THE MOUNTAIN’S SECRET
In a turmoil of mental anxiety Jane waited the arrival of Chief Fleck
at the place he had designated. She was still badly wrought up by the
scene through which she had just passed with Frederic. There were
moments when her heart insisted that, regardless of the despicable
crimes that were laid at his door, she should forsake everything for
him, for the man she loved. Had there been in her mind the slightest
possible doubt as to his guilt she might indeed have wavered, but the
evidence of his treachery seemed too manifest! She loathed herself for
caring for him and felt it her sacred duty to go on with her work of
aiding the government in trying to entrap both of them; yet how could
she ever do it?
As she waited she debated with herself whether or not to tell Chief
Fleck what had passed between herself and Frederic. After all, why
should she? That was her own secret, not the country’s. If she stifled
her love, and gave her best efforts to aiding the other operatives in
running down the conspirators, what more could be expected of her?
Certainly she was not going to tell any one of the sealed packet
Frederic had entrusted to her. She had promised him she would keep it
safe. Surely there could be no harm in that, yet the little parcel,
still in the bosom of her gown where she had thrust it, seemed to be
burning her flesh and searing itself into her very soul.
In strong contrast with her own spirit of martyrdom was Fleck’s manner.
Never before had she seen him in such high spirits as he was when he
drew up before the subway station in a low car built for speed. On the
seat beside the chauffeur was a young man whom she recognized as
another of the operatives. As Fleck swung the door of the tonneau open
for her she noticed lying on the floor under a rug several rifles and
drew back questioningly.
“Come on, Miss Strong,” he cried gaily. “Don’t be afraid of them. We
may be glad we have them before we return from our hunting expedition.”
“But,” she asked hesitatingly as she took her seat beside him, “you
don’t expect to shoot these men—without a trial.”
Her heart seemed torn in anguish as she sensed anew the peril that lay
ahead for Frederic. Misgivings that she might be unable to fulfil her
task seized her, and she was smitten with reproach for her own conduct
toward him. Why, an hour ago, when there was still opportunity, had she
not warned Frederic? If he were really sincere in the affection he
professed for her maybe she might have persuaded him, if not to betray
his comrades, at least to abandon them and escape from the country. Yet
even now her reason told her that any plea she might have made would
have been worse than futile. Above and beyond his love for her she
understood that he held sacred what he conceived to be his duty, his
misguided duty to his erring country. It was too late now for regrets,
for repentance, too late for her to do anything but to try to serve her
country, cost her what it might, yet anxiously she awaited Chief
Fleck’s reply to her question.
“Wouldn’t I shoot them all on sight, gladly, the damned spies,” he
responded. “That’s the great trouble with this country, Miss Strong.
We’re too soft-hearted and chivalrous. The Germans realize that war and
sentiment have no place together. If killing babies and destroying
churches will in their opinion help them win the war they do it without
compunction. The civilized world decided that poison gas was too brutal
and dastardly for use, even against an enemy, but that didn’t stop the
Huns from using it. They put duty to Germany above all else, and if
their country expects it are ready to rob, murder, use bombs, betray
friends, do anything and everything, comforted by the knowledge that
even if we do catch them at it here in this country all we will do to
them will be put them in jail for a year or two. If I had my way I’d
shoot them all on sight.”
“Without any evidence—without trying them?” questioned Jane.
“Without trial, yes—without evidence, no; but in the case of these
Hoffs we have evidence enough to stand them both up and shoot them.”
“Have you learned more?” she asked quickly. “Is Frederic, too, involved
with his uncle?”
He shot an appraising glance at her. He had been inclined to regard
Dean’s suspicion that she was in love with the younger Hoff as the mere
figment of jealousy, but where two young persons of the opposite sex
are thrown together, there is always the possibility of romance. Jane
colored a little under his searching glance, yet what he read in her
face seemed to satisfy his doubts, and he made up his mind to take her
fully into his confidence.
“Thanks to your quick wit in reading those advertisements,” he said,
“we have now a fairly complete index of the Hoffs’ activities in the
last six months. I have been spending the last two hours in going over
all the Dento advertisements that have appeared. For weeks they have
been sending out a regular series of bulletins.”
“Bulletins about what?” asked Jane.
