"Not a sound!" breathed Blake.
For a moment the boys stood looking in at the plotters and wondering how they could capture them, or at least get back the stolen films.
And then a door, or what had been a door, to the dugout swung open with a creak of its rusty hinges.
"What's that?" cried Secor, in French, starting to his feet.
"Only the wind," replied the German, in the tongue of his fellow-conspirator. "Only the wind."
"Ah! I thought maybe it was——"
"You thought perhaps it was the boys who own these films, but who will never see them again. I know not how valuable they may be—these films—but I was told to get them, and I have. Let the ones higher up decide on their value. But we must get our price for them—you and I. We must get a good price. We have run a great risk."
"Yes, a great risk," murmured the Frenchman.
Blake motioned to his chums to follow him into the dugout. They could see his gestures in the light of a lantern which formed the illumination of the ruins.
Cautiously the three went inside, the noise they made being covered by the rattling of the wind which had sprung up.