he looked at the rough
sketch and he saw there considerably more than old Melotte had drawn.

He saw Frenchy's sister Florette, slender and frail, wielding some
heavy implement, doing her enforced bit in this work of shameless
betrayal. He could see her eyes, sorrow-laden and filled with fear. He
could see her as she had stood talking with him that night in the arbor.
He could see her, orphaned and homeless, slaving under the menacing
shadow of a German officer who sprawled and lorded it in the poor home
of this Blondel close by the new road. _Here he climb to drop ze grapes
down my neck. Bad boy!_ Strange, how that particular phrase of hers
singled itself out and stuck in his memory.

"So now you are so _clevaire_," he half heard old Melotte saying to
Archer.

And Tom Slade said nothing, only thought, and thought, and thought....

CHAPTER XVII

THE CLOUDS GATHER

"We never thought about asking him to translate that letterr," said
Archer.

"I'm not thinking about that letter," Tom answered. "All I'm thinking
about now is what he said about that new road. I'm not even thinking
about their going through Switzerland, either," he added with great
candor. "I'm thinking about Frenchy's sister. If they've got her working
there I'm going to rescue her. I made up my mind to that."

"_Some job!_" commented Archer.

"It don't make any difference how much of a job it is," said Tom, with
that set look about his mouth that Archer was coming to know and
respect.

They were clambering up the hillside again, for not all old Melotte's
hospitable urging could induce Tom to remain in the hut until daylight.

He would have liked to take along the rough sketch which the old man
had made, but this Melotte had strenuously opposed, saying that no maps
should be carried by strangers in Germany. So Tom had to content himself
with the old man's rather rambling directions.

Several things remained indelibly impressed on his mind. Old Melotte had
told him that upon the western bank of the Rhine about fifteen miles
above the Swiss border was an old gray castle with three turrets, and
that directly opposite this and not far from the Alsatian bank was the
little village of Norne.

"The way I make it out," said Archer, "is that this Blondel, whoeverr he
is, has got some Gerrman officerr wished on him and that geezerr has
charrge of the women worrking on the new road. I'd like to know how you
expect to get within a mile of those