THE ATTACK ON THE HOUSE
In accordance with instructions already issued two of Fleck’s men
rushed for the front of the house, where with rifles ready they stood
guard, while the others took cover in the shadow of one of the
outbuildings a few feet distant from the rear entrance.
Apparently the plotters had been so long undisturbed in their mountain
fastness that they had ceased to take even the most ordinary
precautions against surprise. So far as could be discovered they had
posted no guards over the aeroplanes and their deadly cargo, nor at
either of the two doors to the main building. Nevertheless Fleck, as he
crept stealthily up to the building with Carter at his side, took out
his automatic and held it in readiness, and Carter followed his
example.
There was no moon to reveal their movements as they approached the rear
of the house. The evening was warm, and one of the windows had been
left open. Noiselessly they crept up to it and looked within. It opened
into a large room used as a dining hall, where they could see all of
the men clustered about one of the tables, at the head of which sat old
Otto Hoff with Frederic at his side. On the table before him was what
appeared to be a rough map or blueprint. Frederic and five of the other
men, Fleck observed, now wore aviation costumes.
“Comrades,” old Otto was saying in German, “here is the course. You
will have no difficulty in following it. Down the river straight till
you see the lights of New York. You each understand what you are then
to do, yes?”
“Certainly,” three of the men, the pilots evidently, responded.
“Let us, to make sure,” old Otto insisted, “once more rehearse it. Much
there is at stake for the Fatherland. You, Anton and Fritz, will blow
up the transports and the warships that guard them. Six great
transports are lying there, ready to sail at daylight The troops went
aboard to-night. We waited until it was signalled that it was so. You
must not fail. The biggest of those transports once belonged to
Germany. You must teach these boastful Americans their lesson. That one
boat you must destroy for certain. Beside the transports to-night lie
five vessels of war, two battleships, three cruisers. Them you must
destroy also, if there is time. To each transport, two bombs, to each
warship, two bombs—twenty you carry. If all goes well, two you will
have left. With these do what you will, a house, a church, it matters
not—anything to spread the terror of Germany in the hearts of these
money-grabbing Americans.”
“It will be done,” said Anton solemnly.
“I have thrown bombs before. You can trust me,” said Fritz.
“You, Hans and Albert,” old Otto went on, “will fly over the city at
good height. When you reach the end of the island you turn to the left,
so, and come down close that your aim may not miss. Here will be the
Brooklyn Navy Yard,”—he indicated a place on the map. “If there is fog
the bridges will locate it for you. Smash the ship lying there, the
shops, the dry docks; if it is possible blow up the munitions stored
there.”
“I know the place well,” Hans replied. “I worked there many months. I
can find my way in the dark. It will be done.”
“And to you, Herr Captain,” said Otto, turning to Frederic and
saluting, “to you, whom the War Office itself sent here to oversee this
all-wonderful plan of mine which it has seen fit to approve, to you and
your mate falls the greatest honor and glory. You—”
A suppressed sob at his side caused Fleck to turn quickly and lay his
finger on the trigger of his revolver. There, close beside him,
listening to all that had been said, was Jane. Left alone in the
darkness she had found it impossible to obey the chief’s orders and
remain where she was. Every little sound about her had carried new
terrors to her heart. Hitherto she had not felt afraid, but the
solitude filled her mind with wild imaginings. She was seized, too, by
an irresistible desire to know what part Frederic was playing in this
drama of the dark. Was his life in peril? Were Fleck and Carter now
gathering evidence that would bring about his conviction, perhaps his
shameful death? She must know what was happening. Quietly she had
stolen up to peer through the window.
Fleck, as he recognized her, with an angry gesture of warning to be
silent, turned back to hear what Otto was saying.
“—you, Frederic, have the glory of leading the expedition, of bombing
that damned Wall Street which alone has kept Germany from winning her
well-deserved victory. You will destroy their foolish skyscrapers,
their banks, their business buildings. Your work will end this way. You
will strike terror into the cowardly hearts of these American bankers
whose greed for money has led them to interfere with our great nation’s
rightful ambition. You shall show them that their ocean is no
protection, that the iron hand of our Kaiser is far-reaching. Do your
work well, and they will be on their knees begging us for peace.”
“God helping me,” said Frederic, “I will not fail in my duty to my
country.”
