Front matter (continued 3)

"Very possible," agreed "the baron," leaning forward with a look of hard and harsh concern in his eyes. "And where were you in the meantime?"

"On my way on a transport for England. The spy in the hospital, I suppose, did not observe me very closely. Fortunately I had my coat off and perhaps he did not identify me as a soldier. At any rate, I was not interfered with, and I am here."

"No doubt of that," returned the intelligence official rather absently; "and you brought the message. Well, all we can do is remember the circumstances you have just related and take them into consideration if developments don't prove satisfactory. I'm glad you told me about this, for it may prevent a lot of confusion. It wouldn't be well for you to venture back into Canada with that picture on your arm. You'd be picked up as a deserter, and the intelligence officers wouldn't be very slow finding out that you were the fellow they've been hunting for ever since the raid on that Toronto hospital. As a matter of fact, I doubt if you can be of much use to us in any of the countries of our allied enemies with that thing on your arm."

"I have an idea to remedy that," said Irving with a smile that suggested something of a novelty in his mind.

"What is that?" asked "the baron."

"Peel this picture off and graft some new skin in its place."

The intelligence official laughed, but he was interested as well as amused.

"That isn't a bad idea at all," he said. "On the whole I am inclined to take you seriously. You seem to have a scientific turn of mind, and that always appeals to an intelligent German. I'm going to put you to work under the direction of a man who will give you a thorough tryout, and we'll find out what you're good for. You seem to be ambitious and intelligent and have a good record behind you. Go ahead now and show us what you're worth."

This announcement and the accompanying instruction delighted the spy beyond measure. If his recent experiences had not schooled him in the very wise habit of self-restraint, his first joyful impulse might have got him into trouble.

"Just wait a minute and I'll fix you up with an order for some money and some clothes," said "the baron" after a few moments of silence.

He picked up a pen and busied himself filling out a form and writing a note on a letterhead of the department. These he folded and placed hi separate envelopes. The envelopes he addressed and handed to the spy.

"There, that's all today, I think," he said. "Whatever you need hereafter will be taken care of by Mr. Herrmann. Inquire outside and you'll be directed where to go to have this order cashed."

Irving thanked him and left the office. Ten minutes later he was outside the building with a comfortable roll of bank-bills in his pocket. As he started up the street with directions in his mind for reaching the quartermaster's office, he saw Blau on the opposite sidewalk and was reminded of the instruction given that intelligence operative to shadow the young spy's shadower.

CHAPTER XXX

BEFORE BREAKFAST

Irving dismissed from his mind for the time being the mystery concerning the middle-aged man in civilian clothes who had followed him through the streets on two occasions. His fears regarding the incident were dispelled, for he felt that Blau, the intelligence operative on the opposite side of the street, would take care of that matter very efficiently. Everything was coming his way now, and he in his mission than he had felt at any other time walked alone; with greater confidence of success since landing with his parachute.

It was a ten minute walk to the quartermaster's headquarters. At the entrance of the building, his curiosity concerning the game of "shadow chase shadow" which he presumed to be going on behind him was aroused by a sudden reverting of his mind to the subject, and he turned and looked down the street by which he had come. There was Blau, half a square away, but the "middle-aged man in civilian clothes" was not in sight.

"I wonder if he got onto the fact that somebody was directed to watch him," Irving mused. "But that ought not to have stopped him. He had nothing to fear from an agent of another department if he was engaged in legitimate government business."

The spy delivered his requisition for a soldier's uniform and was given in turn an order on the supply house and directions how to reach it. Then he left the building and took a car for the place where he was to get his suit.

Blau took the same car, but the "shadow" he had been ordered to "shadow" was not there unless he had disguised himself so successfully that Irving was unable to recognize him. The operative appeared to be somewhat puzzled, too, but he made no sign of recognition to the soldier in enemy uniform, and the latter maintained a like pretense of unacquaintance.

An hour later the spy was clad in a first lieutenant's uniform and on his way back to the hotel. Blau kept within hailing distance of him, but his shadowing seemed to be futile, for the "middle-aged man in civilian clothes" had not appeared in any recognizable guise or disguise. Indeed, Irving was certain that nobody except the operative had followed him since he came out of the quartermaster's office and started for the store-rooms.

The applicant for an army uniform was required to enlist for service in the army before it could be supplied. Irving was not surprised at this, but he was very much surprised by the kind of uniform given him. It bore the insignia of a first lieutenant's rank.

"That's certainly generous on the baron's part," he said to himself. "I don't understand it. I didn't read his note to the quartermaster, nor the quartermaster's order. Maybe they would have afforded some explanation. Maybe I shall have to earn my rank and meanwhile will go about like an automobile for which a license has not been issued but bears a tag 'license applied for.' Maybe that's my case here--first lieutenant's commission applied for. It looks kind of irregular, but I suppose 'the baron' knows his business. Anyway, mine is a special case all around, however one looks at it."

When he filled out his enlistment papers, of course Irving signed the name of Adolph Hessenburg, late of Toronto, Canada, and on the "history sheet" that he had to fill out he entered data given him by the boy of the original tattooed cubist-art message. Then he was granted the use of a room where he discarded his Canadian uniform and put on his new Prussian military disguise.

He felt that he was disguised now as he at no time had hoped to be since planning his spy expedition into the heart of the kaiser's kingdom. He surely must have the full confidence of the Prussian officials with whom he had come into contact, or he would not have been elevated to the military rank and position of trust that now were virtually his.

Irving was particularly pleased with the ease he had experienced in picking up the idioms of the German language. He had an excellent memory and scarcely a word or a phrase that was taught to him at school or behind the Canadian lines, or that he had heard since landing with a parachute on territory held by the Prussian armies, had failed to make a lasting impression on his mind. Moreover, he was very quick to put ideas together and in that way get their associated significance; so that he skillfully "figured out" the meaning of not a few words that he had never heard before they were used in conversation with him by "the baron" and other persons with whom he came in contact. And he was almost as quick and skillful in his use of those same words for the expression of his own ideas.

