"Boys:"General Pershing has gone away for a conference. I am off on almost the same errand, in another direction. When you wake up, Porky, you are to do as you like for forty-eight hours. It is a leave given you on account of your good work yesterday. I have not seen Beany at all to-day. I enclose a pass that will take you wherever you want to go within the lines. Don't go to the outer trenches. Better take time to write some letters home. We are in for some hot work here. I don't mind telling you that there is a leak somewhere. Keep your eyes and ears open."Your friend,"COLONEL BRIGHT."Porky folded the note and put it deep down in his pocket. Then he turned to look at the two officers. One of them was running the typewriter like a veteran; the other, with a puckered brow, was stabbing the keys with his middle fingers. He was making awful work of it.Porky watched him for a while, then he went over and saluted."I would be glad to write to your dictation, sir," he said. "That is, if it is nothing personal.""Well, I should say not!" said the officer. "I am Captain Dowd, and this is a letter to a military journal back home. They wrote me some time ago for some dope, and I jotted down something then. It is on scraps of paper, and they couldn't read it as it is now written. I wanted to put it in shape, and then add something of our later experiences. Do you think you can do it, and do you want to take the trouble?""Yes, sir," said Porky heartily. "I just woke up, and there is nothing for me to do until my brother blows in. There is no use for me to go after him, because he knows where I am. I can write it for you in no time.""That's fine!" said the Captain in a relieved tone. "At the rate I can work that old machine, the war will be over about the time I finish; and that's not hurrying the war any too much either. I have a page done. You may go on from where I left off if you will."Porky sat down and the Captain drew up a chair, and lighted a cigarette while he scanned the soiled, ragged sheets of paper in his hand."Here we are," he said. "Fire away!""We are now getting the finishing touches to our training, and you can rest assured that it is of the most finished description, and we are ready to get into the big fight at any time. Our regiment, one of the first over, was inspected by General Pershing the other day, and we feel that he was fully satisfied with it. We have been told so at any rate. Our regiment has learned the French open order drills which is by sections instead of squads. We have also had any amount of rifle shooting and certainly know how to shoot. Then, besides, we have had practice in throwing live hand-grenades until our arms ached, but the use of this deadly bomb is of the utmost importance for close fighting as one grenade properly thrown among the enemy is liable to wipe out a hundred men. Besides this, we have been taught to shoot hand-grenades and automatic rifles, and do about everything that is infernal in warfare. Our regiment and many of the others have all been supplied with steel helmets, which have been dubbed 'tin lizzies.' They are not so very comfortable to wear, but they have proved extremely valuable, just the same, and have saved many lives and more bad head wounds."We understand that the gas we are to greet the Germans with is a better article than their own. We surely do hope it is. We have had trench work galore, with dugouts and wire entanglements, some of them close on the enemy's front, and others in our own training area. We have marched about ten miles to the trenches, relieving other battalions about three A.M. and holding the trench until about six P.M. next day. At that time we are relieved by another battalion and get back to our billet about ten P.M. and by that time, what with trench work and the tramp of twenty miles, oh how precious we do find sleep!"When we are within our training area, we do everything exactly as it is done on the firing line, including the guard work, which is divided into two reliefs, and everybody turns out at dawn, which is the usual time the enemy makes his raids, and we must be on the alert."We have had long marches, battalion, regimental and divisional maneuvers, and we always march with full pack and a gas mask slung over each shoulder."The Captain laid down his papers and rolled another cigarette. Porky rested his hands on the desk."They have some new kind of mask, haven't they?" he asked."Yes; haven't you seen them!" asked the Captain."No, sir," said Porky. "I just heard them talking about them.""They are similar to the old ones, but I believe they last longer," said the Captain. "They have a filter can for the air that is strapped at your belt Then there is the usual tube to your mouth. There is a rubber cap that sets over the front teeth and fits close to the gums, with little rubber dew hickeys to bite on so you won't lose it out. There are automatic rubber lips that close tight if you try to breathe in any outside air, but open for the air from the filter can."Once more he picked up his papers."Our gas masks and our rifles we consider our best friends and never lose them."Perhaps some data regarding the numerous details of the military life we have to meet here may be of interest, and I will give you some of it."Stringent orders have been given to all organization commanders that they will be held strictly responsible for any dirty or rusty arms and equipment found among their men, and they must also see that their men are clean-shaven and that their billets are clean and orderly."A number of men who have disregarded orders have been seriously injured while riding on the top of cars. The French tunnels are very low, and the men have been knocked off. Other men, through carelessness, have fallen out of the cars. The failure to assemble organizations at the time set before the departure of trains has resulted in the leaving of a number of men behind, and the provost guards have had the job of rounding the men up and forwarding them to their command."Even in France the destination of the detachment must be kept absolutely secret throughout the journey. No matter how long or how short the journey turns out to be, the preparations are the same. Organizations must entrain with two days' field rations on the person of each man, two days' travel rations for each man in the car with men, and ten days' field rations in the baggage car."The field train of the organization entraining, must accompany it, with all its wagons loaded for the field, especially with the cooking utensils, water cans, paulins, three days' field rations for each man, together with two days' field rations for each animal."The French town major points out the training area and no other area can be used. Distances to other posts will generally be found on posts on the side of the road, shown in kilometers. A kilometer is five-eighths of a mile."All time commences at naught, and ends at twenty-four. Thus, for instance six P.M. would be eighteen.""That's what gets my goat!" said Porky, stopping to fix the ribbon. "It does make the longest day, even after you get the hang of things, so you know whether you are in to-day, or some time next week.""It would seem something that way," said the Captain, laughing. He continued to read from his paper."All troops proceeding to the front will have issued to them a small quantity of firewood with which to cook one meal on detraining. In the area of concentration a supply train will be forwarded each day to the rail head, from which supplies will be carried to the troops by the wagons of the train. All arrangements for the movements of troops and supplies by rail are made by the railway transport officer at the base port.""Gee, some busy officer!" commented Porky."I'll say so," said the Captain, and went on reading."French military trains are made up as follows: One passenger car (first- or second-class, or mixed), thirty box cars, or third-class cars; seventeen flat or gondola cars; two caboose; total, fifty. Third-class cars are not provided for troops. They will carry eight men to a compartment. Box cars are usually provided for the troops. They will hold from thirty-two to forty men. Sometimes seats are provided, sometimes straw to lie on. Spaces at each end of the car are to be left clear for rifles, travel rations, and accouterments, the rifles being secured by a temporary rack made with screw rings and a strap for same. The horse cars hold eight horses in two rows of four, facing each other. The central space between doors is used for saddles and harness, forage, water cans and buckets, as well as the two men who travel in each car. Flat cars usually accommodate one, but sometimes two, wagons."The Captain folded up the paper."Is that all?" asked Porky. "It sounds mighty interesting.""I would like to add something more, if you don't mind writing it," said, the Captain."Of course not," said Porky. "I'm mighty glad to do it.""Thanks," said the Captain. "It is certainly a relief to me." He leaned back in his chair, stared up at the ceiling, and commenced to dictate."The pages sent under this cover were jotted down by me some time ago. I can not give you the exact date, and up to the present time have not had the opportunity to put my notes in readable order or to get them mailed. We are now doing very interesting work at the front, living underground. We have very comfortable and well ventilated quarters, and are sleeping in bunks, on clean bed sacks filled with clean straw. The only objection is the rats, of which there are great numbers, but we have a cat and two dogs. The cat is a crackajack. I don't know how many rats he averages a day—would be afraid to say, in fact—but he is on the job all the time, and is wearing himself thin over it. The two dogs, small and of no known breed, run the cat a close second."I have never seen the boys happier than they are now. They feel as if they were really doing something worth while. I have heard the German shells and have seen German territory, and it certainly puts pep into a fellow, but as yet I can't say I've been scared."This place has seen some very heavy fighting, and the ground is covered with all sorts of debris. For many square miles there is not a single tree to be seen which has not been hit and killed. The ground is torn up to such an extent that there is no grass to be seen, and the only way I can describe it is to say that it looks like the ocean on a very rough day. The shell holes run into each other, and are often ten or twelve feet deep and thirty feet across. This place, which was once a French village, has been taken from the Germans, and the ground is covered with unexploded shells, hand-grenades, German helmets, old rifles, and all sorts of things that would make wonderful souvenirs if we could only get them home. In