CARTER’S DISCOVERY
“It’s the young man I’m after,” said Chief Fleck. “We have the goods on
old Hoff, but we have nothing incriminating against Frederic yet. The
very fact that he holds aloof from his uncle’s activities makes me
think he is engaged in more important work. He’s just the type the
Germans would select as a director.”
“That’s right,” said Carter despondently. “There’s nothing except the
fact that Dean and the girl think they saw him in British uniform. Why
didn’t they follow and make sure?”
“They tried to,” said the chief, “but he gave them the slip. I’m
inclined to believe they were mistaken. More than likely it was a
chance resemblance. Lots of Britishers of the Anglo-Saxon strain look
much like Germans, and a uniform makes a big difference in a man’s
appearance. I’m afraid there’s nothing in that.”
“But both saw the man—Dean and Miss Strong,” protested Carter.
“The trouble is,” observed Fleck, “that Dean is getting infatuated with
the girl. A young man in love is not a keen observer. Anything she
thinks she has seen he’ll be ready to swear to. I hope the girl keeps
her head. Lovers don’t make good detectives.”
“I have watched them together,” said Carter. “I’ll admit he’s struck on
her, but I don’t think she cares a rap for him. She’s too keenly
interested in Frederic Hoff.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked the chief sharply.
“You can depend on her all right. She’s patriotic through and through.
She’s the kind that would do her duty, no matter what it cost her. All
I meant is that Hoff’s the type that interests women. He’s got a way
about him. The fact that he’s a spy, in peril most of the time, gives
him a sort of halo. I never knew a daring young criminal yet that
didn’t have some woman, and often several of them, ready to go the
limit for him. All the same, I’m sure we can trust Miss Strong.”
“We’ve got to,” growled Fleck, “for the present at any rate. Is
everything fixed for the search this afternoon? What have you done to
get the superintendent out of the way? He’s not to be trusted. His name
is Hauser.”
“I’ve got him fixed. Jimmy Golden, my nephew, who has helped us in a
couple of cases, is a lawyer. He has telephoned to Hauser to come to
his office this afternoon.”
“Suppose he doesn’t go?”
“He’ll go all right. Jimmy ’phoned him that it was about a legacy.
That’s sure bait. Jimmy will make Hauser wait an hour, then keep him
talking half an hour longer. That will give us plenty of time.”
“Then there’s the woman—the servant, Lena Kraus.”
“She goes to the roof every Wednesday while the Hoffs are away to
signal. Other days they apparently do the signalling themselves in some
way we haven’t caught on to yet. She always goes up about three o’clock
and—”
“Suppose she comes down unexpectedly and catches you? We can’t have
that happen. That would put them on their guard.”
“She won’t surprise us. I’ve got a trick up my sleeve for preventing
that.”
“Go to it, then,” said the chief, and Carter went on his way rejoicing.
Ever since he had been informed that the search of the Hoffs’ apartment
was to be intrusted to him Carter had been in a state of exuberant
delight. He fairly revelled in jobs that required a disguise and he
welcomed the opportunity it gave him and his assistants to don the
uniform of employees of the electric light company. He even made a
point of arriving that afternoon at the apartment house in the
company’s repair wagon, the vehicle having been procured through
Fleck’s assistance.
“There’s a dangerous short circuit somewhere in the house,” he
announced to the superintendent’s wife.
“My husband isn’t here,” she answered unsuspectingly. “Do you know
where the switch-boards are?”
“We can find them,” said Carter. “We’ll start at the top floor and work
down.”
Always thorough in his methods of camouflage he actually did go through
several apartments, making a pretense of inspecting switch-boards and
wiring, all the while keeping watch for the time when old Lena went to
the roof. The moment she had entered the elevator to ascend with her
basket of linen, Carter and his aides were at the Hoff door. Equipped
with the key Dean had manufactured they had no difficulty in entering.
“Bob,” said Carter to one of his men, “we haven’t much time, and
there’s a lot to be done. You take the servant’s room and the kitchen,
and you, Williams, take the old man’s quarters. I’ll take care of the
young man’s bedroom, and we’ll tackle the living room and dining room
later.”
Thoroughly experienced in this sort of work all three of them set at
once to their tasks. Carter, standing for a moment in the doorway,
surveyed Frederic Hoff’s quarters, taking in all the details of the
furnishings. Both the sitting room and the bedroom adjoining were
equipped in military simplicity, with hardly an extra article of
furniture or adornment, chairs, tables, everything of the plainest
sort. Moving first into the bedroom, Carter quickly investigated
pillows and mattress, but in neither place did he find what he sought,
evidence of a secret hiding place. He rummaged for a while through the
drawers of two tables, carefully restoring the contents, but
discovering nothing that aroused his suspicions. The books lying about
on the tables and on shelves he examined one by one, noting their
titles, examining their bindings for hidden pockets, holding them up by
their backs and shaking the leaves. There was nothing there. Lifting
the rugs and moving the furniture about he made a careful survey of the
flooring, seeking to find some panel that might conceal a hiding place.