There was something magnificent in his manner as he spoke, something
almost regal, and Fleck regarded him with a puzzled air. Who was he,
this man who had been sent out from Germany on this mission—this man to
whom even old Otto paid deference? Despite the assurance with which he
had spoken Fleck had observed in Frederic an uneasiness, a
watchfulness, that none of the others seemed to exhibit. He had the
appearance of alertly listening, listening, for what? Fleck’s first
thought was that he might have overheard the little cry that Jane had
inadvertently given, but he quickly dismissed this theory. If Frederic
had heard that sound it would have alarmed him, and the look in his
eyes now was one of expectancy rather than of fear.
Jane, too, was puzzled and distressed. With trembling hands she
clutched at the sill of the window for support as she heard Frederic
assent to old Otto’s plans for him. Her estimate of his character made
it seem incredible that he would willingly lend himself to this work of
wholesale murder, yet she could no longer doubt the evidence of her own
ears. With overwhelming force it came to her that this man who so
readily agreed to such bloody, dastardly work as this, must undoubtedly
be also the murderer of that K-19 whose body had been found just around
the corner from her home. Bitterly she reproached herself that she had
allowed herself to care for him. Shamedly she confessed to herself that
she still loved him—even now.
“Your great work accomplished,” Otto continued, “remember your orders.
Forty miles due east of Sandy Hook there will be lying two great
submarines, waiting to take you off—not U-boats, but two of our
powerful, wonderful new X-boats, big enough to destroy any of their
little cruisers that are patrolling the coast, fast enough to escape
any of their torpedo boats. How important the war office judges your
work you may realize from this—it is the first mission on which these
new X-boats have been dispatched. They are out there now. We have had a
wireless from them. They are waiting to convey six heroes back to the
Fatherland, where the highest honors will be bestowed on them at the
hands of our Emperor himself. Herr Captain and Comrades—”
He stopped abruptly, and there came into his face a pained look of
surprise, of terror.
_“Was is dass?_” he cried in alarm.
One of Fleck’s men in hiding out there in the shadow of the building
had been seized by an irresistible desire to sneeze.
The terrifying suspicion that there had been some uninvited spectator
outside, listening to their plotting, swept over the whole room. The
whole company, hearing the sound that had alarmed old Hoff, arose as
one man and stood tensed, stupefied with fear, gazing white-faced in
the direction from which the sound had come.
Fleck, rudely brushing Jane aside, dropped back from the window and
blew a sharp blast with a whistle. At the sound his men came running up
with their rifles ready.
Inside, the man called Hans, seizing an electric torch, dashed to the
door, and pulling it wide, rushed forth, his torch lighting the way
before him. Before he even had time to see the men gathering there and
cry an alarm, a blow from the butt of Carter’s revolver stretched him
senseless on the stoop.
“In the name of the United States I command you to surrender,” cried
Fleck, springing boldly into the open doorway, revolver in hand; “the
house is surrounded.”
Instantly all within the room was confusion. Some of those nearest the
door, seeing behind Fleck the protruding muzzles of the guns, promptly
threw up their hands in token of surrender. Others bolted madly for the
front door, only to find their egress there blocked by the rifles in
the hands of the guard that Fleck had had the foresight to station
there.
Old Otto, the pallor of fear on his face giving away to an expression
of demoniac rage, drew a revolver and aimed it straight at Fleck. Jane,
who unbidden had followed the raiders as they entered and now was
standing wide-eyed in the doorway watching the spectacle, was the only
one to see that just as old Otto pulled the trigger his nephew, whether
by accident or design, she could not tell, jostled his arm, sending the
bullet wide of its mark.
“Come on, men,” cried Fleck, advancing boldly into the room.
Eight of the Germans, piteously bleating “Kamerad” stood against the
wall near the door, their hands stretched high above their heads.
“Guard these men, Dean,” cried Fleck, as with Carter close at his side
he dashed into the fray.
One man already lay senseless outside, eight had surrendered. Four had
fled to the front of the house. That left only the two Hoffs and one
other man against five of them. It was Fleck’s intention to try to
overpower the trio before the four who had fled returned to aid them.
Jane, amazed at her own coolness, stood beside Dean, her revolver out,
helping him guard the prisoners.