every little village around here, there is not a house or tree standing. I am writing in a room in the wing of what was once a magnificent old castle. It was evidently saved from destruction by the Germans, who wished it for the accommodation of their higher officers. We are using it for that same purpose."One of the most interesting things here is to watch the airplanes, both ours and the Germans. They are very hard to hit, and they usually don't pay much attention to the firing, but we watch the little bursts of white smoke from the French shells, and the black smoke from the Germans. I have often seen twenty-five or thirty little puffs of smoke at the same time around one machine, but have never seen one hit. The other day a German came over in a cloud while other German planes attracted the attention of our guns."He went right up to one of our observation balloons and fired his machine gun into the balloon, setting it on fire. The two men, an American and a Frenchman, came down in a parachute. They said they didn't mind it. Perhaps they didn't, but both were about as pale as they could be. I watched the whole performance. To-day we sent up another observation balloon with exactly the same result, except that the balloon didn't burn, but both men jumped out, coming down in two parachutes."It was exciting and a very pretty sight to see the white silk parachutes open up and glisten in the sun. Both landed safely, and wanted to go up again immediately, but could not, owing to the damaged balloon."There is some firing going on most of the time, even when there is no pitched battle, and our guns shake the dugout a bit, but we are supposed to be safe here underground and, anyway, the Boche shells don't seem to come this way, though we often hear them. By the way, our machine guns drove the Boche planes off this afternoon, and the balloon was pulled down safely."Another day, if I remain unhurt, which I have every intention of doing, I will give you further details of the life and work. As I said in the beginning, the men are well and happy. Strange as it may seem, there is much less illness than there in the training camps at home. I can't make this out unless the men as a general rule reach here greatly benefited by the sea voyage. Certainly the work is much harder, the conditions no better, and I guess 'sunny France' is an invention of the poets. However that may be, our splendid fellows are fit and fine, trim, and hard. We are going to win!"The Captain leaned over and clapped Porky on the shoulder. "Kid, you're a brick!" he said. "That's all, and thank you a thousand times. It ought to hold 'em for a while, don't you think?""I should say it was some letter," said Porky. "And you are perfectly welcome." He rose and looked at his wrist watch, frowning as he did so. "Most night again," he said. "Seventeen o'clock by their queer old way of counting. It's mighty funny where my brother is." He walked restlessly to the window and with unseeing eyes stared hard at the ragged uptorn world outside.CHAPTER IVWHERE WAS PORKY?WherewasBeany?Beany himself, trussed up neatly with many cords and wearing a scientific gag which made speech or yells impossible, yet which did not hurt him very much, would have been glad to have been able to answer that question.Where was Beany? Beany didn't know where Beany was, and also he felt a natural and lively curiosity as to where Beany wasgoingto be in the near future.He had entered the passage in the wall on the spur of the moment; he had acted without counting the possible cost or the probable consequences.Usually the boys acted together; if possible, they always left some clue for the other to follow. Hence they had hitherto come out of some pretty dark and serious scrapes with whole skins and a desire for further adventures. But this time Porky, in the General's office, Porky, sound asleep with his head on the General's desk, could not know that his twin brother was faring forth alone on a desperate adventure. If he had known at the moment what was happening, if any warning could have pierced his sleep-drugged brain, well, this story would not have been written.Beany popped into the secret passage and slid the panel shut behind him with a careless backward-reaching hand. His eyes and his thoughts were on the pitchy dark before him. He thought with a sense of relief that he had a tiny flashlight in his pocket, but whether it would flash when required to do so was quite another matter.Beany was bitter on the subject of flashlights, knowing well how apt they are to respond to every touch when not required particularly to do so, and having learned by sad experience that it was when the festive burglar wasin the room, the pet kittendown the well, or the diamondin the crackthat they would not flash at all. So he merely felt of the pocket where the flash reposed, and stood silent, back against the panel, waiting to accustom those marvelous eyes of his to the dense darkness.Beany Potter had a gift given to few—eyesight that served him almost equally well by day or by night. There was scarcely a limit to his strange focus. And at night, like members of the cat family, he was able to make out not only forms, but in many cases features and colors as well.When he had become used to the pitch blackness of the tunnel, he discovered that he was in an arched stone passage just wide enough for one person to walk without brushing the sides. It wound forward on an incline, and ten feet from where Beany stood turned a corner. Still forgetful of danger, he ran noiselessly forward and gained the turn, where he stood listening. There was not a sound to guide or warn him, so he went on, scarcely breathing. His footsteps made not the slightest sound, and he could feel that there was something soft and deadening under his feet, either fine sand or bran, or something of that nature, that had been spread for the purpose of stifling the sound of passing steps. Now he could clearly hear voices above, and decided that he was near or right under the room where the General had his office and held all his staff meetings.Beany stopped at once and commenced tracing the sound. After a little he found the source. At one side of the passage a common funnel was set in the wall. Beany placed his ear to the funnel and was startled by the clearness with which he was able to distinguish sounds in the General's office. He could hear the scratching of the pen as the General wrote, the steady tramp, tramp of Colonel Bright as he paced the room. Even the steady breathing of his sleeping brother was plainly audible.Beany seized the edge of the funnel and was about to tear it loose but decided that it was better to leave it apparently untouched. So he rammed his handkerchief tightly down the neck of the funnel, and chuckled to note that the sounds from the room were suddenly silenced. If any one should come behind him and try to listen, they would get one good big surprise, but no information, for the handkerchief was packed well out of sight.This done, Beany turned and, smiling over his precious information, started back, when a sound, a far distant sound, rooted him to the spot. It was a woman crying in a low stifled tone. "Oh, oh, oh!" cried the voice with choking sobs.Then another voice spoke, and a sneering, low laugh floated back to Beany. The sobbing voice cried out again in English."Oh, don't! Oh, please! Oh, I can't tell you because I don't know! Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!"Beany forgot that he was alone, unarmed, a boy. He forgot the dark passage; he forgot caution. Afterwards he wondered why he did not think to call up the funnel for the help he needed. He just turned and, trusting to his wonderful eyes to take him safely over the black unknown path, he ran swiftly in the direction of the voice.Around a corner, down a short, straight passage, around another corner, then through a low, narrow door that swung half way open, Beany shot into a large room or cavern. He did not stop to see where he was, but continued his chase across the space. There was another door beyond. A light shone through this door and Beany headed for it. From within the choked sobbing continued. Half way he smashed into something—a piece of heavy furniture of some sort. He rebounded as if from a blow, and staggered. Before he could get his balance again, a form appeared against the light in the door ahead and another form seemed to take shape from the dark bulk of the piece of furniture he had stumbled against. He was seized in a pair of steel-muscled arms, a heavy cloth was thrown over him and rolled tightly around him.In the instant he was made helpless, powerless.He heard rapid orders. Through the thick cloth he could see a dim glimmer of light. He was laid down on a couch of some sort, and tied, hands and feet.Then and only then was the heavy cloth removed, and Beany, blinking in the glare of half a dozen electric lanterns, stared at the group around him.He was lying on a great bed that was occupying the middle of the room. It seemed a funny place for a bed, but later Beany noticed that the moisture was thick on the walls and was dripping down the corners. The middle was about the only dry place. The covers had been luxurious—soft and silken comfortables padded with feathers, and delicate blankets, but they were soiled and torn by careless spurs. At the foot of the bed, staring at him with amazement in her face, was the old scrubwoman. It was evident that she recognized him. She had seen him often enough, Beany reflected. He returned her look and nodded. A big man, the one in the duster, standing close at Beany's side, noted the nod and rasped out a remark, directing it at the old woman. She did not condescend to notice him. Two other men were there. From the inner room the sobbing continued. Beany scowled. He fixed his eyes on the old woman."Somebody is being hurt," he remarked.No one spoke. Beany did not take his eyes from the woman's face."I know you can hear," he informed her, "and I bet my hat you speak English! I wish you would talk and tell me who is getting hurt. I can't do any harm just at present."The woman continued to stare at him for a moment, then bared her toothless gums in a cackling laugh. She nodded quite gaily."No, you can't do much harm either now or later, my little sparrow-hawk."She spoke in clear, perfect English, with only the slightest accent to betray her German blood."I liked you two boys, up above. You were always agreeable to the poor old deaf and dumb woman. No sneers, no jokes about her, always nice and pleasant. Two nice boys! Made just alike, and such fonny names—Peany and Borky; so fonny!" She laughed again.The man in the duster commenced to swear in German. Beany knew it was swearing, and recognized it as German.The old woman raised