But the officer came no farther than the foot of the tree. That to his mind marked the limit of where the paper could possibly be. He dropped on his hands and knees and looked in the grass, but of course to no avail. Then he rose, brushed off his clothes and muttering harshly to himself he strode off in the direction of the camp, searching every foot of the way as he went along. There was a bad quarter of an hour in store for him when he should have to confess the loss of the paper to his superior officer. Frank only waited until the officer was at a safe distance. Then he wound his way on his hands and knees through underbrush until he was well beyond the zone of light of the camp. Only then did he rise to his feet and slipping from one tree to another hurried in the direction where his compass told him he would find the boat. When he reached the line of trees that bordered the canal, he paused and gave the hoot of an owl. A moment later, there was an answering call that enabled him to locate the boat’s position. He made his way to the bank and looking over saw the dark outline of the boat. “Are you there, Tom?” he whispered. “I’m here all right,” came Tom’s voice in answer. “Tumble in.” In a jiffy, Frank had let himself down in the boat and grasped his friend’s hand. “I’m mighty glad you’re back,” whispered Tom, in great relief. “I began to fear the Huns had got you. Any luck?” “I got a pretty good line on some things that our officers want to know,” replied Frank, “and I’ve got a paper in my pocket that may be worth something. The fellow that lost it seemed to think it was important, judging from the frantic way he was looking for it. You didn’t think that your old friend would ever turn pickpocket, did you?” He told his story in whispers, and Tom chuckled as he listened to it. “Good work, old man,” he murmured. “But what’s keeping Billy and the corporal?” asked Frank anxiously. “It’s getting on toward one o’clock.” Just then the owl call came, and a moment later the corporal dropped cautiously down into the waiting boat. “Anything doing?” was the first question he asked of Tom after greetings had been exchanged. “Nothing much,” answered Tom. “I heard a patrol going along the road about an hour ago, and later on I heard the stroke of oars. But it was too dark for me to see anything.” He had scarcely spoken when a volley of shots rang out. There were hoarse shouts and the sound of running feet. Then along came Billy, panting and breathless. “The Huns!” he gasped, as he dropped into the boat. “They nearly got me and they’re close behind. We’ll have to make a quick get-away or they’ll nab us.” “Quick!” ordered the corporal. “Sheldon, you take one oar and Bradford the other. Pull for the other side as fast as you can. Don’t splash any more than you can help, or we’ll be a mark for the Huns’ bullets. Quick now!”