr. Labenstein, as he bowed himself out.

And then, when the door had closed on him and they had taken the
precaution of closing their transom, Joe burst out in a cautious whisper
with:

"What in the world did you let him take it for, Blake Stewart? Don't you
see what his game is?"

"Yes," was Blake's quiet answer; "I think I do."

"Well, then----"

"What is his game?" asked Charlie.

"I presume he wants to use the flash lamp to give a signal at night to
some German submarine," said Blake quietly--very quietly, under the
circumstances, it might seem.

"And you let him take a light for that?" cried Joe.

"Wait a bit!" advised Blake, and he smiled at his chum. "Do you know
anything about these flashlights, Joe?"

"A little--yes. I know a powerful one, like that you gave Labenstein,
can be seen a long way on a dark night."

"Well, then maybe you know something else about them, or you may have
forgotten it. Like the proverb which says 'blessings brighten as they
vanish,' so the light of these lamps sometimes glows very strong just
before the battery goes on the blink and douses the glim."

Joe looked at his chum for a moment, uncomprehendingly, and then a smile
came over his face.

"Do you mean you gave him a light with a battery in it that was almost
played out?" he asked.

"Exactly," answered Blake, with another smile. "This is a light I have
had for some time. I noticed, only last night, that it was brighter
than usual. Just as a fountain pen--at least, the old-fashioned
kind--used to flow more freely when there were only a few drops of ink
left, so this battery seems to be strongest just before it gives out
altogether.

"I suspected this was going to happen, but I tested the battery with a
galvanometer to-day and I found out it has about ten flashes left. After
that the light will be dead."

"Is that why you gave it to him?" asked Charlie.

"The very reason. As soon as he asked for a light it occurred to me that
he wanted to use it--or might use it--to give a signal at night to some
watching submarine commander waiting for a chance to torpedo us. I
thought if I let him do it with this failing light he might do the Huns
more damage than he could us."

"How?" asked Joe.

"By not being able to give the proper signals. He'll need to flash a
light for some little time to make sure to attract the attention of the
submarine, won't he?"

"Probably," agreed Joe.

"Well, then, if, while he's in the midst of signaling, his light goes
out, the submarine won't know what to make of it, and will come up
closer to find out what's wrong. Then our own guns, or those of the
destroyers, can bang away and catch the Germans napping."

"Say, that's great!" cried Charlie, as soon as he understood the plan
Blake had so quickly evolved.

"If it works," conceded Joe. "But how are we going to know when that
German spy signals the submarine and fails to convey his full meaning,
Blake?"

"We'll have to watch him, of course. Catch him in the act, as it were.
The defective lamp will help."

"So it will!" exclaimed Joe. "Blake, I take back all I thought of you. I
imagined you were making a mistake to let that lamp go out of your
possession; but now I see your game. It's a good one! But we've got to
be on the watch for this spy!"

"Oh, yes," agreed his chum. "And not only him but the Frenchman as well.
I didn't believe it possible that Secor could be in with this German,
but perhaps he is, and maybe he'll betray his own countrymen. Either one
may give the signal, but if they do we'll be ready for them. No more
moving pictures for us, boys, until we get to the war front. We've got
to be on this other job!"

"But hadn't we better tell Captain Merceau?" asked Charlie.

"Yes, I think so," assented Blake. "We'll tell him what we think, and
what we have done."

But they did not get a chance that day, for there was a submarine scare
toward evening--a lookout thinking he saw a periscope--and the
consequent confusion made it impossible to have a talk with the
commander. The boys did not want to report to any subordinate officer,
and so concluded to wait until the next day.

"But we'll keep watch to-night on our friend across the corridor," Blake
said. "And on Lieutenant Secor as well. His stateroom is next to
Labenstein's, and we can tell when either of them goes out after
dark--that is, if we keep watch."

"And we'll keep it, all right!" declared Joe "Now that we know something
about what to look out for, we'll do it!"

