In the midst of her mental wanderings she became conscious that Fleck was speaking to Carter.

"I'll stay here with Miss Strong and the prisoners," he was saying. "While we are waiting for the men to return with the cars, you'd better make a search of the house."

"Why not wait until daylight for that?" suggested Carter.

"It is not safe," the chief objected. "To-night is the time to do it. A plot important enough to have the especial attention of the war office in Berlin must have many important persons involved in it. Somebody with money in New York, some influential German sympathizer, must have helped old Hoff set up these aeroplanes here and equip his shop. Some chemical plant supplied the material for those bombs. It must have taken hundreds of thousands of dollars to carry the plan to completion. Men rich enough and powerful enough to have put through this plot are powerful enough to be still dangerous. The minute word reaches the city that the plan has miscarried there will be some one up here posthaste to destroy or remove any damaging evidence we may have overlooked. Now is the time to do our searching."

"You're right, Chief," Carter admitted. "It would not surprise me if there is not a wireless plant here. I'll soon find out."

"Let me help," cried Jane.

Her nerves were suffering from a sharp reaction. All through the excitement of the attack she had remained calm and collected, but now she felt that if she remained another minute in the same room with the two bodies, if she stayed near that row of shackled prisoners, if she should chance to catch Frederic's eye, she either would burst into hysterical weeping or would collapse entirely. If only there was some activity in which she could engage it might serve to divert the current of maddening thoughts that kept overwhelming her. With something to do she might regain her self-control.

"Please let me help Mr. Carter," she begged.

"Certainly," said Fleck, "go ahead. You have earned the right to do anything you wish to-night."

Guided by the light of an electric torch Carter and she quickly made their way to the upper floor. In most of the rooms they found only cheap cots with blankets, evidently the sleeping quarters of the workmen, but in one of the rooms was a desk, and from it a ladder led to an unfinished attic. Boldly climbing the ladder and flashing their torch about they quickly located a high-powered wireless outfit. It was mounted on a sliding shelf by which it could be quickly concealed in a secret cupboard, but evidently the plotters had felt so secure from intrusion in their retreat that they had been in the habit of leaving it exposed.

"I thought we'd find it," said Carter exultantly. "It's an ideal location, up here in the mountains. I'd better smash it at once."

"Wait," warned Jane, thoughtfully, "they spoke of having received a wireless message from those dreadful X-boats lying there off the coast. If we could only find their code-book, perhaps—"

"Right," cried Carter, catching her idea at once.

Together they descended to the room below and began ransacking the desk, Jane holding the light while Carter examined the papers they found.

"Their system sometimes is bad for them," said Carter. "Here's a ledger with the names of all the men employed here and the amounts paid to each. And look," he went on excitedly, "look what the stupid fools have done with their German methodicalness—here are entries showing all the supplies they obtained, from whom they got them and what they cost. There's evidence here for a hundred convictions. We'll just take that book along."

There was one small drawer in the desk that was locked. Ruthlessly Carter smashed the woodwork and pried it open. Its only contents was a small parcel, a folded paper in a parchment envelope. Hastily he drew forth the paper and studied it intently.

"It's a code," he cried, "a naval code, evidently the very one they used to communicate with those boats. I'll wager the Washington people even haven't a copy of it. That's a great find. Come on, we've got enough for one night."

"Do any of the men in our party understand wireless?" asked Jane as they descended.

"Sure," said Carter, "Sills does. He used to be the radio man on a battleship."

"Couldn't he be left on watch here?" suggested Jane, "and try to signal those X-boats and keep them waiting until to-morrow night? Maybe by that time our—"

"I get you," cried Carter; "that's a good idea. Explain it to the Chief."

As Jane unfolded her plan, suggesting the possibility of sending American cruisers out to search for the X-boats after Sills had lured them by false messages to the surface, Fleck heartily approved of it.

"I'll leave Sills here with one other man to guard the house," he said. "We'll have to let poor Dean's body remain here for the present, too. We'll need all the room in the cars for the prisoners."

There was still much to be done. While some of the men were unceremoniously carrying out the shackled prisoners and piling them in the cars, others, under Carter's direction, crippled the three "wonder-workers" and dismantled them, carrying their dangerous cargo of bombs into the woods and concealing them.

None of the prisoners, since the moment the shackles had been put on, had uttered a word. Sullen silence held all of them unprotestingly in its grip. Even Frederic kept his peace, though from time to time his glance roved about, seeking Jane, and always in his eyes was a strange look, not of defeat, nor of shame, but rather of exultant triumph. Jane still dared not trust herself to look in his direction, but Fleck and Carter, too, observed curiously the expression in his eyes. Was he, they wondered, rejoicing over Dean's untimely end? Did he, with true Prussian arrogance, in spite of the failure of his plot, still dare to hope that with Dean out of the way, he might escape punishment and yet win Jane Strong? Even as they picked him up, the last of the prisoners, and put him in the rear seat of the chief's car, his eyes still sought for Jane.

