“We will try to apprehend the two men,” promised Captain Bedell, “but I am afraid it is too late.  It may seem strange to you that we held you on the mere evidence of a letter from a man we did not know.  But you must remember that the nerves of every one are more or less upset over what has happened.  The poison of Germany’s spy system had permeated all of us, and nothing is normal.  A man often suspects his best friend, so though it may have seemed unusual to you to be arrested, or detained, as we call it, still when all is considered it was not so strange.

“However, you are at liberty to go now, and we will do all we can to help you.  I have instructions to set you on your way to the front as soon as you care to go, and every facility will be given you to take all the pictures of your own troops you wish.  I regret exceedingly what has happened.”

“Oh, let it go!” said Blake cheerfully.  “You treated us decently, and, as you say, these are war times.”

“Which is my only excuse,” said the captain, with a smile.  “Now I am going to see if we can not apprehend that German and his French fellow-conspirator.”

But, as may be guessed, “Henry Littlefield” was not to be found, nor Lieutenant Secor, nor Levi Labenstein.

“Labenstein probably wrote that letter accusing us and mailed it just to make trouble because we suspected him and Secor,” said Blake.

“Well, it’s lucky you had that note from him, or you’d never have been able to convince the authorities here that he was a faker,” remarked Joe.  “I guess he didn’t count on that.”

“Probably not,” agreed Blake.  “And now, boys, let’s get busy!”

There was much to do after their release.  They went back to their hotel and began getting their baggage in shape for the trip to France.  Their cameras and reels were released from the custody of the war officials, and with a glad smile Macaroni began overhauling them to see that they had not been damaged on the trip.

“Right as ever!” he remarked, after a test.  “Now they can begin the parlez vous Francaise? business as soon as they please.”

Two days later the boys embarked for the passage across the Channel, and though it was a desperately rough one, they were, by this time, seasoned travelers and did not mind it.

The journey through France up to the front was anything but pleasant.  The train was slow and the cars uncomfortable, but the boys made the best of it, and finally one afternoon, as the queer little engine and cars rolled slowly up to what served for a station, there came to their ears dull boomings.

“Thunder?” asked Joe, for the day was hot and sultry.

“Guns at the front,” remarked a French officer, who had been detailed to be their guide the last part of the journey.

“At the front at last!  Hurrah!” cried Joe.

“Perhaps you will not feel like cheering when you have been here a week or two,” said the French officer.