“Seems to me he’s in an awful hurry,” remarked Hugh.
“Father had probably sent him on an errand,” said Bob. “Let’s hurry and see if we can’t find father and Sergeant Riley.”
“Who do you think shot Lena?” asked Hugh.
“I don’t know. We’d better not talk here now.”
“Do you suppose it could have been the fake detective?” said Hugh regardless of Bob’s advice.
“I don’t know, but I don’t see why he should shoot one of his own gang.”
“He blew up Mr. Wernberg though.”
“I know it, but I can’t understand it, and as I said I don’t think we ought to talk here.”
They proceeded in silence. Both boys were eager to join the others and they wondered what they could be doing down by the river. Perhaps they had captured the plotter and had dispatched Karl for rope or handcuffs to secure him. At any rate nothing suspicious had happened since the shots had first been heard.
The boys had progressed but a short distance further, when suddenly a great tongue of flame shot heavenward between them and the river. An ear-splitting detonation followed, and the very earth was rocked by an enormous explosion. Both boys were thrown violently to the ground by the force of it, while showers of earth, bricks, and material of all kinds pelted down all about them.
A moment later the boys were on their feet, still partly stunned and undecided as to whether they should run or not.
“There may be another one coming,” warned Hugh.
While they hesitated a man suddenly appeared running swiftly away from the direction of the explosion.
“Hey there!” challenged Bob. “Who are you?”
For answer there came the flash of a revolver and a pane of glass in the window close beside the boys’ heads was shattered.
“Stop!” shouted Bob at the top of his voice and regardless of danger he started in pursuit of the fleeing man. Hugh was not to be left behind at such a time and together they raced after the fugitive.
Suddenly he stopped, raised his right arm, and hurled his revolver. It struck the ground directly in front of Hugh, spun around a number of times and hit him a sharp blow on his shin bone as it caromed.
“Let it alone,” cried Bob.
“It must be empty.”
Both boys were fleet of foot, but in the first fifty yards of the race the man gained on them. It was plain to see that unless something happened they would soon be outdistanced. Bob realized that the time had come when chances were to be taken. He raised his father’s hickory cane above his head, whirled it around a couple of times, and sent it spinning in the direction of the fleeing figure ahead.
The one chance in a hundred was successful. Bob’s aim was true and the heavy stick flew straight to its mark. As the man ran, one end of it protruded itself between his legs; he was tripped up and, losing his balance, fell sprawling to the ground. Almost instantly he was on his feet again, but the delay occasioned by his fall had been almost sufficient to enable the boys to catch up with him. They were barely two steps behind him now.
“Tackle him!” shouted Bob.
Like two ends going down the field to get the quarterback who is receiving the punt Bob and Hugh leaped forward at the same time. They had both had experience in football and it stood them in good stead now. The man went down, both boys literally swarming all over him.
“I’ve got his legs, Hugh,” cried Bob. “Grab his arms.”
The man kicked and struggled with all the strength that was in him. Bob hung on for dear life, however. He held one of the man’s feet in each hand and threw his body across his legs to hold them down. Hugh scrambled forward and hurled his entire weight across the man’s chest. Their prisoner’s fists were going like flails, but Hugh persisted. The thought of this German plotting against the United States was more than he could endure and he dealt the man a stunning blow squarely in the face.
A moment later the man’s arms and legs were tightly pinned to the ground while the two boys sat astride him, complete masters of the situation.
“I’d like to pound his head off,” cried Bob fiercely. “Just look at that fire.”
The bomb had done its work, and already the flames were mounting higher and higher over the damaged portion of the factory. The fire whistles were blowing violently; some one had turned in the alarm promptly anyway.
“What shall we do with him?” panted Hugh.
“You didn’t knock him out when you hit him, did you?”
“No. He’s all right.”
“Let’s get him on his feet and take him up to the office then.”
“Hang on tight.”
“Don’t worry about that. If he tries to get away we’ll choke his head off.”
Whether or not the man understood these remarks he offered no comment. Hugh held him by one arm and Bob by the other. They yanked him to his feet and marched him off in the direction of the factory office. Strange to say their prisoner offered but little resistance; he dragged his feet somewhat but followed along sullenly.