And so, as evening came on and the lights of the ship were darkened and
as she sped along in company with her convoy, the three boys prepared to
divide the night into watches, that they might be on guard against what
they regarded as an attempt at black treachery.

For somewhere under or on that waste of waters they believed a deadly
submarine was lurking, awaiting the favorable moment to send a torpedo
at the ship.




CHAPTER XI

THE DEPTH CHARGE


Charlie Anderson, who had taken the earliest watch, roused Blake at the
appointed time, and reported:

"All quiet so far."

"Then you haven't seen anything of our friends across the hall?"

"Not a thing. Just as we arranged, I've had my eye at the hole, but
their doors have both been closed. Maybe you'll have better luck."

"I don't think it will be good luck at all to see one of them sneak out
to flash a signal to a waiting submarine, or one that may be following
us all the while, waiting for a chance to strike. But I will call it
exceedingly good luck if we can stop it," said Blake.

"Go to it, old top!" exclaimed Macaroni, dropping into what he thought
the latest English slang. "I'm going to turn in."

The lanky helper of the moving picture boys had spent the hours of his
watch with his eye close to a small hole that had been bored in the door
of the boys' stateroom. The hole gave a view of the staterooms of
Lieutenant Secor and Mr. Labenstein, which adjoined. And, as Charles had
said, he had not observed either man leave his apartment.

If what the boys had only guessed at were true--that one or both of the
men contemplated giving a signal to the enemy by means of the
flashlight--the time for it had not yet come.

"Well, I'll try my hand," Blake said. "You turn in, Mac, and if I need
any help I'll call you. If I don't see anything up to about one o'clock
I'll let Joe do his trick. Good-night and pleasant dreams."

Charlie did not answer. He was already in his bunk and asleep, for he
was tired, and the last half hour of his watch he had kept himself awake
with difficulty.

Then Blake began his turn of duty. He took a position at the door where
he could look out through the hole into the dimly lighted corridor. He
had a view of the doors of the staterooms of the two men who were under
suspicion, and as soon as either or both of them came out he intended to
follow and see what was done.

For an hour nothing happened, and Blake was beginning to feel a bit
sleepy, in spite of the fact that he had rested during the early part
of the evening, when he was startled by a slight sound. It was like the
creaking of a rusty hinge, and at first he thought it but one of the
many sounds always more or less audible on a moving ship.

Then, as he tuned his ears more acutely, he knew that it was the
squeaking of a hinge he had heard, and he felt sure it meant the opening
of a door near by.

Through the hole he looked at the door behind which was Levi Labenstein,
whether sleeping or preparing for some act which would put the ship in
peril and endanger the lives of all the passengers, could only be
guessed.

Then, as Blake watched, he saw the door open and the German come out.
Labenstein looked around with furtive glances, and they rested for some
little time on the door behind which Blake was watching. Then, as if
satisfied that all was quiet, the man stole silently along, the
corridor.

"Something doing," thought Blake. "Something doing, all right. He has
something in his hand--probably my flashlight. Much good may it do him!"

As Labenstein passed the stateroom where Lieutenant Secor was quartered,
that door opened softly, but not until the German was beyond it. And
then Blake saw the Frenchman peer out as though to make sure his
fellow-conspirator was fairly on his way. After that the lieutenant
himself emerged and softly followed the German.

"Both of 'em at it," mused Blake. "I'd better rouse Joe and let him keep
track of one, in case they should separate."

A touch on Joe Duncan's shoulder served to arouse him, though he was in
a deep sleep. He sat up, demanding:

"What is it? Are we torpedoed?"

"No, but we may be," was Blake's low answer. "Keep quiet and follow me.
Secor and Labenstein have both gone up on deck, I think. We'd better
follow."

"Shall we tell Charlie?" asked Joe, as he slid from his berth. Neither
he nor his chums had taken off their clothes.

"Yes, I guess we'd better get him up," Blake answered. "If you and I
have to watch these two fellows, we may need some one to send for help
in case anything happens. Come on, Macaroni," he added, leaning over
their helper and whispering in his ear. "Wake up!"

