THE GERMAN SPY MERCHANT
ANTHONY TRENT rode into Kennebago by the corduroy road from Rangely. It
took longer but it seemed a less likely way of being seen than if he had
taken the train to Kennebago. It had been his intention before Kaufmann
had come across his horizon to make the call upon Mr. Westward his first
action. As he stood at the window of the big dining room he could see
the genial angler, and John his guide, rowing over to the edge of a
favorite pool. There he sat in the stern, rod in hand, no doubt thinking
of the chapter he was writing on the “Psychology of Trout.”
For years Anthony Trent had looked forward to days like this in his new
home. But the thrill of it was gone. He had hoped to look over the lake
to the purple hills beyond with a serenity of mind that might now never
be his. How much did Kaufmann know? Would he lodge information with the
police? Dare he? Probably he would not dare to call. But anonymous
information of so important a character would speedily bring detectives
on his trail. Beyond a question he should have bought a camp on some far
Canadian lake under another name, and reached it by devious ways.
He had betrayed much ingenuity in bringing himself, Mrs. Kinney and
their baggage, to Kennebago as it was. Successions of taxis from hotel
to station, and from station to hotel, crossing his own tracks a half
dozen times would make pursuit difficult. He had no way of estimating
Kaufmann’s skill at following a clue. But the man had impressed him,
Anthony Trent, who had foiled so many.
Next morning he determined to fish and was attending to his rods with
the loving care of the conscientious angler when a knock came at the
door. It opened on to the big screened piazza.
“Come in,” he shouted, thinking Mrs. Kinney wished to consult him.
Instead there entered Mr. Westward who greeted him heartily. It was
indeed an honor, for the piscatorial expert called upon few.
“Glad to see you, my dear fellow,” said Westward, shaking him by the
hand. “I happened to meet a friend of yours who was coming to see you
and lost his way so I’ve brought him along.”
_Kaufmann also wrung his hand_. He seemed no less delighted to see Trent
than had been Mr. Westward.
“What a charming retreat you have here,” he exclaimed cordially.
There followed a conversation concerning trout and salmon which under
normal conditions would have been delightful to Trent. Kaufmann was
affable, genial, and talked of the finny spoils of his native lakes. It
was only when Westward’s erect form had disappeared down the path that
his manner became forbidding.
“Why did you leave New York?” he snapped.
“Because I chose to,” said the other.
“What a fool! what a fool!” cried Kaufmann, “and how fortunate that I am
good tempered.”
“Why?” Trent demanded.
“Because I might have had you investigated by the police. Instead I
followed you here--not without difficulty I admit--and renew my offer.”
He looked about the luxurious house that was miscalled a “camp.” It was
not the kind of home a man would lose willingly. “I ask very little. I
only want a certain package of letters which a man who lands to-morrow
in New York has in his possession. One so skilled as you can get it
easily. You have presence, education, ready wit. I confess it is
difficult for me to believe you have sunk so low.”
Anthony Trent flushed angrily.
“There are lower depths yet,” he exclaimed.
“Yes?” the other returned, “as for instance?”
“Your sort of work!” he cried. “Do you suppose I imagine you to be a
Swiss silk merchant of Bahnhof street?”
Kaufmann threw back his head and laughed.
“My passport recently vised by your State Department is made out to
Adolf Kaufmann of Zurich. I have Swiss friends in New York and Chicago
who will identify me.”
“Naturally,” said Trent, “simple precautions of that sort would have to
be taken. That’s elementary.”
“Let us get back to business,” said the other, “I want those papers.
Will you get them for me? Think it over well. You may say you will not.
You may say you prefer to remain here in this delightful place and catch
trout. Let us suppose that you say you defy me. What happens? You lose
all chance to look at trout for ten, fifteen, twenty years accordingly
as the judge regards your offenses. I have mentioned only two crimes to
you. Of these I have data and am certain. There are two others in which
I can interest myself if necessary. I do not wish to bother myself with
you after you do as I command. Get me the papers and you may remain here
till you have grand-children of marriageable age. Is it worth defying
me, Mr. Trent?”
The younger man groaned as he thought it over. The fabric he had made so
carefully was ready to fall apart. Kaufmann went on talking.
