Virginie looked up in quick alarm. "Who is that?" she cried, in a low voice, and then, recognizing the bell-boy she had seen so often at the hotel, she gazed at Patricia in amazed surprise. "How did you get here?" she suddenly asked her friend. So absorbed had she been in other matters, that the question had not occurred to her before. Patricia sketched to her in hurried whispers the history of the previous night and the assistance rendered by Chet, while the boy himself stood by uneasily, watching the house and the road. When she had finished, he added:

"I gotta tell you that I heard a good deal of what the little mam'selle was sayin' just now, 'cause I had crept back to warn you folks you'd have to be a bit quicker if we're goin' to get anything done, so I pretty well know the lay of the land. Now I got a plan in the back of my head. It's kind of risky, but I think we can swing it if we work quick. But first we must find out what this here little mam'selle is plannin' to do. Are you goin' to get her to break away from that shady gang an' beat it with us?"

"Oh, that's just what I want her to do—just what I've been thinking of myself!" cried Patricia. "Are you willing, Virginie dear?"

The girl looked at her in some bewilderment. American slang was something she had yet to become acquainted with, and Chet's last remarks were as incomprehensible to her as if they had been uttered in Choctaw.

"We want you to come with us," Patricia explained. "You must not stay any longer with these dreadful people, Virginie. We think we can get you away from them, and you will have a happy life and never, never be tormented by them again."

But the girl shrank back in terror. "No, no!" she cried. "It must not be. I cannot do it, much as I long to. You must not ask it. My father!" whispered Virginie, brokenly, and she needed to say no more. Patricia understood. She had forgotten for a moment how deeply they held this helpless girl in their power. And after the many terrible tales she had heard of the enemy's cruelty, she had not the slightest doubt that they would carry out their threat. What could she say or do that would be of any avail in the face of this? She looked at Chet helplessly.

"Say," he declared at length, "this here's sure a bad lookout, but there must be some way out of it. You can't make me believe that in this here free country any bunch of Huns is goin' to get away with a come-on game like that. Why say, what's the matter with this? We'll bundle the little mam'selle into the car an' hustle back to the city an' get the police out here in a jiff' an' raid the whole place before they have time to turn around. We'd sure find that Crimson Patch somewhere in the ranch. An' they'd have the bunch all in the jug before they had time to do any telephonin' or send any messages or anything. What say?"

"No, no!" cried Virginie, who had somehow taken in his meaning in spite of his slang. "It would not do. You do not understand. They are not all here—in this house. Only Madame—and Melanie, her maid, and the chauffeur, Hermann Klausser (they call him Jacques Thierrot in public) are here. But there are many, many others in New York—everywhere. They are all in these plots. They would find out what had happened, and they would send the message. I am not safe though you were to shut up a dozen of them in jail at once. Do you not see?"

They did see. Chet scratched his head in perplexed thought and Patricia stared at them both helplessly. It seemed an almost impossible tangle. It was Chet who presently shrugged his shoulders and addressed them in words of firmness and determination, thus:

"Say, this here does certainly seem some little puzzle, but you want to think ahead of things a bit, an' reason out how things are likely to go on if they keep runnin' in the same groove. Have you thought of this, miss—er—mam'selle? If you keep on like this, just knucklin' down to 'em all the time, are things ever goin' to get any better? Ain't they goin' to force you to do worse an' worse all the time just as long as they can keep you under? That's the Hun of it. They believe in terrorizing, they do! They think they got you cold as long as they can scare the livin' wits out of you. An' that's where America put it all over 'em. They didn't scare for a cent. All the Yanks ever thought of was, 'Lead me to 'em! Just let me get my hands on one of them 'ere Huns. I'll give 'em a little dose of "frightfulness." An' they did, too; an' the Huns are turnin' tail an' beatin' it this very minute at ChÂteau Thierry an' thereabouts."

"That's the spirit to have. Don't let 'em put it over you. An' another thing maybe you haven't thought of, miss—mam'selle. Do you really believe everything they're tellin' you? I bet they'd as soon fool you as eat their dinner! How do you know this is all true about your father? He may be well an' safe this very minute—"

"Oh, no, no!" interrupted Virginie. "If that were so I would have heard from him in some way. I have heard nothing in all these three years. No, he is not safe. He is surely in their power."

