a minute," I pleaded. "I'm thinking of something--something to do
for _you_."

Though I wasn't a German, the most diabolical plot had just jumped into
my head!

CHAPTER VIII

"WHEN IN DOUBT, PLAY A TRUMP"

It was a case of now or never!

"Look here, Bertie," I said, "what I've been thinking of is this: you'd
better hide, and let me go alone to find Krammie. _Suppose_ your mother
has looked in your room! She'll know from Kramm that the ladies are
motoring, so she may come out to speak with Kramm and ask for you.
Squeeze into this clump of lilac bushes at the end of the terrace! Trust
me to make everything right, and be back soon."

The picture of his mother on the warpath transformed Bertie to a jelly.
He was in the lilac bushes almost before I'd finished; and I hurried
off, ostensibly to seek Kramm. I did not, however, seek far, or in any
direction where she was likely to be. Presently I came back and in my
turn plunged into the bushes. I broke the news that I hadn't seen Kramm.
It looked as if the worst had happened. But Bertie must buck up. I'd
thought of a splendid plan! "How would you like to stay with me," I
wheedled, "until your mother is ready to crawl to get you back, cry and
sob, and swear not to punish you?"

The boy looked doubtful. "I've heard my mother _swear_," he said, "but
never cry or sob. Do you think she would?"

"I'm sure," I urged. "And you'll have the time of your life with me! All
the money you want for toys and chocolates. And you needn't go to bed
till you choose."

"What kind of toys?" he bargained. "Tanks and motor cars that go?"

"Rath_er_! And marching soldiers, and a gramophone."

"Righto, I'll come! And I don't care a darn if I never see Mother or
Father again!" decided the cherub.

I would have given as much for a taxi as Richard the Third for a horse;
but I'd walked from the village, and must return in the same way. We
started at once, hand in hand, stepping out as Bertie Scarlett the
second had never, perhaps, stepped before. It was only a mile to Dawley
St. Ann, and in twenty minutes I had smuggled my treasure into the inn
by a little-used side door. This led straight to my rooms, and I whisked
the boy in without being seen. So far, so good. But what to do with him
next was the question!

I saw that, in such an emergency, Terry Burns would hinder more than
help. He was cured of the listlessness, the melancholia, which had been
the aftermath of shell shock; but