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I SPY


By Natalie Sumner Lincoln
I Spy
The Official Chaperon
C. 0. D.
The Man Inside
The Lost Despatch
The Trevor Case
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, NEW YORK
1878





I W SPY W
BY NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN
AUTHOR OF "THE OFFICIAL CHAPERON," "C. O. D.," "THE MAN INSIDE,” ETC.
INTER.
ILLUSTRATED BY
CHARLES L. WRENN
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
LONDON
1916


36.3.115
GWARD COLLA
HARVE
Jul i 1916
LIBRARY
By exchange
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America


To
MRS. SARAH VAIL GOULD
my grandmother
to whose affection belongs many joyous days
of childhood at “Oaklands" this book is
offered as a loving tribute to her memory
memo





CONTENTS
CZAPR
I. AT VICTORIA STATION
II. OUT OF THE VOID
III. Powers THAT PREY . . . .
IV. "SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FOR-
GOT?” . . . . . .
V. AN EVENTFUL EVENING . . .
VI. AT THE CAPITOL . .
VII. PHANTOM WIRES . .
VIII. KAISER BLUMEN
IX. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
X. SISTERS IN UNITY . .
XI. A MAN IN A HURRY
. . III
XII. A SINISTER DISCOVERY
XIII. HIDE AND SEEK . .
XIV. A QUESTION OF LOYALTY .
148
XV. The GAME, "I Spy" .
XVI. At the MORGUE . .
. 174
XVII. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
194
XVIII. A PROPOSAL
XIX. The Yellow STREAK
XX. THE AWAKENING .
XXI. THE FINGER PRINT. . . . . 260
115
.
.
129
.
163
.
.
.
215
.
.
AKENING
244
.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
.
.
XXII. “TRENTON HURRY".
XXIII. In Full Cry . .
XXIV. RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE
XXV. Love PARAMOUNT
.
.
.
.
. 274
. 291
. 303
. 316


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"He saw Kathleen quickly palm his place card”
Frontispiece
FACING
PAGE
I20
"As Henry pushed back the door, she collapsed into her
father's arms” . . . . . . . 120
"'A flash, the rifle's recoil-and Mr. Whitney still
standing just where he was'” . . . . 170
"Whitney paused to snatch up a magnifying glass and
by its aid examined the finger prints” . . . 272





I SPY
CHAPTER I
AT VICTORIA STATION
THE allied forces, English and French, had
1 been bent backward day by day, until it seemed
as if Paris was fairly within the Germans' grasp.
Bent indeed, but never broken, and with the turning
of the tide the Allied line had rushed forward, and
France breathed again.
Two men, seated in a room of the United Service
Club in London one gloomy afternoon in Novem-
ber, 1914, talked over the situation in tones too low
to reach other ears. The older man, Sir Percival
Hargraves, had been bemoaning the fact that Eng-
land seemed honeycombed by the German Secret
Service, and his nephew, John Hargraves, an offi-
cer in uniform, was attempting to reassure him. It
was a farewell meeting, for the young officer was
returning to the front.
"Much good will all this espionage do the Ger-
mans," said the young man. “We are easily hold-


I SPY
ing our own, and with the spring will probably come
our opportunity.” He clicked his teeth together.
"What price then all these suspected plots and futile
intrigues?"
"Don't be so damned cocksure," rapped out his
uncle, his exasperation showing in heightened color
and snapping eyes. "It's that same cocksureness
which has almost brought the British Empire to the
very brink of dissolution."
His nephew smiled tolerantly, and shifted his
thickset figure to a more comfortable position.
“Now, now," he cautioned. “Remember what
old Sawbones told you yesterday about not exciting
yourself. Said you weren't to read or talk about
this bally old war. Leave the worrying to Kitche-
ner; he'll see we chaps do our part.”
"If everything were left to Kitchener !" Sir Per-
cival thumped the arm of his chair. "Some of us
would sleep easier in our beds. And I know you
chaps at the front will do your part. Would to
God I could be with you!" glancing at his shrunken
and useless left leg. “If I could only take a pot
at the beggars !”
“According to your belief the firing line will short-
ly be on English soil," chaffed his nephew, avoiding
looking at his companion. He knew the tragic cir-