After leaving the quartermaster's supply depot, Irving visited a haberdashery and bought several suits of underwear, shirts, collars, and socks, and then returned to the hotel. As he entered his room and deposited his bundles on the bed a funny thing happened.

He stopped short--true, he could not have gone much farther without falling over the bed, but nevertheless there was a decided "shortness" to his "stop."

"My goodness!" he exclaimed, clapping his hand to his appetite region. "I haven't had any breakfast yet."

Which being a sufficiently thrilling climax for the closing of a chapter, we will carry the reader over in suspense to the next.

CHAPTER XXXI

AT WORK IN THE SPY OFFICE

Irving laughed and felt hungrier than ever. The humorous relaxation afforded him great relief from the nervousness of his morning's activities, which had been associated enough with doubt and apprehension to make a coward run and a brave man extremely cautious.

"Well, that's a good one," the young pseudo-boche lieutenant continued in soliloquy. "Here it's nearly 2 o'clock and I haven't eaten my breakfast, and meanwhile I'd forgotten all about it. And I'm as hungry as a bear. I wonder if the British blockade has left enough food in the kaiser's kingdom, to fill up the vacuum inside of me. I think I'll go and find out. That'll be worth-while information to carry back to the Canadian commanders."

So out he went to a restaurant two squares away, where he had small difficulty in getting all he wanted to eat, the only qualification being that he had to pay prices so out of proportion to his income that he instinctively began to figure out the financial problem of how to make his salary carry him through to the end of the month.

"I'm starting out too swell," he concluded after several minutes' reckoning. "I'll have to eat at cheaper restaurants and get a cheaper room. That makes me think I don't know how much my room at the hotel is going to cost me; but it's bound to be pretty steep. Anyway, I don't care, so long as I can pull through on my salary. I don't want to carry any of this money with me when I go back to the other side of No-Man's Land."

Irving did not ask how much the hotel was charging for his room. He merely announced that he would check out that evening after engaging quarters in a comfortable rooming house in a semi-residence district near the Tiergarten. Economy was not the only motive that caused him to make this move. Being now in German uniform, he reasoned that he might be able to throw off of his trail the "middle-aged man in civilian clothes" who had been shadowing him, if he changed his living address also. As a further precaution he made this change late in the evening.

Next morning he reported for duty at the office of "Mr. Herrmann" as he had been instructed by "the baron" to do. Mr. Herrmann proved to be in charge of a suite of offices in the intelligence building in which were employed more than a hundred persons, most of them men, varying in ages from 20 to 70. Irving, for want of detailed information regarding their duties, classed them all as clerks, stenographers and typists at first glance, and this in general was a very good classification, although many of them performed special work that entitled them to ranking positions of greater dignity. And he had not been employed there more than two or three days when he learned that half of them held such ranking positions together with salaries proportionate to the grades of work they did.

"Can you operate a typewriter?" asked Mr. Herrmann after conducting the new employe through one large and several smaller work-rooms under his superintendence.

"With two fingers," Irving replied with a smile.

"Learned it at home, eh? Well, you won't need a lot of speed. I understand your education in German is not very far advanced."

"Not very far," the spy replied.

"Can you read the script?"

"Yes, I can work it out. I know the letters, but they come to me rather slowly."

"You'll make it all right after a few days' practice. I'm going to set you at work first copying some translated cipher messages." (The boy's heart began to thump eagerly, but the thumping became a weaker reflex pattering as the superintendent continued.) "They don't amount to much. We get masses of indifferent material from numerous sources, but we keep it all carefully cataloged, indexed, and cross-indexed several times. Any little insignificant item of information may be worth a good deal to us at any time. That's one secret of the great value of the German spy system. Now I'll leave you with this budget of communications and let you work it out with your own intelligence. That's one way we have of finding out what a man is worth."

Irving longed to ask him how he protected such an intricate system of concentrated information from leaks that might be of value to the enemy, but wisely refrained.

"I'll find that out by keeping my eyes and ears open," he told himself. "I mustn't ask any questions except such as bear directly on my duties and are calculated to promote my efficiency."

He sat down at the desk assigned to him and was soon diligently, eagerly at work. His eagerness, however, was a well-camouflaged secret.

CHAPTER XXXII

A STARTLING RECOGNITION

For two weeks Irving continued his work in the record offices of the great German espionage system. His experiences there during this time were without special incident, except that they evolved before his mind a continuous motion picture of scientific detail far more intricate, comprehensive, and deep-reaching than he could ever have imagined.

There could be no doubt that "the baron," Mr. Herrmann, and the staff of experts, clerks, stenographers, and typists looked upon the "parachute hero" as a bona fide fatherland loyalist. The story of his "camouflaged escape" by parachute from an enemy aeroplane to deliver a cryptic-code message that he carried all the way from America had circulated among them, and the glee with which they commented on his skill and success indicated the intense feeling with which they, one and all, regarded the cause for which the Teutonic race was fighting--the supremacy of the empire founded by Prince Bismarck. Irving discovered also another important human factor in this relation, namely, that the initiated members of the great spy organization of the central powers could discuss among themselves the secrets of their system without becoming in the least gossipy; hence, the danger of their inadvertently dropping hints of important state matters never intended for "outside ears" was small indeed.

A more secretive group of employes it would be difficult to imagine. Moreover, their secrets seemed to be grouped in sections and degrees. And the most peculiar feature of the whole system, perhaps, was the fact that few instructions were given, defining these sections and degrees. Irving received none himself, and in all the time he was connected with the bureau he learned of nobody else who had been told what, or what not, to do or say in this regard.

"Here seems to be another instance of the requirement of instinctive understanding," he told himself a good many times. "They seem to give me credit of being an extremely intelligent fellow. Well, I hope I exceed their estimate of me. If I do, they may find it necessary co revise their system somewhat."

