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Twenty-five minutes later found her once more in Mr. Fleck's office. Thrilling with the excitement of it all she told him in detail how she had followed old Hoff and of his peculiar actions in the bookstore. "And here," she said, presenting the postcard, "is an exact copy of the cipher message he left there. I copied every figure, in the columns, just as they were set down.
"And," said Carter, pointing to the two clippings lying on Fleck's desk, "in the old man's waste-paper basket we found those." Jane picked up the clippings and examined them curiously. "What are they?" she asked, looking from one to the other; "cipher messages of some sort?" "We think so," said Carter. "We don't know yet."
The one glimpse he had caught of the uniform had conveyed to Fleck the welcome fact that the party surrounding him were Americans cavalry troopers. "Chief Fleck," he announced, by way of identification. "Who are you?" A tall figure in officer's clothes sprang up on the running board and peered into Fleck's face. "Thank God, Chief," he said, "that it's you."
Fleck's office, if they observed her at all and most of them did saw only a slim, good-looking young girl, dressed in a chic tailormade suit, crowned with a dashing Paris hat tilted at the proper angle to display best the sheen of her black, black hair, which after the prevailing fashion was pulled forward becomingly over her ears.
Carter, with the other men, under Fleck's orders, had divided themselves into scouting parties and had crept away through the woods to study their surroundings at still closer range while the waning afternoon light permitted. At first glance one might have been inclined to believe the buildings untenanted.
That left only the two Hoffs and one other man against five of them. It was Fleck's intention to try to overpower the trio before the four who had fled returned to aid them. Jane, amazed at her own coolness, stood beside Dean, her revolver out, helping him guard the prisoners.
With a thrill she remembered the scene she had witnessed from her window the night K-19, her predecessor on Chief Fleck's staff, had been murdered. In her relief at discovering that Frederic was no German spy, she had forgotten that for weeks and weeks she had all but believed him guilty of murder. Now, something told her, surely and confidently, that he could explain it all.
Above and beyond his love for her she understood that he held sacred what he conceived to be his duty, his misguided duty to his erring country. It was too late now for regrets, for repentance, too late for her to do anything but to try to serve her country, cost her what it might, yet anxiously she awaited Chief Fleck's reply to her question.
It was long after midnight before the strange cavalcade left the mountain shack. Fleck's car led the way, with the chief himself at the wheel, and Jane beside him. Crowded on the rear seat were Frederic and two other prisoners, and standing in the tonneau, facing them with his revolver drawn in case they should make an attempt to escape in spite of their shackles, was Fleck's chauffeur.
When Chief Fleck had called her on the 'phone she had refused to answer any questions. The best he could get out of her was a promise that she would come to his office in the morning. From this situation Fleck's shrewd and experienced mind had been wholly unable to make any satisfactory deductions. That something unforeseen and unusual had happened to the Hoffs he was certain.
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