CHAPTER XXI

NIGHT FOR A SPY STORY

And Norma too was on the watch—

It was one of those nights when one does not wish to sleep. The air was full of sounds, of airplanes roaring in close ashore, then speeding away to sea.

There were wild tales going the rounds of the village as Norma went there for a walk. There would be an invasion of America. Spies were being landed all along the coast from subs.

“I heard,” said a fisherman, “that one of them lady soldiers, a WAAC do they call them, was beat to death on the road from Granite Head.” As Norma listened in on this bit of conversation, she smiled. She, beyond doubt, was that “lady soldier.” It all went to show how stories grew as they traveled.

“Or does it?” she asked with a start. “Perhaps someone is starting these wild tales to frighten us. If that’s it,” she squared her shoulders, “they’ve got a long way to go.”

As she returned to Harbor Bells, she found herself in a mood for talking, telling tales, confiding in someone.

And there, sitting alone by the half-burned fire, as if she had been waiting for her, sat Lieutenant Warren.

“It’s a wild night,” she said, as Norma dropped into a seat beside her.

“Yes, a strange night. It seems to bring the war close.”

“So very close to America,” the Lieutenant agreed. “It’s a night for a ghost story.”

“Yes, or a spy story,” Norma replied quickly. “Lieutenant Warren, I’ve discovered your German spy from India right here in America.”

“What? Why, that’s impossible!” The officer sat straight up to stare at her. “He was shot as a spy, two years ago in India!”

“Are you sure? Did your friend really say your photographer friend was shot?”

“Well, now,” Lieutenant Warren went into a brown study, “perhaps not just that. She did say that a photographer who had a studio facing the parade ground—I supposed he was the one I knew—was shot.”

“It might not be. Let me tell you all about it.” Norma’s voice dropped as she moved her chair close. From outside came the roar of a motor that slowly faded away.

“He calls himself Carl Langer,” Norma said.

“That wasn’t the name. But it’s easy to take a new name. Most spies do, I guess,” Lieutenant Warren said.

“I saw him the very first night we were here,” Norma went on. “I went out for a look at the moon and the sea and there he stood by the gate with a camera in his hand.”

“Oh, is he a photographer here, too?” Lieutenant Warren’s voice rose a bit.

“Yes, of course, and a very good one. His hair stands up the way it does on a pig’s back, only it’s scrubbed and shines white. His face is lined but is round and soft-looking.”

“What a remarkable resemblance!” Rita Warren murmured. “But why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“I wanted to be sure,” Norma said. “I could not accuse people....”

“Of course,” Lieutenant Warren said.

“But listen! You haven’t heard anything,” Norma warmed to her subject. “He has a grand pose, didn’t want to do my snapshots for me, said he couldn’t waste his time and money.”

“And you said—”

“I said, ‘You wouldn’t be wasting your money because I mean to pay you!’” At that they both laughed.

“Oh, it’s been like doing a part in a play,” Norma exclaimed. “Just as if I had been drilled in advance for every act!”

“And did he do your pictures for you?”

“Of course, but Miss Warren—” Suddenly Norma’s face grew tense. “He held out on me. He kept the one I took of the Spanish hairdresser at Fort Des Moines.”

“The Spanish hairdresser?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember her? She and Lena seemed to be great friends. She did Lena’s hair for her every other day and I doubt if she always was paid for it ... I followed her and Lena.” Unthinkingly, Norma raced on.

“Followed them?”

“Yes, in Des Moines.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why, I just did, that’s all. They went into a dark repair shop on a spooky side street. I followed them in and the door closed behind me. It locked itself. I couldn’t get out.”

“Girl alive!” Rita Warren exclaimed sharply. “You might have been murdered!”

“Yes,” Norma drew in a deep breath. “Yes, but I wasn’t.”

“What happened?”

“Some man gripped my arm. He seemed very angry. Then, suddenly, he changed and was very polite.”

“Why?”

“Because he knew I was a WAC.”

“But you said it was dark!”

“It was—I guess he knew me by the fine wool in my coat. That’s one time when it really paid to wear my uniform.”

“It may have saved your life,” was the Lieutenant’s slow comment. “He wouldn’t have dared harm a WAC. Not in Des Moines. That would have brought the town down on his head.

“But, wait!” Rita Warren’s voice rose as she continued. “How does Lena fit into the picture? Why did this Carl Langer hold out your picture of this Spanish hairdresser? Or did he? Perhaps the shot was no good. That often happens—”

“It didn’t happen this time.” Norma’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He gave the film to me by mistake this very day. I got a look at it, that’s all.”

“Let’s have another look.”

“We can’t,” Norma whispered. “Someone in a white snow suit waylaid me on the coast road and took it from me, after a fight!”

“A fight!”

“And how!” Norma’s voice carried conviction.

“This sounds interesting and rather dangerous.” Rita Warren was impressed. “Tell me the rest. Tell me more of Fritz Kurnsen, no—no, I mean your Carl Langer. Fritz was my spy in India. It would be really ridiculous to think they were the same. He was shot, I’m sure!”