“About everything of interest to the secret enemies of our country:
explanations of where and how to get false passports, detailed
statements of the sailings of our transports, directions for obtaining
materials for making bombs, instructions for blowing up munition
plants, suggestions for smuggling rubber, orders for fomenting strikes.
They even had the nerve to use the name of William Foxley, signed to a
testimonial for Dento.”
“Who is William Foxley?” asked Jane curiously.
“In the Wilhelmstrasse code that was in use when Von Bernstorff was
still in this country; in sending their wireless messages they made
frequent use of proper names which had a code meaning. Boy-ed was
‘Richard Houston,’ Von Papen was ‘Thomas Hoggson’ and Bolo Pascha was
always mentioned as ‘St. Regis,’ In this same code ‘William Foxley’
always meant the German Foreign Office.”
“But surely you did not learn this from the advertisements?”
“Not at all. Hugo Schmidt, who was reputed to be the paymaster of the
gang, was caught trying to burn a copy of this code at the German Club.
With the records of their wireless messages our government managed to
reconstruct the whole code. The use of a word or two from this code in
these advertisements is most significant. It shows that whoever
prepared these advertisements was high in the confidence of the German
government. Only the very topnotch spies are likely to be permitted to
know the diplomatic code.”
“And you think, then, that Otto Hoff may be the head of the
conspirators in this country?” said Jane.
“Not Otto—Frederic,” said Fleck quickly. “The young man, I am certain,
was the director, probably sent out from Berlin after the country
became too hot for Von Papen and Boy-ed. The old man, I believe, merely
carried out his orders. I doubt even if they are uncle and nephew.”
“I think you are wrong about that,” protested Jane. “Whenever I was
listening over the dictograph it was always the old man who was so
bitter against America. It was he who talked about the wonder-workers
and the necessity for haste. I never heard Frederic say
anything—anything disloyal, that is.”
“The fact that he knew enough to keep his mouth closed shows that he is
the more intelligent of the two. Don’t forget, too, that at times he
even dared to don the uniform of a British officer. You saw him
yourself. Undoubtedly he is the more dangerous of the pair.”
“But who read these advertisements?” asked Jane, seeking to change the
subject. “For whom were the bulletins intended?”
“It was one of their ways of keeping in communication with their
thousands of secret agents all over this country. I wouldn’t be
surprised if occasionally these advertisements were printed in Texas
papers and shipped over the border into Mexico. We have been watching
the mails and the telephone and telegraph lines for months, yet all the
while Mexico has been sending messages across, telling the U-boats
everything they needed to know. We never thought of checking up the
advertising in papers in the Mexican mail.”
“But what about the messages old Mr. Hoff left in the bookstores? Was
that part of the plan, too?”
“It may have been simply a duplicate method of communication in case
the other failed. The Germans here know that they are constantly
watched and take every precaution. We’ll land that girl as soon as we
have the Hoffs safe behind the bars, and then we’ll soon see if
Carter’s dachshund theory was right.”
“But who,” asked Jane, “is the spy in our navy? Who signalled the
Hoffs’ apartment and supplied them with the news about our transports?
Was it Lieutenant Kramer?”
“Probably,” said Chief Fleck carelessly, “that is not my end of the
work. It is up to the Naval Intelligence Bureau to clean out the spies
in the navy. I’m after the boss-spy. After we land him it will be
easier to get the small fry. A defiant German prisoner once boasted to
me that Germany had a man on every American ship, in every American
regiment, and in every department in Washington. I suspect it comes
pretty near being true. A country that has so many citizens with German
names and such an enormous population of German descent has its hands
full.”
As they talked the chief’s car had crossed the ferry, and turning north
through Englewood, was heading rapidly in the direction of West Point.
“Where are we going now?” Jane ventured to ask. “To the place where I
was yesterday—where we had the accident?”
“Not directly,” the chief replied. “I sent Carter and some men up there
ahead of us to do some reconnoitering. I’ll get in touch with Carter at
the restaurant at the State Park. He was to call me up. We are nearly
there now.”
As the car swung into the park and stopped before the entrance of the
two-story restaurant building, Fleck sprang hastily out and started for
the telephone but stopped abruptly at the sight of a young man with
bandaged head and with one arm in a sling who rose from the concrete
steps of the building to greet him.
“Why, Dean,” he exclaimed in amazement, “what are you doing here? How
did you get here?”
“You don’t think I was going to be left out at the finish,” laughed the
chauffeur.