Charles was up in an instant, a bit confused at first, as one often is
when emerging from a heavy sleep, but he had his faculties with him
almost at once, and was ready for action.

"What is it?" he asked, in a whisper.

In like low tones Blake told him, and then the three boys, after making
sure by a cautious observation that neither of the suspected men was in
sight, went out into the corridor and to the deck.

It was quite dark, for all unnecessary lights were dimmed, but there was
a new moon, and the stars were bright, so that objects were fairly
clear. On either side could be dimly observed the black shapes of the
convoying destroyers.

"Where are they?" asked Joe, in a whisper. "The traitors!"

"I don't know--we'll have to look," was Blake's answer. They looked
along the deck, but saw no one, and were about to turn to the other end
of the craft when a figure stepped out from the shadow of a boat and
sharply challenged them.

"Who are you--what do you want?" was asked.

It was one of the ship's crew assigned to night-watch. Blake knew him
slightly, having, at the man's request one day, showed him something of
the workings of a moving picture camera.

"We came up looking for two gentlemen who have the staterooms opposite
ours," Blake answered, resolving to "take a chance" in the matter.
"Lieutenant Secor and Mr. Labenstein," he added. "Have you seen them?"

"Yes; they came up to get a bit of air, they said," answered the sailor.
"I saw them a little while ago. You will find them up near the bow. Do
not show a light, whatever you do, and light no matches. If you wish to
smoke you must go below."

"Thanks, we don't smoke," Joe answered, with a low laugh. "But we'll be
careful about lights."

"All right," answered the sailor. "We have to look out for submarines,
you know," he added. "This is the worst part of the danger zone."

The boys moved forward like silent shadows, peering here and there for a
sight of the two figures who had come up a little while before them,
with evil intentions in their hearts they had no doubt. Even now there
might be flashing across the dark sea, from some hidden vantage point on
the ship, a light signal that would mean the launching of the deadly
torpedo.

"There's no doubt, now, but the Frenchman is a traitor," whispered Joe
to Blake. "I have been positive about that German being a spy ever since
I've seen him, but I did have some doubts regarding Secor. I haven't any
now."

"It does look bad," admitted Blake.

"I wish I'd smashed him with my auto, instead of waiting for him to
smash me," remarked Charlie. "He's a snake, that's what he is!"

"Hush!" cautioned Blake. "They may be around here--any place--and hear
you. I wish we could see them."

They moved along silently, looking on every side for a sight of the two
conspirators, but there were so many shadows, and so many places where
the men might lurk, that it was difficult to place them. The sailor,
evidently, had had no suspicions, thinking that Blake and his chums had
merely come up to be with the two men.

"What are you going to do when you do see them?" asked Joe of his chum.

"I don't know," was the whispered answer. "First, we've got to see them,
then we can tell what to do. But where in the world are they?"

Somewhat at a loss what to do, the boys paused in the shadow of a
deckhouse. They were about to emerge from its dim protection when
Charlie plucked at Blake's sleeve.

"Well?" asked the moving picture boy, in a low voice. "What is it?"

"Look right straight into the bow, as far as you can see," directed
Macaroni. "Notice those two moving shadows?"

"Yes," answered Blake.

"I think that's our men," went on Charlie.

"Yes, there they are," added Joe.

It was evident, after a moment's glance, that the two men who had so
silently stolen from their rooms were together in the bow of the
steamer, or as far up in the bow as they could get. The deck was open
at this point, and, leaning over the side, it would be easy to flash a
signal on either beam. The lookout on the bridge was probably too much
occupied in sweeping the sea ahead and to either side of the ship to
direct his attention to the vessel itself.

"Come on," whispered Blake to the other two. "We want to hear what they
are saying if we can, and see what they're doing."

Silently the boys stole forward until they could make out the dim
figures more clearly. There was no doubt that they were those of Secor
and Labenstein. And then, as the boys paused, fearing to get so close as
to court discovery, they saw a little light flash.

