"Ah, Amory, we want you," said the captain. "You know German. What do you make of that?"
He handed him a scrap of paper, straightened out after having been crumpled, on which were written two lines in German.
"Tell our friend it is now due east," Kenneth translated.
"That's what I told you, Adams," said one of the lieutenants. "There's nothing in it."
"Well, look at these, Amory."
He handed to him the contents of Lieutenant Axel von Schwank's pocket-book. Kenneth looked them over: a copy of the Hymn of Hate, a cutting from the Cologne Gazette announcing the blowing up of Woolwich Arsenal, some letters from members of the Schwank family, one or two memoranda of no importance. He translated them aloud one by one.
"Nothing of any value to us," said the captain. "I think we might give the letters back to the prisoner. His people idolise him, evidently. Well, the only thing left is this." He took up a crumpled piece of music paper. "Schwank seems to write music in his spare time--a setting of the Hymn of Hate perhaps. Our find is no use. Very good, Amory, that's all."
But Kenneth, rendered suspicious of everything by his recent discoveries, remembered that he had found a similar piece of music paper in the trench some weeks before.
"Before you tear that up, sir," he said, "I think I'd let Randall have a look at it. We found a paper like it in our trench."
"You think there may be something in it?"