map, if he made one, the moment he thought himself in danger."
"Maybe you're right, Tom," agreed his chum, a bit dubiously. "But I certainly think there is something wrong about that man."
"Maybe you think he is Carl Potzfeldt, disguised, Jack."
"No, nothing like that. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he happened to be friendly with that sneaking spy. And, speaking of Potzfeldt, Tom, though he isn't by any means a pleasant subject, do you know we are soon to be in Paris where—"
"Where Bessie and her mother are, you mean. You're right, old chap, I haven't forgotten that, and I'll wager one chance for promotion that you haven't forgotten it either."
Jack's blush was sufficient answer to his friend.
"I couldn't quite understand what you meant, Tom, by talking so suddenly and loudly about you winning and me losing," went on Jack, as they got their baggage ready, for the train was about to enter the Paris station.
"That was camouflage, Jack, pure and unadulterated camouflage," answered Toma laugh. "I had to do something in a hurry to get that fellow's gaze off us, or he might have made a scene, and we don't want that. But if I had made a wager with you about the time,