Three times up and down on the port side of the bows went a little flash
of light, and then it suddenly went out.

"My electric light," whispered Blake in Joe's ear.

"But I thought you said it would burn out!"

"I hope it has. I think----"

From one of the figures in the bow came a guttural exclamation:

"The infernal light has gone out!"

"So?" came from the other.

"Yes. It must be broken. Let me have yours, Herr Lieutenant. I have not
given the signal in completeness, and----"

"I left my light in the stateroom. I'll go and----"

But the lieutenant never finished that sentence. Across the dark and
silent ocean came a dull report--an explosion that seemed to make the
_Jeanne_ tremble. And then the sky and the water was lighted by the
flashing beams of powerful lights.

"What was that?" gasped Joe, while from the crouching figures in the bow
came exclamations of dismay. "Are we torpedoed?"

"I fancy not," answered Blake. "Sounded more like one of the destroyers
made a hit herself. I think they set off a depth charge against a
submarine. We'll soon know! Look at the lights now!"

The sea was agleam with brilliant radiance.




CHAPTER XII

IN ENGLAND


From the bridge came commands to the lookouts stationed in various parts
of the French steamer. Orders flashed to the engine room, and the vessel
lost way and floated under her momentum. As yet she was shrouded in
darkness, the only lights glowing being those actually required to
enable persons to see their way about. Below, of course, as long as the
incandescents were shaded, they could be turned on, and many passengers,
awakened by the concussion and the following sounds, illuminated their
staterooms.

The lights that gleamed across the billows came from the convoying
destroyers, and signals flashed from one to the other, though the
meaning of them the moving picture boys could only guess at.

Immediately following the explosion, which seemed to come from the side
of the _Jeanne_ where Labenstein had flashed his signal, the German and
the Frenchman had subsided into silence. Each one had given voice to an
exclamation in his own tongue and then had hurried away.

And so occupied were Blake and his chums with what had gone on out there
on the ocean--trying to guess what had happened--that they did not
notice the departure of the two men.

"What's that you said it was?" asked Joe of his partner. "I mean the
explosion."

"I think it was a depth charge," answered Blake. "One of the destroyers
must have sighted a submarine and let go a bomb, with a heavy charge of
explosive, which didn't go off until after it got to a certain depth
below the surface. That's the new way of dealing with submarines, you
know."

"I only hope they got this one, with a depth charge or any other way,"
remarked Charles Anderson. "Look, we're lighting up! I guess the danger
must be over."

Lights were flashing on the deck of the _Jeanne_, and signals came from
the destroyers. It was evident that messages were being sent to and fro.

And then, as passengers crowded up from their staterooms, some in a
state of panic fearing a torpedo had been launched at the ship, another
muffled explosion was heard, and in the glare of the searchlights from
one of the convoying ships a column of water could be seen spurting up
between the French steamer and the war vessel.

"That's caused by a depth charge," Blake announced. "They must be making
sure of the submarine."

"If they haven't, we're a good target for her now," said Joe, as he
noted the lights agleam on their steamer. "They're taking an awful
chance, it seems to me."

"I guess the captain knows what he's doing," stated Blake. "He must have
been signaled from the destroyers. We'll try to find out."

An officer went about among the passengers, calming them and telling
them there was no danger now.

"But what happened?" asked Blake, and he and his chums waited eagerly
for an answer.

"It was a submarine," was the officer's reply. "She came to attack us,
trying to slip around or between our convoying ships. But one of the
lookouts sighted her and depth charges were fired. The submarine came
up, disabled, it seemed, but to make sure another charge was exploded
beneath the surface. And that was the end of the Hun!" he cried.

"Good!" exclaimed Blake, and his chums also rejoiced. There was
rejoicing, too, among the other passengers, for they had escaped death
by almost as narrow a margin as before. Only the sharp lookout kept had
saved them--that and the depth charge.