her hand."Calm yourself, Excellency!" she said, with the air of royalty. "There is no need for excitement. Why should I not say what I please to this foolish child who has made such a great mistake; ah, such a great mistake?""It iss his last!" snarled the man in the duster, breaking into English. "His last; his last!" he kept repeating."Calm yourself," said the old woman, frowning. "We know that; it is all so easy; why do you annoy yourself? I am only sorry that it is one of those nice boys. Such pleasant,politeboys! The other will feel the lonesomeness very much; is it not so, my little sparrow-hawk?"She smiled in the boy's face. Then she came to the side of the bed, and with a not ungentle hand arranged him in a more comfortable position. Then she touched the man in the duster, whom she called Excellency, and together they went into the farthest corner of the big room and whispered for a long time, while the two other men stood motionless beside the bed and watched Beany as closely as though they thought he might float off through the ceiling. Presently, as though they had come to a decision, Excellency returned, the old woman, whom he called Madame, at his side. They too stood and looked long at the boy."How did you get here?" asked Madame finally."Through the panel," said Beany, who knew there was no use keeping back anything they could so easily find out for themselves.The old woman started to ask another question when the low sobbing in the other room was accented by a moan. With a glance at Beany's cords, the group beside him all went out of sight through the open doorway. In a few moments there was silence, with the sound of heavy breathing."Drugged!" guessed Beany.Presently the two men returned. They took Beany from the bed, and sat him down in a chair, binding his legs tightly and, after searching him for a pistol, released his arms. A cord cunningly wrapped around his waist held him firmly in his seat. Beany was glad to have his hands free.Hours passed. Beany felt cramped and was furiously hungry. His brain milled round and round in a ceaseless effort to find some way out of the situation. He did not feel proud of this last exploit. He had acted rashly and without the least glimmer of caution. He knew well that he was doomed. There was no possible finish but death, and if it could be a swift death without torture, it would only be on account of the ray of friendship that Madame felt for the two youngsters who had respected her infirmities and age.Beany was against a blank wall. Knowing that he had no possible chance of escape, Madame climbed up on the bed, the three men disappeared in the inner room, and finally, to his amazement, Beany too dozed off, although he could not help thinking that it was not at all the thing to do under the circumstances.When he woke, he was dazed and stiff. His legs, strapped tightly to the chair, felt asleep. Madame, fully dressed, as she had lain down hours before, sat blinking on the side of the bed."Well! Wie befinden sie sich?" she said, grinning at the prisoner.Beany accepted the friendly tone, although he did not understand the words."Morning!" he offered in return.Madame clapped her wrinkled hands sharply.The man who had stared through the keyhole appeared."Coffee!" said Madame abruptly. It was a command.The man saluted and withdrew, to return with a tray and a. steaming cup. Madame sat sipping the boiling draft, gazing at the boy meanwhile."It is really too bad," she said finally, in her careful, clear English. "Such a boyish,sillything to do! And you see how it is. You are such a nice boy; I do hate to let them kill you, yet you cannot go back; you must see that. However, you shall have an easy way. I shall assert my authority. You look surprised. Do you think it strange that so old a woman, sofrightfulan old woman, should still have authority? Even so, I have plenty of it. I am powerful. If I chose, I could call the Emperor cousin. What do you say to that?"She seemed to expect an answer. Beany did not know what to say, but after a pause in which she stared at him unwinkingly, he managed to retort, "Some dope!""Indeed, yes!" said Madame, to whom the slang was Greek. "Indeed, yes! Well, your coming has spoiled nothing but your own life. We have the information that we want, we have two prisoners who are most valuable. The others will go on to-day, while I, the cousin of an emperor, will for the time continue to wait on those pigs of officers upstairs. Deaf and dumb!"She laughed silently, with queer little cackles. Then setting down the empty cup, she went into the inner room.Beany sat thinking the big thoughts that come at hours so filled with doom. Yet somehow it did not seem possible to him that he was to be snuffed out so soon; he, Beany Potter! He looked at his wrist watch. The crystal was broken but the watch was still running. Beany started to wind it, then stopped. What would be the use?"Well, it may as well go as long as I do," he reflected, and finished winding it. It sounded loud as thunder in the quiet room.He commenced to think of his brother with all his might. His spirit called to him over and over. He thought again of the time and remembered that although he had looked at his watch, he had not noticed the time at all.Once more he looked. To his amazement it was noon.Beany commenced idly feeling through his pockets. If he could only find some way of communicating with Porky before it was too late! All at once his fingers closed on an object that he knew. His face lighted..... If there was any way—Oh, if there wasanyway!Then Beany's clean boy soul went down upon its knees, while Beany, lashed to the chair, closed his eyes and prayed. Earnestly, humbly he prayed for help; and then, feeling that he had done all he could in the way of asking, opened his eyes and set his whole mind on Porky. He kept his hand in his pocket closed on the object he had chanced on.Presently the two men came back, untied the cords that bound Beany to the massive chair, tied his hands behind his back, untied his ankles and led him into the inner room. Beany flashed a curious glance around it.The room was not dark, like the room he had just left. It was well lighted by grated windows overgrown outside with heavy underbrush. Beany guessed that they were away from the ruined castle itself and somewhere out on the grounds. There was more furniture, and another bed like the one in the room that he had just left.On this tumbled couch lay a form closely covered with a blanket."Dead, whoever he is," said Beany to himself.Facing him was a straight chair and in it, bound and gagged, was a young man in the uniform of the French army. He was trussed up until movement of any sort seemed impossible. Most of his face was covered with the cloths that formed the gag, but over the bandages a pair of sharp, intelligent eyes flashed a message to Beany. He had been buffeted and racked, threatened with all the horrors imaginable and subjected to some of them, but from out those eyes looked a spirit that blows could never break and death itself could never quell. Beany returned the look with a long gaze. He underwent a new agony. Not only was he unable, through his foolhardy action, to save his own life, but here was another as well that he could not save. For he knew that the youth before him must be doomed. His gaze roved to the bed. There was something strangely graceful and soft about the outlines of the form under the comfortable. He felt his hair prickle on his head. All at once he knew. It was a girl! It had beenhervoice he had heard sobbing. As he looked, he hoped and prayed that she was indeed dead. He stifled a groan.Madame gave an order. He was once more fastened securely in a chair and the old woman came beside him and offered him a paper and pencil."You may write a note to that twin brother of yours," she said. "We are through with this underground hole. It is damp, anyway. I do not need any further help. But you shall write and tell your brother where to look for you. I will see that he gets it in good season. Not to-day, nor yet to-morrow. Little boys in these war-times must be taught not to meddle. Write what you will."Beany took the pencil obediently, and wrote:"Open panel at right of office door by pressing upper left-hand carving. Send some one else to look for me. Love to Mother and Father. Good-by."BEANY."Madame took the brief note and read it. "That is short, but it will do," she said. Then she turned to the others. "As soon as it is dark take your prisoners to the foot of the garden. There will be a French car there. The girl, as you know, is to be taken unharmed. Go to our own base. We will make her speak when we get her there. You know what to do with this other."She picked up a broom and grinned down at Beany. "I am going up to see what they are doing above. Don't you wish you had had the sense not to meddle?"As she passed him Beany strained forward against his bonds and caught her by the dress. He clasped her knees in his agony."Please,please, Madame!" he cried. "Pleasedon't let them kill me! I promise that I won't tell!" His voice went up in a cry that was almost a whine. The old woman broke away from him in disgust."Bah! You are all alike! live, live, live always! Why don't you learn to die, you Americans! That is what we have got to teach you!" She struck him smartly across the face, and moved to the door with a backward look of command."Be ready when I return," she said. "In the meantimenot a sound!" She grinned at Porky. "I will see you once more, young man," she chuckled, and left the room.As the door hid her from view, Beany drew a long breath. He seemed strangely excited and relieved. Once more he consulted his watch. It would be at least an hour before dark. There was a fighting chance. Death or life? Life or death? His fate was trembling in the balance.Where was Porky?CHAPTER VTO THE RESCUEPorky was getting worried. It was growing late, and there was no sign of Beany.He asked a couple of the aides when they came in if they had seen anything of his brother, but no one had any news for him. Porky looked into the narrow hall at intervals, and twice he went out and wandered around the grounds that surrounded the castle. But nothing of Beany!Finally he returned to the office, and took up his station at the window where he could see far down what had been the drive. The office was in a room in what had been the wing, and jutted out into the space now soiled and useless, which had once been a lovely, widespread garden of lawns and flowers, but which now looked worse than any ploughed field.Something kept pulling at Porky's heart. He knew the feeling, had had it often; and it told him, as it always did, that his twin brother, whom he loved so well, was in trouble and needed him. Usually he felt something that impelled