"I give it up—at least for the present," said Jimmy. "It's another puzzle—like the time when we saw Captain Frank Dickerson at the red mill, maybe."
"They could be French refugees," went on Roger. "Maybe they have been held prisoners by the Germans, and just got away."
"Well, that's a possibility, of course," assented his chum. "But they don't look as if they had been in prison. They're too well dressed, and they look too well fed for that. In fact they look more like Germans than Frenchmen."
"They do," assented Roger, as he peered over his friend's shoulder. "Still you can't always tell. At one time we thought Captain Dickerson looked like a German, but he wasn't. But the fact that these men are in civilian clothes is what gets me. They haven't any right so far inside our lines dressed like that."
"You're right," said Jimmy. "There's some sort of a mystery here. It may turn out all right, and it may be all wrong. I'm going to——"
Jimmy interrupted himself to utter an exclamation of surprise, for suddenly one of the men leaned over the table and blew out the candle, leaving the dugout in darkness. And, almost as if this was a signal of some sort, there began a furious bombardment, the echoes of which came to the ears of the Khaki Boys.
"They're at it again!" cried Roger.
"Those are our guns!" declared Jimmy. "We're paying the Huns back for smashing our fine dugout!"
"The one we took from the Germans," added his chum. "Say, Jimmy," he went on. "You know all this around here used to be within the German lines; this tunnel and the dugouts."
"Of course I know it," returned Jimmy. "What of it?"