Presently there was a clatter and a clang of bells and the fire engine dashed into the yard, shooting sparks in a broad yellow stream from its stack. There was much shouting and giving of orders, and a moment later the hose cart, and the hook and ladder made their appearance.
Whether or not it was the distraction caused by these events, Bob and Hugh never could explain to themselves. At any rate they must have relaxed their caution and paid less attention to their prisoner than they should, for with a sudden violent twist of his body he wrenched himself free and was gone.
CHAPTER XXVI
AN EXPEDITION IS PLANNED
“Catch him! Catch him!” shrieked Bob hysterically.
The man darted away in the direction of the fire engine with the two boys pursuing him at top speed. The fugitive was fleet of foot, however, as had already been proved to Bob and Hugh. He was gaining rapidly on his pursuers, while their shouts and calls were lost in the general hubbub and confusion incident to the fire.
A short distance along the course of the chase two barrels supporting a plank were standing. As the man passed them he hesitated long enough to dislodge the plank and upset the barrels. They rolled directly in the path of the two boys, one of them causing Hugh to trip and fall. Bob kept up the chase, however, but the factory yard was now filled with people attracted by the fire and the man he followed soon eluded him in the crowd.
There was nothing for Bob to do, but give up. He turned back and presently discovered Hugh limping toward him.
“Hurt yourself?” he demanded.
“I skinned my knee. Where’s our man?”
“He got away in the crowd.”
“We’re a couple of fine ones,” exclaimed Hugh disgustedly.
“We certainly are,” echoed Bob. “I’m getting so I’m ashamed to see father; all I do is report failures to him.”
“We’d better go back to the office and see him though.”
They returned to the office and at the door met Mr. Cook coming out. He greeted the boys heartily, for he had been worried about them.
“I’m glad to see you two,” he exclaimed. “I was afraid something had happened to you.”
“Oh, we’re all right,” said Bob. “Where’s Lena?”
“What do you mean?” demanded his father. “I haven’t seen her.”
“Well, just look at that,” said Bob, pointing to a dark stain on the floor. “That’s where she was lying; she was the woman who screamed.”
“You don’t tell me!” exclaimed Mr. Cook. “Was she badly hurt, and who shot her?”
“We can’t answer either question. All we know is that we found her outside, unconscious, and brought her in here. She was wounded in the shoulder and bleeding badly. We left her here and went out again.”
“Why didn’t you telephone for a doctor?”
“We did. We sent for Doctor Clarke.”
“And here’s a note from him on the table here,” exclaimed Hugh. As he spoke he handed the piece of paper to Mr. Cook.
“‘Have taken patient to hospital in order to remove bullet,'” Mr. Cook read aloud.
“Golly,” exclaimed Hugh. “There’s lots going on around here, isn’t there?”
“Too much,” said Mr. Cook soberly. “I hope that explosion hurt no one.”
“How about the fire?” asked Bob.
Sergeant Riley arrived just then and reported that the fire department had the blaze under control and that it was only a question of a short time before it would be entirely out.
“‘Tis lucky it is no worse,” he said seriously.
“And it’s also lucky that my insurance will pay for it all,” added Mr. Cook.
“The thing that makes me mad is that the German divils who exploded the bomb all got away,” exclaimed the sergeant bitterly.
“Were there more than one of them?” asked Bob.
“We don’t know for sure,” replied Riley. “One o’ the men told me he saw two of them running away, but he may have been mistaken.”
“Well, Hugh and I caught one of them,” said Bob.
“You did!” almost shrieked Sergeant Riley, bouncing out of his chair. “Where is he then?”
“We don’t know.”
“What do yez mean?”
“He got away from us, and we lost him in the crowd.”
“Oh, my boy, my boy,” wailed Riley, nearly in tears. “Why did yez ever let such a thing happen to you? That was our chance to put a crimp in the whole gang, and now I suppose they’ll be after blowing things up worse than ever.”
“But we didn’t do it on purpose,” protested Bob meekly.
“I know yez didn’t,” said the sergeant. “If I had only been there! I can tell yez that if ever I get my hands on one of them fellers he’ll never get away.”
