THE WOMAN ON THE ROOF
It is amazing how much information on any given subject any one—even a
wholly inexperienced person like Jane Strong—can acquire within a few
days when one’s mind is set resolutely to the task. It is much more
amazing how much one can learn when aided and abetted by an experienced
chauffeur, or more properly speaking a mysterious and cultured secret
service operative, masquerading as an automobile driver.
Who Thomas Dean was, why he was in the secret service, and what his
real name was, were questions that kept perpetually puzzling Jane. In
the presence of her father and mother, so skilful an actor was he that
it was hard to believe him anything but what he appeared to be, a
respectful, intelligent and prompt young man who knew the traffic
regulations and the anatomy of automobiles. When he and Jane were by
themselves he invariably threw off his mask to some extent. He became
the director instead of the directed, though never letting anything of
the personal relation creep in. That he was college-bred, Jane felt
certain. He spoke both German and French much better than she did. He
occasionally used words that no ordinary chauffeur would be likely to
know the meaning of. Sharing the secret of such a mission as theirs,
they quickly found themselves on a friendly basis, yet the girl
hesitated whenever her curiosity prompted her to try to find out
anything that would reveal his identity. There was always present the
feeling that any exhibition of undue curiosity on her part would be a
disappointment to her employer. The chief disapproved of curiosity
except on one subject—what the Germans were doing.
Many things Jane and her aide learned about the Hoffs in the days
following Thomas Dean’s coming, reporting them all as directed. Of how
much or of how little value her discoveries were Jane had no means of
knowing. Chief Fleck seemed satisfied but was always urging her to
acquire more information and more details, always details. Dean, too,
had seconded the warning about observing even what seemed to be
insignificant trifles.
“Most of the Germans,” he said to her, “you will find are very
methodical. They like to do things according to schedule. For instance,
I learned yesterday that old Hoff and his nephew frequently go off on
all-day automobile trips. They always go on Wednesday.”
“Are they going to-morrow?”
“The presumption is that they will. They have done so every Wednesday
for six weeks.”
“Can’t we follow them in our car?” cried the girl, “and see what they
are up to?”
Dean shook his head.
“The Chief is looking out for that. There is more important work for us
to do right here. I want to try to install a dictograph in their
apartment.”
“How exciting.”
“You must find some excuse for me to come up into your apartment and
see to it that none of your people are about.”
“That will be easy. Mother and Aunt will be out all day, and it is
cook’s afternoon off. I can easily send the maids out.”
“But that’s not all. There is the Hoffs’ servant to be disposed of.”
“I don’t see how I can manage that,” said Jane. She could think of no
possible way of overcoming that difficulty.
“She’s an old German woman—Lena Kraus,” continued Dean. “I’ve found out
that she always washes on Wednesdays. When she goes up on the roof in
the afternoon to get the clothes will be our time. It will be your job
to see that she stays there until I am through. It will not take me
more than half an hour.”
“But what will I do if she starts to come down? How will I stop her?”
“You’ll have to use your wits. Keep her talking as long as you can.
When she starts down come with her. Press the elevator button four
times. I’ll leave the door of the Hoff apartment open and very likely
will hear it in time to get away.”
“But how’ll you get their door open?”
Dean smilingly drew forth a key.
“I borrowed the superintendent’s bunch last night, pretending I had
lost the key to my locker in the basement. I knew he had a master-key
that unlocks all the apartment doors, and there was no trouble in
picking it out. I had some wax in my hand and made an impression of it
right under his nose.”
“How clever,” cried Jane, “but suppose the Hoffs do not go off
to-morrow. What will we do then?”
“You are taking tea with young Hoff this afternoon, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Jane, “that is, he asked me to. I am to meet him at the
Biltmore at five.”
“When you’re with him propose doing something together to-morrow
afternoon. See what he says.”
“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll ask him to go to the matinée with me.”
“That will do splendidly. Has he been with that navy officer lately?”
“Not since Sunday, to my knowledge. I wonder if old Mr. Hoff has left
any more cipher messages at the bookshop?”
“No,” said Dean, “he hasn’t. The place has been constantly watched, but
he hasn’t been near it since that first day.”
