ON THE TRAIL
Few men, even fathers, realize how utterly inexperienced is the average
well-brought-up girl, just emerged from her teens, in the affairs of
the great mysterious world that lies about her. A boy, in his youth
living over again the history of his progenitors, escapes his nurse to
become an adventurer. At ten he is a pirate, at twelve a train robber,
at fourteen an aviator, actually living in all his thoughts and
experiences the life of his hero of the moment, learning all the while
that the world about him is full of adventurers like himself, ready to
dispute his claims at the slightest pretext, or to carry off his booty
by prevailing physical force.
Well-brought-up girls seldom are fortunate enough to have such
educative experiences. Their friends are selected for them, gentle
untaught creatures like themselves. Few of them learn much of the
practical side of life. A boy is delighted at knowing the toughest boy
in the neighborhood. A girl’s ambitions always are to know girls
“nicer” than she is. The average girl emerges into womanhood with her
eyes blinded, uninformed on the affairs of life, business, politics,
untrained in anything useful or practical, knowing more of romance and
history than she does of present-day facts.
If Chief Fleck had understood how really inexperienced Jane Strong
actually was, it is a question whether he would have ventured to
entrust so important a mission to her as he had done. Jane herself, as
she left his office, aroused by his revelations of the treacherous work
of Germany’s spies, and uplifted by his appeal to her patriotism, felt
enthusiastically capable of obeying his instructions. It seemed very
simple, as he had talked about it. All she had to do was to get
acquainted with the young man next door. Yet the further the subway
carried her from Mr. Fleck’s office after her second visit there that
morning, the more her heart sank within her, and the fuller her mind
became of misgivings.
In a big city next door in an apartment house is almost the same thing
as miles away. She ransacked her brain, trying to remember some
acquaintance who might be likely to know the Hoffs, but failed utterly
to recall any one. She reviewed all possible means of getting
acquainted but could find none that seemed practical. Never in her life
had she spoken to a man without having been introduced to him—except of
course to Carter and Mr. Fleck, and these men, she told herself, were
government officials, something like policemen, only nicer. At any
rate, she knew them only in a business way, not socially. If she was to
be successful in learning much about the Hoffs—about young Mr. Hoff—she
felt that it was necessary to make them social acquaintances.
She must manage to meet Frederic Hoff in some proper way, but how? She
thought of such flimsy tricks as dropping a handkerchief or a purse in
the elevator some time when he happened to be in it, but rejected the
plan as disadvantageous. “Nice” girls did not do that sort of thing,
and even though she was seeking to entrap her neighbor she did not for
a moment wish him to consider her as belonging to the other sort. It
rather annoyed her to find that she cared what kind of an impression
she made on him. What difference did it make what a German spy thought
of her, especially a murderer? Yet, she argued with herself, the better
the impression she made at first the more likely she would be to gain
his confidence, and that she knew would delight Mr. Fleck. Was Frederic
Hoff, too, really, she wondered, a spy? Her face colored as she
recalled the mental picture she last had had of him, gallantly and
admiringly raising his cup to her as she left the Ritz, not obtrusively
or impudently, but so subtly that she was sure that no one had observed
it but herself. It seemed preposterous to associate the thought of
murder with a man like him.
As she entered the apartment house she was arguing still with herself
about him. Her intuition told her that Frederic Hoff was a gentleman,
and how could a gentleman be what Mr. Fleck seemed to think he was? As
the door swung to behind her she gave a little quick breath of delight,
for she had caught sight of a uniformed figure standing by the
switchboard. She had recognized him at once. It was the naval
lieutenant who had been at the Ritz. She heard him saying to the girl
at the switchboard:
“Tell Mr. Hoff, young Mr. Hoff, that Lieutenant Kramer is here. I’ll
wait for him down-stairs.”
Quick as a flash a course of action came into her mind. She saw an
opportunity too good to be neglected. She hurried forward to where the
lieutenant was standing, her hand outstretched, with a smile of
recognition—feigned, but well-feigned—on her lips.
“Why, Lieutenant Kramer,” she cried, “how delightful. Have you really
kept your promise at last and come to see the Strongs?”
She could hardly restrain her amusement as she watched the embarrassed
young officer strive in vain to recall where it was that he had met
her. She had relied on the fact that the men in the navy meet so many
girls at social functions that it is impossible for any of them to
remember all they had met.
“Really, Miss—” he stammered, struggling for some fitting explanation.
“Don’t tell me,” she warned reprovingly, “that it isn’t Jane Strong
that you are here to see, after all those nice things you said to me
that day we had tea aboard your ship.”
She was hoping he would not insist on going into particulars as to
which ship it was. Fortunately she had been to functions on several of
the war vessels, so that she might find a loop-hole if he was too
insistent on details.
