Slowly, so slowly that it scarcely seemed to move, Frank’s hand advanced until the fingers closed on the paper. Fortunately it protruded far enough for Frank to get a good grip on it.
If his hand had trembled, he would have been betrayed in an instant. But the experiences he had been through had steeled Frank’s nerves and his muscles worked with the precision of a machine.
A fraction of an inch at a time, he drew the paper out until it was clear of the officer’s pocket. Then he transferred it to his own. He had won. And he was jubilant.
Still, he was in imminent danger. At any moment the officer might discover his loss, think he had dropped the paper and begin to look around for it. That would be unlucky for Frank. But, the young soldier thought grimly, as he gripped his knife tightly, it might be still more unlucky for the officer.
The pipe was smoked out now. The officer tapped it against the tree to knock the ashes out and seemed of two minds as to whether he should refill it. He finally decided that he had stayed there long enough, an opinion with which Frank heartily agreed, thrust his pipe in his pocket and started to walk away. Frank watched him with his heart in his mouth. Would he discover his loss?
The officer had gone about ten feet when Frank saw him give a sudden start. He uttered an exclamation in German and then felt hurriedly in all his pockets. Then he turned and began to retrace his steps slowly, his eyes glued to the ground.
“Now I’m in for it,” thought Frank, as his muscles stiffened.
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.