him to go in a certain direction in search of Beany; something, aforcedirecting him—he never could tell just what it was. But he always obeyed it, and so did Beany, to whom the same feelings came. But now Porky sat irresolutely at the window, baffled and worried. He felt anchored to the spot, yet knew in his heart that his brother's need was great. Every time he got to his feet and started out of the room, something pulled him back. Finally in despair, he settled down and stared with unseeing eyes into the growing darkness of the ruined gardens.His heart beat heavily. His mind and soul called his brother, demanding an answer from the silence and the night. The officers and aides who had been in the room left it, and Porky was alone. Presently, as the waiting grew almost more than the boy could endure, a slight sound caused him to turn around. It was the old scrubwoman, broom in hand."Hullo!" said Porky, and turned back to the window. He was too badly worried to be polite."Hay-loo!" said the old cracked voice in broken English. Porky looked around again. She was standing at his side, smiling at him, a queer grinning leer not at all pleasant. Porky felt an insane desire to ask her if that was the best she could do. But he did not. He simply stared at her, at the wrinkled face and bright, twinkling, keen eyes. Porky felt that those eyes were almost too keen, almost too intelligent for that old peasant woman.They looked steadily at each other, Porky wondering more and more at the expression on the old mask of a face. She was little, bent and feeble; she scarcely came to tall Porky's shoulder; yet to the sensitive, worried boy as he gazed at her there came a feeling of something wicked, powerful, and threatening. There seemed to the alert senses of the boy that there was a knowing twinkle in the old eyes when she looked questioningly around the room, and said, "Your brodder. Ware iss he?""I don't know," said Porky slowly. "You didn't see him outside, did you?""No, I dit not see heem outsite; me, I have seen nozzing outsite."She smiled and wagged her old head, looked piercingly at Porky again, and turned away. Porky watched her squat old bent figure, then drew his breath sharply as something caught his eye! It was something caught on one of the ample folds of her ragged skirt, something that glittered! All the blood in Porky's body seemed to make a mad rush to his head, then ebbed back to his heart. He started toward the old woman, then stopped and thought, staring at the object on her skirt. He knew it well. The old woman stooped to pick up something and the object on her skirt swung free and glittered in the uncertain light. Porky drew a sharp breath as he recognized his brother's message. For a message he knew it to be. The little glittering object was a leather fob strap. At the end dangled a swimming medal that Beany had won long ago. He had always carried it as a pocket piece, and in some way it had accompanied him on the Great Adventure. It had never been out of Beany's pocket.Yet there it was, hanging to a fold of the old woman's tattered dress swinging and glittering! Evidently she did not know that it was there.Porky, suddenly alert, started to his feet and took an impulsive step toward the old woman. Then, before she had time to notice his action, he stopped. He could not remove the dangling medal without letting her know that something was up, and his only move was to watch her when she left the room. Somewhere, Beany was in trouble! Porky realized that the message of the medal was a desperate, last resort. A million to one shot, he told himself anxiously; but it had reached him, and while he lived there was hope for Beany. He studied the old scrubwoman with a new understanding. She no longer appeared harmless, stupid and ignorant. The keen twinkle in her old eyes; what had it meant? The seemingly simple and innocent question, "Your brodder. Ware iss he?" was just to sound him, the boy decided. He knew, all at once, that she knew all about Beany. To follow her was to find his brother, alive, or ... Porky could not say the rest even to his own soul. Hewouldfollow her! He wouldfindthe brother whom he loved better than his own life! His blood boiled when he thought of the condition he might find that dear one in, and he set his jaw in a way that promised desperate things.Old Elise went pottering around the room, unconscious of the glittering eyes bent steadfastly on her, and ignorant of the glittering trifle fastened to her dress. Porky felt that he would gladly barter years of his life to know how it came to be there, but he clung to the happiest reason that he could think up: Beany himself had in some way fastened it on the old woman. Porky decided to obey the summons as he imagined them to have been sent. By hook or crook, he would follow the old woman, sly and crafty as he now believed her to be. By hook or crook, he would find his brother. Starting towards the old woman, he waited until she stooped over the General's table, wiping off the papers with a careful, shaking old hand. Porky, suspicious of everything now, fancied that she swiftly read the words on the uppermost pages, but he was busy with deft fingers unfastening the fob from the tattered skirt. He slipped it in his pocket, picked up a pencil and pad from the table, and once more sat down by the window. A few minutes later, while the old woman still pottered around, Porky rose and idly left the room, whistling as he did so. He unconsciously repeated Beany's performance in the dusky hall. He went to the turn, and dropping on one knee, bent a steady gaze on the door he had just closed. He was rewarded in a moment by a sight of the old woman. She came out of the General's office, softly closing the door behind her, and commenced feeling over the secret panel. It opened, and she entered, closing it as she went, but not before Porky was beside it, his eye on the spot he had seen her old fingers press. He waited for what seemed to him an eternity, then pressed the carved ornament of old oak. It gave, and the opening panel disclosed the passage in the wall down which Beany had so recklessly followed his quarry.Porky was cautious, yet determined. Noiselessly he trailed the old spy until they reached the great chamber where the big bed was. Not once did she look behind. It did not occur to her that she could possibly be watched or followed. She had grown careless. She did not even mind the fact that she had left the heavy door swinging ajar behind her. Why, indeed, should she? Was not the door in the panel too cunningly contrived for any one to find, except perhaps that Boy Scout who now sat fettered in his chair waiting his end? His brother ... bah! She had left him above. She crossed the room, and stooped to reach a shawl she had thrown on the high bed. As she bent, something light and strong and cat-like leaped upon her seizing her wrinkled throat in a vise-like grip. She could not scream. In a second the curtain of the bed was wrapped over her, fold on fold. She struggled furiously, but to no avail. She was nearly smothered. Porky didn't much care. He worked in a frenzy of haste. He pulled down the thick cords that had been used to pull the bed curtains open and shut, and tied his human bundle securely. Then with a cautious thought he shoved her under the high bed, and made for the inner room.It was silent. A single candle burned on the table. Beany sat in his chair. He was bound and gagged. As Porky sped across the room he saw the diabolical contrivance hanging above the boy's head.A massive blade with a heavily weighted handle hung directly over the boy, point down. The cord which held the weapon passed through a pulley to another pulley, and from there to the table. There it was fastened to a short stick that was strapped to the alarm key of a common alarm clock. As Porky's quick glance took in the whole scene, the little alarm clock gave the cluck that precedes the striking of the alarm. Porky made a dash across the room, as the alarm commenced to sound and, seizing his brother's chair, swung him aside as the whirling alarm key tightened the cord. One after another, with deadly swiftness, the cords tightened until a quick pull on the smallest cord of all, a mere thread, snapped it.The heavy blade seemed for a moment to balance in air, then it dropped down and buried its razor point six inches deep in the old floor.Not until then did Porky slash the cords which bound his brother, and as Beany shook himself free, with many faces to ease his tired jaw where the gag had pressed it, Porky dropped limply into a chair and mopped his brow."The sword of Damocles!" was all he said."Don't know the gent," said Beany huskily. "Did some guy play this trick on him! If he felt as nervous as I did before you came, I feel good and sorry for him. Gosh, I have been sitting all trussed up there for about a year! Let's get out of this!""No special hurry," said Porky wearily. He could not recover at once from the shock, but Beany was chipper as a cricket."Well, I don't know," he said, "I have not grown so fond of this little old dungeon that I want to reside here long. Besides, perhaps you don't know the old lady who sweeps upstairs as well as I do. She is apt to be up to almost any trick.""Not if the Court knows himself, and he thinks he does," said Porky positively. "I left her under the bed in the other room with about a mile of flossy curtain cord twined around her. She is safe enough. We will go up and report this little affair, and get a couple of men to come down and take her to the General. She is a hard character. A spy, in fact.""I guess I know that!" said Beany, rising and rubbing his stiff legs and arms. "I have a lot more to report than you have. Let's be off!"Together they hurried into the first chamber, and made for the door leading into the passage. Porky, in passing, looked under the bed. Then with a gasp he looked again and, dropping on one knee, seized a bundle of ragged clothing and a tangle of crimson curtain cords.He looked at them, turning them over and over. Then he shook them. Then he looked under the great high bed again."What ails you?" demanded Beany impatiently."She's—she's gone!" said Porky feebly.The old woman had vanished.
"Boys:
"General Pershing has gone away for a conference. I am off on almost the same errand, in another direction. When you wake up, Porky, you are to do as you like for forty-eight hours. It is a leave given you on account of your good work yesterday. I have not seen Beany at all to-day. I enclose a pass that will take you wherever you want to go within the lines. Don't go to the outer trenches. Better take time to write some letters home. We are in for some hot work here. I don't mind telling you that there is a leak somewhere. Keep your eyes and ears open.
