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IN SECRET
by
ROBERT W. CHAMBERS
AUTHOR OF "THE COMMON LAW," "THE RECKONING," "LORRAINE," ETC.
NEW YORK
DEDICATION
A grateful nation's thanks are due
To Arethusa and to you---
To her who dauntless at your side
Pneumonia and Flue defied
With phials of formaldehyde!
II
Chief of Police were you, by gosh!
Gol ding it! how you bumped the Boche!
Handed 'em one with club and gun
Until the Hun was on the run:
And that's the way the war was won.
III
Easthampton's pride! My homage take
For Fairest Philadelphia's sake.
Retire in company with Bill;
Rest by the Racquet's window sill
And, undisturbed, consume your pill.
ENVOI
When Cousin Feenix started west
And landed east, he did his best;
And so I've done my prettiest
To make this rhyme long overdue;
For Arethusa and for you.
R. W. C.
IN SECRET
CHAPTER I
CUP AND LIP
The case in question concerned a letter in a yellow envelope, which
was dumped along with other incoming mail upon one of the many long
tables where hundreds of women and scores of men sat opening and
reading thousands of letters for the Bureau of P. C.--whatever that
may mean.
In due course of routine a girl picked up and slit open the yellow
envelope, studied the enclosed letter for a few moments, returned it
to its envelope, wrote a few words on a slip of paper, attached the
slip to the yellow envelope, and passed it along to the D. A.
C.--whoever he or she may be.
The D. A. C., in course of time, opened this letter for the second
time, inspected it, returned it to the envelope, added a memorandum,
and sent it on up to the A. C.--whatever A. C. may signify.
Seated at his desk, the A. C. perused the memoranda, glanced over
the letter and the attached memoranda, added his terse comment to
the other slips, pinned them to the envelope, and routed it through
certain channels which ultimately carried the letter into a room
where six silent and preoccupied people sat busy at six separate
tables.
Fate had taken charge of that yellow envelope from the moment it was
mailed in Mexico; Chance now laid it on a yellow oak table before a
yellow-haired girl; Destiny squinted over her shoulder as she drew
the letter from its triply violated envelope and spread it out on
the table before her.
A rich, warm flush mounted to her cheeks as she examined the
document. Her chance to distinguish herself had arrived at last. She
divined it instantly. She did not doubt it. She was a remarkable
girl.
The room remained very still. The five other cipher experts of the
P. I. Service were huddled over their tables, pencil in hand,
absorbed in their several ungodly complications and laborious
calculations. But they possessed no Rosetta Stone to aid them in
deciphering hieroglyphics; toad-like, they carried the precious
stone in their heads, M. D.!
No indiscreet sound interrupted their mental gymnastics, save only
the stealthy scrape of a pen, the subdued rustle of writing paper,
the flutter of a code-book's leaves thumbed furtively.
The yellow-haired girl presently rose from her chair, carrying in
her hand the yellow letter and its yellow envelope with yellow slips
attached; and this harmonious combination of colour passed
noiselessly into a smaller adjoining office, where a solemn young
man sat biting an unlighted cigar and gazing with preternatural
sagacity at nothing at all.
Possibly his pretty affianced was the object of his deep revery--he
had her photograph in his desk--perhaps official cogitation as D.
C. of the E. C. D.--if you understand what I mean?--may have been
responsible for his owlish abstraction.
Because he did not notice the advent of the yellow haired girl until
she said in her soft, attractive voice:
"May I interrupt you a moment, Mr. Vaux?"
Then he glanced up.
"Surely, surely," he said. "Hum--hum!--please be seated, Miss Erith!
Hum! Surely!"
She laid the sheets of the letter and the yellow envelope upon the
desk before him and seated herself in a chair at his elbow. She was
VERY pretty. But engaged men never notice such details.
"I'm afraid we are in trouble," she remarked.
He read placidly the various memoranda written on the yellow slips
of paper, scrutinised! the cancelled stamps, postmarks,
superscription. But when his gaze fell upon the body of the letter
his complacent expression altered to one of disgust!
"What's this, Miss Erith?"
"Code-cipher, I'm afraid."
"The deuce!"
Miss Erith smiled. She was one of those girls who always look as
though they had not been long out of a bathtub. She had hazel eyes,
a winsome smile, and hair like warm gold. Her figure was youthfully
straight and supple--But that would not interest an engaged man.
The D. C. glanced at her inquiringly.
"Surely, surely," he muttered, "hum--hum!--" and tried to fix his
mind on the letter.
In fact, she was one of those girls who unintentionally and
innocently render masculine minds uneasy through some delicate,
indefinable attraction which defies analysis.
"Surely," murmured the D. C., "surely! Hum--hum!"
A subtle freshness like the breath of spring in a young orchard
seemed to linger about her. She was exquisitely fashioned to trouble
men, but she didn't wish to do such a--
Vaux, who was in love with another girl, took another uneasy look at
her, sideways, then picked up his unlighted cigar and browsed upon
it.
"Yes," he said nervously, "this is one of those accursed
code-ciphers. They always route them through to me. Why don't they
notify the five--"
"Are you going to turn THIS over to the Postal Inspection Service?"
"What do you think about it, Miss Erith? You see it's one of those
hopeless arbitrary ciphers for which there is no earthly solution
except by discovering and securing the code book and working it out
that way."7
She said calmly, but with heightened colour:
"A copy of that book is, presumably, in possession of the man to
whom this letter is addressed."
"Surely--surely. Hum--hum! What's his name, Miss Erith?"--glancing
down at the yellow envelope. "Oh, yes--Herman Lauffer--hum!"