“I’m afraid,” sighed Jane despondently, “I betrayed the fact that we
were watching them to the nephew. He overheard me talking to Carter
about the ‘fifth book,’ and of course he knew what it meant. I’m
certain the old man is still reporting about our transports. Every day
I can hear some one telephoning to him. He waits for the message, and
then he goes out.”
“He certainly is expert in eluding shadowers,” admitted Dean. “Every
day he has been followed, but always he manages to give the operatives
the slip. He must know he is being watched.”
“I’m anxious to know what the nephew will say to me to-day,” said Jane.
“I know he knows what I am doing. He looks at me in such an amusedly
superior way every time he sees me.”
“Be careful about trying to pump him,” cautioned Dean. “He strikes me
as by far the more intelligent of the two. It would not surprise me in
the least if he were not old Hoff’s nephew at all, but really his
superior, sent over especially by Wilhelmstrasse to take charge of the
plotters. He doesn’t in the least resemble old Hoff.”
“No indeed, he doesn’t,” admitted Jane. “He certainly is clever, too.
We haven’t learned a single thing that incriminates him, have we?”
“Nothing definite, yet everything taken together looks damaging enough.
Here is a young German of military age and appearance, who arrived from
Sweden just before we went into the war. He has plenty of money and
spends his time idling about New York, in frequent communication with
at least one navy officer. He selects a home overlooking the river from
which our soldiers are departing for France. You yourself saw him
pursuing K-19—the other K-19—who a few hours afterward was found
murdered.”
“Things don’t look right,” Jane agreed, yet a few hours later as she
sat opposite the young man at tea, she found herself doubting. It
seemed incredible, impossible, that Frederic Hoff could be a murderer.
Her instinctive sense of justice forced her to admit that it was hard
for her to believe him even a spy. He seemed so cultured, so clean, so
straightforward, so nice. If she had not seen that unforgettable look
of hate on his face that night as she watched him from the window she
could not, she would not have believed evil of him.
The tremor of nervous excitement in which she met him quickly passed,
and she found herself once more chatting intimately with him and
enjoying it. He talked well on practically all subjects, showing
reserve only when she tried to draw him out about himself. Her previous
experiences with the opposite sex had taught her that most men’s
favorite topic of conversation is themselves, but Mr. Hoff appeared to
be the exception. Adroitly he baffled all her efforts to get him to
discuss his family, his achievements, or his past, even when she sought
to encourage intimacy by telling about her brother who was abroad in
Pershing’s army.
“You must let me be your big brother while he is away,” her escort had
suggested gallantly.
“All right, brother,” she had challenged him. “I’ll take you on at
once. I have seats for a matinée to-morrow. I’d much rather go with a
brother than with one of the girls.”
“I would be delighted,” he answered unsuspectingly, “but unfortunately
I have an engagement that takes me out of town.”
“We’ll go next week, then—Wednesday.”
“A week is too long to wait. Let me take you to a matinée on Saturday.”
Jane hesitated. At times her conscience troubled her not a little.
While satisfied that the importance of her trust wholly justified her
actions, she disliked any deception of her family.
“Wouldn’t it be better,” she parried, “if you came to call on me some
evening first? You’ve only just met my mother, and I would like you to
know Dad, too.”
“May I?” he cried with manifest pleasure. “How about to-morrow
evening?”
“That’s Wednesday,” she answered slowly. That was the day she and Dean
were planning to put in a dictograph. She wondered at herself calmly
carrying on this casual conversation with the man she was planning to
betray. Coloring a little from the very shame of it, she continued,
“How about making it Thursday evening?”
“Delighted,” cried Hoff, “and about Saturday’s matinée—what haven’t you
seen?”
Glad for the respite of at least twenty-four hours, Jane, as they
talked, watched his face, his expression, his eyes. Regardless of the
things she believed about him, he impressed her as honest and sincere.
Certainly there was no mistaking the fact that his liking for her and
his delight in her society were wholly genuine. Her heart warned her
that it was his intention to press their new-formed acquaintance into
close intimacy. Was he, she wondered, like herself, pretending
friendship merely to unmask secrets for his government? No, she could
not, she would not believe it. She felt sure that his admiration was
unfeigned. Something told her that quickly his ardor and determination
might lead her into embarrassing circumstances. He might even ask her
to marry him. For a moment she was overcome with timidity and tempted
to stop short on her new career, but there came to her the thought of
the brave Americans in the trenches, of the soldiers at sea, of the
brutal, lurking U-boats, and sternly she put aside all personal
considerations.
