The Apartment Next Door by William Andrew Johnston (iphone ebook reader txt) 📕

Strong had been mistaken in the directions. He examined the books at the other end. There was nothing there. He recalled that the girl had said that no one except two girls had entered the store between the time she had discovered and copied the cipher and the time of his arrival. If these girls had not taken the message away there could be only one other explanation--the clerk in the bookstore must have removed it and concealed it somewhere.

"Which of the war books do you think the best?" he asked for the purpose of starting a conversation.

"There's that many it is hard to say, sir," the young woman answered.

Something in her inflection made him look sharply at her. Her accent surely was English, or possibly Canadian. A few judicious questions quickly brought out the information that she came from Liverpool and that she had three brothers in the British army. Carter decided that it was preposterous to suspect her of being in league with German agents. There was only one other thing that could have happened. Some one else--some one who had eluded Miss Strong's notice--had removed the cipher message.

Promptly he had telephoned to her to meet him. He was glad that he had done so, for her evident perturbation as she answered the 'phone both interested and puzzled him. Pausing just long enough to report to Chief Fleck, he hastened to the rendezvous, arriving there first. He selected a bench apart from the others, where the wall jutted out from the walk, and seating himself, idled there as if merely watching the river. In obedience with his instructions Jane, when she arrived, planted herself nonchalantly on the same bench, and paying no attention to him, pretended to be reading a letter.

Presently Carter rose and stretching himself lazily, as if about to leave, turned to face the Drive, his keen eyes taking in all the passers-by. Apparently satisfied, he sat down abruptly and turned to speak to the girl beside him.

"All right, K-19," he said, "it's safe. Now we can talk."

"I've got such a lot to tell," cried Jane.

"First," said Carter, "just where did you put that cipher message when you put it back?"

"What!" cried the girl, her face blanching, "wasn't it there? Didn't you find it?"

Carter shook his head.

"It must be there," she insisted. "Are you sure you looked in the right book--the fifth book from the end on the second shelf on the up-town side of the store."

"It's not there. I examined every book there, on the shelves above and below and at the other end, too."

"The clerk in the store, that girl--must have hidden it," cried Jane with conviction.

"That's not likely. She's an English girl--from Liverpool. She has three brothers fighting on the Allies' side. We can leave her out of it."

"Who else could have taken it?"

"There's only one answer," said Carter slowly and impressively. "Some one went into that store between the time you copied the message and the time I met you at the drug-store. You told me no one but a couple of girls had entered. Was there any one else? Think--think!"

"There was no one," said Jane thoughtfully, "no one except the two girls together. I never thought of suspecting them."

"What did they look like? Could you identify them?"

"I did not notice them particularly," Jane confessed. "I was expecting Mr. Hoff's confederate to be a man."

"They're using a lot of women spies," asserted Carter. "Don't you remember what the girls looked like?"

"One of them," said Jane thoughtfully, "wore an odd-shaped hat, a sort of a tam with a red feather."

"Would you know the hat again if you saw it?"

"I think--I'm sure I would."

"Well, that's something. Watch for that hat, and if you ever see it again trail the girl till you find out where she lives. If you locate her telephone Mr. Fleck at once. And now, what has happened to you?"

"I've so much to tell, important, very important, I think."

She hesitated, wondering how much Carter was in the chief's confidence. Did he know the import of the cipher message she had discovered? Ought she to talk freely to him?

"Do you know what those numbers meant?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, "about the eight transports sailing. The Chief told me about it."

"Well," she said, with a sigh of relief, "I have become acquainted with young Mr. Hoff already. I've just had luncheon with him."

"That's fine," he cried enthusiastically. "A lucky day it was I ran across you."

"When you 'phoned me he was there in our apartment, he and a navy lieutenant, Mr. Kramer."

Attentively he listened as she told of the ruse by which she had inveigled them into coming to luncheon, reminding him that it was the same naval officer that he himself had seen in close conversation with Hoff at the Ritz the day before. He nodded his head in a satisfied way.

"They are together too much to be up to any good," he commented. "Tell me the rest. What made you so rattled when I 'phoned you?"

He listened intently as she told of finding young Hoff standing right behind her as she had inadvertently mentioned aloud "the fifth book."

"Do you suppose," she questioned anxiously, "that he overheard me and understood what we were talking about? He left right away after that. I do hope I didn't betray the fact that they are being watched."

"We can't tell yet," said Carter. "The precautions they take and the roundabout methods they have of communicating with each other show that all Germany's spies constantly act as if they knew they were under surveillance. In fact, I suppose every German in this country, whether he is a spy or not, can't help but notice that his neighbors are watching him--and well they might."

"I don't see why," cried Jane, "Mr. Fleck did not have old Mr. Hoff locked up right away. He could not do any more damage then, or be sending any more messages about our transports."