He opened a big book containing the names of enemy aliens and
perused it, frowinng. The name of Herman Lauffer was not listed. He
consulted other volumes containing supplementary lists of suspects
and undesirables--lists furnished daily by certain services
unnecessary to mention.
"Here he is!" exclaimed Vaux; "--Herman Lauffer, picture-framer and
gilder! That's his number on Madison Avenue!"--pointing to the
type-written paragraph. "You see he's probably already under
surveillance-one of the several services is doubtless keeping tabs
on him. I think I'd better call up the--"
"Please!--Mr. Vaux!" she pleaded.
He had already touched the telephone receiver to unhook it. Miss
Erith looked at him appealingly; her eyes were very, very hazel.
"Couldn't we handle it?" she asked.
"WE?"
"You and I!"
"But that's not our affair, Miss Erith--"
"Make it so! Oh, please do. Won't you?"
Vaux's arm fell to the desk top. He sat thinking for a few minutes.
Then he picked up a pencil in an absent-minded manner and began to
trace little circles, squares, and crosses on his pad, stringing
them along line after line as though at hazard and apparently
thinking of anything except what he was doing.
The paper on which he seemed to be so idly employed lay on his desk
directly under Miss Erith's eyes; and after a while the girl began
to laugh softly to herself.
"Thank you, Mr. Vaux," she said. "This is the opportunity I have
longed for."
Vaux looked up at her as though he did not understand. But the girl
laid one finger on the lines of circles, squares, dashes and
crosses, and, still laughing, read them off, translating what he had
written:
"You are a very clever girl. I've decided to turn this case over to
you. After all, your business is to decipher cipher, and you can't
do it without the book."
They both laughed.
"I don't see how you ever solved that," he said, delighted to tease
her.
"How insulting!--when you know it is one of the oldest and most
familiar of codes--the 1-2-3 and _a-b-c_ combination!"
"Rather rude of you to read it over my shoulder, Miss Erith. It
isn't done--"
"You meant to see if I could! You know you did!"
"Did I?"
"Of course! That old 'Seal of Solomon' cipher is perfectly
transparent."
"Really? But how about THIS!"--touching the sheets of the Lauffer
letter--"how are you going to read this sequence of Arabic
numerals?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," said the girl, candidly.
"But you request the job of trying to find the key?" he suggested
ironically.
"There is no key. You know it."
"I mean the code book."
"I would like to try to find it."
"How are you going to go about it?"
"I don't know yet."
Vaux smiled. "All right; go ahead, my dear Miss Erith. You're
officially detailed for this delightful job. Do it your own way, but
do it--"
"Thank you so much!"
"--In twenty-four hours," he added grimly. "Otherwise I'll turn it
over to the P.I."
"Oh! That IS brutal of you!"
"Sorry. But if you can't get the code-book in twenty-four hours I'll
have to call in the Service that can."
The girl bit her lip and held out her hand for the letter.
"I can't let it go out of my office," he remarked. "You know that,
Miss Erith."
"I merely wish to copy it," she said reproachfully. Her eyes were
hazel.
"I ought not to let you take a copy out of this office," he
muttered.
"But you will, won't you?"
"All right. Use that machine over there. Hum--hum!"
For twenty minutes the girl was busy typing before the copy was
finally ready. Then, comparing it and finding her copy accurate, she
returned the original to Mr. Vaux, and rose with that disturbing
grace peculiar to her every movement.
"Where may I telephone you when you're not here?" she inquired
diffidently, resting one slim, white hand on his desk.
"At the Racquet Club. Are you going out?"
"Yes."
"What! You abandon me without my permission?"
She nodded with one of those winsome smiles which incline young men
to revery. Then she turned and walked toward the cloak room.
The D. C. was deeply in love with somebody else, yet he found it
hard to concentrate his mind for a while, and he chewed his
unlighted cigar into a pulp. Alas! Men are that way. Not sometimes.
Always.
Finally he shoved aside the pile of letters which he had been trying
to read, unhooked the telephone receiver, called a number, got it,
and inquired for a gentleman named Cassidy.
To the voice that answered he gave the name, business and address of
Herman Lauffer, and added a request that undue liberties be taken
with any out going letters mailed and presumably composed and
written by Mr. Lauffer's own fair hand.
"Much obliged, Mr. Vaux," cooed Cassidy, in a voice so suave that
Vaux noticed its unusual blandness and asked if that particular
Service already had "anything on Lauffer."
"Not soon but yet!" replied Mr. Cassidy facetiously, "thanks
ENTIRELY to your kind tip, Mr. Vaux."
And Vaux, suspicious of such urbane pleasantries, rang off and
resumed his mutilated cigar.
"Now, what the devil does Cassidy know about Herman Lauffer," he
mused, "and why the devil hasn't his Bureau informed us?" After long
pondering he found no answer. Besides, he kept thinking at moments
about Miss Erith, which confused him and diverted his mind from the
business on hand.
So, in his perplexity, he switched on the electric foot-warmer,
spread his fur overcoat over his knees, uncorked a small bottle and
swallowed a precautionary formaldehyde tablet, unlocked a drawer of
his desk, fished out a photograph, and gazed intently upon it.
It was the photograph of his Philadelphia affianced. Her first name
was Arethusa. To him there was a nameless fragrance about her name.
And sweetly, subtly, gradually the lovely phantasm of Miss Evelyn
Erith faded, vanished into the thin and frigid atmosphere of his
office.
That was his antidote to Miss Erith--the intent inspection of his
fiancee's very beautiful features as inadequately reproduced by an
expensive and fashionable Philadelphia photographer.
It did the business for Miss Erith every time.