“It’s too bad,” exclaimed Mr. Cook. “Still I don’t think the damage they did here will seriously interfere with our work for the Government.”
“I hope not,” said Sergeant Riley fervently. “I hope yez can make enough ammunition to blow the bloody Germans clean out of France and Belgium and sink every blooming submarine they have on the ocean.”
“I hope so, too, Riley,” said Mr. Cook. “There’s no room in a decent world for people who act as the Germans do.”
“First of all though we’ve got to fix it so they can’t interfere with our factories over here,” exclaimed the sergeant. “I wish we could catch this gang.”
“What happened to Heinrich?” asked Bob. “Did he get away?”
“He did not,” said Sergeant Riley. “One of my men escorted him to the police station where he’ll be waiting until we want him.”
“He didn’t say what was on that sheet of paper, did he?”
“Not yet.”
“Where’s Karl?” asked Bob. “He was going to read it for us.”
“I don’t know where Karl is,” said Mr. Cook. “He hurried off to look after part of the factory just before the explosion occurred. He’s a good soul, Karl. I wish all the German-Americans were as loyal as he is.”
“Did one of the guards shoot Lena?” Hugh inquired.
“No,” replied Mr. Cook. “Karl and I asked them all, and not one of them had even seen her. It’s a peculiar thing.”
“I wonder if our friend the fake detective could have done it.”
“He wasn’t the feller you caught, was he?” asked Riley.
“No,” said Bob. “Our man had whiskers, didn’t he, Hugh?”
“Yes,” said Hugh.
“They may have been false,” suggested the sergeant. “You’ve got false ones on.”
“And they still itch terribly.”
“Why don’t you take them off?” inquired Mr. Cook. “I guess you won’t need them any more to-night, will you?”
“That depends on what is going to happen,” said Bob. “Have you any plans, Sergeant?”
“I wish I had,” exclaimed Riley. “What I want to find out is where this gang has its headquarters. When I know that I’ll go there and pay a call.”
“I know where it is,” said Bob.
“You do?” demanded the sergeant in surprise. “What are you two anyway; a couple of young Sherlock Holmes?”
“Not at all,” laughed Bob. “We are suspicious of a certain house though, and it might be worth while to go up there and take a look around.”
“That’s the stuff,” exclaimed Riley eagerly. “I’ll swear you all in as deputy sheriffs, and we’ll get guns for yez and go up just as soon as we can.”
“We’re only suspicious of this house, you know,” said Bob.
“Where is it?”
“Twelve eighty-two Elm Street.”
“I heard Heinrich say something about Elm Street,” exclaimed Riley. “Your clue may be a good one after all.”
“Poor old Heinie,” murmured Bob.
“Poor old nothing,” cried Riley. “Who feels sorry for a German plotter?”
“But Heinie was stupid and they probably made a fool of him.”
“The fact remains, however, Bob,” said Mr. Cook, “that Heinrich evidently was in with this gang and therefore he ought to be punished.”
“You’re dead right, Mr. Cook,” exclaimed the sergeant. “No matter whether a man’s been made a fool of or not, if he’s dangerous he ought to be locked up.”
“I suppose so,” Bob agreed. “I feel sorry for him though, more sorry than I do for Lena. She has more brains than Heinie and ought to know better.”
“Meanwhile we ought to be on our way to Elm Street,” exclaimed Sergeant Riley. “Come on, boys, let’s get started.”
CHAPTER XXVII
A RAID AND A SURPRISE
Mr. Cook’s automobile was still standing outside, and a few moments later the little party of four were seated in it and on their way to the police station. Bob was at the wheel.
Upon their arrival it was the work of only a few moments to have Mr. Cook and the two boys sworn in as deputy sheriffs. Bob and Hugh retired to the wash room and after more or less trouble succeeded in removing the false crop of hair from their faces.
Sergeant Riley ordered two policemen in uniform to go with them, and when Mr. Cook, Bob and Hugh had been equipped with pistols and heavy night sticks, the band, now increased to six, were ready to proceed. They used the Cooks’ car again and presently were gliding silently along in the direction of Elm Street.
