"He's getting off to a good, flowery start, all right," chirruped "Peewee."
"The nobles and landed gentry dwelt." Then, with a cheery laugh, Dunstan continued, in a more matter-of-fact way: "Just the other day a couple of poilus gave me the tale I'm now passing along to you. In this ancient château, which the Germans shelled and partly wrecked, there lived a direct descendent of one of those old-time seigneurs. The soldiers declared he resided in the great château alone, with a retinue of servants, and that he had the reputation of being an eccentric old chap with one great hobby."
"And what was that?" queried Wendell.
"The collection of paintings and objects of art."
"There it comes, boys!—the art stuff again!" exclaimed "Peewee," yawning. "Say, this is a fairy tale, eh, Dunstan?"
His words were couched in a tone of accusation.
"No, mon ami, not a bit of it," declared the art student, earnestly. "A long article concerning the Morancourt case appeared in a Paris newspaper."
"Morancourt? Why, that's the old place right near us here—up toward the front!"
"That's the very place, my son."
"Hah! The plot thickens. What is the 'case' you spoke of?"