"COLONEL BRIGHT."
Porky folded the note and put it deep down in his pocket. Then he turned to look at the two officers. One of them was running the typewriter like a veteran; the other, with a puckered brow, was stabbing the keys with his middle fingers. He was making awful work of it.
Porky watched him for a while, then he went over and saluted.
"I would be glad to write to your dictation, sir," he said. "That is, if it is nothing personal."
"Well, I should say not!" said the officer. "I am Captain Dowd, and this is a letter to a military journal back home. They wrote me some time ago for some dope, and I jotted down something then. It is on scraps of paper, and they couldn't read it as it is now written. I wanted to put it in shape, and then add something of our later experiences. Do you think you can do it, and do you want to take the trouble?"
"Yes, sir," said Porky heartily. "I just woke up, and there is nothing for me to do until my brother blows in. There is no use for me to go after him, because he knows where I am. I can write it for you in no time."
"That's fine!" said the Captain in a relieved tone. "At the rate I can work that old machine, the war will be over about the time I finish; and that's not hurrying the war any too much either. I have a page done. You may go on from where I left off if you will."
Porky sat down and the Captain drew up a chair, and lighted a cigarette while he scanned the soiled, ragged sheets of paper in his hand.
"Here we are," he said. "Fire away!"
"We are now getting the finishing touches to our training, and you can rest assured that it is of the most finished description, and we are ready to get into the big fight at any time. Our regiment, one of the first over, was inspected by General Pershing the other day, and we feel that he was fully satisfied with it. We have been told so at any rate. Our regiment has learned the French open order drills which is by sections instead of squads. We have also had any amount of rifle shooting and certainly know how to shoot. Then, besides, we have had practice in throwing live hand-grenades until our arms ached, but the use of this deadly bomb is of the utmost importance for close fighting as one grenade properly thrown among the enemy is liable to wipe out a hundred men. Besides this, we have been taught to shoot hand-grenades and automatic rifles, and do about everything that is infernal in warfare. Our regiment and many of the others have all been supplied with steel helmets, which have been dubbed 'tin lizzies.' They are not so very comfortable to wear, but they have proved extremely valuable, just the same, and have saved many lives and more bad head wounds.
"We understand that the gas we are to greet the Germans with is a better article than their own. We surely do hope it is. We have had trench work galore, with dugouts and wire entanglements, some of them close on the enemy's front, and others in our own training area. We have marched about ten miles to the trenches, relieving other battalions about three A.M. and holding the trench until about six P.M. next day. At that time we are relieved by another battalion and get back to our billet about ten P.M. and by that time, what with trench work and the tramp of twenty miles, oh how precious we do find sleep!
"When we are within our training area, we do everything exactly as it is done on the firing line, including the guard work, which is divided into two reliefs, and everybody turns out at dawn, which is the usual time the enemy makes his raids, and we must be on the alert.
"We have had long marches, battalion, regimental and divisional maneuvers, and we always march with full pack and a gas mask slung over each shoulder."
The Captain laid down his papers and rolled another cigarette. Porky rested his hands on the desk.
"They have some new kind of mask, haven't they?" he asked.
"Yes; haven't you seen them!" asked the Captain.
"No, sir," said Porky. "I just heard them talking about them."
"They are similar to the old ones, but I believe they last longer," said the Captain. "They have a filter can for the air that is strapped at your belt Then there is the usual tube to your mouth. There is a rubber cap that sets over the front teeth and fits close to the gums, with little rubber dew hickeys to bite on so you won't lose it out. There are automatic rubber lips that close tight if you try to breathe in any outside air, but open for the air from the filter can."
Once more he picked up his papers.
"Our gas masks and our rifles we consider our best friends and never lose them.
"Perhaps some data regarding the numerous details of the military life we have to meet here may be of interest, and I will give you some of it.
"Stringent orders have been given to all organization commanders that they will be held strictly responsible for any dirty or rusty arms and equipment found among their men, and they must also see that their men are clean-shaven and that their billets are clean and orderly.
"A number of men who have disregarded orders have been seriously injured while riding on the top of cars. The French tunnels are very low, and the men have been knocked off. Other men, through carelessness, have fallen out of the cars. The failure to assemble organizations at the time set before the departure of trains has resulted in the leaving of a number of men behind, and the provost guards have had the job of rounding the men up and forwarding them to their command.
"Even in France the destination of the detachment must be kept absolutely secret throughout the journey. No matter how long or how short the journey turns out to be, the preparations are the same. Organizations must entrain with two days' field rations on the person of each man, two days' travel rations for each man in the car with men, and ten days' field rations in the baggage car.
"The field train of the organization entraining, must accompany it, with all its wagons loaded for the field, especially with the cooking utensils, water cans, paulins, three days' field rations for each man, together with two days' field rations for each animal.
"The French town major points out the training area and no other area can be used. Distances to other posts will generally be found on posts on the side of the road, shown in kilometers. A kilometer is five-eighths of a mile.
"All time commences at naught, and ends at twenty-four. Thus, for instance six P.M. would be eighteen."
"That's what gets my goat!" said Porky, stopping to fix the ribbon. "It does make the longest day, even after you get the hang of things, so you know whether you are in to-day, or some time next week."
"It would seem something that way," said the Captain, laughing. He continued to read from his paper.
"All troops proceeding to the front will have issued to them a small quantity of firewood with which to cook one meal on detraining. In the area of concentration a supply train will be forwarded each day to the rail head, from which supplies will be carried to the troops by the wagons of the train. All arrangements for the movements of troops and supplies by rail are made by the railway transport officer at the base port."
"Gee, some busy officer!" commented Porky.
"I'll say so," said the Captain, and went on reading.
"French military trains are made up as follows: One passenger car (first- or second-class, or mixed), thirty box cars, or third-class cars; seventeen flat or gondola cars; two caboose; total, fifty. Third-class cars are not provided for troops. They will carry eight men to a compartment. Box cars are usually provided for the troops. They will hold from thirty-two to forty men. Sometimes seats are provided, sometimes straw to lie on. Spaces at each end of the car are to be left clear for rifles, travel rations, and accouterments, the rifles being secured by a temporary rack made with screw rings and a strap for same. The horse cars hold eight horses in two rows of four, facing each other. The central space between doors is used for saddles and harness, forage, water cans and buckets, as well as the two men who travel in each car. Flat cars usually accommodate one, but sometimes two, wagons."
The Captain folded up the paper.
"Is that all?" asked Porky. "It sounds mighty interesting."
"I would like to add something more, if you don't mind writing it," said, the Captain.
"Of course not," said Porky. "I'm mighty glad to do it."
"Thanks," said the Captain. "It is certainly a relief to me." He leaned back in his chair, stared up at the ceiling, and commenced to dictate.
"The pages sent under this cover were jotted down by me some time ago. I can not give you the exact date, and up to the present time have not had the opportunity to put my notes in readable order or to get them mailed. We are now doing very interesting work at the front, living underground. We have very comfortable and well ventilated quarters, and are sleeping in bunks, on clean bed sacks filled with clean straw. The only objection is the rats, of which there are great numbers, but we have a cat and two dogs. The cat is a crackajack. I don't know how many rats he averages a day—would be afraid to say, in fact—but he is on the job all the time, and is wearing himself thin over it. The two dogs, small and of no known breed, run the cat a close second.
"I have never seen the boys happier than they are now. They feel as if they were really doing something worth while. I have heard the German shells and have seen German territory, and it certainly puts pep into a fellow, but as yet I can't say I've been scared.
"This place has seen some very heavy fighting, and the ground is covered with all sorts of debris. For many square miles there is not a single tree to be seen which has not been hit and killed. The ground is torn up to such an extent that there is no grass to be seen, and the only way I can describe it is to say that it looks like the ocean on a very rough day. The shell holes run into each other, and are often ten or twelve feet deep and thirty feet across. This place, which was once a French village, has been taken from the Germans, and the ground is covered with unexploded shells, hand-grenades, German helmets, old rifles, and all sorts of things that would make wonderful souvenirs if we could only get them home. In every little village around here, there is not a house or tree standing. I am writing in a room in the wing of what was once a magnificent old castle. It was evidently saved from destruction by the Germans, who wished it for the accommodation of their higher officers. We are using it for that same purpose.