“Yes, that’s what you think.” The words were on Norma’s lips, but she did not say them. Instead she said: “Let me see—oh, yes, Carl Langer is very selfish and doesn’t work any more than he has to. He refused to take a picture of a poor fisherwoman. And she wanted to send the picture to her son in the service over in Africa.”

“He would!” Rita Warren agreed. “That is, if he were Fritz Kurnsen. But tell me about this fight with the white-robed figure.”

Norma told her. In a dramatic manner she described the entire battle.

“That’s bad!” the Lieutenant exclaimed. “So they cut the wires to the spotter’s shed!”

“They must have.”

“The war comes closer to us every day. I must put Mr. Sperry, the FBI agent, on the tracks of these people at once—”

“But Lena?” The words slipped out unbidden.

“Lena must look out for herself.” Rita Warren’s words were spoken in tones cold as ice. “We are in a war. If Lena has been associating with spies, if she’s been doing wrong things she must suffer for them.”

“But it’s not been proven yet.”

“Not yet.”

“Then there’s Rosa,” Norma said quietly.

“Rosa? Is she in on this, too?”

“I—I don’t know. Just tonight she came in after she had been away a long time, with a strange, secretive look on her face. And back at Fort Des Moines, there was her flashing of light at night and the crazy thing she did at the airport.”

“Tell me.”

Norma told of the flashing lights and Rosa’s book of prayers.

“That sounds innocent enough,” said Rita Warren.

“I hoped you’d say that, but the airplane story is, well, sort of different.”

Norma told of the time Rosa had come very close to running away with a secret fighter plane.

“What in the world made her do that?” Rita Warren exclaimed, when the story was finished.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Norma seemed troubled. Then she exclaimed, “Oh, I’m sorry I told you! I never wanted to suspect anyone of doing anything wrong!”

“It’s all right, your telling me,” was the reply.

“About Carl Langer, yes!” Norma exclaimed in a low, tense voice. “He’s a pig and in spite of the fact that he flatters me, I hate him. But Lena and Rosa—that’s different.” Her voice dropped. “Rosa’s been a good sport and a regular pal. And Lena—well, she practically saved our lives in that storm.”

“You forget that she was, at the same time, saving her own life.”

“Yes—oh—yes, of course, but, Lieutenant Warren!” Norma’s voice rose. “There is still more to be told about Carl Langer!”

“Let’s hear it!”

“He keeps black pigeons. They roost on his studio roof. And today,” she caught her breath. “Today I went for a long ride up into the hills. And what do you suppose I saw?”

“An estate all surrounded with palms, with your Carl Langer standing at the door,” Rita Warren laughed.

“The picture is perfect.” Norma did not laugh. “Only instead of palms there were huge pine trees standing out against the snow. Even the dogs were there, three of them—fierce-looking beasts. And the pigeons were on the barn roof, lots of them.”

“And you went up to the door and said: ‘Carl Langer, please show me your ancient masterpiece.’”

“I jumped on my bicycle and peddled away as fast as ever I could. I was scared. Scared to the tips of my toes.”

“The picture will come later no doubt. What a remarkable coincidence! I must see your Carl Langer!”

“I—I’ll take you there. I’d love to.”

“I’ll go with you. Let me see,” Rita Warren considered. “Not tomorrow. I am going to Black Knob, taking three girls out to assist with the spotting. That’s just temporary, of course. Later we’ll either make it a real center, such as we have here, or enlist more volunteers for the work.”

“You—you’re not sending me?” Norma asked.

“No, I think not. I need you here as my right-hand man. Then there’s this spy business. We must look into that. You won’t mind, will you?”

“Of course not. We’re all soldiers and must serve where we can do the most good. Of course,” Norma added with a touch of longing, “it would be nice to live there a while with that fine, old grandfather, the imp of a child, and all the good Gremlins.”

“I’m planning to send Betty,” said Lieutenant Warren. “She has a good head for things.”

“She certainly has!”

“I’ll send Millie and Mary. There’ll be other girls arriving tomorrow. You’ll have to help train them.”

“Looks like a busy time ahead,” Norma laughed.

“You don’t know the half of it!” Lieutenant Warren agreed.

As they parted for the night, the clock on the mantel struck slowly twelve times.

“Midnight,” Norma whispered, slipping out on the porch.

The stars were shining bright. The moon was just rising back of Black Knob. All the planes had gone home. The night seemed very still.

Had she been able to look in at windows at Black Knob, as the good Gremlins do, she might have seen the grandfather and child fast asleep while on the spotter tower a gray-haired woman walked slowly back and forth. And in a warm corner, downstairs, two rough fishermen, guns at hand, nodded sleepily, keeping watch, just in case—

As Norma turned to go in she whispered, “Lieutenant Warren said she would go with me to Langer’s place, but not tomorrow. I hope she makes it soon.”