Two blocks distant from number twelve eighty-two Bob stopped the car and every one got out. A short consultation was held and it was decided to separate. Consequently Mr. Cook, Hugh, and one of the policemen went down a side street in order to go around the block and approach the house from the opposite direction. Bob, Sergeant Riley, and the other policeman were to wait a few moments and then move on up Elm Street. It was thought best to have Bob with one party and Hugh with the other as both boys knew the house and could lead the way with no possibility of mistake.
It was exciting work and Bob and Hugh both felt very important and elated at being allowed to accompany the officers on this raid. Furthermore they were going to see the inside of the mysterious stucco house, and perhaps clear up the whole mystery of the German plot and spy system in High Ridge.
After a few moments’ wait Bob, Sergeant Riley, and the policeman started to move slowly up the street. They met no one on the way, for it was now after midnight and people were mostly in bed. Only one house had a light burning as far as they could see; that house was a white stucco one, number twelve eighty-two and the light was on the third floor.
“Here come the others,” whispered Bob to Sergeant Riley as they drew near their destination.
Orders had already been given and every one knew what he was to do. One of the policemen went around to the rear of the house and took his position by the back door. Mr. Cook was to guard the front entrance, and both men had instructions to do everything necessary to prevent the escape of any of the inmates of the house.
The remaining four members of the party, led by Sergeant Riley, stole noiselessly up the steps and approached the front door. Riley took a bunch of keys from his pocket, inspected the lock, and then selected one of his keys. At the first trial the lock responded; he grasped the door knob and silently and, with extreme caution, pushed open the door.
The hallway was unlighted. Sergeant Riley took out his flashlight and pressed the button on it for a second as he inspected the hall. He uttered a low grunt of satisfaction as he noted that there was a carpet on the floor, and also on the stairs leading to the second floor. That meant their footsteps would not be heard. He beckoned to the others to follow, and softly stepped inside.
Scarcely daring to breathe, the four raiders advanced. They made no noise on the thick carpet, but a collision with a piece of furniture or a false step might have ruined all their chances for success. Sergeant Riley was in the lead, quick flashes from his pocket torch showing the way.
After what seemed hours they reached the second floor. Thus far nothing had occurred to make them think that they had been discovered, but the hardest part was yet to come. From the third floor came the sound of voices and a shaft of light from an open door pierced the darkness of the hallway. The men above were talking in German.
There was a brief halt and then Sergeant Riley stole forward again. With breath in check and walking on tip-toe his three companions followed. The open door above was about five or six feet distant from the head of the stairs. They started up the last flight; the voices of the men above seemed raised in anger, and though Bob of course could not understand what was said, he thought that the tone of one of them sounded strangely familiar.
Suddenly the stairs under Sergeant Riley’s foot creaked. The little band stopped short, their hearts pounding; every one gripped his revolver a bit tighter and waited for developments. Apparently the noise had not been heard, however, for the voices continued as before.
The advance was resumed and finally Sergeant Riley reached the top of the stairs. He went a little farther and took his stand just beside the opened door and barely out of the light. As the others came up they stationed themselves directly behind the sergeant and close against the wall.
It was a tense moment. Bob and Hugh could feel their hearts hammering so that it seemed to the two boys the noise must be heard. Their faces were pale, and frankly they were frightened. Suppose the men in the room should outnumber them and overpower them? Certainly if they were the spies and plotters they sought, they would be desperate. Then again it was just possible that the men were peaceful citizens, and that the affair would turn out to be a farce; that would be almost too humiliating.
Suddenly Sergeant Riley stepped forward into the open doorway.
“Hands up!” he ordered sharply, covering the inmates of the room with his pistol. His three companions crowded into the doorway alongside him.
There were three men seated about a table in the room, and they were completely taken by surprise. They started to their feet with muttered exclamations of anger and astonishment, staring with wide eyes at the four pistols levelled at them from the doorway.
One man hesitated and made a move as if to reach around towards his hip pocket, but Sergeant Riley was alert.
“None of that,” he cried. “Put up your hands.”
The man hastened to obey and together the three stood and faced their captors. Sullen and angry they looked, and not one of them spoke.
