Maxwell."

"What's the matter with him?" asked Roger.

"Nothing, I hope. But I gave him those five thousand francs to keep for me—you know, the reward money—our money," explained Jimmy, for it was that, as you shall see. "I want to get it back, now that the battle is over. We won't go into action very soon again, I'm thinking. I just gave him the notes to keep for me until this scrap was over. Now I think I'll get 'em back again, and divide 'em up."

"Are you going to persist in your generous notion?" asked Bob.

"I sure am!" was the somewhat indignant answer. "What do you think I am, anyhow, an Injun giver? I said we five Brothers would share and share alike in that reward, and I'm going to insist on it. If Iggy—if he's killed—his share goes to his folks. Why, you fellows helped as much in putting that dog Von Kreitzen out of the way as I did."

"Nonsense!" declared Roger. "You did it all alone!"

"Well, I'm not going to spend the reward all alone, and that's settled!" snapped Jimmy. "It's going to be whacked up, just as I promised. Now I'm going to find Maxwell and get the dough. Why, of course, I'm going to divide it. And I'll be glad to get my share right now. We haven't had any pay in some time, and goodness knows when I'll hear from home."

"Or Buffalo," added Bob, with a laugh.

"Yes, or Buffalo," agreed Jimmy. He had admitted that his "girl" lived there—a girl to whom he often referred as "Margaret," but beyond this he had said little of her. "So I'm going out to find Maxwell. I'll be back soon," he promised.

He received the necessary permission and was soon scouting about, back of the German trench lines, which had been taken over by the victorious Americans.

"Seen Maxwell?" asked Jimmy of a fellow non-commissioned officer who, he knew, was in Maxwell's mess.

"Maxwell? No, I haven't seen him lately. Didn't you hear about him?"

"Hear what about him? What do you mean?" asked Jimmy, and he was conscious of a strange foreboding.

"Why, Sergeant Maxwell has been missing since just about the time we got word to go over the top at the zero hour," stated Corporal Blake, to whom Jimmy had applied. "I thought you knew that."

"No, I didn't," said Jimmy quietly. Then he whistled.

"What's the matter?" asked Blake.

"If Maxwell is missing then it's a double loss," was the answer.

"A double loss? What do you mean?"

"I mean my five thousand francs are gone, too. Whew! Well, it can't be helped, I suppose. I'll go tell the boys!"

CHAPTER V

WHAT'S TO BE DONE?

"What's the matter. Blazes?" cried Bob, as he saw his friend coming back.

"You look as if we'd lost the war!"

"Well, I've lost part of something I won in it, anyhow," declared
Jimmy.

"Is Iggy dead?" Franz wanted to know. "Did you hear any word from him?"

"No, but we must make some inquiries. This is about something else. Fellows, I guess I'll have to wait until I get a remittance from home before I give you your shares of the thousand dollars reward."

"Wait for a remittance!" exclaimed Roger. "Not that I'm altogether sure I'm going to take what you call my 'share' of that; but why do you have to wait?"

"Because the money's gone," said Jimmy, tragically. In France, three thousand miles away from home, with their army pay uncertain, ready cash meant much to our doughboys.

"Gone! Did you lose it?" asked Bob, with a reportorial instinct.

"No, but Maxwell is gone and the money's gone with him. He's missing," Jimmy hastened to explain. "Been missing since just before we went into action."

"Where was the sergeant stationed?" asked Roger.

"In that big concrete dugout we captured from the Germans in the scrap just before this," Jimmy explained. "He was in command of a hand grenade squad there, and just before the fight, or at least soon after the signal to advance was given, that was the last seen of Sergeant Maxwell and my money," added the owner of it ruefully.

His companions received the news in silence. Then Franz spoke up and asked:

"What's to be done? I don't so much mean about the money," he added quickly, as he saw the others look curiously at him. "That doesn't matter, though, of course, I'll be glad of my share, and it's mighty generous of you, Blazes, to offer to whack up. But I mean what's to be done about Sergeant Maxwell? Do you suppose he—"

He did not finish, but his meaning was obvious.

"If you mean, do I think he went away with it, I most certainly do not," declared Jimmy, positively. "A thousand dollars isn't enough to make a man skip out."

"A thousand dollars is a lot to some people—I know it is to me," said Bob. "I worked hard on the Chronicle, and it never brought me a thousand dollars—at least not all at once."

"Me either—when I was slaving in the munition plant, and running a chance of being blown up every minute," declared Roger. "But I think Schnitz is right—what's to be done! Maybe Maxwell was robbed, and he started after the thief and—"

"'Maybe' won't get us anywhere," said Jimmy. "Of course, I'd rather lose the five thousand francs ten times over than have anything happen to Maxwell. And I'd like to know where he is for his own sake. At the same time I'd like to get that money back, as much for my own sake as for you fellows," he added. "I can very nicely use a bit of spare cash."

"So can I," chimed in Franz. "Maybe we'll have a chance to hunt for the serg. after this place quiets down a bit."

"I hope so," sighed Jimmy. Really he was more affected than he liked to admit, and it was not altogether over the loss of the money, either. He had been firm friends with the missing man—not as close a chum as with his four Brothers, but enough so that there was a genuine loss in his disappearance.

"Well, we'll see what we can do," decided Bob. "We've got to look after Iggy, too—that is, if he's alive. But we can't do anything along either line to-night."

"No, I guess not," agreed Jimmy. "Some of us'll have to do sentry go,
I expect, or take a listening post."

And he was right in his surmise. He and Bob were detailed to take a trick at a listening post—to be on the alert for any possible advance of the temporarily defeated Germans. Franz, because of his bruised ankle, was not put on duty. Indeed, he came near being sent to the rear for treatment when an officer discovered his hurt.

"It'll be all right in the morning," declared the youth of German blood, who, nevertheless, was such an ardent hater of the Kaiser and his "Potsdam gang," as a certain preacher has called the Hun ruler's associates. "I'm simply not going to the hospital! Captain, there'll be fighting in the morning; won't there, sir?"

"Very likely," was the grim answer.

"Then I'm going to stay, sir!" declared Franz, forgetting that he was speaking to his superior officer. "I'll be able to walk in the morning, and I want to get some more of the beasts!" and he fairly snarled the word. No true-blooded American hated the Huns as did Franz Schnitzel, of German parentage.

"Very well," assented the captain. "You may stay until morning, at least."

"Thank you, sir," replied Franz, saluting. He knew in his heart that he