I SPY
His nephew reddened under his tan. “Molly
doesn't care for a chap like me,” he muttered.
“Did she tell you so ?”
“Well, no. You see, Uncle, it-eh-doesn't seem
the thing to suggest that a charming girl like Molly
tie herself to a fellow who may get his at any time.”
“Piffle!" Sir Percival's shaggy eyebrows met in
a frown. "Sentimental nonsense! You and Molly
were great chums a year ago. You told me yourself
that you hoped to marry her; I even spoke to her
mother about the suitability of the match."
"You had no right to," blazed his nephew. "It
was damned impertinent interference."
"You have not always thought so," retorted Sir
Percival bitterly. "What had that most imperti-
nent American girl you met in Germany to do with
your change of front toward Molly?”
“I must insist that you speak more respectfully
of Kathleen.” John Hargraves' expression altered.
"If you must know, I asked Kathleen to marry me
and—she refused."
“I said she was impertinent. All Americans are;
they don't know any better," fumed his uncle. “For-
get her, John; think of Molly. I tell you the child
loves you. Don't wreck her happiness for the sake
of a fleeting fancy."


AT VICTORIA STATION
"Fleeting fancy?" John Hargraves shook his
head sorrowfully. “When Kathleen refused me I
was hard hit; so hit I can't marry any other girl.
Don't let's talk of it.” He smiled wistfully as he
held out his hand. “Time's up, Uncle; the train
leaves in an hour, and I must get my kit. Good-by,
sir. Wish me luck." And before the older man
could stop him he was retreating down the hall.
Sir Percival stared vacantly about the room.
“The last of his race," he muttered. "God help
England! The toll is heavy."
In spite of his haste John Hargraves was late in
reaching Victoria Station, and had barely time to
take his place before the train pulled slowly out.
As he looked down the long trainshed, he encoun-
tered the fixed stare of a tall, well-groomed man
standing near one of the pillars. Hargraves looked,
and looked again; then his hand flew up, and leaning
far out of his compartment he shouted to a porter.
But his message was lost in the roar of the more
rapidly moving train, and the porter, shaking a be-
wildered head, turned back.
The crowd of women and children and a few
men, which had gathered to witness the troop
train's departure, was silently dispersing when an
obsequious porter approached the tall stranger


AT VICTORIA STATION
backed from the limousine and slammed the door
shut.
The outskirts of London were reached before the
man in the limousine opened the slip of paper thrust
into his hand by the porter. It was wrapped about
a small electric torch and a book of cigarette papers.
Slowly he read the German script in the note.
Be at the rendezvous by Thursday. Hans, the chauffeur,
has full directions. Do not miss the seventeenth.
After rereading the contents of the note the man
tore it into tiny bits and, not content with that, stuffed
them among the tobacco in his pipe. Striking a
match he lighted his pipe and planting his feet on
the bag he gazed long and earnestly at his initials
stamped on the much labeled buckskin. The slow-
ing up of the limousine aroused him from his medi-
tations, and he glanced out of the window to see
which way they were headed. London, the metropo-
lis of the civilized world, lay behind him. Catching
his chauffeur's backward glance, he signaled him to
continue onward as, removing his pipe, he muttered:
"Gott strafe England!”


CHAPTER II
OUT OF THE VOID
LOWLY, the sullen roar of artillery, the rattle
of Maxims and rifles sank fitfully away. A tall
raw-boned major of artillery stretched his cramped
limbs in the observation station, paused to look
with callous eyes over the devastated fields be-
fore him, then sought the trench. Earlier in the
day the Allies had been shelled out of an advance
position by the enemy and had fallen back on the
entrenchments.
.."Devilish hot stuff, shrapnel," commented a broth-
er officer as Major Seymour stopped at his side.
The Major nodded absently, and without further
reply advanced a few paces to meet an ammunition
corporal who was obviously seeking him. “Well ?"
he demanded, as the non-commissioned officer
saluted.
"Only twenty rounds left, Major.” The Corporal
lowered his voice. “Captain Hargraves sent word
to rush reinforcements here as soon as it is dark,
sir."