“The man you must follow is called Commander Godfrey Heathcote, of the
British Navy. On his breast he wears the ribbons of the Victoria
Cross--a blue one for the Navy--and the red ribbon, edged with blue, of
the Distinguished Service Order. He is a man much of your build but has
straw colored hair and light blue eyes. He walks with a limp owing to a
wound received at the Zeebrugge affair. He is supposed to be over here
to stay with relatives who have a place on the James River. He leaves
for Washington soon where his business is with the Secretary of the
Navy. The papers I want are in a pigskin cigarette case, old and worn.
You’d better bring the case in its entirety.”
Kaufmann rattled off his instructions in a sure and certain manner.
Evidently he had no fear of being denied.
“Isn’t it unusual for an English naval commander to carry trade secrets
about with him?” Trent demanded.
“Why keep up the farce?” Kaufmann exclaimed. “You, too, are a man of
the world. You realize you are in my power and must do as you are bid.”
“Must I?” Trent answered with a frown. “I am asked to play the traitor
to my country and you expect me to accept without hesitation.”
“Why not?” Kaufmann returned. “Would you be the first that fear of
exposure has led into such ways? If I were to tell you how we--” he
paused a moment and then smiled--“how we silk merchants of Switzerland
have used our knowledge of the black pages of men’s lives or the
indiscretions of well known women, you would understand more readily how
we obtain what we want.”
“I understand,” said Anthony Trent gloomily. He was a case in point.
“And you will save yourself?”
“I don’t know,” said Trent hesitating. But he knew that Kaufmann had
made such threats as these to others and had gained his desires. “What’s
in those papers?”
“Dye formulae,” smiled the elder man.
Anthony Trent looked at him angrily. His nerves were on edge. Plainly
Kaufmann felt it unwise to stir the smouldering passion in him.
“England,” he informed the other, “has recently reorganized the mine
fields outside Sheerness at the mouth of the Thames. Commander
Heathcote, who is here ostensibly to recuperate from wounds, is chosen
to carry the plans to the Navy Department. There you have all I know.”
“But that’s treachery!” Trent cried.
“What’s England to you,” Kaufmann answered, “or you to England? I’m not
asking you to take American plans.”
“It’s the same thing now,” Trent persisted. “We’re allies and what’s
treachery to one is treachery to the other.”
“Admirable!” Kaufmann sneered, “admirable! But I invite you to come down
to mother earth. You are not concerned with the affairs of nations. You
are concerned only with your own safety which is the nearer task. You
get those plans or you go to prison. You realize my power. I need you.
You may ask why I have gone to this trouble to take you, a stranger,
more or less into my confidence. Very well. I shall tell you. My own men
are working like slaves in your accursed internment camps and I am alone
who had so many to command.”
“Alone,” said Anthony Trent in an altered voice and looked at him oddly.
Kaufmann observed the look and laughed.
“I am a mind reader,” he said cheerfully, “I will tell you what is
passing through your brain. You are wondering whether if those strong
hands of yours get a grip of my throat your own troubles, too, would not
be at an end. No, my friend, I still have my Bayard with me. And why run
the risk, if you should overpower me, of being tried for murder? What I
ask of you is very little. Remember, also, that I have but to say the
word and you land in prison.”
“You’d go with me,” Trent exclaimed.
“I think not,” smiled Kaufmann. “Jerome Dangerfield and others would
vouch for me whereas I fear you would be friendless. And even if I were
interned how would that help you? Be sensible and get ready to
accompany me to New York on the five o’clock train. I have your
reservations.”
It was not easy to explain things to Mrs. Kinney. Trent told her that
his suspicions of Kaufmann’s German sympathies were wrong. He said he
was compelled to get the dye formulae and would return within a few
days.
“I shall come too,” Mrs. Kinney observed. “I left a lot of my things at
the flat and I shall need them.”
It seemed to Trent that she was not deceived by his words; and while he
would have preferred to leave her in Maine he could think of no reason
for keeping her there if she wished to leave. All the way he was gloomy.
To Kaufmann’s sallies he made morose answers. Presently the so-called
Swiss left him alone. But Trent could not escape the feeling that his
every action was watched. He was to all intents and purposes bond
servant to an enemy of his country.
“Just a final word,” said Kaufmann as they neared the 125th street
station.
“What else?” Trent said impatiently. He was filled with disgust with
himself and of hatred for the German.