“But your injuries, your arm—”
“Both all right, as right as they’ll be for several weeks.”
“But how did you know we were coming here? How did you manage to get
here?”
“Carter stopped on his way out to make sure about the road. I wanted to
come with him, but there was no room in his car. He refused to bring
me, anyhow. I managed to worm out of him what your plans were, and the
doctor’s jitney did the rest.”
“Well,” growled the chief, with simulated indignation, though secretly
delighted with Dean’s show of spirit, “I suppose there’s nothing else
to do but to take you along. Climb in there beside Miss Strong.”
As Dean approached the car Jane rose in amazement.
“Oh, Thomas, Mr. Dean,” she cried, “I’m so glad to see you. I was
afraid yesterday that you had been badly hurt.”
“It was a close shave for both of us,” he admitted, flushing with
delight at the warmth of her greeting, “but what are you doing here?
The Chief had no business to bring you on a trip like this.”
All his affection for the girl had revived at this unexpected sight of
her, and with a lover’s righteous anxiety he resented Fleck’s having
exposed her to the probable perils of this expedition to the enemy’s
secret lair.
“They needed me,” she said simply, “to show them the way.”
“That need exists no longer,” he protested, “since I am here. The Chief
must send you back.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she objected warmly.
“But it is no place for a woman,” he insisted doggedly, kicking
meaningly at the rifles on the floor of the car. “There may be a fight.
These men are desperate and dangerous and more than likely will resist
any attempt to arrest them.”
“I want to be there to see it if they do,” said Jane calmly.
“Please, won’t you, for my sake,” he begged, “go back home or at least
wait here for us?”
“I won’t,” said the girl doggedly.
“I’ll ask the Chief to send you back.”
“Don’t you dare,” she retorted hotly, resenting his air of protection
toward her.
She was glad for the presence of the two other men in the car. She
sensed that it was only their being there that kept Dean from making a
scene. There was nothing in his manner toward her now of the obsequious
chauffeur. While she admitted to herself that there was no longer the
necessity for his continuing in his fictitious character she strongly
resented his loverlike jealousy for her welfare and welcomed the
chief’s return, for she saw from his face, as he came running up to the
car, that he had received some sort of news that had highly delighted
him.
Almost before he was in the car he had given orders to start, leaving
no opportunity for Dean to make his threatened protest against Jane’s
presence.
“I got Carter on the ’phone,” Fleck explained hurriedly as they swung
out of the park and turned northward. “He has succeeded in locating the
place the Hoffs go every week. It is about three miles back off the
road, over toward the river from the place where you two had that
accident yesterday. Away off there in the woods in a deserted locality
is a sort of club, the members of which are Austrians or Germans. They
have given it out that they are health enthusiasts and mountain
climbers, ‘Friends of the Air,’ they call themselves.”
“Who are they really? What are they doing there?” asked Jane
interestedly.
“Carter has not had time yet to learn much about them. The place was
some sort of a health resort or sanitarium that failed several years
ago. Last summer it seems to have been taken over by this bunch of
Germans. At times there are only two or three of them there, but
recently the number has increased. Carter thinks there must be a dozen
men there now.”
“How did he locate the place?” asked Dean.
“Carter is a real detective,” said the chief enthusiastically. “He
reasoned it out that where there were Germans there must be beer. He
scouted along the main road until he found a wayside saloon where, as
he had shrewdly suspected, they got their liquid supplies. From the
proprietor of the place and the hangers-on he had no trouble in getting
the information he wanted without arousing their suspicions.”
“Where is Mr. Carter now?” asked Jane.
“He’s waiting for us a few miles up the road.”
“He has only four men with him, hasn’t he?” questioned Dean.
“That’s all.”
“And there are four of us here.”
“Three and a half,” said the chief, motioning to Dean’s bandaged arm.
“It’s my left arm,” he retorted. “I can handle a revolver, at least,
with my good arm.”
“And I can shoot, too,” boasted Jane; “that makes nine of us.”
“Nine of us against twelve of the enemy,” said the chief thoughtfully.
“It looks like a busy evening.”
“And don’t forget,” warned Jane, “that the Hoffs are coming up this
evening. At least young Mr. Hoff told me this morning that he was going
away this evening. That makes two more on the other side.”
“And one of them,” muttered Fleck, “a mighty dangerous man.”