The degrees of secrecy Irving learned in the course of a week or more were of a graduated character. For instance, he soon discovered that he might talk about his own work to any and all other members of the force, but all of them outside of his class would not discuss their work with him. After he was advanced to the next higher grade of work he found, as he had already had reason to suspect, that there were two degrees of the great spy system within the "circumscribed freedom" of his intelligence. This "freedom" was circumscribed by a prohibition, forbidding him to discuss any spy subject to anybody outside the office except on special direction from superior authority.

Irving progressed rapidly in his work. He exhibited such ready comprehension of details and purposes that he was soon marked by the entire office force as a "coming man" in the government secret service. Undoubtedly his spectacular method of transit from the Canadian to the German lines helped materially to boost along his growing reputation, but it would also be unfair to put too much emphasis on this feat of daring and skill. Irving really deserved much credit for innate ability.

In his efforts to create a general feeling of satisfaction and confidence in order to ward off any suspicions which might arise regarding his purpose and motives, the young spy did a good many things that almost caused in him a rebellious boiling over of patriotic sentiment. He did much to perfect a filing system that had been neglected because of illness of the man previously in charge, and offered a number of suggestions for certain other efficiency improvements which brought forth complimentary notice from Superintendent Herrmann. But all the time, while doing these things, Irving kept in mind the big purpose of his mission which outmeasured so greatly in importance his services to the enemy that his feelings of self-reproach for the aid he was incidentally giving the kaiser's spy machine were short-lived.

Evidently it was the purpose of Mr. Herrmann to advance his spy pupil as rapidly as possible. Undoubtedly he was under orders to do this from "the baron." Although the reason for this method of procedure had not been stated in so many words, the understanding seemed to be clear enough that it was the purpose of the department to send him back to America equipped for very important work at an early date.

Three weeks after he entered the office he began to accumulate the information for which he had been sent. He then was given access to the card-index system of the great world-spy organization. It was like a city-library catalog, with references to files of interminable data buried away in metal boxes in a large vault.

In his work with this catalog and files he was associated with a man whose countenance was strangely familiar to him from the first. He tried to assume that there was merely a resemblance in the face of this man to that of some other man he had known on the Canadian front or at home, but such assumption failed to satisfy him. He could not drive away the feeling that he had met this fellow somewhere since he dropped from the sky with a parachute behind the German battle lines, but although he studied over the matter for hours while busy with his work he was unable by such efforts to solve the mystery.

The solution came during a period of relaxation, as the solution of many mysteries come. On the third day since his last advancement in the service, while making entries on certain catalog cards, there recurred to him a mental picture of his experiences with the unidentified man who had shadowed him through the streets while he was still in Canadian uniform. Two weeks before he had dismissed this incident from his mind, being convinced that the man had given up his quest, whatever it was.

But the returned picture did not rest long peacefully in his mind. It was followed closely by a thrill that almost made him drop the card that he held in his hand. He looked quickly, almost involuntarily, at his associate worker, who was bent over a task at his desk.

Irving knew at once that he was not mistaken. Before him was the "middle-aged man in civilian clothes" who had shadowed him more than three weeks before from the intelligence building to the hotel where he was living and to other places in the city.

CHAPTER XXXIII

A SURPRISING OFFER

Emil Strauss was the name of Irving's coworker in the card index room. One could hardly say that he was either an agreeable or a disagreeable fellow. He had little to say. It was generally understood that he was very efficient in his work and ranked as one of the leading, if not the leading, experts in the department.

Strauss was not a typical Teuton in appearance. Irving thought he looked as much like an Irishman as a German, that he might have passed for either or a Swede. He was of medium height, somewhat slender of build, and had a smooth, round face, out of which shone two piercing black eyes--that is, they shone and pierced when the camouflage of heavy eyelashes and eyebrows was lifted. Otherwise one would have noticed almost everything else about him first.

There was no doubt in Irving's mind as to his identification, but he caught not even a surreptitious glance of recognition from the fellow at any time. He attended strictly and diligently to his own business, and the spy did likewise from the moment of his recognition of the man. He was determined his new associate should see no evidences of uneasiness in him as a result of this development.

Three days elapsed after Irving's last advancement to the card-catalog division, and still the conversations between him and his working companion were of the "yea, yea, nay, nay" character. Finally, however, the boy decided to attempt to draw Strauss into conversation. He did this by reference to humorous incidents in the war as brought out in cartoons and pointed paragraphs in Berlin newspaper and magazines.

He was somewhat surprised, and pleased also, to note that the "middle-aged man in civilian clothes" did not meet his advances with coldness or indifference. The fellow proved, indeed, to be much more polite than it had at first seemed possible. He appeared to enjoy Irving's palaver, for the youth was something of a wit, but preferred to listen rather than talk himself. Finally, however, he grew more communicative and manifested something of interest in his associate's personal affairs.

"They're telling some great stories about you around here," he said one day as they were preparing to go out for lunch. It was the first time they had quit work for the noon hour at the same time. Usually Irving went first and his companion went out after he returned, although Strauss was virtually "his own boss" and came and went as he chose.

"Yes, they're a bunch of gossips around here," Irving replied with a deprecating smile. "And you know what magnified stories gossips turn out when their tongues get busy."

Strauss smiled mysteriously and said:

"Oh, for that matter we are all gossips, even the quietest of us sometimes. All you have to do is to get us off on the subjects that we are well informed about and you'll soon find out how our tongues can wag at both ends."

"It's pretty hard for me to imagine your tongue wagging at both ends," Irving returned with more meaning in his mind than he expressed in his tone of voice.

"Why?"

"Because you seem to enjoy listening more than talking."

"I am engaged in a secret business," Strauss explained, lifting his shaggy brows slightly and darting a sharp glance at the other.

"Yes, so am I," Irving returned quickly. "But I like to talk."

"So I observe," said Strauss with veiled significance, which the boy did not try to penetrate.

"Just to be sociable," the spy added by way of explanation and to prevent the conversation from lagging.

