Victor Appleton - The Moving Picture Boys on the War Front

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"Yes, it's a song, but we don't want to stay here too long singing it,"
laughed Joe.

"Well, I'll do my best for you," promised the officer, who was a young
man. He had been twice wounded at the front and was only awaiting a
chance to go back, he said. "I'll do my best, but it will take a little
time. We'll have to send the papers to France and wait for their
return."

"And what are we to do in the meanwhile?" asked Blake.

"I fancy you'll just have to stay here and--what is it you say--split
kindling?"

"'Saw wood,' I guess you mean," said Joe. "Well, if we have to, we have
to. But please rush it along, will you?"

"I'll do my best," promised the young officer. "Meanwhile, you had
better let me have your address--I mean the name of the hotel where you
will be staying--and I'll send you word as soon as I get it myself. I
had better tell you, though, that you will not be allowed to take any
pictures--moving or other kind--until you have received permission."

"We'll obey that ruling," Blake promised. He had hoped to get some views
of ruins caused by a Zeppelin. However, there was no hope of that.

On the recommendation of the young officer they took rooms in London at
a hotel in a vicinity to enable them to visit the War Department
easily. And then, having spent some time in these formalities and being
again assured that they would be notified when they were wanted, either
to be given permission to go to France or to testify against the two
suspects, the moving picture boys went to their hotel.

It was not the first time they had been in a foreign country, though
never before had they visited London, and they were much interested in
everything they saw, especially everything which pertained to the war.
And evidences of the war were on every side: injured and uninjured
soldiers; poster appeals for enlistments, for the saving of food or
money to win the war; and many other signs and mute testimonies of the
great conflict.

The boys found their hotel a modest but satisfactory one, and soon got
in the way of living there, planning to stay at least a week. They
learned that their food would be limited in accordance with war
regulations, but they had expected this.

There was something else, though, which they did not expect, and which
at first struck them as being decidedly unpleasant. It was the second
day of their stay in London that, as they were coming back to their
hotel from a visit to a moving picture show, Joe remarked:

"Say, fellows, do you notice that man in a gray suit and a black slouch
hat across the street?"

"I see him," admitted Blake.

"Have you seen him before?" Joe asked.

"Yes, I have," said Blake. "He was in the movies with us, and I saw him
when we left the hotel."

"So did I," went on Joe. "And doesn't it strike you as being peculiar?"

"In what way?" asked Charles.

"I mean he seems to be following us."

"What in the world for?" asked the assistant.

"Well," went on Joe slowly, "I rather think we're under suspicion.
That's the way it strikes me!"

CHAPTER XIV

IN CUSTODY

Blake and Charlie nodded their heads as Joe gave voice to his suspicion.
Then, as they looked across once again at the man in the slouch hat, he
seemed aware of their glances and slunk down an alley.

"But I think he has his eye on us, all the same," observed Blake, as the
boys went into their hotel.

"What are we going to do about it?" inquired Charlie. "Shall we put up a
kick or a fight?"

"Neither one," decided Blake, after a moment's thought.

"Why not?" inquired Macaroni, with rather a belligerent air, as befitted
one in the midst of war's alarms. "Why not go and ask this fellow what
he means by spying on us?"

"In the first place, if we could confront him, which I very much doubt,"
answered Blake, "he would probably deny that he was even so much as
looking at us, except casually. Those fellows from Scotland Yard, or
whatever the English now call their Secret Service, are as keen as they
make 'em. We wouldn't get any satisfaction by kicking."

"Then let's fight!" suggested Charlie. "We can protest to the officer
who told us to wait here for our permits to go to the front. We can say
we're United States citizens and we object to being spied on. Let's do
it!"

"Yes, we could do that," said Blake slowly. "But perhaps we are being
kept under surveillance by the orders of that same officer."

"What in the world for?"

"Well, because the authorities may want to find out more about us."

"But didn't we have our passports all right? And weren't our papers in
proper shape?" asked Charlie indignantly.

"As far as we ourselves are concerned, yes," said Blake. "But you must
remember that passports have been forged before, by Germans, and----"

"I hope they don't take _us_ for Germans!" burst out Charlie.

"Well, we don't look like 'em, that's a fact," said Blake, with a smile.
"But you must remember that the English have been stung a number of
times, and they aren't taking any more chances."

"Just what do you think this fellow's game is?" asked Charlie.

"Well," answered Blake slowly, and as if considering all sides of the
matter. "I think he has been detailed by the English Foreign Office, or
Secret Service, or whoever has the matter in charge, to keep an eye on
us and see if we are really what we claim to be. That's all. I don't see
any particular harm in it; and if we objected, kicked, or made a row, it
would look as if we might be guilty. So I say let it go and let that
chap do all the spying he likes."