“You spoke of going out of town,” she said when the subject of the
matinée had been disposed of. “Don’t you find train travel rather
disagreeable these days?”
“Fortunately I’m motoring.”
“That will be nice, if you don’t have to travel too far.”
“It is quite a distance for one day, but I am used to it. I make the
trip often.”
Feeling that at least she had learned something, Jane rose to go. She
knew that both the Hoffs would be out of the way to-morrow. The
inference from his last remark was that they were going to the same
place they had gone on previous Wednesdays. That was something to
report to Mr. Fleck.
“My car is outside,” she said as they rose. “Can’t I take you home?”
“Sorry,” said her host, “but I am dining here to-night. Lieutenant
Kramer is to join me.”
“Remember me to him,” she said as he escorted her to the automobile,
driven by Dean.
A block away from the hotel she tapped on the glass, and as Dean
brought the car to a stop she climbed into the seat beside him. Only a
week ago she would have criticized any girl who rode beside the
chauffeur. In fact she had spoken disapprovingly of a girl in her own
set who made a habit of doing it, but now she never gave it a thought.
Many things in her life seemed to have assumed new aspects and values
since she had entered on a career of useful activity. In her was
rapidly developing something of her father’s ability and directness. As
she wanted to talk confidentially with Dean, she went the easiest way
about it, entirely regardless of appearances.
“Apparently you carried it off well,” he commented.
“I hope so,” she answered, coloring a little. “They’re making their
usual Wednesday motor trip.”
“He did not tell you their destination?”
“No, but Lieutenant Kramer is dining with him to-night at the
Biltmore.”
“Fine. Those things the Chief can take care of. That leaves the way
clear for us to-morrow afternoon.”
“What excuse will I make for having you come up to the apartment?”
“You want me to change some pictures. That will account for the wire if
I’m caught.”
“I hope no one sees you.”
“Nobody’ll see me but the elevator man, and he’ll think nothing of it.”
Apparently, too, Dean was right, for the next afternoon he entered the
Strong apartment carrying a suitcase in which was concealed his
apparatus and the necessary wire.
“Hurry,” cried Jane, who was waiting for him. “The Hoffs’ maid has just
gone up on the roof.”
“We can safely give her at least a few minutes,” said Dean setting to
work to make a hole through the wall into the apartment adjoining. Just
as he had finished making it and had pushed one end of the wire
through, the telephone bell rang, and Jane in dismay sprang to answer
it.
“Disguise your voice,” warned Dean. “If it is a caller say there is no
one home.”
“It was Lieutenant Kramer calling,” said Jane as she returned.
“Did he recognize your voice?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What did he say?”
“He said to tell Miss Strong that he had called.”
“Then he didn’t suspect you.”
“Isn’t there danger, though, that he may come up to the Hoff
apartment?”
Dean sprang to the window and looked out at the street below.
“No, there he goes up the street. He evidently did not try to see if
the Hoffs were at home. That’s funny.”
“Why funny?”
“It means of course that he, too, knows about those Wednesday trips the
Hoffs make.”
Cautiously he opened the door into the public hall. There was no one
about. Catlike in swiftness and silence he moved to the Hoff door and
inserted his new-made key. It worked perfectly.
“Now,” he whispered to Jane, “to the roof—quick. I must not be taken by
surprise. Give me at least ten minutes more—fifteen if you can.”
Quickly he passed inside, closing the door behind him all but a barely
noticeable crack, as Jane rang for the elevator and bade the operator
take her to the roof. As she emerged there and stood waiting for the
elevator to descend again, an ornamental lattice screened her from the
rest of the roof. Cautiously and curiously she peered between the
slats, trying to see what the Hoff servant was doing at the moment. She
decided that she would not reveal her presence until the woman made
ready to go down-stairs.
As from behind her screen she scanned the roof she espied old Lena over
on the side next the river bending over a half-filled basket of
clothes, apparently putting into the basket some of the freshly dried
laundry from the lines extending all over the roof. As Jane watched her
the old woman straightened herself up and cast a cautious glance about.