But Strauss did not appear to be so talkatively eager. They were in the locker and wash room during most of this exchange of words, and nothing further was said between them until they were outside the building. The catalog expert then spoke first.

"Where do you eat?" he asked.

"Oh, any place," Irving replied. "I've been in two or three restaurants around here. There's a good one down in the next block."

"That suits me," said Strauss.

They walked along in silence half a square, and then the boy's mysterious companion put to him the most inquisitive query that the spy had listened to from this man since he became acquainted with him:

"When do you expect to go back to America?"

"Good!" Irving said to himself. "Sounds as if he's going to open up. Maybe I'll get something out of him after all."

He little dreamed how much that something was going to be.

"I don't know," he answered aloud. "I haven't received any orders yet."

"You'd better begin to find out then," was the expert's advice uttered in tones of startling sharpness. "I suppose you know it's up to you to decide that matter yourself."

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," Irving replied with a matter-of-factness of manner, which was anything but expressive of what was going on in his mind. The fact is, he was a little disturbed by the last remark of his companion.

"I'll have to undergo a surgical operation before I start back," he added.

"What's that?" inquired Strauss. "Were you wounded?"

"No," Irving replied. "But I must get rid of a mark of identification and go back as another person."

Strauss nodded a stoical sign of interest. They were now at the entrance of the restaurant for which they were headed, and the conversation ceased until they were seated at a table in one corner of the room and well removed from other lunchers. After they had been served they resumed their discussion of Irving's proposed operation in subdued tones.

"It must be a curious growth on your body that you should have to remove it in order to avoid identification," Strauss remarked as he spread a "knife-end" of war-time "butter" on a piece of black bread.

"No, it isn't a growth," Irving replied. "It's that cubist art picture on my arm."

"Oh, I see," Strauss grunted. "But," he added, "I don't just see how an operation there is going to do you much good. What are you going to have done--have your arm cut off?"

"No--have the skin peeled off."

"Ach," grunted the card-catalog expert. "That will leave a scar."

"Not if I have some other skin grafted in its place."

"Quite an idea. Where do you expect to get the other skin to graft there?"

"From some part of my body," Irving replied.

"Ja wo-ohl," said the other slowly, with a suggestion of doubt in his voice not contained in the phrase. "But that would leave a scar on your body, and if some sharp fellow tried to identify you as the person who brought that tattooed message ever here the scar might help him to explain the disappearance of the picture on your arm."

"Yes, that's true," Irving agreed. "But the chance of anything of that sort is small. Anyway, I'd have to find somebody who would give me a section of his skin four inches by two."

"There are thousands of patriotic Germans who are willing to give their lives for their country," reasoned the expert. "It ought not to be hard to find somebody who would give a few inches of skin."

"You are very logical," the spy observed. "Perhaps there's somebody in our office who would make such a sacrifice for his country."

"I'll do it myself," declared Strauss quickly.

In view of the fact that the latter appeared a few weeks previously to have regarded him with very grave suspicion, Irving had to admit to himself after this offer that the spy-cataloger was more of a mystery than ever.

CHAPTER XXXIV

SKIN GRAFTING

"Your offer is very kind," Irving said with emphasis intended to express warmth of feeling.

"No--patriotic," Strauss declared.

"No doubt of that," the spy admitted; "but a man can be patriotic and kind at the same time, can he not?"

"Yes, but this is all patriotism."

"Very well, I'll accept your offer," Irving announced. "But I doubt if Mr. Herrmann will allow it. You are a very valuable man in the office, and the operation would surely make it necessary for you to lay off a few days. He'll probably insist that an office boy or clerk or stenographer make the patriotic sacrifice in your stead."

"That'll suit me--just so there is no delay in finding someone who's willing," Strauss replied.

Irving proved to be correct in his prophecy of the probable attitude of the superintendent toward the proposition. Mr. Herrmann objected strenuously for the reason suggested by the spy and he took it on himself to find a person who would supply the skin to be grafted. Two days later he reported success and preparations for the operation were begun.

But everybody connected with these preliminaries had an important lesson to learn regarding the proper method for a layman to approach a matter of science. None of them, of course, knew anything, except in a very general way, about skin grafting. Irving had assumed that it was a simple process, and, as a matter of fact, it is, if we accept the principle of the simplicity of all things. But what startled him most was the simplicity of the error he had fallen into.

Mr. Herrmann gave Irving a note to the superintendent of one of the city hospitals and directed him to go there and make arrangements for the operation. He was authorized to state that a young soldier who had lost one of his legs in the first battle of the Marne had promised to furnish the needed four-by-two inches of skin to replace the tattooed integument on his arm.

The spy did as instructed and was turned over to a member of the surgical staff. The latter listened to the boy's story and his suggestions and then inquired:

"At what college of physicians and surgeons did you get your degree?"

Irving no doubt flushed like a schoolboy. He realized that the member of the hospital staff was laughing at him, and this confused him more than a veiled suspicion that he was a Canadian spy would have done.

"The college I graduated from was that of mother's home remedies," he replied.

"I thought so," nodded the surgeon with a smile. "Let me see--you are in the intelligence department, are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Doing important work, aren't you?'

"I believe so."

"Work that requires sharp wit?"

"Supposedly."

"Well, sharp wits never assume anything without some information to back them up. Your ideas of skin grafting are a good deal like a child's. In the first place we shan't need anybody to supply any skin. Sorry to disappoint the young patriot with really commendable spirit of loyalty."

Irving looked his surprise.

"You'll supply all the skin we need," the surgeon continued.

"But it is important that there be no scars," Irving insisted.

"There won't be any, or so slight that they'll be hardly noticeable," was the surgeon's reassuring reply. "Let me explain the process to an unscientific keen wit of the government's intelligence department."

The surgeon lifted the spy's bared arm with his left hand and began his explanation, indicating with one finger now and then the various moves necessary as he described the process.