"Well, I guess you're right," assented Joe.

"Same here," came from their helper.

"Anyhow, we might as well make the best of it," resumed Blake. "If we
had a fight with this chap and made him skedaddle, it would only mean
another would be put on our trail. Just take it easy, and in due time, I
think, we'll be given our papers and allowed to go to the front."

"It can't come any too soon for me," declared Joe.

So for the next few days the boys made it a point to take no notice of
the very obvious fact that they were under surveillance. It was not
always the same man who followed them or who was seen standing outside
the hotel when they went out and returned. In fact, they were sure
three different individuals had them in charge, so to speak.

The boys were used to active work with their cameras and liked to be in
action, but they waited with as good grace as possible. In fact, there
was nothing else to do. Their moving picture apparatus was sealed and
kept in the Foreign Office, and would not be delivered to them until
their permits came to go to the front. So, liking it or not, the boys
had to submit.

They called several times on the young officer who had treated them so
kindly, to ask whether there were any developments in their case; but
each time they were told, regretfully enough, it seemed, that there was
none.

"But other permits have been longer than yours in coming," said the
officer, with a smile. "You must have a little patience. We are not
quite as rapid as you Americans."

"But we want to get to the war front!" exclaimed Joe. "We want to make
some pictures, and if we have to wait----"

"Possess your souls with patience," advised the officer. "The war is
going to last a long, long time, longer than any of us have any idea of,
I am afraid. You will see plenty of fighting, more's the pity. Don't
fret about that."

But the boys did fret; and as the days passed they called at the permit
office not once but twice, and, on one occasion, three times in
twenty-four hours. The official was always courteous to them, but had
the same answer:

"No news yet!"

And then, when they had spent two weeks in London--two weeks that were
weary ones in spite of the many things to see and hear--the boys were
rather surprised on the occasion of their daily visit to the permit
office to be told by a subordinate:

"Just a moment, if you please. Captain Bedell wishes to speak to you."

The captain was the official who had their affair in charge, and who had
been so courteous to them.

"He wants us to wait!" exclaimed Joe, with marked enthusiasm. For the
last few days the captain had merely sent out word that there was no
news.

"Maybe he has the papers!" cried Macaroni.

"I'm sure I hope so," murmured Blake.

The boys waited in the outer office with manifest impatience until the
clerk came to summon them into the presence of Captain Bedell, saying:

"This way, if you please."

"Sounds almost like a dentist inviting you into his chair," murmured Joe
to Blake.

"Not as bad as that, I hope. It looks encouraging to be told to wait and
come in."

They were ushered into the presence of Captain Bedell, who greeted them,
not with a smile, as he had always done before, but with a grave face.

Instantly each of the boys, as he admitted afterward, thought something
was wrong.

"There's something out of the way with our passports," was Joe's idea.

"Been a big battle and the British have lost," guessed Macaroni.

Blake's surmise was:

"There's a hitch and we can't go to the front."

As it happened, all three were wrong, for a moment later, after he had
asked them to be seated, Captain Bedell touched a bell on his desk. An
orderly answered and he was told:

"These are the young gentlemen."

"Does that mean we are to get our permits?" asked Joe eagerly.

"I am sorry to say it does not," was the grave answer. "I am also sorry
to inform you that you are in custody."

"In custody!" cried the three at once. And Blake a moment later added:

"On what grounds?"

"That I am not at liberty to tell you, exactly," the officer replied.
"You are arrested under the Defense of the Realm Act, and the charges
will be made known to you in due course of time."

"Arrested!" cried Joe. "Are we really arrested?"

"Not as civil but as military prisoners," went on Captain Bedell. "There
is quite a difference, I assure you. I am sorry, but I have to do my
duty. Orderly, take the prisoners away. You may send for counsel, of
course," he added.

"We don't know a soul here, except some moving picture people to whom we
have letters of introduction," Blake said despondently.

"Well, communicate with some of them," advised the captain. "They will
be able to recommend a solicitor. Not that it will do you much good, for
you will have to remain in custody for some time, anyhow."

"Are we suspected of being spies?" asked Joe, determined to hazard that
question.

Captain Bedell smiled for the first time since the boys had entered his
office. It was a rather grim contortion of the face, but it could be
construed into a smile.

"I am not at liberty to tell you," he said. "Orderly, take the prisoners
away, and give them the best of care, commensurate, of course, with
safe-keeping."

CHAPTER XV

THE FRONT AT LAST

Well, wouldn't this get your----"

"Billiard table!" finished Joe for his chum Blake, who seemed at a loss
for a word.

"Why billiard table?" asked Blake.

"Because they've sort of put the English on us!" And Joe laughed at his
joke--if it could be called that.

"Huh!" grunted Blake, "I'm glad you feel so about it. But this is
fierce! That's what I call it--fierce!"