"But how does that depth charge work?" asked Charlie Anderson, when the
chums were back in their cabin again, discussing what they had better do
in reference to telling the captain of the conduct of Labenstein and
Secor.

"It works on the principle that water is incompressible in any and all
directions," answered Blake. "That is, pressure exerted on a body of
water is transmitted in all directions by the water. Thus, if you push
suddenly on top of a column of water the water rises.

"And if you set off an explosive below the surface of water the force
goes up, down sidewise and in all directions. In fact, if you explode
gun-cotton near a vessel below the surface it does more damage than if
set off nearer to her but on the surface. The water transmits the power.

"A depth charge is a bomb timed to go off at a certain depth. If it
explodes anywhere near a submarine, it blows in her plates and she is
done for. That's what happened this time, I imagine."

And that is exactly what had happened, as nearly as could be told by the
observers on the destroyer. The submarine had risen, only to sink
disabled with all on board. A few pieces of wreckage and a quantity of
oil floated to the surface but that was all.

Once more the _Jeanne_ resumed her way in the midst of the protecting
convoys, the value of which had been amply demonstrated. And when all
was once more quiet on board, Blake and his chums resumed their talk
about what was best to do regarding what they had observed just before
the setting off of the depth charge.

"I think we ought to tell the captain," said Charlie.

"So do I," added Joe.

"And I agree with the majority," said Blake. "Captain Merceau shall be
informed."

The commander was greatly astonished when told what the boys had seen.
He questioned them at length, and made sure there could have been no
mistake.

"And they gave a signal," mused the captain. "It hardly seems possible!"

"It was Labenstein who actually flashed the light," said Blake. "Do you
know anything about him, Captain Merceau?"

"Nothing more than that his papers, passport, and so on are in proper
shape. He is a citizen of your own country, and appeared to be all
right, or he would not have been permitted to take passage with us. I am
astounded!"

"What about the Frenchman?" asked Joe.

"Him I know," declared the captain. "Not well, but enough to say that I
would have ventured everything on his honor. It does not seem possible
that he can be a traitor!"

"And yet we saw him with the German while Labenstein was signaling the
submarine," added Blake.

"Yes, I suppose it must be so. I am sorry! It is a blot on the fair name
of France that one of her sons should so act! But we must be careful. It
is not absolute proof, yet. They could claim that they were only on deck
to smoke, or something like that. To insure punishment, we must have
absolute proof. I thank you young gentlemen. From now on these two shall
be under strict surveillance, and when we reach England I shall inform
the authorities. You have done your duty. I will now be responsible for
these men."

"That relieves us," said Blake. "We shan't stay in England long
ourselves, so if you want our testimony you'd better arrange to have it
taken soon after we land."

"I shall; and thank you! This is terrible!"

The boys realized that, as the captain had said, adequate proof would be
required to cause the arrest and conviction of the two plotters. While
it was morally certain that they had tried to bring about the successful
attack on the French steamer, a court would want undisputed evidence to
pronounce sentence, whether of death or imprisonment.

"I guess we'll have to leave it with the captain," decided Blake. "We
can tell of his borrowing the light, and that we saw him flash it. Of
course he can say we saw only his lighted cigarette, or something like
that, and where would we be?"

"But there was the signal with the white cloth," added Joe.

"Yes, we could tell that, too; but it isn't positive."

"And there was Secor's running into me and spoiling our other films,"
said Charlie.

"That, too, would hardly be enough," went on Blake. "What the
authorities will have to do will be to search the baggage of these
fellows, and see if there is anything incriminating among their papers.
We can't do that, so we'll have to wait."

And wait they did. In spite of what Captain Merceau had said, the boys
did not relax their vigilance, but though, to their minds, the two men
acted suspiciously, there was nothing definite that could be fastened on
them.

Watchful guard was maintained night and day against an attack by
submarines, and though there were several alarms, they turned out to be
false. And in due season, the vessel arrived at "an English port," as
the papers stated.