"With a razor," he said, "we will cut an outline around this hideous art of yours. Then we'll peel off the atrocity and cremate it over an alcohol flame. Next we'll peel a strip of the same length and three-fourths of an inch wide just below here, leaving the upper end of the strip attached and twisting it around so that it will lie midway between the edges of the raw space where the tattooing was. Then we'll cut under the skin along both sides to loosen it an inch or more back and draw the loosened skin to the piece in the center and make a hair suture. The reason we must run a strip of skin over the middle of the raw area is because this area will be too wide for stretching the skin at the sides over it. Skin that is stretched too tight will die. The narrow raw place produced by the peeling of the strip down over the wrist can be covered by pulling together the edges of the skin on both sides after running the razor back under it a short distance. Quite different from the process you imagined, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Irving admitted.

"I bet you thought all that was necessary was to peel off a piece of skin and lay it on the raw place after this cubist art picture had been removed. Isn't that true?"

"Maybe--something of the kind. I hadn't thought it out in detail," Irving replied.

"Of course, you hadn't. You'd have been too scientific for a secret service operative, wouldn't you?"

"Can't secret service people be scientific?" Irving inquired.

"What do you think about it?" asked the surgeon. "You ought to know more about it than I do. But I'll tell you what my frank and unscientific opinion in the matter is."

"What is it?"

"That government secret service is 1 per cent information and 99 per cent bluff."

"That's a little strong on the side of the bluff," said the spy, smiling.

"But there's something to it?"

"Yes."

"Now you need this much science to prevent your bluff from getting you into trouble. When you attempt to bluff a scientific man be sure not to bluff along the line of his knowledge and the line of your ignorance. By the way, when do you want that operation performed?

"The sooner the better," Irving replied.

"How about now?"

This almost took the boy's breath away, but after a few minutes he answered:

"That's all right, I suppose, but I'd better call up my office first and tell the boss what's doing."

"Very well; here's a telephone. Call him up."

Irving did so and in a few minutes had authority to "go ahead and have it over as soon as possible."

CHAPTER XXXV

THE TAPPING ON THE WINDOW

Irving slept under an anæsthetic during the operation. He objected at first to the administration of ether, but the surgeon insisted.

"I don't want you to make any trouble," he insisted. "Remember you're not a scientific youth and might do something ridiculous. If I'm going to perform this operation you must take orders and obey them."

That settled it; Irving acquiesced. When he recovered consciousness he found himself in a hospital bed with his left arm bandaged and feeling a good deal like a limb of a tree, or anything else with a like degree of life. He remained in bed until the next morning, when his arm was put in a sling and he was permitted to move about as he pleased, although directed to remain in the hospital. Two days later he was allowed to leave the institution, but was instructed to return daily for examination and redressing of the graft.

He returned at once to the intelligence office and reported the success of the operation. The chief surgeon had informed him that his arm might be taken out of the sling in about a week.

During this period Irving was in the office much of the time, although he was able to be of little service with the use of only one arm. Still, he found it possible to add a good deal to his knowledge of the system of which the government was planning to make him an important agent, and this was, on the whole, quite satisfactory to him.

The youthful spy's plans for carrying out his mission for the British government had been developing rapidly since he became a member of the staff in the German intelligence office. And not a little of this development had been quite unforeseen by him. His original plans, therefore, underwent considerable change as time and experience advanced.

For instance, he decided not to attempt to make a list of names of leading enemy agents in the United States and Canada to take back with him. This had been his original purpose. He now regarded it as unwise, unsafe. He would depend on his memory to retain a store of information of this kind. So he watched and examined and probed and memorized, going over the information he had accumulated many times in his leisure hours in order to keep it fixed and unmistakable in his mind.

"I think I could go back to school and memorize history dates as I never did before," he told himself one evening about a week after the skin-grafting operation. "Gee! I never realized I had such a memory. I can run off a string of dope as long as the tune the old cow died on, just like saying the ABC's."

Irving had forgotten the "tune the old cow died on," but the expression stuck in his mind as a relic of nursery days.

One of the divisions of service in the intelligence department that interested the spy particularly was the telegraphic division. It came as an intermediate grade in his course of instruction, and he was required to learn to read the ticking of the telegraph instrument. Fortunately, a few years before, he had learned the alphabet while amusing himself with an amateur wireless outfit, and it now required comparatively little time for him to develop a fair degree of proficiency as a key-listener.

"You can never tell when it'll be greatly to your advantage to be able to read the telegraph instrument," Mr. Herrmann explained. "In fact, that may be one of your most important occupations in America--tapping wires, for instance."

Indeed, the spy caught a number of messages of incalculable importance while pursuing his studies in this division and made careful note of them in his mental repository.

About a week later he had a novel "telegraphic" experience, which, in turn, was to have an important bearing on his fortunes as a spy in the enemy's country. The affair took place in the rooming house where he was living. While he endeavored to get out in the evening, as a rule, and mingle with citizens of all sorts and descriptions, in order to absorb as much general information as possible, still he retired almost every night in good season, and not infrequently went early to his room to study, rehearse, memorize and plan. In this manner he endeavored to improve every opportunity to make his excursion a success.

He had just finished one of these solitary sessions in which several leading newspapers and magazines played an important part, and was about to lay them aside and prepare for bed, when his attention was attracted by a faint tapping sound. At first he gave little heed to it, presuming, in a semi-conscious way, that it was occasioned by a continuous breath of air and a tiny, loose pendant of some sort in the exterior construction work of the house. But it continued in a strangely familiar way and seemed to grow a little louder very gradually.

Suddenly, Irving sat up straight and listened rigidly. Anyone observing him in this attitude could not have failed to be impressed with the feeling that an alarm of some character was thrilling his every nerve center.

"My goodness!" was the exclamation that smothered itself within him. "What in the world can that mean? Yes, no, yes--somebody is trying to communicate with me. He's using the telegraphic signal. He's asking me to answer, to indicate in some way that I am getting his message. He says he's a friend. He knows I'm a British spy. But maybe it's a trap to catch me. What shall I do? If he's a friend he surely ought to know better than to expect me to make such an admission. But he says he has important information. What--what in the world shall I do? I may be in very great danger. Here is certainly the test of my life."