"Worse than that!" murmured Charlie. "And the worst of it is they won't
give us a hint what it's all about."

"There _is_ a good deal of mystery about it," chimed in Joe.

"All but about the fact that we're in a jail, or the next thing to it,"
added Blake, with a look about the place where he and his chums had been
taken from the office of Captain Bedell.

They were actually in custody, and while there were no bars to the doors
of their prison, which were of plain, but heavy, English oak, there were
bars to the windows. Aside from that, they might be in some rather
ordinary hotel suite, for there were three connecting rooms and what
passed for a bath, though this seemed to have been added after the place
was built.

As a matter of fact, the three boys were held virtually as captives, in
a part of the building given over to the secret service work of the war.
They had been escorted to the place by the orderly, who had instructions
to treat his prisoners with consideration, and he had done that.

"This is one of our--er--best--apartments," he said, with an air of
hesitation, as though he had been about to call it a cell but had
thought better of it. "I hope you will be comfortable here."

"We might be if we knew what was going to happen to us and what it's all
about," returned Blake, with a grim smile.

"That is information I could not give you, were I at liberty to do so,
sir," answered the orderly. "Your solicitor will act for you, I have no
doubt."

Following the advice of Captain Bedell, the boys had communicated with
some of their moving picture friends in London, with the result that a
solicitor, or lawyer, as he would be called in the United States,
promised to act for the boys. He was soon to call to see them, and,
meanwhile, they were waiting in their "apartment."

"I wonder how it all happened?" mused Joe, as he looked from one of the
barred windows at the not very cheerful prospect of roofs and chimneys.

"And what is the charge?" asked Charlie. "We can't even find that out."

"It practically amounts to being charged with being spies," said Blake.
"That is what I gather from the way we are being treated. We are held as
spies!"

"And Uncle Sam is fighting for the Allies!" cried Joe.

"Oh, well, it's all a mistake, of course, and we can explain it as soon
as we get a chance and have the United States consul give us a
certificate of good character," went on Blake. "That's what we've got to
have our lawyer do when he comes--talk with the United States consul."

"Well, I wish he'd hurry and come," remarked Joe. "It is no fun being
detained here. I want to get to the front and see some action. Our
cameras will get rusty if we don't use them."

"That's right," agreed Macaroni.

It was not until the next day, however, that a solicitor came,
explaining that he had been delayed after getting the message from the
boys. The lawyer, as Blake and his friends called him, proved to be a
genial gentleman who sympathized with the boys.

He had been in New York, knew something about moving pictures, and, best
of all, understood the desire of the American youths to be free and to
get into action.

"The first thing to be done," said Mr. Dorp, the solicitor, "is to find
out the nature of the charge against you, and who made it. Then we will
be in a position to act. I'll see Captain Bedell at once."

This he did, with the result that the boys were taken before the
officer, who smiled at them, said he was sorry for what had happened,
but that he had no choice in the matter.

"As for the nature of the charge against you, it is this," he said. "It
was reported to us that you came here to get pictures of British
defenses to be sold to Germany, and that your desire to go to the front,
to get views of and for the American army, was only a subterfuge to
cover your real purpose."

"Who made that charge?" asked Blake.

"It came in a letter to the War Department," was the answer, "and from
some one who signed himself Henry Littlefield of New York City. He is in
London, and he would appear when wanted, he said."

"May I see that letter?" asked the lawyer, and when it was shown to him
he passed it over to the boys, asking if they knew the writer or
recognized the handwriting.

And at this point the case of the prosecution, so to speak, fell
through. For Blake, with a cry of surprise, drew forth from his pocket
another letter, saying:

"Compare the writing of that with the letter denouncing us! Are they not
both in the same hand?"

"They seem to be," admitted Captain Bedell, after an inspection.

"From whom is your letter?" asked Mr. Dorp.

"From Levi Labenstein, the man who summoned the submarine to sink the
_Jeanne_," answered Blake. "This letter dropped from his pocket when he
came to me to borrow the flashlight. I intended to give it back to him,
as it is one he wrote to some friend and evidently forgot to mail. It
contains nothing of importance, as far as I can see, though it may be in
cipher. But this letter, signed with his name, is in the same hand as
the one signed 'Henry Littlefield,' denouncing us."

"Then you think it all a plot?" asked Captain Bedell.

"Of course!" cried Joe. "Why didn't you say before, Blake, that you had
a letter from this fellow?"

"I didn't attach any importance to it until I saw the letter accusing
us. Now the whole thing is clear. He wants us detained here for some
reason, and took this means of bringing it about."

"If that is the case, you will soon be cleared," said Captain Bedell.

