this man's voice had none
of the nasal, throaty tones of Yiddish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Treason?" repeated Blake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But this means something!" declared Macaroni.

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

In silence the boys watched the two men at their queer conference. The
tilted mirrors--one in each stateroom--gave a perfect view of what went
on between the Frenchman and the German, as the boys preferred to think
Labenstein, but the watchers themselves were not observed. This they
could make sure of, for several times one or the other of the men across
the corridor looked up, and full