The evening was becoming one of the coldest ever recorded in New
York. The thermometer had dropped to 8 degrees below zero and was
still falling. Fifth Avenue glittered, sheathed in frost; traffic
police on post stamped and swung their arms to keep from freezing;
dry snow underfoot squeaked when trodden on; crossings were greasy
with glare ice.
It was, also, one of those meatless, wheatless, heatless nights when
the privation which had hitherto amused New York suddenly became an
ugly menace. There was no coal to be had and only green wood. The
poor quietly died, as usual; the well-to-do ventured a hod and a
stick or two in open grates, or sat huddled under rugs over oil or
electric stoves; or migrated to comfortable hotels. And bachelors
took to their clubs. That is where Clifford Vaux went from his
chilly bachelor lodgings. He fled in a taxi, buried cheek-deep in
his fur collar, hating all cold, all coal companies, and all
Kaisers.
In the Racquet Club he found many friends similarly
self-dispossessed, similarly obsessed by discomfort and hatred. But
there seemed to be some steam heat there, and several open fires;
and when the wheatless, meatless meal was ended and the usual
coteries drifted to their usual corners, Mr. Vaux found himself
seated at a table with a glass of something or other at his elbow,
which steamed slightly and had a long spoon in it; and he presently
heard himself saying to three other gentlemen: "Four hearts."
His voice sounded agreeably in his own ears; the gentle glow of a
lignum-vitae wood fire smote his attenuated shins; he balanced his
cards in one hand, a long cigar in the other, exhaled a satisfactory
whiff of aromatic smoke, and smiled comfortably upon the table.
"Four hearts," he repeated affably. "Does anybody--"
The voice of Doom interrupted him:
"Mr. Vaux, sir--"
The young man turned in his easy-chair and beheld behind him a club
servant, all over silver buttons.
"The telephone, Mr. Vaux," continued that sepulchral voice.
"All right," said the young man. "Bill, will you take my cards?"--he
laid his hand, face down, rose and left the pleasant warmth of the
card-room with a premonitory shiver.
"Well?" he inquired, without cordiality, picking up the receiver.
"Mr. Vaux?" came a distinct voice which he did not recognise.
"Yes," he snapped, "who is it?"
"Miss Erith."
"Oh--er--surely--surely! GOOD-evening, Miss Erith!"
"Good-evening, Mr. Vaux. Are you, by any happy chance, quite free
this evening?"
"Well--I'm rather busy--unless it is important--hum--hum!--in line
of duty, you know--"
"You may judge. I'm going to try to secure that code-book to-night."
"Oh! Have you called in the--"
"No!"
"Haven't you communicated with--"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Because there's too much confusion already--too much petty
jealousy and working at cross-purposes. I have been thinking over
the entire problem. You yourself know how many people have escaped
through jealous or over-zealous officers making premature arrests.
We have six different secret-service agencies, each independent of
the other and each responsible to its own independent chief, all
operating for the Government in New York City. You know what these
agencies are--the United States Secret Service, the Department of
Justice Bureau of Investigation, the Army Intelligence Service,
Naval Intelligence Service, Neutrality Squads of the Customs, and
the Postal Inspection. Then there's the State Service and the police
and several other services. And there is no proper co-ordination, no
single head for all these agencies. The result is a ghastly
confusion and shameful inefficiency.
"This affair which I am investigating is a delicate one, as you
know. Any blundering might lose us the key to what may be a very
dangerous conspiracy. So I prefer to operate entirely within the
jurisdiction of our own Service--"
"What you propose to do is OUTSIDE of our province!" he interrupted.
"I'm not so sure. Are you?"
"Well--hum--hum!--what is it you propose to do to-night?"
"I should like to consult my Chief of Division."
"Meaning me?"
"Of course."
"When?"
"Now!"
"Where are you just now, Miss Erith?"
"At home. Could you come to me?"
Vaux shivered again.
"Where d-do you live?" he asked, with chattering teeth.
She gave him the number of a private house on 83d Street just off
Madison Avenue. And as he listened he began to shiver all over in
the anticipated service of his country.
"Very well," he said, "I'll take a taxi. But this has Valley Forge
stung to death, you know."
She said:
"I took the liberty of sending my car to the Racquet Club for you.
It should be there now. There's a foot-warmer in it."
"Thank you so much," he replied with a burst of shivers. "I'll
b-b-be right up."
As he left the telephone the doorman informed him that an automobile
was waiting for him.
So, swearing under his frosty breath, he went to the cloak-room, got
into his fur coat, walked back to the card-room and gazed wrathfully
upon the festivities.
"What did my hand do, Bill?" he inquired glumly, when at last the
scorer picked up his pad and the dealer politely shoved the pack
toward his neighbour for cutting.
"You ruined me with your four silly hearts," replied the man who had
taken his cards. "Did you think you were playing coon-can?"
"Sorry, Bill. Sit in for me, there's a good chap. I'm not likely to
be back to-night--hang it!"
Perfunctory regrets were offered by the others, already engrossed in
their new hands; Vaux glanced unhappily at the tall, steaming glass,
which had been untouched when he left, but which was now merely half
full. Then, with another lingering look at the cheerful fire, he
sighed, buttoned his fur coat, placed his hat firmly upon his
carefully parted hair, and walked out to perish bravely for his
native land.
On the sidewalk a raccoon-furred chauffeur stepped up with all the
abandon of a Kadiak bear:
"Mr. Vaux, sir?"
"Yes."
"Miss Erith's car."
"Thanks," grunted Vaux, climbing into the pretty coupe and cuddling
his shanks under a big mink robe, where, presently, he discovered a
foot-warmer, and embraced it vigorously between his patent-leather
shoes.