“Now, Marshal,” said Sergeant Riley, speaking to the policeman next to him. “I wish you would be so good as to relieve these gentlemen of any hardware they may have concealed about them.”
While Riley and Bob and Hugh covered the three prisoners, the officer went rapidly from one to another and took a revolver from each one of them. He also examined their other pockets, but finding no additional weapons returned to his post by the door.
While this little drama was being enacted Bob had a chance to look about the room. It was scantily furnished, a table, four chairs, and a shelf along the wall constituting its equipment. On the shelf were a dozen or more bottles that looked as if they might contain chemicals; a square black box stood on the table and also a brass spring and what resembled a cord hanging from one side. Bob decided it was a bomb. From a nail in the center of the ceiling a small alligator was suspended by its tail. Bob recognized the missing Percy, and decided that this must be the headquarters of the gang that had used an alligator as its symbol, and traced a picture of it on all the notes and warnings they sent out.
While the furnishings of the room were interesting, the three men captured were far more so, and as Bob saw one of them he experienced a distinct shock. The first was a man with dark hair, weighing perhaps one hundred and fifty pounds, and having a close-cropped mustache; the fake detective beyond a doubt. The second was a thin, wiry individual with a beard, and a swollen, red nose. He was the man who had escaped from his and Hugh’s hands at the factory, Bob decided. His nose was swollen where Hugh had hit him. This must be the man who had set off the bomb.
The third prisoner was the one who furnished the surprise to Bob, however. He was a man Bob had known for years, and liked, admired, and trusted as well. He was Karl Hoffmann.
“Well,” exclaimed Sergeant Riley, “it looks as if you men was through with your work. Get out your handcuffs, Marshal.”
Up till now not one of the prisoners had spoken. When they saw the manacles being brought out, however, they shifted uneasily and Karl spoke.
“Bob,” he said. “This is all a mistake.”
Bob would have liked to believe him but before he had an opportunity to say anything Sergeant Riley spoke up. “Perhaps it is a mistake,” he exclaimed. “We can talk that over down at the police station better than here, however.”
There was now little left to do. The handcuffs were quickly attached to the prisoners’ wrists and Hugh was sent to the second floor to telephone for the patrol wagon. The prisoners were marched downstairs, and Mr. Cook and the other policeman were summoned. Mr. Cook was as shocked as Bob had been to see Karl Hoffmann among those who had been captured in the raid.
There was nothing for it, however, but to see him loaded into the patrol wagon and driven away to police headquarters.
CHAPTER XXVIII
CONCLUSION
Mr. Cook, with Bob and Hugh, returned home. They had been in the house only a few moments when the telephone rang, and Mr. Cook answered it to find Sergeant Riley on the wire.
“I want to come up and see yez,” he said. “I’ve let one of your friends out of jail and I’ll bring him along with me if you don’t mind.”
He offered no further explanations, and the three friends were at a loss to understand what his visit could mean and who the “friend” might be.
“It must be Karl,” said Mr. Cook. “No one can convince me he’s disloyal.”
“I guess that’s who it is all right,” agreed Bob.
They discussed their experiences of the past two days, but no one was able to offer any satisfactory explanation for the strange events through which they had passed. There was only one thing of which they were certain and that was that a band of men who were working for Germany had been plotting against the peace and welfare of the United States.
It was not long, however, before Sergeant Riley arrived and every one was greatly astonished to see that his companion was none other than Heinrich.
“Yes,” said the sergeant. “Here’s your friend Heinrich back again, and I guess he’s here to stay this time.”
Mr. Cook was a trifle cool in his greeting to the chauffeur. Not that he did not like him, but he had hoped to see Karl with the police sergeant. He had been convinced of Heinrich’s guilt, while he had considered Karl to be innocent. Furthermore Karl had been foreman of the factory for a number of years and had proved himself a most intelligent and valuable workman.
“Heinrich has a story to tell you,” said Sergeant Riley.
“You confessed, did you, Heinrich?” asked Mr. Cook. He was under the impression that he had confessed in order to save himself, and glad as he was to have the mystery and uncertainty ended he did not like a “tell-tale.”
