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