It was long after midnight before the strange cavalcade left the mountain shack. Fleck's car led the way, with the chief himself at the wheel, and Jane beside him. Crowded on the rear seat were Frederic and two other prisoners, and standing in the tonneau, facing them with his revolver drawn in case they should make an attempt to escape in spite of their shackles, was Fleck's chauffeur. Carter was at the wheel of the second car with five prisoners and a man on guard, and the arrangement in the third car was the same. Six men and a girl to transport thirteen prisoners! Inwardly Fleck was congratulating himself on his forethought in having provided shackles enough to go around, for otherwise he surely would have had a perilous job on his hands.

As they rode down the mountain lane, Jane rejoiced at the darkness that hid her face, both from Fleck and from Frederic on the seat behind. Now that there was no activity to distract her maddening thoughts once more paced in turmoil through her brain. She loved this man, and she was leading him to disgrace and death. She hated and despised him. He was a treacherous, dangerous enemy of her country whom she had helped to trap, and she was glad, glad, glad. No, no! She wasn't glad. She loved him. He had given her that sealed packet and had charged her to keep it for him. He couldn't be all bad. Why must she love him? Her mind told her he was a criminal, an enemy, a spy, a murderer, yet her wilful heart insisted that she loved him. How strange life was! She and Frederic loved each other. Why could they not marry and be happy? Why was War? Why must nations fight? Why must people hate each other? Was the whole world mad? Was she going mad herself?

Slowly and carefully, Fleck, with his lights on full, had steered the automobile down the narrow roadway through the woods. He had just turned the car safely into the main road, and stopped to look back to see how closely the other cars were following. Suddenly from the wayside a dozen men in uniform sprang up, the glint of their guns made visible by the automobile lights.

"Halt," cried a voice of authority.

The one glimpse he had caught of the uniform had conveyed to Fleck the welcome fact that the party surrounding him were Americans—cavalry troopers.

"Chief Fleck," he announced, by way of identification. "Who are you?"

A tall figure in officer's clothes sprang up on the running board and peered into Fleck's face.

"Thank God, Chief," he said, "that it's you."

"Colonel Brook-White," cried Fleck in amazement, recognizing the voice as that of one of the officers in charge of the British Government's Intelligence Service in America. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to round up some bally German spies," explained Brook-White.

"I've beaten you to it," cried Fleck, with a note of triumph in his tone. "I've got them all here in shackles."

"Good," said Brook-White delightedly. "I was fearful I'd be too late. There was delay in getting a message to me. As soon as I had it, I tried to reach you and couldn't. I dared not wait but dashed up here in my car. I knew there were some American troopers camped near here, and I persuaded the commander to detail some of his men to help me. Did you really capture the Hoff chap, old Otto?"

"He's better than captured," said Fleck. "He's lying dead back there in the house."

"Good," cried Brook-White. "He was infernally dangerous according to my advices—but Captain Seymour—where is he? Wasn't he working with you?"

"Captain Seymour?" cried Fleck in astonishment. "I never heard of him. Who's Captain Seymour?"

"He's one of my chaps," explained Brook-White. "Wasn't it he who steered you up here?"

"I should say not," said Fleck emphatically.

"Good Lord," cried the British colonel excitedly. "You don't suppose those bloody Boches got him at the last—after all he's been through? I hope he's safe."

"Don't worry, Colonel Brook-White," came the calm voice of Frederic Hoff from the rear seat. "Chief Fleck has me here safe in shackles with the other prisoners."

"God," cried Fleck, in astonished perplexity. "Is Frederic Hoff a Britisher—one of your men?"

"Rather," said Brook-White. "Chief Fleck, may I present Captain Sir Frederic Seymour, of the Royal Kentish Dragoons."

But Fleck was too busy just then to heed the introduction, or to pay attention to the muttered "Donnerwetters" of indignation that burst from the lips of his other prisoners.

Jane Strong had fainted dead away against his shoulder.



CHAPTER XVIII

WHAT THE PACKET CONTAINED

"But," said Jane, "I can't understand it yet. How did you, a British officer, happen to be living with old Otto Hoff? How did you ever get him to trust you with his terrible secrets?"

Captain Seymour chortled gleefully. Now that he was arrayed in proper British clothes, once more comfortable in the uniform of his regiment and had his monocle in place and was with Jane again, everything looked radiantly different. Even his speech no longer retained its international quality but now was tinctured with London mannerisms.

