“MR. FLECK”
Twice after the elevator had deposited her on the floor Jane had
approached the door of Room 708, and twice she had walked timorously
past it to the end of the hall, trying to muster up courage to enter. A
visit to a man’s office in the business district was a novelty for her.
On the few previous excursions of the sort she had made she always had
been accompanied by one of her parents. She found herself wishing now
that she had taken her father into her confidence and had asked him to
go with her. Making shopping her excuse she had come down-town with Mr.
Strong but had gotten off at Astor Place, and waited over for another
train.
In her hand she held the card given to her by the black-mustached man
the afternoon before. As she studied it now her curiosity came to the
rescue of her fast-oozing courage. She must find out what it all meant,
whatever the risk or peril that might confront her. Boldly she returned
to Room 708 and opened the door. An office boy seated at a desk looked
up inquiringly.
“Is Mr. Fleck in?” she inquired timidly.
“Who wishes to see him?”
“Just say there’s a lady wishes to speak to him,” she faltered,
hesitating to give her name.
“Are you Miss Strong?” asked the boy abruptly, “because if you are,
he’s expecting you.”
She nodded, and the boy, jumping up, escorted her into an inner room.
As she entered nervously an alert-looking man, with graying hair and
mustache, rose courteously to greet her. In the quick glance she gave
at her surroundings she was conscious only of the great mahogany desk
at which he sat and behind it some filing cabinets and a huge safe, the
outer doors of which stood open.
“Sit down, won’t you, Miss Strong,” he said, placing a chair for her.
His manner and his cultured tone, everything about him, reassured her
at once. They conveyed to her that he was what she would have termed “a
gentleman,” and with a little sigh of relief she seated herself.
“I’m afraid,” said Mr. Fleck, smiling, “that Carter’s method of
approaching you must have alarmed you.”
“Carter—Oh, the black-mustached man.”
“Yes, that describes him. You see, he did not wish to act definitely
without consulting his chief, yet the unexpected opportunity seemed far
too vital not to be utilized. He did not explain, did he, what it was
we wanted of you?”
“Indeed he didn’t,” said Jane, now wholly herself. “He was most
mysterious about it.”
Mr. Fleck smiled amusedly.
“Carter has been an agent so long that being mysterious is second
nature to him.”
“An agent—I don’t understand.”
“A Department agent,” explained Mr. Fleck, adding, “engaged in secret
service work for the government.”
“Oh!”
Jane’s exclamation was not so much of surprise as of delighted
realization, and the satisfaction expressed in her face was by no means
lost on Mr. Fleck.
“Would you object,” he asked, moving his chair a little closer to hers,
“if, before I explain why you are here, I ask you a few questions—very
personal questions?”
“Certainly not,” said Jane.
“You are American-born, of course?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And your parents?”
“American for ten or twelve generations.”
“How long have you lived in that apartment house on Riverside Drive?”
“For about five years.”
“Do you know any of the other tenants in the house?”
“No—that is, none personally.”
“Is your time fully occupied?”
“No, indeed it isn’t, I’ve nothing to do at all, nothing except to try
to amuse myself.”
“Good,” said Mr. Fleck. “Now would you be willing to help in some
secret work for the United States Government, some work of the very
highest importance?”
“Would I?” cried Jane, her eyes shining. “Gladly! Just try me.”
“Don’t answer too quickly,” warned Mr. Fleck. “Remember, it will be
real work, serious work, not always pleasant, sometimes possibly a
little perilous. Remember, too, it must be done with absolute secrecy.
You must not let even your parents know that you are working with us.
You must pledge yourself to breathe no word of what you are doing or
are asked to do to a living soul. Everything that we may tell you is to
be buried forever from everybody. No one is to be trusted. The minute
one other person knows your secret it will no longer be a secret. Can
we depend upon you?”
“You may absolutely depend on me,” said Jane slowly and soberly. “I
give you my word. I have been eager for ever so long to do something to
help, to really help. My father is doing all he can to aid the
government. He’s on the Shipping Board.”
Mr. Fleck nodded. Evidently he was aware of it already.
“My brother, my only brother,” Jane continued, with a little catch in
her throat, “is Over There—somewhere Over There—fighting for his
government. If there is anything I can do to help the country he is
fighting for, the country he may die for, I pledge you I will do it
gladly with my heart, my soul, my body—everything.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Fleck softly, taking her hand. “I felt sure you
were that sort of a girl. Now listen.” He moved his chair still closer
to hers, and his voice became almost a whisper. “In the apartment next
to you there live two men,—Otto Hoff and his nephew, Fred. They have an
old German servant, but we can leave her out of it for the present. The
old man is a lace importer. Apparently they are both above suspicion,
yet—”
He stopped abruptly.