And the boys soon were. There was no doubt but that the two letters were
in the same hand. And when it was explained what part the suspected
German had played aboard the steamer and cables from America to the
United States consul had vouched for the boys, they were set free with
apologies.

And what pleased them still more was Captain Bedell's announcement:

"I also have the pleasure to inform you that the permits allowing you to
go to the front have been received. They came yesterday, but, of course,
under the circumstances I could not tell you."

"Then may we get on the firing line?" asked Blake.

"As soon as you please. We will do all we can to speed you on your way.
It is all we can do to repay for the trouble you have had."

"These are war times, and one can't be too particular," responded Joe.
"We don't mind, now that we can get a real start."

"I'd like to get at that fake Jew and the Frenchman who spoiled the
films!" murmured Charles.

"Charlie can forgive everything but those spoiled films," remarked
Blake, with a chuckle.

"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.

"Sure we will!" declared Charlie. "We can do something now besides look
at London chimney pots. We can get action!"

As the boys looked about on the beautiful little French village where
they were to be quartered for some time, it was hard to realize that, a
few miles away, men were engaged in deadly strife, that guns were
booming, killing and maiming, and that soon they might be looking on the
tangled barbed-wire defense of No Man's Land.

But the dull booming, now and then rising to a higher note, told them
the grim truth.

They were at the war front at last!

CHAPTER XVI

THE FIRING LINE

"Hello! Where are you fellows from?"

It was rather a sharp challenge, yet not unfriendly, that greeted Blake,
Joe and Charlie, as they were walking from the house where they had been
billeted, through the quaint street of the still more quaint French
village. "Where are you from?"

"New York," answered Blake, as he turned to observe a tall,
good-natured-looking United States infantryman regarding him and his two
chums.

"New York, eh? I thought so! I'm from that burg myself, when I'm at
home. Shake, boys! You're a sight for sore eyes. Not that I've got 'em,
but some of the fellows have--and worse. From New York! That's mighty
good! Shake again!"

And they did shake hands all around once more.

"My name's Drew--Sam Drew," announced the private. "I'm one of the
doughboys that came over first with Pershing. Are you newspaper
fellows?"

"No. Moving picture," answered Blake.

"You don't say so! That's great! Shake again. When are you going to give
a show?"

"Oh, we're not that kind," explained Joe. "We're here to take army
films."

"Oh, shucks!" cried Private Drew. "I thought we were to see something
new. The boys here are just aching for something new. There's a picture
show here, but the machine's busted and nobody can fix it. We had a few
reels run off, but that's all. Say, we're 'most dead from what these
French fellows call _ong we_, though o-n-g-w-e ain't the way you spell
it. If we could go to one show----"

"You say there's a projector here?" interrupted Joe eagerly.

"Well, I don't know what you call it, but there's a machine here that
showed some pictures until it went on the blink."

"Maybe I can fix it," went on Joe, still eagerly. "Let's have a look at
it. But where do you get current from? This town hasn't electric
lights."

"No, but we've got a gasolene engine and a dynamo. The officers'
quarters and some of the practice trenches are lighted by electricity.
Oh, we have some parts of civilization here, even if we are near the
trenches!"

"If you've got current and that projection machine isn't too badly
broken, maybe I can fix her up," said Joe. "Let's have a look at it."

"Oh, I'll lead you to it, all right, Buddy!" cried Private Drew. "We'll
just eat up some pictures if we can get 'em! Come along! This way for
the main show!" and he laughed like a boy.

Among the outfits sent with the troops quartered in this particular
sector was a moving picture machine and many reels of film. But, as Sam
Drew had said, the machine was broken.

After Blake and his chums had reported to the officer to whom they had
letters of introduction and had been formally given their official
designation as takers of army war films, they went to the old barn which
had been turned into a moving picture theater.

There was a white cloth screen and a little gallery, made in what had
been the hay mow, for the projector machine. Joe Duncan, as the expert
mechanician of the trio, at once examined this, and said it could soon
be put in readiness for service.

"Whoop!" yelled Private Drew, who seemed to have constituted himself the
particular guide and friend of the moving picture boys. "Whoop! that's
as good as getting a letter from home! Go to it, Buddy!"

And that first night of the boys' stay at that particular part of France
was the occasion of a moving picture show. All who could crowded into
the barn, and the reels were run over and over again as different
relays of officers and men attended. For the officers were as eager as
the privates, and the moving picture boys were welcomed with open arms.

"You sure did make a hit!" laughed Private Drew. "Yes, a sure-fire hit!
Now let Fritz bang away. We should worry!"

But all was not moving pictures for Blake, Joe and their assistant, nor
for the soldier boys, either. There was hard and grim work to do in
order to be prepared for the harder and grimmer work to come. The United
States troops were going through a period of intensive trench training
to be ready to take their share of the fighting with the French and
British forces.

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