"Oh, I say," he replied, "that was a ripping joke on the bally Dutchmen."

Jane eyed him uncertainly. He seemed almost like a stranger to her in this unfamiliar guise, though for hours she had been eagerly looking forward to his coming.

The exciting developments of the night before still were to her very puzzling. She recalled Frederic's identification of himself, and after that all was blank. When she had come to she had found herself in a motor being rapidly driven toward New York in the early dawn, with Carter as her escort. He had not been inclined to be at all communicative.

"Let the Captain tell you the story himself," said Carter. "He knows all the details."

"But when can I see him?" questioned Jane. "When," she hesitated, remembering the shameful bonds that had held him, "when will he be free?"

"He's as free this minute as we are," Carter explained. "It didn't take the Chief long to get the bracelets off, after Colonel Brook-White had identified him. There's a lot for the Captain to do still, but rest assured, he'll waste no time getting back to the city to see you."

"I hope not," sighed the girl.

She was too weary, too weak from the revulsion of feeling that had come on learning that her lover instead of being a dastardly spy was a wonderful hero, to make even a pretense at maidenly modesty. She wanted to see Frederic too much to care what any one thought.

Slipping into her home fortunately without arousing any of her family, she had gone to bed with the intention of getting a rest of an hour or two. Sleep, she was sure, would be impossible, for she felt far too excited and upset. Yet she had not realized how utterly exhausted she was. Hardly had her head touched the pillow before she was lost to everything, and it was long after noon when a maid aroused her to announce that Captain Seymour had 'phoned that he would call at three.

As she dressed to receive him, she was wondering how she should greet him. Blushingly she recalled the impassioned kiss he had pressed on her lips—why it was only yesterday. It had seemed ages and ages ago, so much had intervened. Mingled with a shyness that arose from her vivid memories was also a shade of indignation. Why had he not told her? Did he not trust her? She resolved to punish him for not taking her into his confidence by an air of coldness toward him. Certainly he deserved it.

Yet, when he arrived, so full of animation did he appear to be, that the lofty manner in which she greeted him apparently went unnoticed. He met her with a warm handclasp and anxious inquiries about how she felt after all the exciting events. Too filled with eagerness to know all the details of his adventures she had found it difficult to maintain her pose, and soon was seated cosily beside him, asking him question after question, all the while furtively studying him in his proper role. As Frederic Hoff she had thought him wonderfully handsome and masterful. As Captain Sir Frederic Seymour, in his regimental finery, he was simply irresistible.

"A joke?" she repeated. "Do explain, I'm dying to know all about it."

"It wasn't half as difficult a job as one might imagine, you know. Our censor chaps at home have got to be quite expert at reading letters, invisible ink and all that sort of thing. Hoff for months had been sending cipher messages to the war office in Berlin. He kept urging them to act on his all-wonderful plan for blowing up New York. They decided finally to try it and notified old Otto they were sending over an officer to supervise the job."

"What became of him? The officer they sent over?"

"Our people picked him off a Scandinavian boat and locked him up. They took his papers and turned them over to me. Clever, wasn't it?"

"And you took his name and his papers and came here in his place? Oh, that was a brave, brave thing to do."

"I wouldn't say that," said Seymour modestly. "I fancy I look a bit like the chap, and I speak the language perfectly."

"But it was such a terrible risk to take," cried Jane with a shudder. "Suppose they'd found you out?"

"No danger of that," laughed Frederic. "Old Otto never had seen the chap who was coming. His real nephew, Frederic Hoff, whose American birth certificate was used, died years ago. Besides I had the German officer's papers and knew just what his instructions were. The worst of it was when old Otto insisted every night on toasting the Kaiser, and when he kept trying to get me mixed up in his dirty schemes. I had to go through with the former once in a while, but on the latter, I—how do you Americans say it—just stalled along. My orders were to land him only on the big thing—his wonder-workers."

"But how did you explain to him that British uniform?"

"Now that was really an idea. The old fellow was getting a bit cross and suspicious with me because he thought I wasn't doing enough while they were getting his 'wonder-workers' ready. At one time he was so distrustful of me that he had me followed."

"Oh, yes, I know," said Jane quickly. With a thrill she remembered the scene she had witnessed from her window the night K-19, her predecessor on Chief Fleck's staff, had been murdered. In her relief at discovering that Frederic was no German spy, she had forgotten that for weeks and weeks she had all but believed him guilty of murder. Now, something told her, surely and confidently, that he could explain it all.

"I saw you from my window one night before I met you," she went on. "A man was following you, and you chased him around the corner."