“You think they are spies—spies for Germany,” questioned Jane
excitedly. “They’re Germans, of course?”
“Otto Hoff is German-born, but he has been here for twenty years.
Several years ago he took out papers and became an American citizen.”
“And the young man?”
Jane’s tone was vibrant with interest. It must be the man she had seen
from her window whom they suspected most.
“He professes to be American-born.”
“Oh,” said the girl, rather disappointedly.
“But,” continued Mr. Fleck, “there’s something queer about it all. He
arrived in this country only three days before we went into the war. He
had a certificate, properly endorsed, giving his birthplace as
Cincinnati. He arrived on a Scandinavian ship. He speaks German as well
and as fluently as he speaks English, both without accent.”
“Perhaps he was educated abroad,” suggested Jane, rather amazed at
finding herself seeking to defend him.
“He must have been,” said Fleck, “yet I find it hard to believe that
Germany at this time is letting any young German-American come home if
he’s soldier material—and young Hoff’s appearance certainly suggests
military training.”
“It surely does.”
“Unless,” continued Fleck, “there was some special object in sending
him here.”
“You think,” said Jane slowly, “they sent him here—to this country—as a
spy.”
“In our business we dare not think. We cannot merely conjecture. We
must prove,” said Mr. Fleck. “Maybe the Hoffs are O.K. I do not know.
Nobody knows yet. Let me tell you some of the circumstances. This much
we do know. Von Bernstorff is gone. Von Papen is gone. Scores of active
German sympathizers and propagandists have been rounded up and interned
or imprisoned, yet, in spite of all we have done, their work goes on. A
vast secret organization, well supplied with funds, is constantly at
work in this country, trying to cripple our armies, trying to destroy
our munition plants, trying to corrupt our citizens, trying to disrupt
our Congress. Every move the United States makes is watched. As you
probably know, every day now large numbers of American troops are
embarking in transports in the Hudson.”
“Yes,” said Jane, “you can see them from our windows.”
“Now then,” said Mr. Fleck, lowering his voice impressively, “here is
the fact. Some one somewhere on Riverside Drive is keeping close and
constant tab on the warships and transports there in the river. We have
managed recently to intercept and decipher some code messages. These
messages told not only when the transports sailed but how many troops
were on each and how strong their convoy was. Where these messages
originate we have not yet learned. We are practically certain that some
one in our own navy, some black-hearted traitor wearing an officer’s
uniform—perhaps several of them—is in communication with some one on
shore, betraying our government’s most vital secrets.”
“I can’t believe it,” cried Jane, “our own American officers traitors!”
“Undoubtedly some of them are,” said Mr. Fleck regretfully. “The German
efficiency, for years looking forward to this war, carefully built up a
far-reaching spy system. Years ago, long before the war was thought
of—or at least before we in this country thought of it—many secret
agents of Wilhelmstrasse were deliberately planted here. Many of them
have been residents here for years, masking their real occupation by
engaging in business, utilizing their time as they waited for the war
to come by gathering for Germany all of our trade and commercial
secrets. Some of these spies have even become naturalized, and they and
their sons pass for good American citizens. In some cases they have
even Americanized their names. Insidiously and persistently they have
worked their way into places, sometimes into high places in our
chemical plants, our steel factories, yes, even into high places in our
army and navy and into governmental positions where they can gather
information first-hand. In no other country has it been so easy for
them, because of this one fact: so large a proportion of Uncle Sam’s
population is of German birth or parentage. Why here in New York City
alone there are more than three-quarters of a million persons, either
German-born themselves or born of German parents. Many of them, the
vast majority of them, probably, are loyal to America, but think how
the plenitude of German names makes it easy for spies to get into our
army and navy. Besides that, they employ evil men of other
nationalities as spies, the criminal riffraff,—Danes, Swedes,
Spaniards, Italians, Swiss and even South Americans,—all of whom are
free to go and come as they choose in this country.”
“I never realized before,” said Jane, “how many Germans there were all
about us.”
“In an effort to locate this particular band of naval spies,” continued
Mr. Fleck, “we have combed the apartment houses and residences along
the Drive. Three places in particular are under suspicion. The
apartment of the Hoffs is one of these places. They moved in there
thirty days after this country went to war. Ordinarily, where the
occupants of an apartment are under suspicion, we take the
superintendent of the building partly into our confidence and plant
operatives in the house, or else we hire an apartment in the same
building. In this case neither course is practicable. The
superintendent of your building is a German-American and we dare not
trust him, and there is no vacant apartment that we can rent. We have
been watching the Hoffs from the outside as best we could. Carter, who
has had charge of the shadowing, accidentally happened to overhear you
give your address. He had procured a list of the tenants and remembered
the location of your apartment. It struck him at once that you would be
a valuable ally if you would consent to work with us.”