Once or twice in corners he went so far as to make soundings but
apparently the whole floor was intact. His search in the bath room was
equally profitless, and at last he turned to the clothes press. As he
opened the door an exclamation of amazement burst from his lips.
There, concealed behind some other suits, was the complete outfit of a
British cavalry captain.
“That’s one on the Chief,” he said to himself. “It must have been Hoff
that Dean and Miss Strong saw. I wonder where he got it?”
With a grim smile of satisfaction he devoted himself to going carefully
through all the pockets and over all the seams of the clothing in the
closet. He even felt into the toe of the shoes and examined the soles.
There was nothing to be found anywhere, but he felt satisfied. The
uniform in itself was to his mind damning proof of the young man’s
occupation.
No explanation that could be given by a young man of German name, even
though he was American-born, or had an American birth certificate,
could possibly account for his having a British uniform. It was prima
facie evidence that Frederic Hoff was a spy. What puzzled Carter most
was how Hoff managed to smuggle the uniform in and out of the apartment
without being observed. For more than two weeks now every parcel that
had arrived at the house of the Hoffs had been searched before it was
delivered. The house had been constantly under the strictest
surveillance. It was out of the question for him to have worn the
uniform in or out as it could not be easily concealed under other
clothing.
“There’s somebody else in this place in league with the Hoffs,” he
muttered to himself. “I wonder who it can be.”
He looked at his watch. The old servant had been out now nearly half an
hour. She was likely to return at any moment. He must work quickly.
Swiftly he went through the dresser drawers but without satisfactory
result. There was no time for him to do more. He hastened into the
living room and summoned his aides.
“Find anything, Bob?” he asked.
“Not a thing.”
“Beat it up to the roof,” he directed. “Have you those field glasses
with you?”
“Sure,” replied the operative, “and the handkerchiefs, too.”
“All right. Get up there before she starts down. Begin putting up
handkerchiefs and appear to be watching the river. That will mix her up
so she will not know what to do. She will not dare to leave the roof
while you are there. When we’re through I’ll send the elevator man up
for you with the message that we have found the short circuit.”
He turned to the other operative.
“Find anything, Williams?”
“Only this.”
Carter’s face brightened as his assistant held out to him two copies of
an afternoon newspaper. In each of them a square was missing where
something had been cut out.
“I found them in the waste-paper basket by the old man’s desk,” the man
explained, “and there was some ashes there—ashes of paper—as if he had
burned up something. Maybe it was what he cut out of those papers. I
could not tell.”
“We’ve got to get copies of those papers at once and see what it was.
Come on, I’m going to take them to the Chief. We can get the papers on
the way down.”
Calling the other operative from the roof, before he even had had time
to attract the attention of Lena Kraus by his activities, they hastened
back to the office, where Fleck and Carter together scanned the two
papers from which the clippings had been taken.
“Why,” said Carter disappointedly, “it is just a couple of
advertisements he cut out—advertisements for a tooth paste. There’s
nothing in that.”
“Don’t be too sure,” warned Fleck. “If a man cuts out one tooth-paste
advertisement, the natural presumption would be that he wished to
remind himself to buy some. When he cuts out two, he must have some
special interest in that particular tooth paste. We’ll have to find out
what his interest is.”
“Maybe he owns it,” suggested Carter.
“Perhaps,” said Fleck, as he began studying the advertisements, “but it
would not surprise me if these advertisements contained some sort of
code messages.”
“Messages in advertisements,” exclaimed Carter incredulously.
“Why not? The Germans have hundreds of spies at work here in this city
and all over the country. What would be an easier method of
communicating orders to them than by code messages concealed in
advertising. They have done it before. When the German armies got into
France they found their way placarded in advance with much useful
information in harmless looking posters advertising a certain brand of
chocolate. I’d be willing to bet that every one of these advertisements
carries a code message. I’ve noticed that these advertisements, all
peculiarly worded, have been running for some time. I never thought of
hooking them up with German propaganda, but, see, it is a German firm
that inserts them.”
Carefully he cut out the two advertisements and laid them side by side
on his desk. Turning to Carter he said:
“Go at once to see Mr. Sprague, the publisher of this paper. Get him to
give you a copy of each paper that has contained an advertisement of
this sort in the last six months. Find out what agency places the
advertising. Tell him I want to know. He’ll understand. We have worked
together before.”
Alone in his office, Fleck bent with wrinkled brow over the first of
the two advertisements, which read:
REMEMBER
Please, that our new paste, DENTO,
will stop decay of your teeth. Sound
teeth are passports to good health and
comfort. Now, no business man can
risk ill health. It is closely allied with
failure. The teeth if not watched are
quickly gone.
USE DENTO
A genuine, safe, pleasing paste for the
teeth, prepared and sold only by the
Auer Dental Company, New York.
He tried all the methods of solving cipher letters that he thought of.
He drew diagonals this way and that across the advertisement. He tried
reading it backward. He tried reading every other word, every third
word, both backward and forward. Nothing that he did revealed any
combination of words that made sense.
“Passports,” he muttered to himself, “that’s it. If there is a message
there it must be something about passports.”