It had now become the coldest night on record in New York City.
Fortunately he didn't know that; he merely sat there and hated Fate.
Up the street and into Fifth Avenue glided the car and sped
northward through the cold, silvery lustre of the arc-lights hanging
like globes of moonlit ice from their frozen stalks of bronze.
The noble avenue was almost deserted; nobody cared to face such
terrible cold. Few motors were abroad, few omnibuses, and scarcely a
wayfarer. Every sound rang metallic in the black and bitter air; the
windows of the coupe clouded from his breath; the panels creaked.
At the Plaza he peered fearfully out upon the deserted Circle, where
the bronze lady of the fountain, who is supposed to represent
Plenty, loomed high in the electric glow, with her magic basket
piled high with icicles.
"Yes, plenty of ice," sneered Vaux. "I wish she'd bring us a hod or
two of coal."
The wintry landscape of the Park discouraged him profoundly.
"A man's an ass to linger anywhere north of the equator," he
grumbled. "Dickybirds have more sense." And again he thought of the
wood fire in the club and the partly empty but steaming glass, and
the aroma it had wafted toward him; and the temperature it must have
imparted to "Bill."
He was immersed in arctic gloom when at length the car stopped. A
butler admitted him to a brown-stone house, the steps of which had
been thoughtfully strewn with furnace cinders.
"Miss Erith?"
"Yes, sir."
"Announce Mr. Vaux, partly frozen."
"The library, if you please, sir," murmured the butler, taking hat
and coat.
So Vaux went up stairs with the liveliness of a crippled spider, and
Miss Erith came from a glowing fireside to welcome him, giving him a
firm and slender hand.
"You ARE cold," she said. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you this
evening."
He said:
"Hum--hum--very kind--m'sure--hum--hum!"
There were two deep armchairs before the blaze; Miss Erith took one,
Vaux collapsed upon the other.
She was disturbingly pretty in her evening gown. There were
cigarettes on a little table at his elbow, and he lighted one at her
suggestion and puffed feebly.
"Which?" she inquired smilingly.
He understood: "Irish, please."
"Hot?"
"Thank you, yes,"
When the butler had brought it, the young man began to regret the
Racquet Club less violently.
"It's horribly cold out," he said. "There's scarcely a soul on the
streets."
She nodded brightly:
"It's a wonderful night for what we have to do. And I don't mind the
cold very much."
"Are you proposing to go OUT?" he asked, alarmed.
"Why, yes. You don't mind, do you?"
"Am _I_ to go, too?"
"Certainly. You gave me only twenty-four hours, and I can't do it
alone in that time."
He said nothing, but his thoughts concentrated upon a single
unprintable word.
"What have you done with the original Lauffer letter, Mr. Vaux?" she
inquired rather nervously.
"The usual. No invisible ink had been used; nothing microscopic.
There was nothing on the letter or envelope, either, except what we
saw."
The girl nodded. On a large table behind her chair lay a portfolio.
She turned, drew it toward her, and lifted it into her lap.
"What have you discovered?" he inquired politely, basking in the
grateful warmth of the fire.
"Nothing. The cipher is, as I feared, purely arbitrary. It's
exasperating, isn't it?"
He nodded, toasting his shins.
"You see," she continued, opening the portfolio, "here is my copy of
this wretched cipher letter. I have transferred it to one sheet.
It's nothing but a string of Arabic numbers interspersed with
meaningless words. These numbers most probably represent, in the
order in which they are written, first the number of the page of
some book, then the line on which the word is to be found--say, the
tenth line from the top, or maybe from the bottom--and then the
position of the word--second from the left or perhaps from the
right."
"It's utterly impossible to solve that unless you have the book," he
remarked; "therefore, why speculate, Miss Erith?"
"I'm going to try to find the book."
"How?"
"By breaking into the shop of Herman Lauffer."
"House-breaking? Robbery?"
"Yes."
Vaux smiled incredulously:
"Granted that you get into Lauffer's shop without being arrested,
what then?"
"I shall have this cipher with me. There are not likely to be many
books in the shop of a gilder and maker of picture frames. I shall,
by referring to this letter, search what books I find there for a
single coherent sentence. When I discover such a sentence I shall
know that I have the right book."
The young man smoked reflectively and gazed into the burning coals.
"So you propose to break into his shop to-night and steal the book?"
"There seems to be nothing else to do, Mr. Vaux."
"Of course," he remarked sarcastically, "we could turn this matter
over to the proper authorities--"
"I WON'T! PLEASE don't!"
"Why not?"
"Because I have concluded that it IS part of our work. And I've
begun already. I went to see Lauffer. I took a photograph to be
framed."
"What does he look like?"
"A mink--an otter--one of those sharp-muzzled little animals!--Two
tiny eyes, rather close together, a long nose that wrinkles when he
talks, as though he were sniffing at you; a ragged, black moustache,
like the furry muzzle-bristles of some wild thing--that is a sketch
of Herman Lauffer."
"A pretty man," commented Vaux, much amused.
"He's little and fat of abdomen, but he looks powerful."
"Prettier and prettier!"
They both laughed. A pleasant steam arose from the tall glass at his
elbow.
"Well," she said, "I have to change my gown--"
"Good Lord! Are we going now?" he remonstrated.
"Yes. I don't believe there will be a soul on the streets."
"But I don't wish to go at all," he explained. "I'm very happy here,
discussing things."
"I know it. But you wouldn't let me go all alone, would you, Mr.
Vaux?"
"I don't want you to go anywhere."
"But I'm GOING!"
