"There you go again," groaned Dale. "Those works of yours are the bane of my life. There's no getting away from them for a moment." "They're my special job, and Schenk is my special enemy," replied Max in the steady resolute tone Dale knew so well. "There is no one who can take my place there in thwarting the enemy's plans, and while I live I can never forget it." "I don't believe you can," agreed Dale comically, "so it's no use my trying. I suppose that will be the end of your fine talk about our offering our services to the British authorities?" "Not at all, old man. What about the Secret Service? With our knowledge of Belgium and its languages I should think they might find us employment that will be every whit as useful to the Allies as fighting in the ranks. And it will give me a chance, occasionally, to see what Schenk is up to, and, perhaps, to try another fall with him." "Well, _that_ doesn't sound so bad. Anyway it is good enough to think about a little more before we make up our minds. Now for Maastricht and that rest we've been chasing ever since we left Liege for the Ardennes. At last there seems a chance of our getting it." At Maastricht Max had a joyful reception. His mother had never lost hope of his safe return, but the suspense had been trying, and the news from Liege had not been of a kind to reassure her. However, here he was back again, safe and sound, and in that fact all fears and anxieties were forgotten. Dale shared in the welcome, and for a week or two the friends stayed happily at home. Then the leaven began to work again, and one day Dale found Max going carefully through the miscellaneous lot of papers which he had taken from his father's safe along with the money and securities on which his mother had since been living. "Business, eh?" he enquired jocularly. "Something of the sort," admitted Max. "Looking through those old papers we raided out of Schenk's clutches. Some of them are his and not my father's, and I can see why he was so anxious to get them back again. Why, here is correspondence--between the rascal and someone who, I expect, is an agent of the German Government--dating back years before the war, in which Schenk is instructed to prepare the Durend works for the eventuality of a German occupation of Liege. It's all here, even to the laying down of concrete gun-platforms, one of which the impudent beggar disguised as our tennis-court." "Good! Anything else?" "Nothing quite so good as that. Plans of the Durend mines and works and such-like. They may be useful some day." "When we get rid of Schenk, eh? That will be some time yet, so you need not bother your head about plans of the works. In fact, to put it mildly--I don't want to hurt your feelings--I expect the place will be so altered when you get it back that you won't recognize it, and those plans will be of mighty little use to you or anyone else."