“What is it that you wish me to do?” asked Jane wonderingly. “You’ll
have to tell me how to go about it.”
“All a good detective needs,” said Mr. Fleck, “is, let us say, three
things—observation, addition and common sense. You must observe
everything closely, be able to put two and two together and use your
common sense. Do you know the Hoffs by sight?”
“Only by sight.”
“They live in the next apartment on your floor, do they not?”
“Yes. Young Mr. Hoff’s bedroom is the room next to mine.”
“Good,” cried Mr. Fleck. “Can you hear anything from the next
apartment, any conversations?”
“No, only muffled sounds.”
“The windows overlook the river and the transports, do they not?”
“Yes, the windows of Mr. Hoff’s bedroom and the room next. Their
apartment is a duplicate of ours.”
Mr. Fleck sprang up and crossed to the big safe. Opening an inner
drawer he took out a small metal disk and handed it to her. Jane looked
at it curiously. It bore no wording save the inscription “K-19.”
“That,” said Mr. Fleck, “is the only thing I can give you in the way of
credentials. Keep it somewhere safely concealed about your clothing and
never exhibit it except in case of extreme necessity. If ever you are
in peril any police officer will recognize it at once and will promptly
give you all the assistance possible.”
“But,” protested the girl, “I don’t know yet what I am to do.”
“For the present I am trusting to your resourcefulness to make
opportunities to help us. We are watching the house closely from the
outside. Carter will identify you to the other operatives. Once a day I
will expect you to call me up, not from your home but from a public
’phone. Here is my number. Say ‘this is Miss Jones speaking,’ and I
will know who it is. I can communicate with you by note without
arousing suspicion?”
“Oh, yes, certainly.”
“If at any time I have to call you on the ’phone, or if any of the
other operatives want to communicate with you the password will be ‘I
am speaking for Miss Jones.’”
“Isn’t that exciting—a secret password,” cried Jane enthusiastically.
“If you can manage it without compromising yourself too seriously, I
wish you would make the young man’s acquaintance.”
“That will be simple,” said Jane, remembering the admiring way in which
he had raised his cup in her direction as she left the hotel.
“If possible find out who their visitors are in the apartment and keep
your eyes open for any sort of signalling to the transports. If ever
there is an opportunity to get hold of notes or mail delivered to
either of them, don’t hesitate to steam it open and copy it.”
“Must I?” said Jane. “That hardly seems right or fair.”
“Of course it’s right,” cried Mr. Fleck warmly. “Think of the lives of
our soldiers that are at stake. The devilish ingenuity of these German
spies must be thwarted at all costs. They seem to be able to discover
every detail of our plans. Only two days ago one of our transports was
thoroughly inspected from stem to stern. Two hours later twenty-six
hundred soldiers were put aboard her on their way to France. Just by
accident, as they were about to sail, a time-bomb was discovered in the
coal bunkers, a bomb that would have sent them all to kingdom come.”
“How terrible!”
“Somebody aboard is a traitor. Somebody knew when that inspection was
made. Somebody put that bomb in place afterward. That shows you the
kind of enemies we are fighting.”
Jane shuddered. She was thinking of the sailing of another transport,
the one that had carried her brother to France.
“Anything seems right after that,” she said simply.
“Yes,” said Mr. Fleck, “there is only one effective way to fight those
spying devils. We must stop at nothing. They stop at nothing—not even
murder—to gain their ends.”
“I know that,” said Jane hastily. “I saw something myself you ought to
know about.”
As briefly as she could she described the scene she had witnessed in
the early morning hours from her bedroom window, the man following the
younger Hoff, Hoff’s discovery and pursuit of him around the corner and
of his return alone.
“And in the morning,” she concluded, “they found a man’s body in the
side street. He had a bullet through his heart. There was a revolver in
his hand. The newspapers said that the police and the coroner were
satisfied that it was a suicide. I caught a glimpse of Mr. Hoff’s face
when he came back from around that corner. It was all convulsed with
hate, the most terrible expression I ever saw. I’m almost certain he
murdered that man. I’m sure it wasn’t a suicide.”
“I’m sure, too, that it was no suicide,” said Mr. Fleck gravely. “The
man who was found there was one of my men, K-19, the man whose badge I
have just given you. He had been detailed to shadow the Hoffs.”