“In using that expression what did you infer?”
“Well, I—I—you see——” Peur Jamais, finding his tongue getting tangled, abruptly paused. Then, having mastered in a measure his uncomfortable feelings, he resumed: “I heard Monsieur Victor Gilbert make this observation, as well as several others to Monsieur Hamlin, all seeming to indicate——”
Bobby halted again; the flush on his cheek deepened.
“Continuez, Monsieur,” commanded the lieutenant.
“That—that he might be a German spy,” exclaimed Bobby, desperately. “I heard so many stories about the espionage system from old Père Goubain, of the Café Rochambeau, near our training camp, that perhaps I became unduly suspicious.”
The man whom the boys had formerly called the “mysterious peasant” looked up with a smile.
“With Monsieur the Lieutenant’s permission,” he exclaimed, “I will explain, though I do not wish the fact to be generally known, that Monsieur Goubain is affiliated with the secret service and has given us much valuable information.”
“Oh—oh!” gasped Bobby, while all the other Americans in the room uttered suppressed exclamations.
“His object in speaking so freely was not only to show you the dangers that existed but to get you to keep your eyes open.” The man smiled. “In one case, at least, he evidently succeeded.”
“You have no evidence against Monsieur Hamlin?” continued the lieutenant, addressing Bobby.