will
go to England and offer ourselves for service in any capacity in which
we can be of most use. Then 'hard all' right up the course."

"Hurrah! I'm with you. Forward all! Paddle!"

"But I should like a job that will give me a chance to give an eye
occasionally to the Durend works," presently remarked Max meditatively.

"There you go again," groaned Dale. "Those works of yours are the bane
of my life. There's no getting away from them for a moment."

"They're my special job, and Schenk is my special enemy," replied Max in
the steady resolute tone Dale knew so well. "There is no one who can
take my place there in thwarting the enemy's plans, and while I live I
can never forget it."

"I don't believe you can," agreed Dale comically, "so it's no use my
trying. I suppose that will be the end of your fine talk about our
offering our services to the British authorities?"

"Not at all, old man. What about the Secret Service? With our knowledge
of Belgium and its languages I should think they might find us
employment that will be every whit as useful to the Allies as fighting
in the ranks. And it will give me a chance, occasionally, to see what
Schenk is up to, and, perhaps, to try another fall with him."

"Well, _that_ doesn't sound so bad. Anyway it is good enough to think
about a little more before we make up our minds. Now for Maastricht and
that rest we've been chasing ever since we left Liege for the Ardennes.
At last there seems a chance of our getting it."

At Maastricht Max had a joyful reception. His mother had never lost hope
of his safe return, but the suspense had been trying, and the news from
Liege had not been of a kind to reassure her. However, here he was back
again, safe and sound, and in that fact all fears and anxieties were
forgotten. Dale shared in the welcome, and for a week or two the friends
stayed happily at home. Then the leaven began to work again, and one day
Dale found Max going carefully through the miscellaneous lot of papers
which he had taken from his father's safe along with the money and
securities on which his mother had since been living.

"Business, eh?" he enquired jocularly.

"Something of the sort," admitted Max. "Looking through those old papers
we raided out of Schenk's clutches. Some of them are his and not my
father's, and I can see why he was so anxious to get them back again.
Why, here is correspondence--between the rascal and someone who, I
expect, is an agent of th