CHAPTER XXXVI

A REVELATION

"I have an important message for you. I am a French spy. I must get this message to you. Answer me in some way. Heave a big yawn or clear your throat and I'll know you hear me and get what I'm saying. I merely want to make sure you are what I think you are. I don't dare reveal myself to you for fear that I may be mistaken and you'd turn me over to the government."

These words were tapped off, alphabetically, with a small instrument, probably a pencil, on the window overlooking a court inclosed by the building on three sides. After a pause of half a minute, following the appeal just recorded, the dot-and-dash tapping continued thus:

"I am looking through the shade of your window and can see that you are listening attentively; so you need not reply. Just continue to listen, and I shall know everything is all right.

"When you leave for America you will be supplied with a message in cipher, prepared by me, for a certain agent of the kaiser. That message will bear the appearance of having been written by a friend of yours to you, but it will contain information in invisible ink for your benefit as a loyal agent of the Allies. This information will be of great value to the Allies, supplying them with material for undermining the Teutonic spy system in England, France, and America, which recently declared war.

"This is all. I merely wished to advise you of what you will find written with invisible ink on the paper that will be placed in your possession when you set out on your return to America."

The tapping ceased. Irving remained like a statue in his chair for several minutes. Then he arose, went to the window and pulled the shade aside. The court was dark, save for a solitary dim light out at the entrance. He could just faintly discern the steel structure of the fire escape near the window.

"That's the way he got up," he half muttered. "He stood there on that landing while he tapped his message. I wonder who he is and how he spotted me. He must be a very clever fellow. I really believe he's what he represented himself to be; and yet, it may possibly be a trap to catch me. However, I don't see what I can do except await developments."

He went to bed and slept better than might have been expected under the circumstances. But he had become so used to critical situations by this time that he felt almost capable of sleeping peacefully on the "edge of the earth" with a torpedo for a pillow.

Next day the mystery of the window-telegraph spy bothered him a good deal, even more than it did immediately after the fellow had "dotted and dashed" his message on the pane of glass.

"I wonder who he was?" he repeated many times. "I wonder if he's somebody I'm in close touch with every day?"

The suggestion caused him to watch narrowly every person in the office with whom he did business for the German government. But the more he watched, the more unsatisfactory the situation became. He continued his furtive outlook several days, but finally admitted to himself that the prospect of his efforts solving the mystery was anything but bright.

Meanwhile the spy's preparations for a new excursion out into a broad field of international espionage were rapidly drawing to a close. The surgeon at the hospital who had performed the skin-grafting operation on his arm pronounced it sufficiently well healed, first, to warrant taking the limb out of the sling, and then, a week later, for the removal of the bandage. There were a few slightly rough places here and there. around the edges of the patch, and one small scar at the lower end of the middle strip of skin where it had been twisted to cause it to lie "right side out" through the middle of the larger patch and make the latter complete by meeting the outer edges that had been undercut and drawn to it.

All things considered, Irving was well pleased with the course of events during his sojourn in the German capital. Although a number of situations had developed with rather dangerous aspect, he had pulled through all of them with apparent success. While he was still reporting daily at the hospital for the dressing of his arm his lieutenancy commission was acted upon in the war office and was delivered to him through Mr. Herrmann.

At last the day arrived for a windup of the young spy's affairs in the intelligence offices, and he was summoned into the presence of "the baron" and Superintendent Herrmann. A third man also was present to receive the young espionage student. He wore a navy uniform and was introduced as Capt. Bartholf of the submarine service.

"You will go with Capt. Bartholf on board his boat," "the baron" announced, addressing "Lieut. Hessenburg." "He will land you on the coast of Spain and from there you will go to a German consul and devise a method for getting you to Mexico and from there into the United States.

"By the way," the high intelligence official remarked, suddenly interrupting himself and addressing Superintendent Herrmann; "how about that letter that was being prepared for Lieut. Hessenburg to take along?"

"I'll see," replied Herrmann, as he started for the door.

"Bring Strauss in with you," "the baron" called after him. "I may want to ask him some questions."

"Strauss!"

The name echoed in Irving's brain with a succession of significant thrills. What did Strauss have to do with the preparation of the letter he was to take with him? Was it possible--?

He did not finish the sentence in words, but the idea was there and remained uppermost in his mind during the remainder of the session in "the baron's" office. Presently Herrmann returned, accompanied by the card-catalog expert, who carried an envelope of ordinary business-correspondence size in one hand. This envelope he laid on the desk in front of the intelligence chief.

The latter picked it up, looked keenly at Strauss and asked with like sharpness of voice:

"This paper was prepared entirely by you, was it?"

"Yes," the cataloger answered.

"And it has been in no other person's hands at any time since you began work on it?"

"No."

"And you vouch for the accuracy and thoroughness of its preparation?"

"Yes."

"That's all. You may retire."

Strauss left the room. "The baron" turned to Irving, handed him the letter, and said:

"This innocent looking missive is of vast importance. It is addressed in cipher to a very important person in America who is high in the confidence of the United States government. You have learned how to read this cipher and will work it out for yourself. That is all. Good-by. I wish you a continuation of the success that has been yours in a remarkable degree heretofore."

Irving took "the baron's" offered hand and then left the office accompanied by Capt. Bartholf. As he went the name of Strauss continued to ring in his head, together with this startling conviction:

The catalog expert was the French spy who had tapped the "telegraph message" on his window at the rooming house!

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE SUBMARINES

Lieut. Ellis of the Canadian army, alias Lieut. Hessenburg of the German army, had quite enough to think about as he left the office of "the baron" in company with the submarine commander. Out in the reception room the latter took leave of him, saying, "Meet me at the Kaiserhof at 9 o'clock tomorrow morning"; then the youthful spy, with a counter-spying commission from the enemy, went to his desk and began to make arrangements for his departure.