“Indeed, Miss Strong,” said Kramer, gallantly pretending to recall her,
“I’m delighted to see you again. I’ve been intending to come to see you
for ever so long, but you understand how busy we are now. In fact, it
was business that brought me here to-day. I’m calling on Mr. Hoff, who
lives here, to take him to lunch to discuss some important matters.”
At his last phrase Jane’s heart thrilled. What important matters could
there be that a navy lieutenant could fittingly discuss with a German,
with the nephew of the man whose secret code message they had just
succeeded in reading? Determining within herself to keep fast hold on
the beginning she had made, she masked her real thoughts and let her
face express frank disappointment.
“How horrid of you,” she continued, “when I was just going to insist
that you stay and have luncheon with us.”
He was protesting that it was quite out of the question when the
elevator brought down her mother, whom Jane at once summoned as an
ally, feeling sure that considering how many men of her daughter’s
acquaintance she had met, it would be perfectly safe to keep up the
deception.
“Oh, mother,” she cried, “you remember Lieutenant Kramer, don’t you?
I’ve just been urging him to stay and have luncheon with us. Do help me
persuade him.”
“Of course I remember Mr. Kramer,” fibbed the matron cordially, all
unaware of her daughter’s duplicity. “Do stay, Mr. Kramer, and have
luncheon with Jane. I ordered luncheon for four, expecting to be home,
and now I’ve been called away, but your aunt is there to chaperone you.
It spoils the servants so to prepare meals and have no one to eat them,
to say nothing of displeasing Mr. Hoover. It’s really your duty—your
duty as a patriot—to stay and prevent a food-waste.”
“I’ve just been trying to explain to your daughter that I was taking
Mr. Hoff to luncheon with me. Here he is now.”
Mrs. Strong’s eyes swept the tall figure approaching appraisingly and
apparently was pleased with his aspect. As Mr. Hoff was presented she
hastened to include him in the invitation to luncheon.
“Have pity on a poor girl doomed to eat a lonely luncheon by her
parent’s neglect,” urged Jane. “Really, you must come, both of you.
Nice men to talk to are so scarce in these war times that I have no
intention of letting you escape.”
“I’m in Kramer’s hands,” said Frederic Hoff gallantly, “but if he takes
me to some wretched hotel instead of accepting such a charming
invitation as this, my opinion of him as a host will be shattered.”
“But,” struggled Kramer, realizing that it must be a case of mistaken
identity and sure now that he never had met either Jane or her mother
before, “we have some business to talk over.”
“Business always can wait a fair lady’s pleasure,” said Hoff. “Is this
ruthless war making you navy men ungallant?”
With a mock gesture of surrender, and as a matter of fact, not at all
averse to pursuing the adventure further, Lieutenant Kramer permitted
Jane to lead the way to the Strong apartment.
Soon, with the familiarity of youth and high spirits, the three of them
were merrily chatting on the weather, the war, the theater and all
manner of things. Jane, in the midst of the conversation, could not
help noting that Hoff had seated himself in a chair by the window where
he seemed to be keeping a vigilant eye on the ships that could be seen
from there. Even at the luncheon table he got up once and walked to the
window to look out, making some clumsy excuse about the beautiful view.
Determined to press the opportunity, Jane endeavored to turn the
conversation into personal channels.
“You are an American,” she said turning to Hoff, “are you not? I’m
surprised that you are not in uniform, too.”
“A man does not necessarily need to be in uniform to be serving his
government,” he replied. “Perhaps I am doing something more important.”
“But you are an American, aren’t you?” she persisted almost impudently,
driven on by her eagerness to learn all she possibly could about him.
“I was born in Cincinnati,” he replied hesitantly.
She could not help observing how diplomatically he had parried both her
questions. Mentally she recorded his exact words with the idea in her
mind of repeating what he had said verbatim to her chief.
“Then you _are_ doing work for the government?”
Intensely she waited for his answer. Surely he could find no way of
evading such a direct inquiry as this.
“Every man who believes in his own country,” he answered, modestly
enough, yet with a curious reservation that puzzled her, “in times like
these is doing his bit.”
She felt far from satisfied. If he was born in America, if he really
was an American at heart, his replies would have been reassuring, but
his name was Hoff. His uncle was a German-American, a proved spy or at
least a messenger for spies. If her guest still considered Prussia his
fatherland the answers he had made would fit equally well.
“You’re just as provokingly secretive as these navy men,” she taunted
him. “When I try to find out now where any of my friends in the navy
are stationed they won’t tell me a thing, will they, Mr. Kramer?”
“I’ll tell you where they all are,” said Lieutenant Kramer. “Every
letter I’ve had from abroad recently from chaps in the service has had
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.