"I remember that," he said; "the poor chap was found dead the next morning. Old Otto killed him. The man had been following me, and I had imagined that he was one of old Otto's spies and knocked him down. I couldn't find anything on him to indicate who he was, so just as he was beginning to revive I left him and came on home. It seems old Otto had been watching him trail me. He followed along and shot the man. He gleefully told me about it the next day, the hound. I ought to have given him over to the police, but that would have upset our plans."

"I see," said Jane; "what about Lieutenant Kramer? Was he working with old Mr. Hoff?"

"That's the funny part of it. Here in this country you've got so many kinds of secret agents they're always trampling on each others' toes. There's your treasury agents, and your Department of Justice agents, and your army intelligence men and your naval intelligence men—nine different sets of investigators you've got, counting the volunteers, so some one told me, and each lot trying to make a record for itself and not taking the others into its confidence. Rather stupid I call it."

"I should say so," agreed Jane.

"Here was I watching old Hoff for our government, and Kramer watching me for your navy and Fleck watching both of us. It was a funny jumble."

"But about that uniform?" Jane persisted.

"When the old man got to ragging me a bit, I felt I must do something to convince him I was all right. I suggested trying to get a British uniform and maybe learning thereby some secrets. It delighted him hugely. Of course I just went down to Colonel Brook-White and got my own uniform, and that was all there was to that."

"It puzzled Mr. Carter, though, how you got it in and out of the house. He used to open every bundle that came for Mr. Hoff."

Sir Frederic laughed delightedly.

"I had a messenger who used to bring it back and forth in a big lady's hat-box. It always was addressed to you, my dear, but the boy had instructions to deliver it to me."

"Humph," snapped Jane with mock indignation. "And when did you first find out that I was helping Chief Fleck watch you?"

"I suspected it from the start. Kramer told me how you'd become acquainted with him. Then when I heard you 'phoning Carter about the bookstore I knew for certain."

"Oh, that's one thing now I wanted to ask about—those messages Hoff left in the bookstore. Who were they for?"

"Instructions to a German advertising agency on how to word some advertisements that contained a code."

"Oh, those Dento advertisements?"

"You knew about them?" cried Seymour in astonishment.

"Of course," said Jane proudly. "I was the one who deciphered them; but what did that girl do with those messages? Carter had a theory that she slipped them under a dachshund's collar."

"That theory's just like Carter," laughed Frederic—"regular detective stuff. I never heard of any dachshund's being used. The girl used to slip them into a letter box in her apartment-house hallway. Two minutes later a man would get them and carry them to their destination."

"The traitors in our navy—the men who signalled old Otto and Lena Kraus about the transports—who were they? They are the scoundrels I'd like to see arrested and shot."

"Never worry. They'll all meet their deserts. I can't tell even you who they are, but I've given your Chief Fleck a list of them. They will be quickly rounded up now. What else can I tell you?"

"There's this," said Jane, the color rising to her cheeks as she drew forth from its hiding place in the bosom of her gown the packet he had entrusted to her the morning before, its seals still intact.

"What?" he cried in delight. "You kept it safe? You did not open it even when you saw me arrested, when you must have been convinced that I was a spy? Girl, dear girl"—his voice became a caress, and the light of love flamed up in his eyes, "you did trust me then, in spite of everything."

"I had promised you, and I kept my promise," faltered Jane, striving for words to explain, though she had been unable to explain her actions even to herself. "I think my heart trusted you all the time, even though my head and eyes made me believe you were what you pretended to be. Even when things looked blackest my heart persisted that you were true."

"God bless your heart for that," cried Frederic, as he took the little packet from her hands and began breaking the seals. "Yesterday morning, when old Otto's plans were ready, I foresaw the danger of the trip ahead of me. I realized I might never come back alive. If they discovered who I was a second too soon it would mean my death. I dared not, for my country's sake, tell even you what I was doing. My honor was at stake. I dared not drop the slightest hint nor write a single line. The only thing I'd kept about me in the apartment that wasn't filthy German stuff was what's in here."

Slowly he was unwrapping something rolled in tissue paper, as Jane, eager-eyed, looked wonderingly on.

"But," he went on, "I couldn't go away from you without leaving some token, some clue. If it happened that I never came back, I wanted you to know—"

He stopped abruptly.

"To know what?" questioned the girl breathlessly.

"To know that I loved you, darling, better than all else save honor," he said, taking her into his arms. "See the token I left behind for you. It's an old, old family ring with the Seymour crest. You'll wear it, girl of mine, won't you, wear it always."

Unhesitatingly Jane Strong thrust forth the third finger on her left hand, and instinctively her lips turned upward toward his.

And no matter what might have happened just then in the apartment next door, neither of them would have known anything about it.



THE END