“Remember that the cigarette case which holds my formulae is a long flat
one holding twelve cigarettes. On it is stamped ‘G.H.’ He does not
secrete it as you think but exposes it carelessly to view. I advise you
to go straight to your apartment and await my letter. It is necessary
for me to find out particulars which it might be unwise for you to do. I
don’t want you to fall under suspicion.”
“You are very thoughtful,” sneered Trent. He knew well enough that he
had a value in Kaufmann’s eyes which would be destroyed were he to come
under police supervision. That this was the only case where he was to be
used was unlikely. Having used him once he would be at their command
again. But would he? Anthony Trent sat back in his chair deep lines on
his drawn white face. This was the reward of the life he had led. And
the way to break from Kaufmann’s grip was to run the risk of the long
prison term, or--the taking of a life. And even were he to come to this
Kaufmann might be only one of a gang whose other members might command
his services.
“I shall send you a message by telephone if it is still in your flat. It
is? Good. That simplifies matters. Wait until you receive it and then
act immediately.”
Anthony Trent disregarded the outstretched hand and cordial smile, when
a minute or so later, the train pulled into the Grand Central. He hailed
a taxi and drove to his rooms utterly obsessed with his bitter thoughts.
It was not until he pulled up the shades and glanced about the place
that he remembered Mrs. Kinney. He had forgotten her. But he relied on
her common sense. Sooner or later she would come. Meanwhile he must wait
for Kaufmann’s telephone message.
The message arrived before the woman. “To-morrow,” said Kaufmann, “your
friend leaves for Washington. He is staying at the Carlton and goes to
his room after dinner. He will be pleased to see you. To-morrow night I
shall call upon you soon after dark.”
The Carlton was the newest of the hotels, the most superbly decorated,
the hotel that always disappointed the _nouveau riche_ because so little
goldleaf had been used in the process. Anthony Trent had spent a night
or two in every big hotel the city boasted. In a little note book there
were certain salient features carefully put down, hints which might be
useful to him. Turning to the book he read it carefully. He was already
acquainted with the general lay-out of the hotel which had been
generously explained in the architectural papers.
The hotel detectives were men of whom he liked to learn as much as
possible. The house detective, the head of them, was Francis Xavier
Glynn who felt himself kin to Gaboriau because of his subtle methods. He
would often come to the hotel desk and register talking in a loud tone
about his Western business connections. He dressed in what he assumed
was the Western manner. To his associates this seemed the height of
cunning. As a matter of fact the high class crook who prefers the high
class hotel knew of it and was amused. Clarke was Trent’s informant. The
old editor had pointed him out to the younger man one day when they had
met near enough to the hotel’s café entrance to go in and have a drink.
As a rule Trent made elaborate plans for the successful carrying out of
his work. But here he was suddenly told to engage in a very difficult
operation. Disguises must be good indeed to stand the glare of hotel
corridors and dining rooms. He decided to go and trust to some plan
suggesting itself when the moment arrived.
He registered as Conway Parker of York, Pennsylvania and the grip which
the boy carried to his room had on it “C.P. York, Pa.” Trent had given a
couple of dollars for it at a second hand store. It dulled suspicions
which might have been aroused where the bag and initials glaringly new.
It was part of Francis Xavier Glynn’s plan to have the hotel boys report
hourly on any unusual happening.
As Trent had waited to register he noted the name he was looking for,
Commander Heathcote, had a room on the 17th floor. Parker was assigned
to one on the seventh. Directly the boy had left Anthony Trent started
to work. He found just cause of offense so far as the location of his
room went. It was an inside room and the heat of the day made it
oppressive. Commander Heathcote, as he found by taking a trip to the
seventeenth floor, had an outside room. A further investigation proved
that immediately over the Commander’s room was an unoccupied suite. To
effect the exchange was not easy. Trent could not very well dictate the
location of the room or betray so exact a knowledge of hotel topography
without incurring suspicion. But at last the thing was done. The
gentleman from York wanted a sitting room, bedroom and bath and obtained
it immediately over those of the naval officer.