“He had nothing to confess,” said Riley. “Tell your story, Heinrich.”
“Well,” began Heinrich nervously, “in the first place you all suspected me because I worked for Mr. Wernberg. Mr. Wernberg was working all the time for the United States.”
“What?” exclaimed Mr. Cook in surprise.
“Yes,” said Heinrich, “that iss what he was doing. He knew there was plots on foot and he knew every one in High Ridge was suspicious of him. He decided to expose those plots and prove that he was a good American. He hired Lena and me mit some others to help him.”
“Lena, too, was all right?” demanded Bob.
“Certainly,” exclaimed Heinrich. “Of course she iss all right. Mr. Wernberg he knew who these plotters were, but he was not able to prove anything about them. He also knew that they were meeting in that old house out in the woods. The night before last he went out there in a big gray roadster to search the house.”
“I didn’t know that was his car,” said Bob in surprise.
“Yes,” said Heinrich, “and I was mit him. You and Hugh followed us and we knew it, so to scare you away I took the automobile and brought it home. You see Mr. Wernberg wanted to do it all himself.”
“We couldn’t understand it,” muttered Hugh. “To think that you were fooling us all the time, Heinie.”
“Yes,” grinned the chauffeur, “I fool you all right. Well that night we could not find anything so we left and Mr. Wernberg went back the next afternoon to look around. One of the plotter’s gang discovered that he was there and tried to blow him up.”
“But who locked us in that room?” demanded Bob.
“I did,” said Heinrich. “I thought you was part of the German gang.”
“Didn’t you see us?”
“No, I only hear you talking. Then I fire one shot to give you a scare.”
“And you almost blew Bob’s head off,” added Hugh.
“I tried to shoot high,” said Heinrich. “Then I hurry away to tell Mr. Wernberg that I had two of the plotters caught. When I was gone I guess one of the plotters came there and you had a fight with him.”
“The fake detective,” exclaimed Bob.
“His name iss Kraus,” said Heinrich. “He has a little mustache, and in the afternoon he blew up the house, because he knew we were after him and he wished to destroy all evidence.”
“That’s when Mr. Wernberg got hurt,” said Mr. Cook. “What was he doing in the house, Heinrich?” He was amazed at the way the mystery was clearing itself up.
“As I told you,” said Heinrich. “He was looking around for evidence against the gang.”
“Why didn’t he notify the police if he was suspicious?”
“As I told you,” repeated Heinrich patiently, “he wished to do all himself and when he turned those men over to the police no one could say he was forced to do it. They sent him lots of warning notes because they knew he was after them.”
“What did the alligator mean?”
“It iss the sign of a secret society; all Germans in High Ridge know that. It was that snake Hoffmann who stole poor Percy to kill him and hang him up in the room where they had their office.”
“How long has Karl been a member of the gang?” asked Mr. Cook.
“Ever since Germany went to war with England,” said Heinrich. “Nearly three years.”
“But he never talked as though he sided with Germany.”
“The ones who mean trouble never do,” said Heinrich. “Karl knew enough to keep his mouth shut. You see you never suspected him.”
“Tell me about Lena,” exclaimed Mr. Cook. “Why was she meeting that man Kraus down town tonight and going around with him if she was not working with the gang?”
“She pretended to Karl Hoffmann that she was working mit them. All the time she was acting as a spy for Mr. Wernberg. Because Karl Hoffmann was in love with her he told her lots of things, and it was in that way we got most of our information.”
“Pretty clever, eh?” exclaimed Sergeant Riley, approvingly.
“There’s another thing, Heinrich,” said Mr. Cook. “Why wouldn’t you read what was written on that paper tonight?”
Heinrich looked sheepish. “I could not,” he said. “Kraus had become suspicious of Lena; he feared she was going to betray them and the note was a warning to her. It said that if they were caught they would see to it that she went to jail mit them. At that time you were all suspecting poor Lena, and I was afraid you would send her to jail before she had a chance to prove to you that she was loyal.”
“You’re in love with Lena, aren’t you?” asked Mr. Cook.
“We are to be married,” said Heinrich, proudly, his eyes shining.
