"What a bit of luck!" he said. "You're just the chaps I'm on the look-out for."
Travers stopped and so did I.
"D'you want anything, my good man?" said Travers.
"Yes, I do. I want a sharp Boy Scout to listen to me. I'm telling secrets, mind you; but you're in the Service just as much as I am, and I can trust you."
"What Service?" asked Travers minor. "What Service are you in?"
"The Secret Service," said the tramp. "I dare say you think I'm only a badgering old loafer, and not worth the price of the boots on my feet. Far from it. I'm Sir Baden-Powell's brother! That's why I was glad to see you boys come along."
"I don't believe it," said Travers.
"Quite right not to," answered the old man. "That is, till I explain. As you know, the country's fairly crawling with German spies at present, and it takes a pretty good chap to smell them out. That's my game. I've run down thirty-two during the last month, and I'm on the track of a lot more; but to keep up my character of an old tramp, I dress like this; and then they don't suspect me, and I just meet 'em in pubs and stand 'em drinks, and tip 'em a bit of their lingo and pretend I'm German, too."
I was a good deal impressed by this, and so was Travers minor.
"I've been standing drinks to a doubtful customer only this morning, and spent my last half-crown doing it," went on the great Baden-Powell's brother. "That's why I stopped you boys. I'm a good way from my base for the moment, and I shall be obliged if you can lend me half a sovereign, or whatever you've got on you, till to-morrow. If you let me have your address, you shall get it by midday; and I'll mention your names to 'B.-P.' next time we meet."