oment with a black box, from which he
produced a tourniquet. They applied this quickly.

"Now, is there some alcohol here?" asked Charley. "We will wash it off
with that until we can boil some water. Felicia, you go put all the
things back nicely in the boys' trunks, and don't pay any attention to
us."

Felicia was quickly absorbed in this altogether fascinating task, while
Charley's skillful fingers made a temporary bandage for Gustav's arm. He
was conscious now and offered a sick protest against Charley's
suggestion:

"Let's cut this shirt off him, Roger. It's saturated with blood. I'll
sew it up for him later."

Gustav sat up and before he could do more, Roger and Charley had
removed his shirt. To their surprise they found he was wearing two, the
second shirt having a particularly huge pocket, full of papers that were
blood saturated.

"Don't touch that, don't!" cried Gustav. Then catching sight of the
blood stains, he fainted again.

"Who'd think old Gustav was such a perfect lady," chuckled Roger. "Here,
let's get him cleaned up now before he comes to, again."

They pulled off the second shirt, and put on one of Roger's fresh ones.
Then while Charley gave Gustav some water, Roger took the papers from
the bloody pockets of the second shirt.

"I'll wipe these off before the blood sets," he said. Then his eye
caught a memorandum in German "Low pressure engine--new detail. Moore."
Roger quickly opened the paper. It was about six inches square and was a
copy of a detail of one of Roger's patent drawings.

"I'll be damned!" muttered Roger, his face flushing darkly.

He ran through other sheets. There were more drawings and some carefully
written notes on Roger's general scheme for heat utilization. He was
reading these very deliberately when Ernest came in.

"Whew, what a country!" began Ernest, then he stopped with a gasp.

Gustav, who was sitting up again, groaned weakly.

"I vas a chicken-fool, eh, Miss Charley?"

Roger crossed to the bed with a stride. "Look here, Schmidt," he said,
"the sooner you get your things together and get out of here, the better
I'll like it."

Gustav stood up. His jaw dropped. Then his eye fell on the papers in
Roger's hand.

"I told you not to take off the shirt from me!" he cried.

"What's the matter, Rog?" asked Ernest.

"Matter? Matter? Why, this fellow is a thief. He's been stealing my
ideas. Go on now! Get out of here!"

Ernest took the blood-stained papers an