"One of the most interesting things here is to watch the airplanes, both ours and the Germans. They are very hard to hit, and they usually don't pay much attention to the firing, but we watch the little bursts of white smoke from the French shells, and the black smoke from the Germans. I have often seen twenty-five or thirty little puffs of smoke at the same time around one machine, but have never seen one hit. The other day a German came over in a cloud while other German planes attracted the attention of our guns.
"He went right up to one of our observation balloons and fired his machine gun into the balloon, setting it on fire. The two men, an American and a Frenchman, came down in a parachute. They said they didn't mind it. Perhaps they didn't, but both were about as pale as they could be. I watched the whole performance. To-day we sent up another observation balloon with exactly the same result, except that the balloon didn't burn, but both men jumped out, coming down in two parachutes.
"It was exciting and a very pretty sight to see the white silk parachutes open up and glisten in the sun. Both landed safely, and wanted to go up again immediately, but could not, owing to the damaged balloon.
"There is some firing going on most of the time, even when there is no pitched battle, and our guns shake the dugout a bit, but we are supposed to be safe here underground and, anyway, the Boche shells don't seem to come this way, though we often hear them. By the way, our machine guns drove the Boche planes off this afternoon, and the balloon was pulled down safely.
"Another day, if I remain unhurt, which I have every intention of doing, I will give you further details of the life and work. As I said in the beginning, the men are well and happy. Strange as it may seem, there is much less illness than there in the training camps at home. I can't make this out unless the men as a general rule reach here greatly benefited by the sea voyage. Certainly the work is much harder, the conditions no better, and I guess 'sunny France' is an invention of the poets. However that may be, our splendid fellows are fit and fine, trim, and hard. We are going to win!"
The Captain leaned over and clapped Porky on the shoulder. "Kid, you're a brick!" he said. "That's all, and thank you a thousand times. It ought to hold 'em for a while, don't you think?"
"I should say it was some letter," said Porky. "And you are perfectly welcome." He rose and looked at his wrist watch, frowning as he did so. "Most night again," he said. "Seventeen o'clock by their queer old way of counting. It's mighty funny where my brother is." He walked restlessly to the window and with unseeing eyes stared hard at the ragged uptorn world outside.
CHAPTER IV
WHERE WAS PORKY?
WherewasBeany?
Beany himself, trussed up neatly with many cords and wearing a scientific gag which made speech or yells impossible, yet which did not hurt him very much, would have been glad to have been able to answer that question.
Where was Beany? Beany didn't know where Beany was, and also he felt a natural and lively curiosity as to where Beany wasgoingto be in the near future.
He had entered the passage in the wall on the spur of the moment; he had acted without counting the possible cost or the probable consequences.
Usually the boys acted together; if possible, they always left some clue for the other to follow. Hence they had hitherto come out of some pretty dark and serious scrapes with whole skins and a desire for further adventures. But this time Porky, in the General's office, Porky, sound asleep with his head on the General's desk, could not know that his twin brother was faring forth alone on a desperate adventure. If he had known at the moment what was happening, if any warning could have pierced his sleep-drugged brain, well, this story would not have been written.
Beany popped into the secret passage and slid the panel shut behind him with a careless backward-reaching hand. His eyes and his thoughts were on the pitchy dark before him. He thought with a sense of relief that he had a tiny flashlight in his pocket, but whether it would flash when required to do so was quite another matter.
Beany was bitter on the subject of flashlights, knowing well how apt they are to respond to every touch when not required particularly to do so, and having learned by sad experience that it was when the festive burglar wasin the room, the pet kittendown the well, or the diamondin the crackthat they would not flash at all. So he merely felt of the pocket where the flash reposed, and stood silent, back against the panel, waiting to accustom those marvelous eyes of his to the dense darkness.
Beany Potter had a gift given to few—eyesight that served him almost equally well by day or by night. There was scarcely a limit to his strange focus. And at night, like members of the cat family, he was able to make out not only forms, but in many cases features and colors as well.
When he had become used to the pitch blackness of the tunnel, he discovered that he was in an arched stone passage just wide enough for one person to walk without brushing the sides. It wound forward on an incline, and ten feet from where Beany stood turned a corner. Still forgetful of danger, he ran noiselessly forward and gained the turn, where he stood listening. There was not a sound to guide or warn him, so he went on, scarcely breathing. His footsteps made not the slightest sound, and he could feel that there was something soft and deadening under his feet, either fine sand or bran, or something of that nature, that had been spread for the purpose of stifling the sound of passing steps. Now he could clearly hear voices above, and decided that he was near or right under the room where the General had his office and held all his staff meetings.
Beany stopped at once and commenced tracing the sound. After a little he found the source. At one side of the passage a common funnel was set in the wall. Beany placed his ear to the funnel and was startled by the clearness with which he was able to distinguish sounds in the General's office. He could hear the scratching of the pen as the General wrote, the steady tramp, tramp of Colonel Bright as he paced the room. Even the steady breathing of his sleeping brother was plainly audible.
Beany seized the edge of the funnel and was about to tear it loose but decided that it was better to leave it apparently untouched. So he rammed his handkerchief tightly down the neck of the funnel, and chuckled to note that the sounds from the room were suddenly silenced. If any one should come behind him and try to listen, they would get one good big surprise, but no information, for the handkerchief was packed well out of sight.
This done, Beany turned and, smiling over his precious information, started back, when a sound, a far distant sound, rooted him to the spot. It was a woman crying in a low stifled tone. "Oh, oh, oh!" cried the voice with choking sobs.
Then another voice spoke, and a sneering, low laugh floated back to Beany. The sobbing voice cried out again in English.
"Oh, don't! Oh, please! Oh, I can't tell you because I don't know! Don't hurt him! Don't hurt him!"
Beany forgot that he was alone, unarmed, a boy. He forgot the dark passage; he forgot caution. Afterwards he wondered why he did not think to call up the funnel for the help he needed. He just turned and, trusting to his wonderful eyes to take him safely over the black unknown path, he ran swiftly in the direction of the voice.
Around a corner, down a short, straight passage, around another corner, then through a low, narrow door that swung half way open, Beany shot into a large room or cavern. He did not stop to see where he was, but continued his chase across the space. There was another door beyond. A light shone through this door and Beany headed for it. From within the choked sobbing continued. Half way he smashed into something—a piece of heavy furniture of some sort. He rebounded as if from a blow, and staggered. Before he could get his balance again, a form appeared against the light in the door ahead and another form seemed to take shape from the dark bulk of the piece of furniture he had stumbled against. He was seized in a pair of steel-muscled arms, a heavy cloth was thrown over him and rolled tightly around him.
In the instant he was made helpless, powerless.
He heard rapid orders. Through the thick cloth he could see a dim glimmer of light. He was laid down on a couch of some sort, and tied, hands and feet.
Then and only then was the heavy cloth removed, and Beany, blinking in the glare of half a dozen electric lanterns, stared at the group around him.
He was lying on a great bed that was occupying the middle of the room. It seemed a funny place for a bed, but later Beany noticed that the moisture was thick on the walls and was dripping down the corners. The middle was about the only dry place. The covers had been luxurious—soft and silken comfortables padded with feathers, and delicate blankets, but they were soiled and torn by careless spurs. At the foot of the bed, staring at him with amazement in her face, was the old scrubwoman. It was evident that she recognized him. She had seen him often enough, Beany reflected. He returned her look and nodded. A big man, the one in the duster, standing close at Beany's side, noted the nod and rasped out a remark, directing it at the old woman. She did not condescend to notice him. Two other men were there. From the inner room the sobbing continued. Beany scowled. He fixed his eyes on the old woman.
"Somebody is being hurt," he remarked.
No one spoke. Beany did not take his eyes from the woman's face.
"I know you can hear," he informed her, "and I bet my hat you speak English! I wish you would talk and tell me who is getting hurt. I can't do any harm just at present."
The woman continued to stare at him for a moment, then bared her toothless gums in a cackling laugh. She nodded quite gaily.
"No, you can't do much harm either now or later, my little sparrow-hawk."
She spoke in clear, perfect English, with only the slightest accent to betray her German blood.
"I liked you two boys, up above. You were always agreeable to the poor old deaf and dumb woman. No sneers, no jokes about her, always nice and pleasant. Two nice boys! Made just alike, and such fonny names—Peany and Borky; so fonny!" She laughed again.
The man in the duster commenced to swear in German. Beany knew it was swearing, and recognized it as German.
The old woman raised her hand.
"Calm yourself, Excellency!" she said, with the air of royalty. "There is no need for excitement. Why should I not say what I please to this foolish child who has made such a great mistake; ah, such a great mistake?"
