"Bully boy!" exclaimed Frank. "That was the very best day's work you ever did."
"Got the goods on him at last," exulted Bart.
"The only man in the old Thirty-seventh that has played the yellow dog," commented Billy. "The regiment's well rid of him. He'll never dare to show his face again."
"He can fight for Germany now," said Frank, "and if he does, I only hope that some day I'll run across him in the fighting."
"You won't if he sees you first," grinned Billy. "He doesn't want any of your game."
Tom had left one thing till the last.
"By the way, Frank," he remarked casually, "I ran across a fellow in the German prison camp who came from Auvergne, the same province where you've told me your mother lived when she was a girl. He said he knew her family well."
"Is that so?" asked Frank with quick interest. "What was his name?"
"Martel," replied Tom.
"Why that's the name of the butler who used to be in my mother's family!" cried Frank. "Colonel Pavet was telling me that he had been captured, and had died in prison. I was hoping that he was mistaken in that, for the colonel said he had information that might help my mother to get her property."