OUT OF THE VOID
iors
S
Major Seymour glanced with unconcealed impa-
tience at his wrist watch. God! Would night never
come!
"Can't we get our wounded to the base hospital,
Major?” asked a younger officer. He had only
joined the unit thirty-six hours before and while
he had faced the baptism of fire gallantly, the ghast-
ly carnage about him shook his nerve. He was not
fed up with horrors as were his brother officers.
"The wounded would stand small chance of reach-
ing safety if the German gunners sighted them. They
must wait for darkness," replied Seymour. "Here,
take a pull at my flask. Got potted yourself, didn't
you?” noticing a thin stream of blood trickling down
his companion's sleeve.
"Only a flesh wound—of no moment,” protested
the young man, flushing at the thought that his com-
manding officer might have misunderstood his ques-
tion. "I'm afraid Captain Hargraves is in a bad
way.”.
"Hargraves!” The Major spun on his heel.
"Where is he?"
“This way, sir," and the Lieutenant led him past
groups of men and officers. It was an appalling
scene of desolation. The approach of night had
brought a slight drizzling rain, and the ground,
II.


I SPY
pitted with shell holes, was slimy with wet, greasy
mud. Nearly all the trees in the vicinity were blasted
as if by lightning, and along the right hand side of
the road was a line of A. S. S. carts and limbers
blown to pieces. One horse, completely disembow-
eled, lay on his back, the inside arch of his ribs
plainly showing. His leader was a mass of entrails
lying about, and on the other side lay four or five
more, one with a foreleg blown clear off at the shoul-
der, one minus a head. A half-dozen motor cycles
and over a dozen push bikes lay in the mud with
some unrecognizable shapes that had been riding
them. Between the advance trenches, in No Man's
Land, the ground was thickly strewn with corpses
of Scotties killed in the charge.
"The Huns had us cold as to range," volunteered
the Lieutenant, loss of blood and reaction from ex-
citement loosening his tongue. “They outed five
guns complete with detachments by direct hits.
Here we are, sir," and he paused near a demolished
gun emplacement. The ground about was a sham-
bles.
Major Seymour stepped up to one of the figures
lying upon the ground, a mud-incrusted coat thrown
over his legs. Several privates who had been ren-
dering what assistance they could, moved aside on
ΙΟ


OUT OF THE VOID
the approach of their superior officers. Hargraves
opened his eyes as Seymour knelt by him.
"My number's up,” he whispered, and the game
smile which twisted his white lips was pitiful.
"Nonsense.” Seymour's gruff tone concealed
emotion. Hargraves' face betrayed death's indeli-
ble sign. "You'll pull through, once you're back at
the hospital.”
Hargraves shook his head; he realized the futility
of argument.
"Have you pencil and paper?” he asked.
“Yes." Seymour drew out his despatch book and
removed a page. “What is it, John?" But some
minutes passed before his question received an an-
swer, and Hargraves' voice was noticeably weaker,
as he dictated :
DEAR KATHLEEN:
I saw Karl in London at Victoria Station. I swear it
was he ... warn Uncle ... Kathleen ... Kathleen ...
There was a long silence; then Seymour laid aside
the unneeded brandy flask and slowly rose to his
feet. He mechanically folded the scrap of paper,
but before slipping it inside his pocket, the blank
side arrested his attention.
“Heavens! John never gave me her address
II