Mr. Herrmann selected from the office force a former soldier who had lost one arm, and to him Irving made a brief statement of the work he had been doing so that his successor might continue where he had left off. For a short time he debated in his mind whether to go to those of his fellow workmen with whom he had been more intimately associated and bid them farewell, but he decided that this would not be in harmony with the "community conduct" of the officials and employes of the bureau. In fact, he had observed little in the association of the office that had suggested real community life. Everybody connected with the intelligence bureau seemed either to have been born with a cold furtiveness of manner or to have developed an espionage attitude of this sort in the atmosphere of the greatest spy system the world had ever known.

However, he disliked very much to leave the place for the last time without passing at least an "aufwiedersehen" to the one person there who he felt certain was a friend of the great cause of human liberty for which the allied nations were fighting. But Strauss seemed disposed to ignore him if possible. He passed several times near the expert's desk, but the latter pored more diligently than ever over his work. Once Irving caught his eye and attempted to pass him a look of intelligent meaning, but Strauss turned away quickly, and Irving left the building without saying good-by to one of the occupants.

"A very cold-blooded business," he told himself. "My! I'm glad to be out of there. I'm afraid I'm not built along cold enough lines for a spy even in behalf of a great and meritorious cause. That fellow Strauss is an ideal spy. He must be the best any nation ever produced. He certainly has worked himself into a powerful position of confidence with the enemy. But that was some chance he took when he tapped that message on my window. I wonder if he expected me to discover who he was after he told me he was the fellow that prepared the letter that was to be given to me. And when he assured the baron that nobody else had had the letter in his possession, nobody else remained for me to suspect. Well, he must know now that I spotted him; but he surely exhibited extremely wise caution when he refused to recognize even a significant look from me. Good-by, Mr. Strauss, or whatever your name is. You were too shrewd to let me shake your hand, and cold judgment tells me you were right. I hope after the war is over I may take a trip to Europe and look you up. But, judging from the way you looked at me, or avoided looking at me, I'm afraid you'd take advantage of the opportunity to give me a calling down such as few people have ever received. I'd probably feel the knives of your sarcasm making ridiculous mince meat out of me."

Next morning, promptly at the appointed hour, Irving was at the information desk of the Kaiserhof, asking for Capt. Bartholf. The latter was in his room waiting for the young intelligence officer. Two hours later, arrangements having been made for the transfer of baggage, the captain and the lieutenant were on board a train and headed for one of the principal submarine ports of the German coast.

The trip was uneventful, except that it afforded Irving an opportunity to make a study of the character of an official representative of the policy of ruthlessness of the military government of Germany. Capt. Bartholf was a fit exponent of this policy and exceedingly efficient because of the intelligence with which he could disguise the barbarous nature of his ideas. Hours before they reached the port of their destination, the spy was convinced that an enemy who fell into the clutches of this sub-sea commander might as well toss hope to the fishes.

"I don't believe he'd take a prisoner if he could help it," Irving mused as a climax to his conclusions. "I'd never surrender to a man like him if I knew in advance what kind of fellow he was. It'd be a finish fight even though there were no hope in it for me."

They arrived at the seaport in the evening and took rooms at a hotel. Two days they remained in this city. The captain explained the delay by saying that he was awaiting orders to start on a raiding cruise. Finally the orders arrived, and he announced that they would go on board at once.

Half an hour later they were at the docks, where a dozen U-boats were lined up, some of them taking in provisions and oil, or undergoing inspection and minor repairs. Irving's eyes were busy with new objects of interest at this submarine harbor, for he had never before seen an undersea craft. Eagerly he took in the scene, regarding the various objects with more than the calculating interest of an international spy; and while in the act of boarding the vessel in which he was about to take his first submarine trip, he almost forgot, as the romantic thrill of the experience went through him, that he was surrounded by enemies in whose hands his life would be worth only a volley of rifle balls if his real identity were revealed to them.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

"KAMERAD!" AGAIN

"Shut off the power."

Irving was in the conning tower with Capt. Bartholf and Lieut. Voltz of U-31 when the latter, who was at the periscope, gave the foregoing order through the speaking tube.

They had been out all night and half the preceding day, running much of the time on the surface of the ocean in order to make the best possible speed. Irving had not a clear idea where they were, but presumed that they must have passed a considerable distance beyond the western end of the English channel.

Lieut. Voltz gazed again into the glass of the periscope after giving his order to the engineer. He had had his hand on the lever at his right and with this had turned the periscope tube so that his eye could sweep the horizon. Now, however, he had discovered something, and he no longer moved the lever except occasionally little more than a hair's breadth in order to keep the object of interest in view. After a few moments of further careful examination and reference to the telemeter attachment to determine the distance away of the discovered object, he called again into the speaking tube.

"Go down four fathoms."

Then turning to Capt. Bartholf, he said:

"There are two vessels about five knots a little south of west from here. One is probably a convoy."

"Run about three knots closer and take another peep," the captain ordered. "Did 17 and the 23 sight them also?"

"I think so. Seventeen just went under."

Irving understood this question and answer to refer to two other U-boats that accompanied No. 31 on this trip. Meanwhile the latter submerged to the depth ordered by Lieut. Voltz.

Twenty minutes later the periscope was again a few feet out of the water with the lieutenant's eye glued to the glass and his right hand working the lever.

"Let me have a look," said the commander.

He gazed a minute into the glass and then said:

"I'm going to try to get that convoy first and then the other, which appears to be a hospital ship."

Irving shuddered.

The order was again given to submerge. The lieutenant seemed to be doing all the work of lookout, pilot and operating master, for he was busy at the steering wheel, periscope, and speaking tube almost simultaneously much of the time. All these were within easy reach from one position. The "sub" arose several times near enough to the surface to enable the lieutenant or the captain to take a peep at the prospective prey, and then down again it would go. At last, under direction from the captain, the lieutenant gave this order through the speaking tube:

"Have the men slide a torpedo into one of the forward tubes."