"It iss his last!" snarled the man in the duster, breaking into English. "His last; his last!" he kept repeating.
"Calm yourself," said the old woman, frowning. "We know that; it is all so easy; why do you annoy yourself? I am only sorry that it is one of those nice boys. Such pleasant,politeboys! The other will feel the lonesomeness very much; is it not so, my little sparrow-hawk?"
She smiled in the boy's face. Then she came to the side of the bed, and with a not ungentle hand arranged him in a more comfortable position. Then she touched the man in the duster, whom she called Excellency, and together they went into the farthest corner of the big room and whispered for a long time, while the two other men stood motionless beside the bed and watched Beany as closely as though they thought he might float off through the ceiling. Presently, as though they had come to a decision, Excellency returned, the old woman, whom he called Madame, at his side. They too stood and looked long at the boy.
"How did you get here?" asked Madame finally.
"Through the panel," said Beany, who knew there was no use keeping back anything they could so easily find out for themselves.
The old woman started to ask another question when the low sobbing in the other room was accented by a moan. With a glance at Beany's cords, the group beside him all went out of sight through the open doorway. In a few moments there was silence, with the sound of heavy breathing.
"Drugged!" guessed Beany.
Presently the two men returned. They took Beany from the bed, and sat him down in a chair, binding his legs tightly and, after searching him for a pistol, released his arms. A cord cunningly wrapped around his waist held him firmly in his seat. Beany was glad to have his hands free.
Hours passed. Beany felt cramped and was furiously hungry. His brain milled round and round in a ceaseless effort to find some way out of the situation. He did not feel proud of this last exploit. He had acted rashly and without the least glimmer of caution. He knew well that he was doomed. There was no possible finish but death, and if it could be a swift death without torture, it would only be on account of the ray of friendship that Madame felt for the two youngsters who had respected her infirmities and age.
Beany was against a blank wall. Knowing that he had no possible chance of escape, Madame climbed up on the bed, the three men disappeared in the inner room, and finally, to his amazement, Beany too dozed off, although he could not help thinking that it was not at all the thing to do under the circumstances.
When he woke, he was dazed and stiff. His legs, strapped tightly to the chair, felt asleep. Madame, fully dressed, as she had lain down hours before, sat blinking on the side of the bed.
"Well! Wie befinden sie sich?" she said, grinning at the prisoner.
Beany accepted the friendly tone, although he did not understand the words.
"Morning!" he offered in return.
Madame clapped her wrinkled hands sharply.
The man who had stared through the keyhole appeared.
"Coffee!" said Madame abruptly. It was a command.
The man saluted and withdrew, to return with a tray and a. steaming cup. Madame sat sipping the boiling draft, gazing at the boy meanwhile.
"It is really too bad," she said finally, in her careful, clear English. "Such a boyish,sillything to do! And you see how it is. You are such a nice boy; I do hate to let them kill you, yet you cannot go back; you must see that. However, you shall have an easy way. I shall assert my authority. You look surprised. Do you think it strange that so old a woman, sofrightfulan old woman, should still have authority? Even so, I have plenty of it. I am powerful. If I chose, I could call the Emperor cousin. What do you say to that?"
She seemed to expect an answer. Beany did not know what to say, but after a pause in which she stared at him unwinkingly, he managed to retort, "Some dope!"
"Indeed, yes!" said Madame, to whom the slang was Greek. "Indeed, yes! Well, your coming has spoiled nothing but your own life. We have the information that we want, we have two prisoners who are most valuable. The others will go on to-day, while I, the cousin of an emperor, will for the time continue to wait on those pigs of officers upstairs. Deaf and dumb!"
She laughed silently, with queer little cackles. Then setting down the empty cup, she went into the inner room.
Beany sat thinking the big thoughts that come at hours so filled with doom. Yet somehow it did not seem possible to him that he was to be snuffed out so soon; he, Beany Potter! He looked at his wrist watch. The crystal was broken but the watch was still running. Beany started to wind it, then stopped. What would be the use?
"Well, it may as well go as long as I do," he reflected, and finished winding it. It sounded loud as thunder in the quiet room.
He commenced to think of his brother with all his might. His spirit called to him over and over. He thought again of the time and remembered that although he had looked at his watch, he had not noticed the time at all.
Once more he looked. To his amazement it was noon.
Beany commenced idly feeling through his pockets. If he could only find some way of communicating with Porky before it was too late! All at once his fingers closed on an object that he knew. His face lighted..... If there was any way—Oh, if there wasanyway!
Then Beany's clean boy soul went down upon its knees, while Beany, lashed to the chair, closed his eyes and prayed. Earnestly, humbly he prayed for help; and then, feeling that he had done all he could in the way of asking, opened his eyes and set his whole mind on Porky. He kept his hand in his pocket closed on the object he had chanced on.
Presently the two men came back, untied the cords that bound Beany to the massive chair, tied his hands behind his back, untied his ankles and led him into the inner room. Beany flashed a curious glance around it.
The room was not dark, like the room he had just left. It was well lighted by grated windows overgrown outside with heavy underbrush. Beany guessed that they were away from the ruined castle itself and somewhere out on the grounds. There was more furniture, and another bed like the one in the room that he had just left.
On this tumbled couch lay a form closely covered with a blanket.
"Dead, whoever he is," said Beany to himself.
Facing him was a straight chair and in it, bound and gagged, was a young man in the uniform of the French army. He was trussed up until movement of any sort seemed impossible. Most of his face was covered with the cloths that formed the gag, but over the bandages a pair of sharp, intelligent eyes flashed a message to Beany. He had been buffeted and racked, threatened with all the horrors imaginable and subjected to some of them, but from out those eyes looked a spirit that blows could never break and death itself could never quell. Beany returned the look with a long gaze. He underwent a new agony. Not only was he unable, through his foolhardy action, to save his own life, but here was another as well that he could not save. For he knew that the youth before him must be doomed. His gaze roved to the bed. There was something strangely graceful and soft about the outlines of the form under the comfortable. He felt his hair prickle on his head. All at once he knew. It was a girl! It had beenhervoice he had heard sobbing. As he looked, he hoped and prayed that she was indeed dead. He stifled a groan.
Madame gave an order. He was once more fastened securely in a chair and the old woman came beside him and offered him a paper and pencil.
"You may write a note to that twin brother of yours," she said. "We are through with this underground hole. It is damp, anyway. I do not need any further help. But you shall write and tell your brother where to look for you. I will see that he gets it in good season. Not to-day, nor yet to-morrow. Little boys in these war-times must be taught not to meddle. Write what you will."
Beany took the pencil obediently, and wrote:
"Open panel at right of office door by pressing upper left-hand carving. Send some one else to look for me. Love to Mother and Father. Good-by.
"BEANY."
Madame took the brief note and read it. "That is short, but it will do," she said. Then she turned to the others. "As soon as it is dark take your prisoners to the foot of the garden. There will be a French car there. The girl, as you know, is to be taken unharmed. Go to our own base. We will make her speak when we get her there. You know what to do with this other."
She picked up a broom and grinned down at Beany. "I am going up to see what they are doing above. Don't you wish you had had the sense not to meddle?"
As she passed him Beany strained forward against his bonds and caught her by the dress. He clasped her knees in his agony.
"Please,please, Madame!" he cried. "Pleasedon't let them kill me! I promise that I won't tell!" His voice went up in a cry that was almost a whine. The old woman broke away from him in disgust.
"Bah! You are all alike! live, live, live always! Why don't you learn to die, you Americans! That is what we have got to teach you!" She struck him smartly across the face, and moved to the door with a backward look of command.
"Be ready when I return," she said. "In the meantimenot a sound!" She grinned at Porky. "I will see you once more, young man," she chuckled, and left the room.
As the door hid her from view, Beany drew a long breath. He seemed strangely excited and relieved. Once more he consulted his watch. It would be at least an hour before dark. There was a fighting chance. Death or life? Life or death? His fate was trembling in the balance.
Where was Porky?
CHAPTER V
TO THE RESCUE
Porky was getting worried. It was growing late, and there was no sign of Beany.
He asked a couple of the aides when they came in if they had seen anything of his brother, but no one had any news for him. Porky looked into the narrow hall at intervals, and twice he went out and wandered around the grounds that surrounded the castle. But nothing of Beany!
Finally he returned to the office, and took up his station at the window where he could see far down what had been the drive. The office was in a room in what had been the wing, and jutted out into the space now soiled and useless, which had once been a lovely, widespread garden of lawns and flowers, but which now looked worse than any ploughed field.
