"Don't you hold the thought for a moment, Henri, that you could catch the Calais weasel asleep. Oh, I say, there's a concert on downstairs," quickly concluded Billy, as the notes of violin and piano were wafted above. "Let's hunt the music."
A high tenor voice was merging into the accompaniment when the boys reached the floor below, and they saw that the singer was one of the curly-lock type, and in evening attire.
What of the eyes, though, that gleamed upon the Aëroplane Scouts as they stood in the doorway—the artistic make-up could fool them, but there was no mistaking the smiling orbs under the blackened eyebrows.
Fox tracks were mixing again!
CHAPTER V.
WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT.
The vocal efforts of this new favorite had called forth round after round of applause, for good music never went amiss in Teuton territory.
Among the vigorous hand-clappers the boys noted a well-groomed man, apparently about forty, wearing an affable manner and the best clothes that the continent can produce.
Henri nudged Billy. "Size up Roque, won't you, please, and isn't he a dandy?"