"That wouldn't have done the least bit of good," said Carter decisively. "Watching our transports sail and spreading the news is only one of many of their activities. Somewhere in this country there is a master-council of German plotters, directing the secret movements of many hundreds, perhaps many thousands of spies and secret agents. They have their work well mapped out. They have men fomenting strikes in the government shipyards and stirring up all kinds of labor troubles. Others are busy making bombs and contriving diabolical methods of crippling the machinery in munition plants. A flourishing trade in false passports is being carried on, enabling their spies to travel back and forth across the Atlantic in the guise of American business men, ambulance drivers, Red Cross workers and what not. Still others of their agents are detailed to arrange for the shipping of the supplies Germany needs to neutral countries. By watching shipping closely they gather information, too, that is of value to the U-boat commanders. Every time there is any sort of activity against the draft, or peace meetings, or Irish agitation, we find traces of German handiwork. We have dismantled and sealed up every wireless plant we could find in America except those under direct government control, yet we are positive that every day wireless messages go from this country somewhere--perhaps to Mexico or South America, and from there are relayed to Germany, probably by way of Spain. Think of the enormous amount of money required to finance these operations and keep all these spies under pay. While we try to thwart their plans as we find them, all our efforts are constantly directed toward discovering who controls and finances their damnable system. We seldom if ever arrest any of the spies we track down, but keep watching, watching, watching, hoping that sooner or later the master-spy will be betrayed into our hands."

"You don't think then," said Jane disappointedly, "that old Mr. Hoff is one of the important spies."

"We can't tell yet. He may be just one of the cogs--perhaps what they call a control-agent. We don't know yet. Germany has been building up her spy system forty years, and it is ingenious beyond imagination. Her codes are the most difficult in the world. It took the French three years and a half to decipher a code despatch from Von Bethmann Hollweg to Baron von Schoen. By the time they had it deciphered in Paris the Germans had discovered what they were doing and had changed the code. It is seldom any one of the German spies knows much about the work that other spies are doing. The rank and file merely get orders to go and do such a thing, or find out about such a thing. Often they are not told what they are doing it for. They obey their orders implicitly in detail and make their reports, get new orders and go on to do something else. Only their master spy-council here knows what the summary of their efforts amounts to. Arresting old Hoff, or a dozen more like him, would not cripple them much. Other men would be assigned in their places, and the nefarious work would go on."

"I don't know," insisted Jane thoughtfully. "I believe that old Mr. Hoff is a far bigger spoke in the wheel than you think. I watched his face as I followed him this morning. He is a man of great intelligence, and I should judge a man of education."

"They'd hardly be using a man of that sort to carry messages," objected Carter. "Maybe you're right. We have not watched him long enough to find out. We've got nothing yet on the young fellow. Maybe he's the real boss of the outfit. At any rate he is the one the Chief is anxious to have you keep tabs on. Are you to see him again?"

"Oh, yes," the girl answered quickly, a touch of color coming to her face, "I think so. I asked him to come to see me. I think--in fact I'm sure--he will. Do you want me to watch the bookshop to see if they leave any more messages there?"

"No," said Carter. "I've got one of my men assigned to that. You keep after the young fellow. Say, does your father keep an automobile?"

"Yes, but it's been put up for the winter. We're going to bring it out as soon as Dad can find a chauffeur. Our man--the one we had last year--has been drafted, and good chauffeurs are scarce now. Why did you ask?"

"I'll find you a chauffeur," said Carter decisively.

"You mean"--Jane hesitated--"a detective?"

Carter grinned.

"An agent like you and me. K-27 is an expert chauffeur and mechanic with fine references. His last job was with the British High Commission, and they gave him good testimonials."

"What do you want him to do?"

"Driving the Strong car makes a good excuse for him to be around without exciting suspicion. He might even come up-stairs once in a while to get orders or do little repair jobs around the apartment. Some day, supposing the people next door were all out, he might even succeed in planting a dictograph so that you could sit there in your room and hear all that was going on and what the Hoffs talked about. That would help a lot. If ever he was caught prowling about the hall, the fact that he was your chauffeur would provide him with an alibi. Do you think you can fix it up with your father?"

"I'm sure of it. When can he come?"

"The sooner the better--to-night--to-morrow."

"I'll tell Dad at dinner to-night that I've learned of a good chauffeur and have asked him to come in at eight this evening."

"Fine," said Carter. "He'll be there. And don't forget to report once a day to the Chief."

"I won't."

"And if anything unexpected turns up," said Carter, "and you need help, take a good look at that nurse that is passing."

Jane turned curiously to inspect a buxom girl in a drab nurse's costume who was wheeling a baby carriage along the sidewalk