Something kept pulling at Porky's heart. He knew the feeling, had had it often; and it told him, as it always did, that his twin brother, whom he loved so well, was in trouble and needed him. Usually he felt something that impelled him to go in a certain direction in search of Beany; something, aforcedirecting him—he never could tell just what it was. But he always obeyed it, and so did Beany, to whom the same feelings came. But now Porky sat irresolutely at the window, baffled and worried. He felt anchored to the spot, yet knew in his heart that his brother's need was great. Every time he got to his feet and started out of the room, something pulled him back. Finally in despair, he settled down and stared with unseeing eyes into the growing darkness of the ruined gardens.
His heart beat heavily. His mind and soul called his brother, demanding an answer from the silence and the night. The officers and aides who had been in the room left it, and Porky was alone. Presently, as the waiting grew almost more than the boy could endure, a slight sound caused him to turn around. It was the old scrubwoman, broom in hand.
"Hullo!" said Porky, and turned back to the window. He was too badly worried to be polite.
"Hay-loo!" said the old cracked voice in broken English. Porky looked around again. She was standing at his side, smiling at him, a queer grinning leer not at all pleasant. Porky felt an insane desire to ask her if that was the best she could do. But he did not. He simply stared at her, at the wrinkled face and bright, twinkling, keen eyes. Porky felt that those eyes were almost too keen, almost too intelligent for that old peasant woman.
They looked steadily at each other, Porky wondering more and more at the expression on the old mask of a face. She was little, bent and feeble; she scarcely came to tall Porky's shoulder; yet to the sensitive, worried boy as he gazed at her there came a feeling of something wicked, powerful, and threatening. There seemed to the alert senses of the boy that there was a knowing twinkle in the old eyes when she looked questioningly around the room, and said, "Your brodder. Ware iss he?"
"I don't know," said Porky slowly. "You didn't see him outside, did you?"
"No, I dit not see heem outsite; me, I have seen nozzing outsite."
She smiled and wagged her old head, looked piercingly at Porky again, and turned away. Porky watched her squat old bent figure, then drew his breath sharply as something caught his eye! It was something caught on one of the ample folds of her ragged skirt, something that glittered! All the blood in Porky's body seemed to make a mad rush to his head, then ebbed back to his heart. He started toward the old woman, then stopped and thought, staring at the object on her skirt. He knew it well. The old woman stooped to pick up something and the object on her skirt swung free and glittered in the uncertain light. Porky drew a sharp breath as he recognized his brother's message. For a message he knew it to be. The little glittering object was a leather fob strap. At the end dangled a swimming medal that Beany had won long ago. He had always carried it as a pocket piece, and in some way it had accompanied him on the Great Adventure. It had never been out of Beany's pocket.
Yet there it was, hanging to a fold of the old woman's tattered dress swinging and glittering! Evidently she did not know that it was there.
Porky, suddenly alert, started to his feet and took an impulsive step toward the old woman. Then, before she had time to notice his action, he stopped. He could not remove the dangling medal without letting her know that something was up, and his only move was to watch her when she left the room. Somewhere, Beany was in trouble! Porky realized that the message of the medal was a desperate, last resort. A million to one shot, he told himself anxiously; but it had reached him, and while he lived there was hope for Beany. He studied the old scrubwoman with a new understanding. She no longer appeared harmless, stupid and ignorant. The keen twinkle in her old eyes; what had it meant? The seemingly simple and innocent question, "Your brodder. Ware iss he?" was just to sound him, the boy decided. He knew, all at once, that she knew all about Beany. To follow her was to find his brother, alive, or ... Porky could not say the rest even to his own soul. Hewouldfollow her! He wouldfindthe brother whom he loved better than his own life! His blood boiled when he thought of the condition he might find that dear one in, and he set his jaw in a way that promised desperate things.
Old Elise went pottering around the room, unconscious of the glittering eyes bent steadfastly on her, and ignorant of the glittering trifle fastened to her dress. Porky felt that he would gladly barter years of his life to know how it came to be there, but he clung to the happiest reason that he could think up: Beany himself had in some way fastened it on the old woman. Porky decided to obey the summons as he imagined them to have been sent. By hook or crook, he would follow the old woman, sly and crafty as he now believed her to be. By hook or crook, he would find his brother. Starting towards the old woman, he waited until she stooped over the General's table, wiping off the papers with a careful, shaking old hand. Porky, suspicious of everything now, fancied that she swiftly read the words on the uppermost pages, but he was busy with deft fingers unfastening the fob from the tattered skirt. He slipped it in his pocket, picked up a pencil and pad from the table, and once more sat down by the window. A few minutes later, while the old woman still pottered around, Porky rose and idly left the room, whistling as he did so. He unconsciously repeated Beany's performance in the dusky hall. He went to the turn, and dropping on one knee, bent a steady gaze on the door he had just closed. He was rewarded in a moment by a sight of the old woman. She came out of the General's office, softly closing the door behind her, and commenced feeling over the secret panel. It opened, and she entered, closing it as she went, but not before Porky was beside it, his eye on the spot he had seen her old fingers press. He waited for what seemed to him an eternity, then pressed the carved ornament of old oak. It gave, and the opening panel disclosed the passage in the wall down which Beany had so recklessly followed his quarry.
Porky was cautious, yet determined. Noiselessly he trailed the old spy until they reached the great chamber where the big bed was. Not once did she look behind. It did not occur to her that she could possibly be watched or followed. She had grown careless. She did not even mind the fact that she had left the heavy door swinging ajar behind her. Why, indeed, should she? Was not the door in the panel too cunningly contrived for any one to find, except perhaps that Boy Scout who now sat fettered in his chair waiting his end? His brother ... bah! She had left him above. She crossed the room, and stooped to reach a shawl she had thrown on the high bed. As she bent, something light and strong and cat-like leaped upon her seizing her wrinkled throat in a vise-like grip. She could not scream. In a second the curtain of the bed was wrapped over her, fold on fold. She struggled furiously, but to no avail. She was nearly smothered. Porky didn't much care. He worked in a frenzy of haste. He pulled down the thick cords that had been used to pull the bed curtains open and shut, and tied his human bundle securely. Then with a cautious thought he shoved her under the high bed, and made for the inner room.
It was silent. A single candle burned on the table. Beany sat in his chair. He was bound and gagged. As Porky sped across the room he saw the diabolical contrivance hanging above the boy's head.
A massive blade with a heavily weighted handle hung directly over the boy, point down. The cord which held the weapon passed through a pulley to another pulley, and from there to the table. There it was fastened to a short stick that was strapped to the alarm key of a common alarm clock. As Porky's quick glance took in the whole scene, the little alarm clock gave the cluck that precedes the striking of the alarm. Porky made a dash across the room, as the alarm commenced to sound and, seizing his brother's chair, swung him aside as the whirling alarm key tightened the cord. One after another, with deadly swiftness, the cords tightened until a quick pull on the smallest cord of all, a mere thread, snapped it.
The heavy blade seemed for a moment to balance in air, then it dropped down and buried its razor point six inches deep in the old floor.
Not until then did Porky slash the cords which bound his brother, and as Beany shook himself free, with many faces to ease his tired jaw where the gag had pressed it, Porky dropped limply into a chair and mopped his brow.
"The sword of Damocles!" was all he said.
"Don't know the gent," said Beany huskily. "Did some guy play this trick on him! If he felt as nervous as I did before you came, I feel good and sorry for him. Gosh, I have been sitting all trussed up there for about a year! Let's get out of this!"
"No special hurry," said Porky wearily. He could not recover at once from the shock, but Beany was chipper as a cricket.
"Well, I don't know," he said, "I have not grown so fond of this little old dungeon that I want to reside here long. Besides, perhaps you don't know the old lady who sweeps upstairs as well as I do. She is apt to be up to almost any trick."
"Not if the Court knows himself, and he thinks he does," said Porky positively. "I left her under the bed in the other room with about a mile of flossy curtain cord twined around her. She is safe enough. We will go up and report this little affair, and get a couple of men to come down and take her to the General. She is a hard character. A spy, in fact."
"I guess I know that!" said Beany, rising and rubbing his stiff legs and arms. "I have a lot more to report than you have. Let's be off!"
Together they hurried into the first chamber, and made for the door leading into the passage. Porky, in passing, looked under the bed. Then with a gasp he looked again and, dropping on one knee, seized a bundle of ragged clothing and a tangle of crimson curtain cords.
He looked at them, turning them over and over. Then he shook them. Then he looked under the great high bed again.
"What ails you?" demanded Beany impatiently.
"She's—she's gone!" said Porky feebly.
The old woman had vanished.