"Well, that may be so," insisted Chet, "but still I say, you can't trust 'em. An' there's one thing you can trust an' it's the most powerful thing in the world to-day, an' that's this little old U. S. Government. If anything on earth can help you, that can, an' you'd a great sight better put your trust in that than to knuckle down any longer to this beastly bunch of Hun spies. Ain't I talkin' sensible, Miss Patricia?"

"Indeed you are!" Patricia echoed enthusiastically. "Why, Chet is right, Virginie, absolutely. Can't you see it? I only wonder we didn't think of it before! Your choice lies between these horrible, unscrupulous creatures, and the finest, most powerful Government in all the world. How can you even hesitate? You can't go on forever this way with Madame Vanderpoel. Some day they might put an end to your father's life for some reason of their own, and you couldn't do a thing to stop it, mightn't even know it. You'd be perfectly helpless. Whereas, if you get yourself out of their power, you stand some chance, at least, of rescuing your father too. Take the chance, Virginie. These people are not so powerful as they seem to you because you have been so shut up with them. They have let you know nothing. Take the chance. I believe it is your only chance to help your father and yourself!"

And Virginie, very much impressed, visibly wavered. She had, indeed, taken no thought for the future, hopelessly supposing her bondage would go on indefinitely, as at present, only serving to prolong her father's existence by her acquiescence. To her it was, indeed, a terrible chance, yet not quite so uncertain as it had once seemed. Perhaps the United States was more powerful than she realized. Perhaps—but suddenly she threw all hesitation to the winds.

"Yes, yes, you are right!" she exclaimed. "I will go with you. Perhaps I can serve him best—so."

"Hooray! Good for you!" cried Chet, overjoyed. "An' now about this here Crimson Patch. Do you think there's any chance of our gettin' hold of it? Where d'you suppose the Madame keeps it salted down?"

Patricia, too happy for expression at Virginie's decision, could only press her hand warmly. "Yes, Virginie, we must, if possible, get the Crimson Patch. Have you any idea where it is?"

"I saw it in her writing-desk this morning," replied Virginie, "while she was telling me what I must do. She was explaining to me how I must get you to tell me the secret of it if I could, without of course allowing you to think it was here. I do not think she put it back in the safe. She is so sure of herself that she has no fear of its being discovered."

"Then it ought to be possible to get it somehow or other," mused Patricia. "Who is this maid, Melanie, that you speak of, Virginie, and where do you think she is now?"

"Melanie has been Madame Vanderpoel's servant for many years," answered the girl. "She is the only one among them all who cares in the slightest for me. I think she is quite fond of me, though she has never said so. She is a strange, silent woman."

"Is she a German?" questioned Patricia.

"Yes, by birth, but she lived so long in Belgium that I think she came to feel more Belgian than German. I think she secretly hates all this spy-work, but she is bound to Madame Vanderpoel by many obligations and she dare not make a protest. Madame at one time gave her a great deal of money to help her family, who were in great need, and Melanie is very loyal to her. But she has always been fond of me ever since I was a baby, and I feel sure that she resents at times, the way they treat me. I only feel this for she never has said one word. I do not think she would dare let them know it. She is probably in the kitchen now, for she has to get the meals as well as wait on Madame. There are no other servants around. Madame will not have them, lest they discover too much. Hermann Klausser is not a servant. He is one of the worst of them,—the spies,—but he drives the car and acts to the world as Madame's chauffeur."

"Well, if Melanie is in the kitchen and the rest of them out of the way," said Chet, "it ought to be a pretty good time to swipe that sketch. Do you think you'd dare go in an' cabbage it, little miss, or shall I try? It would be safer an' quicker for you, if you think you don't mind, because you know where the desk is, an' this here Melanie wouldn't think it so strange to see you goin' in an' out. But if you don't care for the job, I'll try my hand at it. But we got to be quick, whatever we do, 'cause the madame may be back any minute. How about it?"

"Oh, I will try it," assented Virginie. "It would be far better for me, since I know its location and can go in and out freely."

Patricia gave her a hug and murmured, "You darling!" and she was just about to set forth on her quest, when Chet cried, "Hold on!" and laid a detaining hand on her arm. The sound of a motor was heard tearing madly up the road, and in another moment Madame's car had swung into the driveway.

"Can you beat that for luck!" snorted Chet. And Virginie huddled back against Patricia with a little moan of despair.