“That’s what!” chimed in Joe.

Being accredited representatives of a certain branch of the army, though non-combatants, the boys were allowed to pass through the sentry lines, except in certain restricted places.  They were given the countersign each night in case they desired to leave their quarters and go about.

But there was a risk in starting on this journey.  As non-combatants, if they carried arms and went into the enemy’s territory, they were not entitled to be considered prisoners of war.  Of course they could fight for their lives, but not with the same status as could a uniformed soldier.  As a matter of fact, they did not wear the regulation uniform, having dark suits better suited to this night excursion than the khaki.

Waiting until it was dark enough for their purpose and taking with them electric flashlights to use in case they got into a hut or some such place where they could not see to search for their films, and having blackened their hands and faces and seen that their weapons were in order, they sallied forth from the home of the humble French couple, many good wishes going with them.

It was a walk of three or four miles from the little village to the place where the sentry had said the dugout lay, and during the first part of the trip the boys talked to each other.

“Do you suppose we’ll really find the films there?” ventured Joe.

“It’s a slim chance, but one worth taking,” said Blake.  “Though I can’t imagine what Secor and Labenstein, if those two fellows are really here, could want of them.”

“Maybe they just picked them up on the chance that they would give away some of the American army secrets,” suggested Charlie.  “And they would show our boys were drilling, fighting, and all that.  Of course some of the things on the films were actually seen by the Germans, but others were not; and I fancy those would be of value to Fritz.  That’s why they took ’em.”

“They couldn’t have known we were here taking views,” remarked Joe.

“Oh, yes they could!” declared Blake.  “Germany’s spy system is the best in the world, and lots that goes on in America is known in Germany before half of our own people hear about it.  But we’ll have to get there before we can find out what is in that dugout, if it’s there yet.”

“Well, some part of it—­maybe a hut or a brush heap—­must be there, or the sentry wouldn’t have seen men about it,” observed Joe.  “And now we’d better keep quiet.  We’re getting too close to talk much.”

A little later they passed a sentry—­not their friend—­gave the proper password, and then stood on the edge of No Man’s Land.

What would be their fate as they crossed it and ventured on the other side—­the side held by the Germans?

“Come on!” whispered Blake softly, and, crouching down to avoid as much as possible being detected in the starlight, the boys went cautiously into the debatable territory.