I SPY
or last name. Who is Kathleen ?" he exclaimed.
More shaken than he was willing to confess even
to himself, by the loss of his pal, he stared bitterly
across the battlefield toward the enemy's lines. How
cheerily Hargraves had greeted him that morning
on his return from a week's furlough in England !
How glad he had been to rejoin the unit and be once
again with his comrades on the firing line! A gal-
lant spirit had passed to the Great Beyond.
Back in his observation station Major Seymour
an hour later viewed the gathering darkness with
satisfaction. Two hours more and it would be diffi-
cult to see a hand before one's face. Undoubtedly
the sorely needed ammunition and reserves would
reach the trenches in time, and the wounded could
be safely transferred to the base hospital. The
Allies' line had held, and in spite of their desperate
assaults the Germans had been unable to find a vul-
nerable spot.
Seymour passed his hand over his eyes. Against
the darkness his fevered imagination pictured ad-
vancing "gray phantoms.” “They come like de-
mons from the hell they have created,” he muttered.
"I hope to God they don't use 'starlights' over our
trenches tonight. Flesh and blood can stand no
more."
I 2


OUT OF THE VOID
The darkness grew denser and more dense. In
the long battle front of the Allies no sentinel saw
a powerful Aviatik biplane glide over the trenches
and fly onward toward its goal. Several times the
airman inspected his phosphorescent compass and
map, each time thereafter altering his course. Final-
ly, making a sign to his observer, he planed to a
lower level and, satisfied that he had reached the
proper distance, a bomb was released.
Down through the black void the infernal ma-
chine sped. A sickening pause—then a deafening
detonation, followed by another and another, cut
the stillness, and the earth beneath was aflame with
light as the high explosives and shells stored in the
concealed ammunition depot were set off. Nothing
escaped destruction; flesh and blood, mortar and
brick went skyward together, and a great gash in
the earth was all that was left to tell the story of
the enemy's successful raid.
From a safe height the German airman and his
observer watched their handiwork. Suddenly the
latter caught sight of an aeroplane winging its way
toward them.
“Bauerschreck!” he shouted, and the airman fol-
lowed his pointed finger. Instantly under his skill-
ful manipulation their biplane climbed into the air
13


I SPY
in long graceful spirals until they were six thousand
feet above ground. But as fast as they went, their
heavier Aviatik was no match in speed for the swift
French aeroplane, and the bullets from the latter's
machine gun were soon uncomfortably near.
The German airman's face was set in grim lines
as he maneuvered his biplane close to his pursuer
and, dodging and twisting in sharp dips and curves,
spoiled the aim of the Frenchman at the machine
gun, while his own revolver and that of his observer
kept up a continuous fusillade.
For twenty minutes the unequal fight continued. It
could not last much longer. Despair pulled at the
German's heartstrings as he saw his observer topple
for a moment in his seat, then pitch forward into
space. The biplane tipped dangerously, righted it-
self and sped like a homing pigeon in the direction
of the German lines. There was nothing left but
to fly for it. The German dared not look behind;
only by the mercy of God were the Frenchman's
shots going wild. It could not last; he must get
the range. Surely, surely they were past the last
of the Allies' trenches ?
The German turned and fired his revolver des-
perately at his pursuers. Glory to God! one of his
bullets punctured the latter's gasoline tank. It must


OUT OF THE VOID
be so—the French aeroplane was apparently mak-
ing a forced landing. The shout on the German's
lips was checked by a stinging sensation in his right
side. The Frenchman had his range at last.
Almost simultaneously his machine turned com-
pletely over. With groping, desperate fingers the
German strove to gain control over the levels and
right himself. In vain-and as he started in the
downward rush, the hurrying wind carried the fren-
zied whisper:
"The cross, dear God, the cross !"


CHAPTER III
POWERS THAT PREY
N OT far as the crow flies from the scene of the
TV German airman's catastrophe, but with its
presence hidden from general knowledge, was
the Grosses Hauptquartier, the pulsing heart and
brain of the Imperial fighting forces. Vigilant sen-
tries patrolled the park leading from the chateau
commandeered for the use of the War Lord and
his entourage, to the quarters of the Great General
Staff. In a secluded room of the latter building a
dozen men sat in conference about a table littered
with papers; they had been there since early eve-
ning, but no man permitted his glance to stray to
the dial of a library clock whose hands were grad.
ually approaching two o'clock. Truly, the chiefs of
the divisions were tireless toilers.
The Herr Chief of the Great General Staff was
emphasizing his remarks with vigor unusual even
for him, when the telephone, no respecter of per-
sons, sent out its tinkling call. Hitching his chair
closer to the table, the Herr Chief of the Aviation
16