Frederic all the while had been standing by his uncle’s side, strangely
enough appearing to take little interest or part in the battle. Old
Otto, though, despite his years, was fighting with vigor enough to
require both the work of Fleck and Carter to subdue him. Vainly he
struggled to wrench himself free from their grasp and use his revolver
again. Fleck’s strength pulling loose his fingers from the weapon was
too much for him. As he felt himself being disarmed, in a frenzy he
tore himself loose from both of them and seizing a chair, swung it with
all his strength against the hanging lamp above the table that supplied
the only light in the room.
In an instant the room was in darkness. The four from the front,
rushing back to aid their comrades in answer to old Otto’s cries, found
themselves unable to distinguish friend from foe. Fleck’s men dared not
use their weapons in the darkness. Back and forth through the room the
opposing forces struggled, the air thick with cries and muttered oaths,
the sound of blows making strange medley with the rapid shuffling of
feet.
Jane, remembering the electric torch that had been carried by the man
Carter had struck down, felt her way to the door and retrieved it from
his senseless fingers. Returning, she flashed it about the room,
endeavoring to assist Fleck by its light. As she let the beam fall on
Frederic she heard a muttered curse at her side and turned to see
Thomas Dean aiming his revolver directly at the younger Hoff. With a
quick movement she thrust up his arm, and the bullet buried itself in
the wall above his head.
“What are you trying to do,” snapped Dean; “help that damned spy to
escape?”
“He wasn’t trying to escape,” she angrily retorted. “Look—quick—mind
your prisoners.”
He turned just in time to see the Germans behind him lowering their
arms. In another second they would have been on his back. At the sight
of his brandished revolver, their arms were quickly raised again.
Meanwhile Fleck’s men, guided by Jane’s light, were laying about them
with their rifles clubbed. The plotters were at a disadvantage in not
realizing how few there were in the attacking party. Fleck’s
announcement that the house was surrounded had both deceived and
disheartened them. When three of their number had been knocked
senseless to the floor the others surrendered and joined the group that
stood with hands up.
To Fleck’s amazement it was Frederic Hoff who led in the surrender.
“Watch that young Hoff,” he whispered to Carter. “I can’t understand
his giving up so easily. It may be only a ruse on his part.”
“Perhaps he’s afraid the girl will be hurt,” whispered Carter, but
Fleck was not there to hear him, having dashed forward to where old
Otto was still fighting desperately.
Somehow in the melee the old man had again got hold of a revolver, and
just as Fleck seized him he fired again. The bullet, aimed at Fleck,
left him unharmed, but found a mark in Thomas Dean, who with a little
gurgling cry, fell forward at Jane’s feet. Carter turned at once to
guard the prisoners, as Fleck, with a cry of rage, felled old Hoff to
the floor, harmless for the present at least.
Sending one of his men to the other rooms in search of lamps Fleck soon
had all the prisoners safely shackled, both hand and foot, none of them
offering any resistance. Investigation showed that old Hoff in falling
had struck his head in such a way that his neck was broken, killing him
instantly. The three who had been clubbed were not seriously injured,
and as soon as they revived were shackled as the others had been.
Jane, seeing Dean collapse, had turned to aid him and for some time had
been bending over him, trying to revive him. He had opened his eyes,
looked up into her face and had tried to say something, and then had
collapsed, dying right before her eyes.
“Take the Hoffs’ car outside,” Fleck directed some of his men, “and
bring up our two cars at once. Carter and I’ll guard the prisoners
until you get back. There’s a county jail only a few miles away. The
sooner we get them there the better it will be. It won’t take any court
long to settle their fate. They got Dean, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” said Jane, getting up unsteadily from the floor, “I think he’s
dead.”
Fleck bent to examine the body of his aide, feeling for the pulse.
“Too bad,” he murmured. “That last bullet of old Hoff’s got him, but he
died in a good cause.”
Jane, brushing away the tears that came welling unbidden into her eyes,
turned now for the first time since his surrender to look at Frederic.
She had expected as she looked at him lying there shackled on the floor
to read in his expression humiliation at his plight, grief at the
failure of his effort to aid Germany, possibly reproach for her in
having aided in entrapping him. To her amazement there was nothing of
this in his face.
As he lay there on the floor he was observing her with a tender look of
love, and in his eyes what was still more puzzling was an unmistakable
expression of triumph and happiness.