"Here's where I perish," groaned Vaux, rising as the girl passed him
with her pretty, humorous smile, moving lithely, swiftly as some
graceful wild thing passing confidently through its own domain.
Vaux gazed meditatively upon the coals, glass in one hand, cigarette
in the other. Patriotism is a tough career.
"This is worse than inhuman," he thought. "If I go out on such an
errand to-night I sure am doing my bitter bit. ... Probably some
policeman will shoot me--unless I freeze to death. This is a vastly
unpleasant affair.... Vastly!"
He was still caressing the fire with his regard when Miss Erith came
back.
She wore a fur coat buttoned to the throat, a fur toque, fur gloves.
As he rose she naively displayed a jimmy and two flashlights.
"I see," he said, "very nice, very handy! But we don't need these to
convict us."
She laughed and handed him the instruments; and he pocketed them and
followed her downstairs.
Her car was waiting, engine running; she spoke to the Kadiak
chauffeur, got in, and Vaux followed.
"You know," he said, pulling the mink robe over her and himself,
"you're behaving very badly to your superior officer."
"I'm so excited, so interested! I hope I'm not lacking in deference
to my honoured Chief of Division. Am I, Mr. Vaux?"
"You certainly hustle me around some! This is a crazy thing we're
doing."
"Oh, I'm sorry!"
"You're an autocrat. You're a lady-Nero! Tell me, Miss Erith, were
you ever afraid of anything on earth?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Lightning and caterpillars."
"Those are probably the only really dangerous things I never
feared," he said. "You seem to be young and human and feminine. Are
you?"
"Oh, very."
"Then why aren't you afraid of being shot for a burglar, and why do
you go so gaily about grand larceny?"
The girl's light laughter was friendly and fearless.
"Do you live alone?" he inquired after a moment's silence.
"Yes. My parents are not living."
"You are rather an unusual girl, Miss Erith."
"Why?"
"Well, girls of your sort are seldom as much in earnest about their
war work as you seem to be," he remarked with gentle irony.
"How about the nurses and drivers in France?"
"Oh, of course. I mean nice girls, like yourself, who do near-war
work here in New York--"
"You ARE brutal!" she exclaimed. "I am mad to go to France! It is a
sacrifice--a renunciation for me to remain in New York. I understand
nursing and I know how to drive a car; but I have stayed here
because my knowledge of ciphers seemed to fit me for this work."
"I was teasing you," he said gently.
"I know it. But there is SO much truth in what you say about
near-war work. I hate that sort of woman.... Why do you laugh?"
"Because you're just a child. But you are full of ability and
possibility, Miss Erith."
"I wish my ability might land me in France!"
"Surely, surely," he murmured.
"Do you think it will, Mr. Vaux?"
"Maybe it will," he said, not believing it. He added: "I think,
however, your undoubted ability is going to land us both in jail."
At which pessimistic prognosis they both began to laugh. She was
very lovely when she laughed.
"I hope they'll give us the same cell," she said. "Don't you?"
"Surely," he replied gaily.
Once he remembered the photograph of Arethusa in his desk at
headquarters, and thought that perhaps he might need it before the
evening was over.
"Surely, surely," he muttered to himself, "hum--hum!"
Her coupe stopped in Fifty-sixth Street near Madison Avenue.
"The car will wait here," remarked the girl, as Vaux helped her to
descend. "Lauffer's shop is just around the corner." She took his
arm to steady herself on the icy sidewalk. He liked it.
In the bitter darkness there was not a soul to be seen on the
street; no tramcars were approaching on Madison Avenue, although far
up on the crest of Lenox Hill the receding lights of one were just
vanishing.
"Do you see any policemen?" she asked in a low voice.
"Not one. They're all frozen to death, I suppose, as we will be in a
few minutes."
They turned into Madison Avenue past the Hotel Essex. There was not
a soul to be seen. Even the silver-laced porter had retired from the
freezing vestibule. A few moments later Miss Erith paused before a
shop on the ground floor of an old-fashioned brownstone residence
which had been altered for business.
Over the shop-window was a sign: "H. Lauffer, Frames and Gilding."
The curtains of the shop-windows were lowered. No light burned
inside.
Over Lauffer's shop was the empty show-window of another shop--on
the second floor--the sort of place that milliners and tea-shop
keepers delight in--but inside the blank show-window was pasted the
sign "To Let."
Above this shop were three floors, evidently apartments. The windows
were not lighted.
"Lauffer lives on the fourth floor," said Miss Erith. "Will you
please give me the jimmy, Vaux?"
He fished it out of his overcoat pocket and looked uneasily up and
down the deserted avenue while the girl stepped calmly into the open
entryway. There were two doors, a glass one opening on the stairs
leading to the upper floors, and the shop door on the left.
She stooped over for a rapid survey, then with incredible swiftness
jimmied the shop door.
The noise of the illegal operations awoke the icy and silent avenue
with a loud, splitting crash! The door swung gently inward.
"Quick!" she said. And he followed her guiltily inside.
The shop was quite warm. A stove in the rear room still emitted heat
and a dull red light. On the stove was a pot of glue, or some other
substance used by gilders and frame makers. Steam curled languidly
from it; also a smell not quite as languid.
Vaux handed her an electric torch, then flashed his own. The next
moment she found a push button and switched on the lights in the
shop. Then they extinguished their torches.
Stacks of frames in raw wood, frames in "compo," samples gilded and
in natural finish littered the untidy place. A few process
"mezzotints" hung on the walls. There was a counter on which lay
twine, shears and wrapping paper, and a copy of the most recent
telephone directory. It was the only book in sight, and Miss Erith
opened it and spread her copy of the cipher-letter beside it. Then
she began to turn the pages according to the numbers written in her
copy of the cipher letter.