POWERS THAT PREY
Corps removed the receiver from the instrument.
A courteous silence prevailed as he took the mes-
sage. Replacing the receiver, he turned and con-
fronted his confrères.
“An outpost reports,” he began formally, “that
Captain von Eltz in his Aviatik biplane was pur-
sued and wrecked by a French airman who was
obliged to make a forced landing inside our lines.
The French airmen were shot in their attempt to
escape. Owing to the Aviatik biplane catching in
the branches of a tree and thereby breaking his fall
Captain von Eltz was rescued alive, although des-
perately wounded. The observer who accompanied
him is dead. On regaining consciousness Captain
von Eltz reported that his mission was successful,
the new ammunition depot having been completely
destroyed by his bomb."
A low hum of approval greeted his words. “Well
done, gallant von Eltz!" exclaimed one of the hear-
ers. “He deserves the Iron Cross."
"He will receive it,” declared another officer en-
thusiastically.
"The information as to the location of this new
ammunition depot, which von Eltz has just de-
stroyed, came from the man of whom I have been
telling you tonight," broke in the Herr Chief of the
n coi
r-
17


I SPY
Secret Service. "He has been our eyes and ears in
England. Gentlemen, is it your wish that he be
intrusted with the delicate mission of which we have
just been speaking?”
The eyes of the Herr Chief of the Great General
Staff swept his companions. "Is it that I speak for
all?" A quick affirmative answered him. “Then,
we leave the matter entirely in your hands." The
Herr Chief of the Secret Service bowed. “You
know your agents; the selection is left to you, but
see there is no unnecessary delay."
"There will be no delay," responded the Herr
Chief of the Secret Service. “My agent is not far
from here. With your permission, I take my leave,"
and saluting he hastened from the room.
The sun was halfway in the heavens when a limou-
sine drew up before a wayside inn near a semi-
demolished city. Before the orderly sitting by the
chauffeur could swing himself to the ground, a tall
man had stepped to the side of the car and opened
the door. For a second the Herr Chief of the Se-
cret Service and the stranger contemplated each
other without speaking, then the former motioned
to the vacant seat by his side.
"We can talk as we ride,” he announced brusquely,
"Your luggage"
18


POWERS THAT PREY
VOU
"Is here," thrusting a much labeled suitcase in-
side the limousine and jumping in after it. .
At a low-toned word from the Herr Chief of
the Secret Service the orderly saluted and quickly
resumed his seat by the chauffeur. There was a
short silence inside the limousine as the powerful
car continued up the road. They were stopped at
the first railroad crossing by a trainload of wounded
soldiers.
"Your pardon," and before the Herr Chief of
the Secret Service could stop him, the stranger pulled
down the sash curtains of all the windows. "You are
well known; being recognized is the penalty of great-
ness. It is to my interest to escape such a distinc-
tion."
"I approve your caution, Herr Captain," observed
the older man. “Will you smoke ?" producing his
cigarette case, and as the other smilingly helped him-
self and accepted a lighted match, he surveyed him
critically. Paying no attention to his chief's scrutiny,
the Secret Service agent contemplated the luxurious
appointments of the limousine with satisfaction and
puffed contentedly at his cigarette. His air of breed-
ing was unmistakable, but the devil-may-care sparkle
in his gray-blue eyes redeemed an otherwise expres-
sionless face from being considered heavy. The
19