“Did Karl suspect that Lena was treacherous?”
“I think not until he saw that note.”
“He was going to read it to us though.”
“He would not have read it,” cried Heinrich hotly. “He would have made up something, not what it said at all.”
“Who shot Lena?”
“Kraus shot her. She was going to your office to warn you that your factory was going to be blown up, and he shot her to prevent that.”
“Who was the man with the whiskers?” asked Bob.
“His name iss Mueller. He iss the one who set off the bomb tonight.”
“That’s what we thought,” exclaimed Bob. “Well, Hugh, you hit him one good one anyway, didn’t you?”
“I hope so,” said Hugh.
“There was four of them altogether,” said Heinrich. “Kraus, Mueller, Hoffmann, and a man named Schaefer who went to blow up the railroad bridge Friday night and has not been heard of since.”
“We know where he is, don’t we, Hugh?” laughed Bob.
“Where iss he?” demanded Heinrich.
“In jail, I guess,” said Bob. “We caught him on the bridge with a bomb.”
“Good boys,” said Heinrich warmly.
“Why were you so angry when you had to go with father tonight?” asked Bob. “Where was your engagement?”
“I was going with Lena to twelve eighty-two Elm Street, where Schaefer lived. You see Lena was already a member of the gang, so they thought, and I was to join too, so we both could watch them better.”
“Somebody telephoned Lena about meeting them there this evening.”
“Yes, it was Mueller. He thought he had a recruit in me.”
“Well, Heinrich,” said Mr. Cook, “I guess that explains pretty nearly everything, and I’m sorry I ever suspected you.” He shook hands warmly.
“Oh, that’s all right,” smiled Heinrich. “I had to get suspected with the job I had. That was part of the game.”
At that moment the door bell rang and Dr. Clarke was ushered in. “I thought you might be interested in the hospital patients,” he said. “Mr. Wernberg will recover all right, and Lena is not badly hurt. She keeps calling all the time for somebody named Heinrich. Do you know him?”
“Will you excuse me, Mr. Cook?” exclaimed Heinrich, and, without waiting for a reply, he dashed out of the room, nearly falling over two chairs in his haste to get away to the hospital.
“He seems to be in a hurry, doesn’t he?” laughed the doctor.
“I must be going, too,” said Sergeant Riley. “I have some boarders down at my hotel who may need attention.”
“Well, good-night, Sergeant,” exclaimed Mr. Cook, shaking hands with the doughty officer. “I’m sorry Hoffmann was mixed up in this business, but I’m glad it’s all cleared up. I hope we’ll have no more trouble.”
“Ye won’t, as long as yez have two young fellers like Bob and Hugh working for yez,” exclaimed Riley. “The United States needs boys like that; this war is going to be a long and hard one in my opinion.”
“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Cook agreed. “I guess we’ll come out all right if we all work hard and stick together though.”
“That’s it,” exclaimed Riley. “We must all work together. Our personal feelings don’t count. It’s what our country needs.”
He said good night all around and went out.
* * * * *
The next morning Bob was out in the yard inspecting a plot of ground where he was going to have a garden. He could not enlist, but he was going to “do his bit” by raising a few vegetables, and thus help to supply the country with its necessary food. He heard a step behind him and turned to see Frank Wernberg.
Frank held out his hand. “Shake hands with me, Bob,” he exclaimed. “I want to tell you that I was wrong about that the other day, and you were right.”
Bob responded heartily. “Yes,” said Frank.
“I was dead wrong. I had thought from the way father talked that he was pro-German, but I found out that he wasn’t at all. When it came to a question of deciding between his country and Germany there was never any doubt about where he stood.”
“I know that, Frank,” said Bob. “I wish every one of German birth or descent over here felt the same way.”
“I think most of them do,” said Frank.
“I guess that’s right,” Bob agreed. “Look at Lena and Heinrich.”
“Well, all I wish now,” exclaimed Frank, “is that we could enlist.”
“So do I,” cried Bob enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you and Hugh and I could enlist and go together?”
The new adventures are recorded in the story entitled,
BOB COOK AND THE GERMAN AIR FLEET.
THE END