“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.