Eager to witness this operation, Irving sprang to the stairway and was soon down on the lower deck. There he saw several members of the crew remove the safety attachment from the nose of a sixteen-foot phosphor-bronze torpedo, which was seventeen or eighteen inches in diameter, and slide it into a tunnel-like hole in the midst of a maze of operating machinery. A minute or two later the order was given to "shoot," and out it went, under initial propulsion from a compressed air engine.

Then the order to submerge was given again, and away they went southward at full speed under three fathoms of water. Ten minutes afterward the periscope peeped up over the surface of the sea once more, and Capt. Bartholf had his eye glued eagerly to the glass.

A moment later he gave a yelp of delight, and Irving knew that a hit had been scored.

"We've hit 'em both fine!" the commanding officer exclaimed. "One of the other boats must have fired a torpedo about the same time we did. Both of those ships are going down."

It was not regarded safe to show the hulks of the submarines above the water yet, however, for fear lest the convoy hit one or more of them with a shell as a last living act of revenge. But they did not have to wait long, however, for the doomed vessels sank rapidly.

Then all three submarines showed themselves on the surface and Irving was delighted to observe that apparently all of the sailors, soldiers and nurses that had been on the hospital ship and the convoy were now in lifeboats, which were being rowed with frantic desperation away from the U-boat-infested spot.

"Follow them up and let's see what they look like," Capt. Bartholf ordered, with a kind of gloating glee.

All three captains seemed to be of like mind, for all three U-boats took the same course and ran up close to the crowded lifeboats. Several officers and members of the crew of each of the submarines appeared on the outer deck to view the results of their uncontested victory.

Suddenly there came from one of the boats a call that thrilled and chilled Irving with a sense of awed familiarity.

"Kamerad!"

Where had he heard that cry in that tone of voice before? He could not decide on the moment, and yet he was apprehensive of an unpleasant discovery.

The captain of U-31 determined to investigate and ordered the lifeboat from which the hail proceeded to come alongside. The occupants could do nothing more sensible than obey. As it approached a young man with an empty left sleeve arose and repeated his appealing cry, and Irving almost dropped in his tracks.

The one-armed fellow was Adolph Hessenburg, alias Tourtelle, the former Canadian lieutenant of the tattooed cubist art cryptogram. Undoubtedly he was being sent to England to be held there for a determination of his fate after information had been received regarding the success or failure of his substitute spy's mission within the German lines.

CHAPTER XXXIX

"ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN"

If anybody had observed the precipitation with which Irving dived down the hatchway of U-31 a moment or two after he recognized the "cubist art spy," there is no doubt that the observer would have been impressed with the mystery of the proceeding. As it was, all of his boche companions on the outer deck were too much interested in seeking an explanation of the "kamerad" cry from the midst of a boatload of enemy soldiers and sailors to give attention to anything less than the explosion of a bomb on their own vessel.

Irving meanwhile picked up a sou'wester that he found on the lower deck, put it over his head so that it partly covered, shaded, and hence considerably disguised his face, and then returned to the outer deck. True, the weather was not stormy, but the air was chilly and the "cloudburst hood" added considerably to his comfort.

The real Hessenburg had been assisted on board and was being questioned by Captain Bartholf. Irving heard the latter ask him his name, and then suddenly something happened which the trembling spy has ever since declared undoubtedly saved his life and some very important information for the Allies.

What caused the sudden lurch of the submarine was not subsequently disclosed. Possibly one of the men below, accidentally or thoughtlessly moved a lever or wheel that resulted in a momentary spasm of mechanical action. At any rate, all on the outer deck were dancing around for several seconds to preserve their balance, and one of them was not as successful as the others. That was Hessenburg, who was thrown violently against the low railing so that he struck his head on one of the iron standards or posts.

Evidently he was seriously injured, for he did not attempt to rise. The pallor of his face and the glassy look in his eyes indicated that he had fainted. He was carried below and restoratives were administered to him, but these did not bring back more than barely enough life to reassure his caretakers that the concussion on his head was probably not fatal.

* * * * *

The run from the scene of the sinking of the British hospital ship and convoy to the Spanish coast was made in about eighteen hours, and before noon of the day following, Irving was landed on a bleak and desolate spot on the Bay of Biscay. Meanwhile, he had thankfully observed the slowness with which the former "cubist art spy" recovered. Although he found it necessary several times to be at the bedside of the patient, the latter showed no signs of recognition; indeed, he at no time before Irving was put ashore indicated that he had fully recovered from the stupor which followed the shock of his fall.

The story of how Irving found his way to a Spanish settlement and subsequently got in touch with a British consulate and thence again with the Canadian army is of little interest compared with the thrilling events heretofore narrated. Suffice it to say that in due time success met his efforts to get back with the Canadians, who retained unshakable possession of Vimy Ridge, and that the information he was able to turn over to his superior officers brought him recognition and honors from very high sources.

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2.--Uncle Sam's Army Boys in Italy, or, Bob Hamilton Under Fire in the Piave District.

3.--Uncle Sam's Army Boys in Khaki Under Canvas, or, Bob Hamilton and the Munition Plant Plot

4.--Uncle Sam's Army Boys with Old Glory in Mexico, or, Bob Hamilton Along Pershing's Trail.

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Late Rebound Fiction

By H. G. WELLS

MR. BRITLING SEES IT THROUGH. WIFE OF SIR ISAAC HARMAN. RESEARCH MAGNIFICENT. BEALBY. NEW WORLDS FOR OLD. WHAT IS COMING. ITALY, FRANCE AND BRITAIN AT WAR. GOD, THE INVINCIBLE KING.

By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON, Author of "Graustark," Etc.

FROM THE HOUSETOPS. GREEN FANCY.

By THOMAS DIXON, Jr.

FALL OF A NATION. The sequel to "Birth of a Nation."

By A. H. MAHER

SHEPHERD OF THE NORTH.

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OUR ADMIRABLE BETTY. THE DEFINITE OBJECT.

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