He said nothing of his discovery, however, and a
moment later he looked up to face a young man in the uniform of an officer
of the British territorial army. This young man had keen, searching blue
eyes, and very blond hair. His upper lip was closely shaven, but it bore
plain evidence that within a few days it had sported a moustache.
"Well," said the officer, "what are you doing here?"
The driver straightened up as if in surprise.
"Blow-out, sir," he said, touching his cap. "I'm carrying these young
gentlemen from Waterloo to Ealing, sir. Had to come around on account of
the roads."
"You have your way lost, my man. Why not admit it?" said the officer,
showing his white teeth in a smile. He turned to Harry and Dick. "Boy
Scouts, I see," he commented. "You carry orders concerning the movement of
troops from Ealing? They are to entrain--where?"
"Near Croydon, sir, on the Brighton and South Coast line," said Harry,
lifting innocent eyes to his questioner.
"So! They go to Dover, then, I suppose--no, perhaps to Folkestone--oh, what
matter? Hurry up with your tire, my man!"
He watched them still as the car started. Then he went back to the house.
"Whatever did you tell him that whopper about Croydon for?" whispered Dick.
"I wasn't going to tell him anything--"
"Then he might have tried to make us," answered Harry, also in a whisper.
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