Meanwhile, Vaux was prowling. There were no books in the rear room;
of this he was presently assured. He came back into the front shop
and began to rummage. A few trade catalogues rewarded him and he
solemnly laid them on the counter.
"The telephone directory is NOT the key," said Miss Erith, pushing
it aside. A few moments were sufficient to convince them that the
key did not lie within any of the trade catalogues either.
"Have you searched very carefully?" she asked.
"There's not another book in the bally shop."
"Well, then, Lauffer must have it in his apartment upstairs."
"Which apartment is it?"
"The fourth floor. His name is under a bell on a brass plate in the
entry. I noticed it when I came in." She turned off the electric
light; they went to the door, reconnoitred cautiously, saw nobody on
the avenue. However, a tramcar was passing, and they waited; then
Vaux flashed his torch on the bell-plate.
Under the bell marked "Fourth Floor" was engraved Herman Lauffer's
name.
"You know," remonstrated Vaux, "we have no warrant for this sort of
thing, and it means serious trouble if we're caught."
"I know it. But what other way is there?" she inquired naively. "You
allowed me only twenty-four hours, and I WON'T back out!"
"What procedure do you propose now?" he asked, grimly amused, and
beginning to feel rather reckless himself, and enjoying the feeling.
"What do you wish to do?" he repeated. "I'm game."
"I have an automatic pistol," she remarked seriously, tapping her
fur-coat pocket, "--and a pair of handcuffs--the sort that open and
lock when you strike a man on the wrist with them. You know the
kind?"
"Surely. You mean to commit assault and robbery in the first degree
upon the body of the aforesaid Herman?"
"I-is that it?" she faltered.
"It is."
She hesitated:
"That is rather dreadful, isn't it?"
"Somewhat. It involves almost anything short of life imprisonment.
But _I_ don't mind."
"We couldn't get a search-warrant, could we?"
"We have found nothing, so far, in that cipher letter to encourage
us in applying for any such warrant," he said cruelly.
"Wouldn't the excuse that Lauffer is an enemy alien and not
registered aid us in securing a warrant?" she insisted.
"He is not an alien. I investigated that after you left this
afternoon. His parents were German but he was born in Chicago.
However, he is a Hun, all right--I don't doubt that.... What do you
propose to do now?"
She looked at him appealingly:
"Won't you allow me more than twenty-four hours?"
"I'm sorry."
"Why won't you?"
"Because I can't dawdle over this affair."
The girl smiled at him in her attractive, resolute way:
"Unless we find that book we can't decipher this letter. The letter
comes from Mexico,--from that German-infested Republic. It is
written to a man of German parentage and it is written in cipher.
The names of Luxburg, Caillaux, Bolo, Bernstorff are still fresh in
our minds. Every day brings us word of some new attempt at sabotage
in the United States. Isn't there ANY way, Mr. Vaux, for us to
secure the key to this cipher letter?"
"Not unless we go up and knock this man Lauffer on the head. Do you
want to try it?"
"Couldn't we knock rather gently on his head?"
Vaux stifled a laugh. The girl was so pretty, the risk so
tremendous, the entire proceeding so utterly outrageous that a
delightful sense of exhilaration possessed him.
"Where's that gun?" he said.
She drew it out and handed it to him.
"Is it loaded?"
"Yes."
"Where are the handcuffs?"
She fished out the nickel-plated bracelets and he pocketed his
torch. A pleasant thrill passed through the rather ethereal anatomy
of Mr. Vaux.
"All right," he said briskly. "Here's hoping for adjoining cells!"
To jimmy the glass door was the swiftly cautious work of a moment or
two. Then the dark stairs rose in front of them and Vaux took the
lead. It was as cold as the pole in there, but Vaux's blood was
racing now. And alas! the photograph of Arethusa was in his desk at
the office!
On the third floor he flashed his torch through an empty corridor
and played it smartly over every closed door. On the fourth floor he
took his torch in his left hand, his pistol in his right.
"The door to the apartment is open!" she whispered.
It was. A lamp on a table inside was still burning. They had a
glimpse of a cheap carpet on the floor, cheap and gaudy furniture.
Vaux extinguished and pocketed his torch, then, pistol lifted, he
stepped noiselessly into the front room.
It seemed to be a sort of sitting-room, and was in disorder;
cushions from a lounge lay about the floor; several books were
scattered near them; an upholstered chair had been ripped open and
disembowelled, and its excelsior stuffing strewn broadcast.
"This place looks as though it had been robbed!" whispered Vaux.
"What the deuce do you suppose has happened?"
They moved cautiously to the connecting-door of the room in the
rear. The lamplight partly illuminated it, revealing it as a
bedroom.
Bedclothes trailed to the floor, which also was littered with dingy
masculine apparel flung about at random. Pockets of trousers and of
coats had been turned inside out, in what apparently had been a
hasty and frantic search.
The remainder of the room was in disorder, too; underwear had been
pulled from dresser and bureau; the built-in wardrobe doors swung
ajar and the clothing lay scattered about, every pocket turned
inside out.
"For heaven's sake," muttered Vaux, "what do you suppose this
means?"
"Look!" she whispered, clutching his arm and pointing to the
fireplace at their feet.
On the white-tiled hearth in front of the unlighted gas-logs lay the
stump of a cigar.
From it curled a thin thread of smoke.
They stared at the smoking stub on the hearth, gazed fearfully
around the dimly lighted bedroom, and peered into the dark
dining-room beyond.