In despair he turned to the other advertisement. It read:
DON’T
Forget it is imperative for one and all to
use cleansing agents on teeth that leave
no bad results.
“Ship more of that wonder-working
paste immediately. Workers, employers,
wives, all ready to commend it. Friday’s
supply gone,” writes a druggist to whom
a big shipment was made last week.
USE DENTO
A genuine, safe, pleasing paste for the
teeth, prepared and sold only by the
Auer Dental Company, New York.
Fleck’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he read this advertisement
and caught the phrase “wonder-working.” He felt sure now that he was on
the right track. He recalled that Jane Strong over the dictograph had
heard old Hoff speak of something that he called the “wonder-worker.”
As soon as Carter returned with the other advertisements that had been
appearing he felt positive that he would be able to unravel the cipher.
Two words he was sure of—“passports” and “wonder-working.” One
footprint does not lead anywhere, but two do, and given three
footprints, a pathway is indicated.
His telephone rang sharply. He turned to answer it, suspecting it must
be Carter with some message about the papers he had sent for.
“Hello,” he called.
“Hello,” came a faint voice, as if the speaker were using long
distance, and had a bad connection, “is this Fleck?”
“Yes, Fleck,” he answered, “who is this?”
“Dean speaking,” came the voice faintly.
“Dean,” cried Fleck, excitedly, “yes, yes. What is it, Dean?”
He had not expected to hear any results from the expedition that Dean
and Jane Strong had undertaken until late in the afternoon after the
Hoffs returned. The fact that Dean was calling him up now would seem to
indicate that something of importance had happened.
“I’m telephoning from a doctor’s house near Nyack,” said Dean.
“What’s that? Speak louder.”
“I’m here in Doctor Spencer’s office near Nyack with a broken arm,”
Dean continued. “We’ve had an accident. Somebody’s auto smashed into
us, I guess.”
“Miss Strong? Where is she? Is she hurt?” asked the chief anxiously.
“I don’t know. She has vanished.”
Jane Strong vanished! The chief’s figure became suddenly tensed. That
it was more than a mere automobile accident he felt certain now.
Shadowing the Hoffs was an occupation that seemed unusually perilous.
There flashed into his mind the fate of K-19—murdered almost at the
Hoffs’ door. And now two more of his operatives, one disabled and the
other mysteriously missing.
“Quick,” he said over the ’phone. “Tell me briefly just what happened.
Speak as loudly as you can.”
“We got half an hour behind at the West Point Ferry,” Dean’s voice went
on, still weak and low as if he were speaking with difficulty. “We had
some trouble getting started on the trail again but finally succeeded.
We were dashing along about ten or twelve miles south of West Point
when an automobile coming out of a cross road crashed right into us. It
must have knocked me unconscious. I didn’t remember anything more till
I found myself here. I came to as the doctor was setting my arm. I
’phoned as soon as they would let me.”
“Who brought you there?”
“I don’t know. All they know here was that some couple in an automobile
left me here. They said they passed just after an auto hit my
motorcycle. They said the auto didn’t stop.”
“And Miss Strong—did they say anything about her?”
“Not a word. The people here were under the impression I was riding
alone.”
“All right,” said the chief. “I’ll get some one up there at once to
look after you and pick up any clues.”
As he hung up the ’phone, his forehead wrinkled into little lines of
absorbed concentration. He sat at his desk for fully five minutes
almost motionless, trying to figure it out. What did the accident to
Dean signify? How was the sudden disappearance of Jane Strong to be
accounted for? Had she fled from the scene after Dean was disabled,
fearing that her name might be coupled with his in an account of the
accident? It did not seem like the sort of thing she would do. The
impression she had made on him was that of a girl of high resolve who
would be apt to carry through anything she undertook, cost what it may.
Yet what could have happened to her? If she, too, had been injured, why
was she not with Dean? If she was not injured, why had she not
communicated with the office? Who were the couple that had brought Dean
to the doctor’s office? Why had not the doctor taken their names and
addresses?
What part had the Hoffs played in the accident? Had they purposely run
down the motorcycle? If they had found out they were being shadowed
they would not have hesitated, he felt sure, to resort to such
murderous tactics. Had they not already one dastardly murder to their
record? He must find out when the Hoffs arrived home. They would not be
due for an hour or two, but he would caution the operatives watching
the house to keep more vigilant watch. Reaching for his ’phone he
called up the head-quarters of the operatives.
“Report to me at once,” he said to the operative who answered his call,
“the minute the Hoffs have arrived home.”
“The old man is home now,” the operative answered.
“What’s that?” cried Fleck.
“He came in alone five minutes ago on foot. The young man is not home
yet with the automobile.”
“Let me know as soon as he arrives,” said Fleck curtly, turning away
from the ’phone.
He was more perplexed than ever. What could have happened? Where was
young Hoff with the motor? Where was Jane Strong? Why had she
disappeared after Dean had been hurt? How had she vanished? The Hoffs’
affairs had assuredly taken a new and bothersome turn, over which Fleck
sat puzzling many minutes.
Where was Jane Strong? In the answer to that question, he decided at
length, lay the crux of the whole situation.