He passed Heathcote in the dining room, and looked at him keenly. The
two men were of a height. Heathcote was broader. Trent instantly knew
him for that fighting type characterized by the short, straight nose,
cleft chin and light blue eyes. It was a man to beware of in an
encounter. He limped a little and walked with a cane. And while he
waited for his _hors d’œuvres_ he took out a long pigskin cigarette
case. It was within ten feet of the man who had come to steal it. For a
wild moment he wondered whether it were possible to lunge for it and
make his escape. A moment later he was annoyed that such a puerile
thought had visited him. It meant that his nerves were not under their
usual control.
After dinner two or three men spoke to the Commander as he limped toward
the elevator. One, a British colonel, shook hands heartily and
congratulated him on the V.C. Another, a stranger evidently, tried to
get him into conversation. Trent noted that the Commander, although
courteous to a degree, was not minded to make hotel acquaintances. He
declined a drink and refused a cigar by taking out his cigarette case.
The stranger looked at it curiously.
“Seen some service, hasn’t it?” the affable stranger remarked and took
it from the owner’s hand.
“A very old pal,” said the naval man. Trent had observed the slight
hesitation before he had permitted it to leave his hand. “I wouldn’t
lose it for a lot.”
Trent stood ready. It might be that this thick skinned stranger was
after the same loot as he. But he handed it back and strolled off to the
café where he joined a group of perfectly respectable business men from
Columbus, O.
As most travelers in first class hotels know, the eighteenth story of
the Carlton looks across a block of fashionable private houses on its
north side. There is on that account no possibility of any prying
stranger gazing into its rooms from across the way. Towering above these
lesser habitations the Carlton looms inaccessible, austere, remote.
In the grip which had once belonged to the unknown “C. P. of York, Pa.”
Anthony Trent had put the kit necessary for a short stay. There was also
certain equipment without which certain nervous travelers rarely stray
from home. For example there was a small axe. In a collision at sea many
are drowned who might escape did not the impact have the effect of
jamming the doors of their state rooms. The axe in the hands of the
thoughtful voyager could be used to hack through thin planking to
freedom. There was also a small coil of high grade rope, tested to three
hundred pounds. In case of fire the careful traveler might slide to
earth. Not, of course, from an eighteenth floor.
At half past one that night it was very dark and cloudy. A light rain
dropped on dusty streets and there was silence. Tying his line to the
firm anchorage of a pipe in the bath room Anthony Trent began his work.
He was dressed in a dark blue suit. He wore no collar and on his hands
were dark gray gloves. Below him was the green and white striped awning
that protected Commander Heathcote’s windows. It was almost certain that
an Englishman would sleep with windows open.
It was not difficult for a gymnast to slide down the rope head foremost.
When Trent could touch the top of the Heathcote awning he took a safety
razor blade from his lips and cut a slit across it sufficiently wide to
admit his head and shoulders.
It was not a descent which caused much trouble. There was the chance
that the rope might break. He wondered through how many awnings he would
plunge before consciousness left him.
Heathcote was asleep. By a table near the bed was an ash tray, matches,
Conrad’s “Youth” and the cigarette case. And lying near was the stout
cane which the man who was wounded in that splendid attack on Zeebrugge
used to aid himself in his halting walk.
Trent, with the case in his pocket, walked to the door. It was not his
intention to make the more hazardous climb up to his room when so easy a
way of getting there presented itself. It was locked and barred.
In his room he sat and looked at what he had taken. It represented, so
Kaufmann said, his freedom from arrest. It contained plans of vital
importance to the allies. They could only be used by the enemy to bring
destruction to those who fought for right. And what punishment would be
given the wounded hero for losing what was entrusted to him? For an hour
Trent sat there looking at the pigskin case. And gradually what had
seemed an impossible sacrifice to make, came to be something desirable
and splendid. Anthony Trent had never been able to regard his career as
one justified by circumstances. There burned in his breast the spark of
patriotism more strongly than he knew. He had fought his fight and won.
His eyes were moist as he thought of his father, that old civil war
soldier who had been wounded on Gettysburg’s bloody field and walked
always with a limp like the English sailor beneath.
When he opened the door Heathcote was still slumbering. He replaced the
case as nearly in the position he found as he could. In that moment
Anthony Trent felt he could look any man in the face.
He was still slumbering when Commander Heathcote awoke. Presently the
officer saw that the door was unbarred and as investigation proved,
unlocked.
“I’d have sworn,” muttered the Commander, “that I locked and barred
it.”