Suddenly Miss Erith's hand tightened on his sleeve.
"Hark!" she motioned.
He heard it, too--a scuffling noise of heavy feet behind a closed
door somewhere beyond the darkened dining-room.
"There's somebody in the kitchenette!" she whispered.
Vaux produced his pistol; they stole forward into the dining-room;
halted by the table.
"Flash that door," he said in a low voice.
Her electric torch played over the closed kitchen door for an
instant, then, at a whispered word from him, she shut it off and the
dining-room was plunged again into darkness.
And then, before Vaux or Miss Erith had concluded what next was to
be done, the kitchen door opened; and, against the dangling lighted
bulb within, loomed a burly figure wearing hat and overcoat and a
big bass voice rumbled through the apartment:
"All right, all right, keep your shirt on and I'll get your coat and
vest for you--"
Then Miss Erith flashed her torch full in the man's face, blinding
him. And Vaux covered him with levelled pistol.
Even then the man made a swift motion toward his pocket, but at
Vaux's briskly cheerful warning he checked himself and sullenly and
very slowly raised both empty hands.
"All right, all right," he grumbled. "It's on me this time. Go on;
what's the idea?"
"W-well, upon my word!" stammered Vaux, "it's Cassidy!"
"F'r the love o' God," growled Cassidy, "is that YOU, Mr. Vaux!" He
lowered his arms sheepishly, reached out and switched on the ceiling
light over the dining-room table. "Well, f'r--" he began; and,
seeing Miss Erith, subsided.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Vaux, disgusted with this
glaring example of interference from another service.
"What am I doing?" repeated Cassidy with a sarcastic glance at Miss
Erith. "Faith, I'm pinching a German gentleman we've been watching
these three months and more. Is that what you're up to, too?"
"Herman Lauffer?"
"That's the lad, sir. He's in the kitchen yonder, dressing f'r to
take a little walk. I gotta get his coat and vest. And what are you
doing here, sir?"
"How did YOU get in?" asked Miss Erith, flushed with chagrin and
disappointment.
"With keys, ma'am."
"Oh, Lord!" said Vaux, "we jimmied the door. What do you think of
that, Cassidy?"
"Did you so?" grinned Cassidy, now secure in his triumphant priority
and inclined to become friendly.
"I never dreamed that your division was watching Lauffer," continued
Vaux, still red with vexation. "It's a wonder we didn't spoil the
whole affair between us."
"It is that!" agreed Cassidy with a wider grin. "And you can take it
from me, Mr. Vaux, we never knew that the Postal Inspection was on
to this fellow at all at all until you called me to stop outgoing
letters."
"What have you on him?" inquired Vaux.
Cassidy laughed:
"Oh, listen then! Would you believe this fellow was tryin' the old
diagonal trick? Sure it was easy; I saw him mail a letter this
afternoon and I got it. I'd been waiting three months for him to do
something like that. But he's a fox--he is that, Mr. Vaux! Do you
want to see the letter? I have it on me--"
He fished it out of his inside pocket and spread it on the dining
table under the light.
"You know the game," he remarked, laying a thick forefinger on the
diagonal line bisecting the page. "All I had to do was to test the
letter by drawing that line across it from corner to corner. Read
the words that the line cuts through. Can you beat it?"
Vaux and Miss Erith bent over the letter, read the apparently
innocent message it contained, then read the words through which the
diagonal line had been drawn.
Then Cassidy triumphantly read aloud the secret and treacherous
information which the letter contained:
"SEVEN UNITED STATES TRANSPORTS TO-DAY NEW YORK (BY THE) NORTHERN
ROUTE. INFORM OUR U-BOATS. URGENCY REQUIRES INSTANT MEASURES. TEN
MORE ARE TO SAIL FROM HERE NEXT WEEK."
"The dirty Boche!" added Cassidy. "Dugan has left for Mexico to look
up this brother of his and I'm lookin' up this snake, so I guess
there's no harm done so far."
"New York.
"January 3rd. 1916.
"My dear Brother:
"For seven long weeks I have awaited a letter from you. The
United-States mails from Mexico seem to be interrupted. Imagine my
transports of joy when at last I hear from you today. You and I,
dear brother, are the only ones left of our family--you in Vera
Cruz. I in New-York--you in a hot Southern climate, I in a Northern,
amid snow and ice, where the tardy sun does not route me from my bed
till late in the morning.
"However, I inform you with pleasure that I am well. I rejoice that
our good health is mutual. After all, the dear old U. S. suits me.
Of course railroads or boats could carry me to a warm climate, in
case urgency required it. But I am quite well now, and my health
requires merely prudence. However, if I am again ill at any instant,
I shall leave for Florida, where all tho proper measures can be
taken to combat my rheumatism,
"Ten days ago I was in bed, and unable to do more than move my left
arm. But the doctors are confident that my malady is not going to
return. If it does threaten to return I shall sail for Jacksonville
at once, and from there go to Miami, and not return here until the
warm and balmy weather of next spring has lasted at least a week.
Affectionataly your brother.
"Herman."
He pocketed the letter and went into the bedroom to get a coat and
vest for the prisoner. Miss Erith looked at Vaux.
"Cassidy seems to know nothing about the code-cipher," she
whispered. "I think he rummaged on general principles, not in search
of any code-book."
She looked around the dining-room. The doors of the yellow oak
sideboard were open, but no book was there among the plated knives
and forks and the cheap dishes.
Cassidy came back with the garments he had been looking for--an
overcoat, coat and vest--and he carried them into the kitchenette,
whither presently Vaux followed him.
