Chapter 7

the same address—‘A deleted port.’”

“I really think the government is far too strict about it,” she continued. “My only brother is over there now fighting. All we know is that he is ‘Somewhere in France.’ War makes it hard on all of us.”

“Yet after all,” said Hoff soberly, “what are our hardships here compared to what people are suffering over there, in France, in Belgium, in Germany, even in the neutral countries. They know over there, they have known for three years, greater horrors than we can imagine.”

The longer she chatted with him, the more puzzled Jane became. He seemed to speak with sincerity and feeling. Her intuition told her that he was a man of honor and high ideals, and yet in everything he said there was always reserve, hesitation, caution, as if he weighed every word before uttering it. Intently she listened, hoping to catch some intonation, some awkward arrangement of words that might betray his tongue for German, but the English he spoke was perfect—not the English of the United States nor yet of England, but rather the manner of speech that one hears from the world-traveler. Question after question she put, hoping to trap him into some admission, but skilfully he eluded her efforts. She decided at last to try more direct tactics.

“Your name has a German sound. It is German, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I told you I was born in Cincinnati,” he answered laughingly. “Some people insist that that is a German province.”

“But you have been in Germany, haven’t you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you had not lived in that country?”

“I could not well have been there without having lived there, could I?”

Kramer came to her rescue.

“Of course he has lived there. Mr. Hoff and I both attended German universities. That was what brought us together at the start—our common bond.”

“Did you attend the same university?” asked Jane. She felt that at last she was on the point of finding out something worth while.

“No,” said Kramer, “unfortunately it was not the same university.”

She caught her breath and blushed guiltily. If Mr. Kramer had attended a German university he could not be an Annapolis graduate. He must be a recent comer in the American navy. She knew that since the war began some civilians had been admitted. It had just dawned on her that if this was the case, since visiting on board ships was no longer permitted, it clearly was impossible for her to have met him at any function on a warship. He must have known all along that she knew she never had met him. He must have been aware, too, that her mother did not know him. She felt that she was getting into perilous waters and fearful of making more blunders refrained from further questions. A vague alarm began to agitate her. If he had detected her ruse when she first had spoken to him, why had he not admitted it? What had been his purpose in accepting her invitation and in bringing into it his German friend, Mr. Hoff?

The ringing of the telephone bell came as a welcome interruption. A maid summoned her to answer a call, and excusing herself from the table she went to the ’phone desk in the foyer.

“Hello, is this you, Miss Strong?”

It was Carter’s voice, but from the anxious stress in it she judged that he was in a state of great perturbation.

“Yes, it is Jane Strong speaking,” she answered.

“You know who this is?”

“Of course. I recognize your voice. It’s Mr. C—”

A warning “sst” over the ’phone checked her before she pronounced the name and starting guiltily she turned to look over her shoulder, feeling relieved to see the two men still chatting at the table, apparently paying no attention to her.

“I understand,” she answered quickly. “What is it?”

“You know that book I told you I was going to buy?”

“Yes, yes!”

“It’s not there.”

“What’s that? The book is gone!”

“The book is there all right, but it’s not the book I want.”

“Are you sure,” she questioned, “that you looked at the right book?”

“I looked at the one you told me to.”

“Are you certain—the fifth book on the second shelf.”

Illustration: Had he been standing there listening? How much had he heard?

She heard a movement behind her and turning quickly saw Frederic Hoff standing behind her, his hat and stick in hand. Panic-stricken, she hung up the receiver abruptly. Had he been standing there listening? How much had he heard? He would know, of course, what “the fifth book on the second shelf” signified. Had her carelessness betrayed to him the fact that he and his uncle were being closely watched? Anxiously she studied his face for some intimation of his thoughts. He was standing there smiling at her, and to her agitated brain it seemed that in his smile there was something sardonic, defying, challenging.

“I cannot tell you, Miss Strong, how much I have enjoyed your hospitality. You made the time so interesting that I had no idea it was so late. You will excuse me if I tear myself away at once. I have some important business that demands my immediate attention.”

“I hope you’ll come again,” she managed to stammer, “and you, too, Mr. Kramer.”

White-faced and terrified she escorted them out, leaving the telephone bell jangling angrily. As the door closed behind them, she sank weak and faint into a chair, not daring yet to go again to the ’phone until she was sure they were out of hearing.

What was the “immediate business” that was calling them away so suddenly? She was more than afraid that her incautious use of the phrase “the fifth book on the second shelf” had betrayed her. What else could it mean? Why else would they have departed so abruptly?

Mustering up her strength and courage she went once more to the ’phone.

“Hello, hello, is that you, Miss Strong? Some one cut us off,” Carter’s voice was impatiently saying.

“Hello, Mr. Carter,” she called, “this is Jane Strong speaking. Where can I see you at once? It’s most important.”

“I’ll be sitting on a bench along the Drive two blocks north of your house inside of ten minutes.”

“I’ll meet you there,” she answered quickly, with a feeling of relief.

The situation was becoming far too complicated, she felt, for her to handle alone. Carter would know what to do. If Hoff and Kramer had learned from her about the trailing of old Hoff, the sooner it was reported to more experienced operatives than she was the better.

“Don’t speak to me when you see me sitting on the bench,” warned Carter. “Just sit down there beside me and wait till I make sure no one is watching us. I’ll speak to you when it’s safe.”

“I understand,” she answered. “Good-by.”

As she hastened to don her hat and coat she was almost overwhelmed by a revulsion of feeling. Two days ago the world about her had seemed a carefree, pleasant, even if sometimes boresome place. Now she shudderingly saw it stripped of its mask and revealed for the first time in all its hideousness, a place of murders and spying and secret machinations. People about her were no longer more or less interesting puppets in a play-world. They were vivid actualities, scheming and planning to thwart and overcome each other. Almost she wished that her dream had been undisturbed and that she had not been waked up to the realities. Almost she was tempted to abandon her new-found occupation.

Then, once more, a feeling of patriotic fervor swept over her. She thought of her brother fighting somewhere in the trenches. She pictured to herself the other brave soldiers in the great ships in the Hudson. She remembered the evil plotters with their death-dealing bombs, striving to bring about a ghastly end for them all before they might strengthen the lines of the Allies. She thought, too, of those humanity-defying U-boats, forever at their devilish work, guided to their prey by crafty, spying creatures right here in New York, more than likely by the very people next door.

With her pretty lips set in a resolute line she left the house and walked rapidly north. Come what may she would go on with it. Her country needed her, and that was all-sufficient.