Apparently satisfied that she was alone she whipped out something from
a pocket in her apron and turned in the direction of the river.
Jane gasped in amazement, a thrill of excitement sweeping over her at
this new discovery. It was plain that the old servant was studying the
transports in the river below through a pair of powerful field glasses.
Curiously Jane observed her, wondering what she was trying to
ascertain, wondering if through the glasses she was able to identify
the battleships and other boats. Old Lena’s next move was still more
puzzling. Hastily dropping her glasses into the basket she began to
hang again on the line some of the clothes. They were handkerchiefs,
Jane noted interestedly, one large red one, and the rest white, some
large, some small, a whole long row of nothing but handkerchiefs.
All at once it came to Jane what it must mean. The arrangement of the
handkerchiefs must be some sort of a code. She studied the way they
were placed, committing the order to memory. “Red—two large—one
small—one large—one small.” Of course it was a code, a signal to some
one aboard one of the ships.
The line of handkerchiefs completed old Lena once more took up her
glasses, first looking around as before to see if any one were on the
roof. How Jane wished that she, too, could see the ships from where she
stood. Was some traitor in the navy wigwagging to the old woman? She
was tempted to spring forward and seize her and stop this dastardly
signalling, but she remembered her duty. She was there to see that Dean
was not surprised by old Lena’s return. So long as the woman kept
signalling he was safe.
Once more the laundress dropped her glasses and began frantically
rearranging the handkerchiefs. Again Jane noted their order—red—two
small—one large—three small—two large. Again the laundress resorted to
the glasses, and at last, apparently satisfied, began taking down the
rest of the laundry and making ready to leave the roof. Trying to act
as if she had just arrived, Jane stepped boldly forward.
“I wonder,” she said approaching the woman, “if you can tell me where I
can find a good laundress.”
“_Nicht versteh_” said old Lena, eyeing her suspiciously and hostilely,
and at the same time attempting to pass her with the basket of clothes.
Deliberately blocking the way, Jane repeated her question, this time in
German, feeling thankful that her language studies at school were not
wholly forgotten and that they had included such practical phrases as
those required to hire and discharge maids and complain about the
quality of their work.
“I know no one,” the old woman answered her, this time in English.
Jane breathed fast with excitement. The laundress’ slip of the tongue,
after denying that she understood, was evidence in itself of her
deliberate duplicity. Realizing her mistake, the old woman now sullenly
refused to answer any questions, merely shaking her head and trying to
dodge past and escape.
To prolong the questioning, Jane felt, would be only to arouse
suspicion, and reluctantly she allowed old Lena to precede her to the
elevator, anticipating her, however, in ringing the bell, pressing the
button four times as Dean had directed. As they descended together she
was almost in a panic. How long had she kept the laundress on the roof?
She really had no idea. She had been so absorbed in her new discovery
she had given no thought to the time. For all she knew she might have
been there only five minutes. Had Dean had time to finish his work?
Almost frenzied with anxiety, wondering if it were too soon, she moved
forward in the car so as to obstruct old Lena’s view through the door
as it opened. One glance showed her the Hoff door now tightly closed,
and she thought she heard the door of her own apartment just closing.
Suddenly she remembered that she had gone up on the roof without a key.
It would be a pretty pass if Dean were still in the Hoff apartment and
she couldn’t get into her own.
All in a tremble she pressed the button of her own door, waiting,
however, to see that the laundress was out of the hall. It was Dean who
opened the door, and she all but fainted in his arms as she saw that he
was back in safety.
“It’s done,” he cried gleefully, as he caught her and drew her within,
closing the door carefully behind her. “I just finished my work as you
came down.”
Great drops of perspiration still stood on his forehead and he was
breathing rapidly.
“Why, what’s the matter?” he cried, noticing for the first time Jane’s
perturbation. “Was it too much for you? What happened?”
“Put this down quick, quick,” gasped Jane, “Red—two large—one small—one
large—one small—and then—red—two small—one large—three small—two
large.”
Wonderingly he complied, jotting down what she told him in his
notebook, and turning to ask her what it meant, discovered that she had
fainted.