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Updated: June 28, 2025
"It is a list of factories throughout the United States supplying munitions of war to the Allies. You may find it useful." "Thanks." Von Fincke read the paper with minute care before placing it inside his dispatch-box. "A concerted movement has been commenced by us to secure a majority control of many of these plants."
"The Harbor Police of New York are vigilant. I fear the warping of a great steamer from her berth would attract instant attention." "Not if properly engineered, Hartzmann." A soft tap at the door interrupted von Fincke. "Come in," he called. "Captain von Mueller," announced the valet, and von Fincke advanced eagerly to meet the newcomer. "Welcome, Herr Captain.
Their journey was, for the most part, through good pastoral country, crossing numerous well-watered creeks, which they named, respectively, the Frew, the Fincke, and the Stevenson, and on the 6th they reached a remarkable hill, which they had observed for some time. It proved to be a pillar of sandstone on a hill about one hundred feet high.
Thence he steered for Fowler's Bay, and his' description of some of the country on his course is anything but inviting. From a spur of the high peak that he named Mount Fincke he saw "A prospect gloomy in the extreme; I could see a long distance but nothing met the eye save a dense scrub, as black and dismal as night."
"You have strange ideas. Do sit and let us change the topic of conversation." "I won't." Spencer strode to the door. "I've done with your dirty work...." "Tut! tut!" Von Fincke, who had been leaning back in his revolving chair, straightened up. "Your language, my dear friend, can be improved ..." "And so can my knowledge," significantly.
"He is insufferable. I cannot understand why father ever encouraged him to come to the house." Rapid walking soon brought Spencer to the corner of Seventeenth and H Streets, and hailing a taxicab he gave the chauffeur an address on Nineteenth Street. Fifteen minutes later he was ushered into the presence of Baron Frederic von Fincke. "And how is the excellent Mr.
"Obviously Hartzmann neglected to give any key to his dispatch to Heinrich, and the latter must have been entirely in the dark as to the real meaning of the warning. Von Fincke, whom Hartzmann apparently relied on to enlighten Heinrich, is out of town." "Was it the operative's message to you about Hartzman which brought you here tonight?" asked Foster.
Von Fincke emphasized his words with a characteristic gesture. "Our work is already telling." Hartzmann carefully replaced several papers in an inside pocket. "In Russia, the men of the first Russian reserve have to wait before engaging the enemy until the Russian soldiers in the outer trenches are dead so as to get their guns and ammunition to fight with."
"Not yet, but I mean to get it; if necessary, by moral suasion." "Gently, my dear Spencer, gently." Von Fincke held up a warning hand. "Whitney must not be annoyed." "Indeed?" Spencer eyed his companion suspiciously. "And why not?" "His invention...." Spencer's laugh was not pleasant. "How do you know it isn't completed and patent applied for?" "Is that so?"
His pipe drawing to his satisfaction, Henry, with barely a backward glance into the dark tonneau, stowed himself behind the steering wheel and started the car up the street. Baron Frederic von Fincke looked from his bank book to his companion, a pleasant-featured, gray-haired man. "The balance is low," he said.
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