Cassidy had just unlocked the handcuffs from the powerful wrists of
a dark, stocky, sullen man who stood in his shirt-sleeves near a
small deal table.
"Lauffer?" inquired Vaux, dryly.
"It sure is, ain't it, Herman?" replied Cassidy facetiously. "Now,
then, me Dutch bucko, climb into your jeans, if YOU please--there's
a good little Boche!"
Vaux gazed curiously at the spy, who returned his inspection coolly
enough while he wrinkled his nose at him, and his beady eyes roamed
over him.
When the prisoner had buttoned his vest and coat, Cassidy snapped on
the bracelets again, whistling cheerily under his breath.
As they started to leave the kitchenette, Vaux, who brought up the
rear, caught sight of a large, thick book lying on the pantry shelf.
It was labelled "Perfect Cook-Book," but he picked it up, shoved it
into his overcoat pocket en passant, and followed Cassidy and his
prisoner into the dining-room.
Here Cassidy turned humorously to him and to Miss Erith.
"I've cleaned up the place," he remarked, "but you're welcome to
stay here and rummage if you want to. I'm sending one of our men
back to take possession as soon as I lock up this bird."
"All right. Good luck," nodded Vaux.
Cassidy tipped his derby to Miss Erith, bestowed a friendly grin on
Vaux.
"Come along, old sport!" he said genially to Lauffer; and he walked
away with his handcuffed prisoner, whistling "Garryowen."
"Wait!" motioned Vaux to Miss Erith. He went to the stairs, listened
to the progress of agent and prey, heard the street-door clash, then
hastened back to the lighted dining-room, pulling the "Perfect
Cook-Book" from his pocket.
"I found that in the kitchenette," he remarked, laying it before her
on the table. "Maybe that's the key?"
"A cook-book!" She smiled, opened it. "Why--why, it's a
DICTIONARY!" she exclaimed excitedly.
"A dictionary!"
"Yes! Look! Stormonth's English Dictionary!"
"By ginger!" he said. "I believe it's the code-book! Where is your
cipher letter, Miss Erith!"
The girl produced it with hands that trembled a trifle, spread it
out under the light. Then she drew from her pocket a little pad and
a pencil.
"Quick," she said, "look for page 17!"
"Yes, I have it!"
"First column!"
"Yes."
"Now try the twentieth word from the top!"
He counted downward very carefully.
"It is the word 'anagraph,'" he said; and she wrote it down.
"Also, we had better try the twentieth word counting from the bottom
of the page up," she said. "It might possibly be that."
"The twentieth word, counting from the bottom of the column upward,
is the word 'an,'" he said. She wrote it.
"Now," she continued, "try page 15, second column, third word from
TOP!"
"'Ambrosia' is the word."
"Try the third word from the BOTTOM."
"'American.'"
She pointed to the four words which she had written. Counting from
the TOP of the page downward the first two words were "Anagraph
ambrosia." But counting from the BOTTOM upward the two words formed
the phrase: "AN AMERICAN."
"Try page 730, first column, seventh word from the bottom," she
said, controlling her excitement with an effort.
"The word is 'who.'"
"Page 212, second column, first word!"
"'For.'"
"Page 507, first column, seventh word!"
"'Reasons.'"
"We have the key!" she exclaimed. "Look at what I've written!--'An
American who for reasons!' And here, in the cipher letter, it goes
on--'of the most'--Do you see?"
"It certainly looks like the key," he said. "But we'd better try
another word or two."
"Try page 717, first column, ninth word."
"The word is 'vital.'"
"Page 274, second column, second word."
"'Importance!'"
"It is the key! Here is what I have written: 'An American who for
reasons, of the most vital importance!' Quick. We don't want a
Secret Service man to find us here, Mr. Vaux! He'd object to our
removing this book from Lauffer's apartment. Put it into your pocket
and run!" And the pretty Miss Erith turned and took to her heels
with Vaux after her.
Through the disordered apartment and down the stairs they sped, out
into the icy darkness and around the corner, where her car stood,
engine running, and a blanket over the hood.
As soon as the chauffeur espied them he whisked off the blanket;
Miss Erith said: "Home!" and jumped in, and Vaux followed.
Deep under the fur robe they burrowed, shivering more from sheer
excitement than from cold, and the car flew across to Fifth Avenue
and then northward along deserted sidewalks and a wintry park, where
naked trees and shrubs stood stark as iron in the lustre of the
white electric lamps.
"That time the Secret Service made a mess of it," he said with a
nervous laugh. "Did you notice Cassidy's grin of triumph?"
"Poor Cassidy," she said.
"I don't know. He butted in."
"All the services are working at cross-purposes. It's a pity."
"Well, Cassidy got his man. That's practically all he came for.
Evidently he never heard of a code-book in connection with Lauffer's
activities. That diagonal cipher caught him."
"What luck," she murmured, "that you noticed that cook-book in the
pantry! And what common sense you displayed in smuggling it!"
"I didn't suppose it was THE book; I just took a chance."
"To take a chance is the best way to make good, isn't it?" she said,
laughing. "Oh, I am so thrilled, Mr. Vaux! I shall sit up all night
over my darling cipher and my fascinating code-book-dictionary."
"Will you be down in the morning?" he inquired.
"Of course. Then to-morrow evening, if you will come to my house, I
shall expect to show you the entire letter neatly deciphered."
"Fine!" he exclaimed as the car stopped before her door.
She insisted on sending him home in her car, and he was very
grateful; so when he had seen her safely inside her house with the
cook-book-dictionary clasped in her arms and a most enchanting smile
on her pretty face, he made his adieux, descended the steps, and her
car whirled him swiftly homeward through the arctic night.