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Updated: June 25, 2025
Apparently Lena was in league with the fake detective too, else why should he stealthily slip a communication into her hand? But the detective had blown up the house when Mr. Wernberg was within it and had nearly caused his death. If they were all working together how was that fact to be reconciled with what had befallen him? Probably Mr.
He's crazy on the subject." "Who, your father?" "No, Mr. Wernberg. He's crazy on the subject of Germany. He thinks it is the greatest country in the world and that every one in the United States is a fool or something." "Why doesn't he go back to Germany then?" demanded Hugh angrily. "That's what I " "Sh," hissed Hugh. "Here comes Frank Wernberg now."
"Why, Heinie," exclaimed Bob. "I never thought you would do a thing like that." "Why not?" demanded Heinrich. "I do my work here, don't I? Why should I not make a little extra money if I can?" "But Mr. Wernberg is a bad man." "He iss not," Heinrich protested stoutly. "He iss one man who knows right from wrong." Bob shook his head sorrowfully.
"It looks serious," said Mr. Cook thoughtfully. "Sergeant Riley has just come from the hospital and he brought me news of Mr. Wernberg." "How is he?" "He's better; he talked a little this evening." "Did he?" cried Bob eagerly. "What did he say?" "He didn't talk connectedly," said Mr. Cook. "He was only conscious for a few minutes, and wasn't well enough to hold a real conversation."
"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.
"Yes, and he won the battle too," said Bob warmly. "All I can say is," remarked Harold, "that Frank Wernberg must be an awful looking sight if he's worse than you." "He is," said Bob. "You ought to see his nose." "Don't talk about it," urged Mrs. Cook. "I hate it." "All right," laughed her husband. "Tell us what you have to do down at the armory, Harold. You were lucky to get off to-night."
"Seems queer that they should have blown up one of their own men." "'Twas probably a mistake. Perhaps they saw us coming and were in such a hurry that our friend Wernberg had no time to get away." "But look here," protested Bob. "Don't you remember what Donovan said that Mr. Wernberg said when he burst into the room?" "He said, 'they tried to blow me up," quoted Mr. Cook.
As he busied himself a bicycle passed along the street in front of the house, and Bob recognized the rider as Frank Wernberg. "What's he doing out at this time of day?" muttered Bob angrily. He sat motionless and as Frank did not look toward the house he decided that he had not been seen. Bob yawned, rubbed his eyes sleepily, and stretched.
There must have been evidence against them in that house and they wanted to destroy it. Your fake detective blew it up and Mr. Wernberg got caught in there by mistake." "How do you explain the locked door?" asked Bob. "I don't, but there must be some explanation for it." "You think it was an accident, don't you?" "I do," said Sergeant Riley firmly. "When Mr.
If Mr. Wernberg was implicated in German plots against the United States, certainly no man who sympathized with him would hate him as Karl Hoffmann plainly did. "We may come down and help you guard the factory to-night, Karl," said Bob. "You'll be there, won't you?" "Yes, I'll be there," said Karl. "I wish you wouldn't come though." "Why not!" "Suppose something should happen and you got hurt?"
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