"Let's go and see if Captain Merceau wants us to give any evidence
against those fellows," suggested Joe; and this seemed a good plan to
follow.

"Ah, yes, my American friends!" the commander murmured, as the boys were
shown into his cabin. "What can I do for you?"

"We thought we'd see if you wanted us in relation to the arrest of Secor
and Labenstein," answered Blake.

"Ah, yes! The two men who signaled the submarine. I have had them under
surveillance ever since you made your most startling disclosures. I sent
a wireless to the war authorities here to come and place them under
arrest as soon as the vessel docked. I have no doubt they are in custody
now. I'll send and see."

He dispatched a messenger who, when he returned, held a rapid
conversation with the captain in French. It was evident that something
unusual had taken place.

The captain grew more excited, and finally, turning to the boys, said in
English, which he spoke fluently:

"I regret to tell you there has been a mistake."

"A mistake!" cried Blake.

"Yes. Owing to some error, those men were released before the war
authorities could apprehend them. They have gone ashore!"




CHAPTER XIII

UNDER SUSPICION


Blake, Joe and Charles looked at one another. Then they glanced at
Captain Merceau. For one wild moment Blake had it in mind to suspect the
commander; but a look at his face, which showed plainly how deeply
chagrined he was at the failure to keep the two under surveillance, told
the young moving picture operator that there was no ground for his
thought.

"They got away!" repeated Joe, as though he could hardly believe it.

"Yes, I regret to say that is what my officer reports to me. It is too
bad; but I will at once send out word, and they may be traced and
apprehended. I'll at once send word to the authorities." This he did by
the same messenger who had brought the intelligence that the Frenchman
and the German had secretly left.

When this had been done, and the boys had got themselves ready to go
ashore and report, Captain Merceau told them how it had happened. He
had given orders, following the report made by Blake and his chums, that
Secor and Labenstein should be kept under careful watch. And this was to
be done without allowing them to become aware of it.

"However, I very much doubt if this was the case," the captain frankly
admitted. "They are such scoundrels themselves that they would naturally
suspect others of suspecting them. So they must have become aware of our
plans, and then they made arrangements to elude the guard I set over
them."

"How did they do that?" asked Blake.

"By a trick. One of them pretended to be ill and asked that the surgeon
be summoned. This was the German. And when the guard hurried away on
what he supposed was an errand of mercy, the two rascals slipped away.
They were soon lost in the crowd. But we shall have them back, have no
fear, young gentlemen."

But, all the same, Blake and his chums had grave doubts as to the
ability of the authorities to capture the two men. Not that they had any
fears for themselves, for, as Joe said, they had nothing to apprehend
personally from the men.

"Unless they are after the new films we take," suggested Charles.

"Why should they want them?" asked Blake. "I mean, our films are not
likely to give away any vital secrets," he went on.

"Well, I don't know," answered the lanky helper, "but I have a sort of
hunch that they'll do all they can and everything they can to spoil our
work for Uncle Sam on this side of the water, as they did before."

"Secor spoiled the films before," urged Blake. "He didn't know
Labenstein then, as far as we know."

"Well, he knows him now," said Charles. "I'm going to be on the watch."

"I guess the authorities will be as anxious to catch those fellows as we
are to have them," resumed Blake. "Putting a ship in danger of an attack
from a submarine, as was undoubtedly done when Labenstein waved my
flashlight, isn't a matter to be lightly passed over."

And the authorities took the same view. Soon after Captain Merceau had
sent his report of the occurrence to London to the officials of the
English war office, the boys were summoned before one of the officers
directing the Secret Service and were closely questioned. They were
asked to tell all they knew of the man calling himself Lieutenant Secor
and the one who was on the passenger list as Levi Labenstein. This they
did, relating everything from Charlie's accident with the Frenchman to
the destruction of the submarine by the depth charge just after
Labenstein had flashed his signal, assuming that this was what he had
done.

