He
was down on the passenger list as Levi Labenstein, and he did bear some
resemblance to a Jew, but his talk had the unmistakable German accent.
Not that there are not German Jews, but their tongue has not the knack
of the pure, guttural German of Prussia. And this man's voice had none
of the nasal, throaty tones of Yiddish.
"Whew!" whistled Joe, as he and Blake looked into the tell-tale mirror.
"That looks bad!"
"Hush!" cautioned Blake. "The transoms are open and he may hear you."
But a look into the reflecting glasses showed that the two men--the
Frenchman and the German--had not looked up from their eager poring over
the map, or whatever paper was between them.
"How long have they been this way?" asked Blake, in a whisper, of
Charlie.
"I don't know," Macaroni answered. "I happened to see them when I came
down to get something, and after I'd watched them a while I went to tell
you."
"I'm glad you did," went on Blake; "though I don't know what it
means--if it means anything."
"It means something, all right," declared Joe, and he, like the others,
was careful to keep his voice low-pitched. "It means treason, if I'm any
judge!"
"Treason?" repeated Blake.
"Yes; wouldn't you call it that if you saw one of our army officers
having a secret talk with a German enemy?"
"I suppose so," assented Blake.
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