"Very well, young gentlemen, I am exceedingly obliged to you," said the
English officer. "The matter will be taken care of promptly and these
men may be arrested. In that case, we shall want your evidence, so
perhaps you had better let me know a little more about yourselves. I
presume you have passports and the regulation papers?" and he smiled;
but, as Blake said afterward, it was not exactly a trusting smile.

"He looked as if he'd like to catch us napping," Blake said.

However, the papers of the moving picture boys were in proper shape. But
they were carefully examined, and during the process, when Joe,
addressing Charles Anderson, spoke to him as "Macaroni," the officer
looked up quickly.

"I thought his name was Charles," he remarked, as he referred to the
papers.

"Certainly. But we call him 'Macaroni' sometimes because he looks like
it--especially his legs," Joe explained.

"His legs macaroni?" questioned the English officer, regarding the three
chums over the tops of his glasses. "Do you mean--er--that his legs are
so easily broken--as macaroni is broken?"

"No, not that. It's because they're so thin," Joe added.

Still the officer did not seem to comprehend.

"It's a joke," added Blake.

Then the Englishman's face lit up.

"Oh, a joke!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so at first? Now I
comprehend. A joke! Oh, that's different! His legs are like macaroni, so
you call him spaghetti! I see! Very good! Very good!" and he laughed in
a ponderous way.

"At the same time," he went on, "I think I shall make a note of it. I
will just jot it down on the margin of his papers, that he is called
'Macaroni' as a joke. Some other officer might not see the point," he
added. "I'm quite fond of a joke myself! This is a very good one. I
shall make a note of it." And this he proceeded to do in due form.

"Well, if that isn't the limit!" murmured Joe, when the officer, having
returned their papers to them, sent them to another department to get
the necessary passes by which they could claim their baggage and make
application to go to the front.

"It's a good thing this officer had a sense of humor," remarked Blake,
half sarcastically, "or we might have had to send back for a special
passport for one stick of macaroni."

If Blake and his chums had an idea they would at once be permitted to
depart for "somewhere in France" and begin the work of taking moving
pictures of Uncle Sam's boys in training and in the trenches, they were
very soon disillusioned. It was one thing to land in England during war
times, but it was another matter to get out, especially when they were
not English subjects.

It is true that Mr. Hadley had made arrangements for the films to be
made, and they were to be taken for and under the auspices of the United
States War Department.

But England has many institutions, and those connected with war are
bound up in much red tape, in which they are not unlike our own, in some
respects.

The applications of Blake and his chums to depart for the United States
base in France were duly received and attached to the application
already made by Mr. Hadley and approved by the American commanding
officer.

"And what happens next?" asked Blake, when they had filled out a number
of forms in the English War Office. "I mean, where do we go from here?"

"Ah, that's one of your songs, isn't it?" asked an English officer, one
who looked as though he could understand a joke better than could the
one to whom macaroni so appealed.

"Yes, it's a song, but we don't want to stay here too long singing it,"
laughed Joe.

"Well, I'll do my best for you," promised the officer, who was a young
man. He had been twice wounded at the front and was only awaiting a
chance to go back, he said. "I'll do my best, but it will take a little
time. We'll have to send the papers to France and wait for their
return."

"And what are we to do in the meanwhile?" asked Blake.

"I fancy you'll just have to stay here and--what is it you say--split
kindling?"

"'Saw wood,' I guess you mean," said Joe. "Well, if we have to, we have
to. But please rush it along, will you?"

"I'll do my best," promised the young officer. "Meanwhile, you had
better let me have your address--I mean the name of the hotel where you
will be staying--and I'll send you word as soon as I get it myself. I
had better tell you, though, that you will not be allowed to take any
pictures--moving or other kind--until you have received permission."

"We'll obey that ruling," Blake promised. He had hoped to get some views
of ruins caused by a Zeppelin. However, there was no hope of that.

On the recommendation of the young officer they took rooms in London at
a hotel in a vicinity to enable them to visit the War Department
easily. And then, having spent some time in these formalit