I SPY
spirits of the Herr Chief of the Secret Service rose.
His recollection and judgment was still good; his
agent, by men and women, would be deemed ex-
tremely handsome.
“The new ammunition depot was destroyed last
night by our airmen," he said, with some abrupt-
ness. "Your information was reliable.”
"Pardon, is not my information always reliable ?"
interpolated the Secret Service agent.
"So it has proved,” acknowledged his chief cor-
dially, but a mark was mentally registered against
the Herr Captain. German bureaucracy does not
tolerate presumption from a subordinate. “And
owing to your excellent record, you have been se-
lected for a most delicate mission."
“Under the same conditions ?”
“The Imperial Government cannot be ques-
tioned,” retorted his chief, his anger rising.
"I am different from other operatives.” A puff of
cigarette smoke wreathed upward from the speak-
er's lips. "A free-lance."
"And you have been given a free hand. We
have not inquired into your methods of procuring
information, being content with the result.”
“And does not the result justify not only your
confidence but promotion ?"
20


POWERS THAT PREY
The Herr Chief of the Secret Service considered
before replying; then he answered with a question.
"Have you been to Ireland ?”
The Secret Service agent smiled grimly as he
took from his pocket a book of cigarette papers.
Counting them over, he selected the seventeenth pa-
per, and passed it to his companion, who examined
the small blank sheet with interest. “Just a mo-
ment," and the young man again slipped his hand
into a vest pocket, this time bringing out a nickel
flashlight. Pressing his thumb on the switch he held
the glass bulb against the rice paper. In a few min-
utes a faint tracing appeared on the blank page,
which grew brighter as the rays of light generated
more heat.
"Hold it a moment," said the Herr Chief of the
Secret Service. “Keep it over the bulb,” and tak-
ing out his notebook he made several entries, then
closed it with a snap.
: "Finished?” As he asked the question, the Se-
cret Service agent replaced his pocket flashlight, drew
out his tobacco pouch, poured a little in the rice
paper, and proceeded to roll the cigarette with prac-
ticed fingers.
“About Sheerness ?” questioned the Herr Chief
of the Secret Service.


I SPY
"All is arranged."
“Good." The Herr Chief of the Secret Service
permitted himself to settle back more comfortably
on the roomy seat so that he faced his companion.
In the closed and semi-darkened limousine there was
no danger of their conversation being overheard.
“I reserved for myself, Herr Captain," said the
Herr Chief slowly, “the pleasure of informing you
that your valuable services to the Kaiser and the
Fatherland”-the Secret Service agent raised his
hat—"are recognized. The Cross may yet be
yours.”
“How can I express my gratitude ?" stammered
the Secret Service agent.
"By not jumping to hasty conclusions," smiled his
chief. “Never again question your orders.”
"Be just,” protested the Secret Service agent
warmly. “I have risked my life daily for the Kaiser
and the Fatherland in a hostile country. There have
been hours which I do not care to remember." The
speaker's tone grew husky. “Some day—a short
shift; and I must make provision for another."
“I understood you were not married ?"
There was a barely perceptible pause. "Spies do
not marry, sir."
"And if a Secret Service agent has a healthy re-
were
22


POWERS THAT PREY
gard for his own safety, he is careful of serious en-
tanglements," cautioned his chief. “However, judg-
ing by your past work, I believe you are quite able
to take care of yourself. Thanks to the warnings
and information of your organization we have been
able to meet some of the Allies' contemplated con-
certed attacks, and your information as to the
sailing of transports and the movements of ammu-
nition trains has been of inestimable service."
“Do you still wish me to keep up this particular
work?”
"No." The Herr Chief of the Secret Service
leaned forward in his earnestness. “This war has
demonstrated again and again that victory goes with
the heaviest artillery."
"True! Antwerp, one of the strongest fortified
cities on the Continent, crumpled up before our siege
guns,” broke in his companion.
The older man paid no attention to the interrup-
tion, but continued gravely: "Hand to hand con-
flict and cavalry charges are a thing of the past. We
shell out the enemies' trenches from batteries six to
twelve miles away. All this you already know; I
repeat it now to explain what I am about to say. We
are in possession of the mining district of France,
they are getting hard pushed for ammunition; Eng-
23


I SPY
land's supply is not inexhaustible; Russia cannot half
arm her fighting forces. They one and all are ap-
pealing to the manufacturing capitalists of the
United States to furnish them with. arms and am-
munition.”
“And with success," dryly.
The Herr Chief of the Secret Police frowned.
"It must be stopped. You are to go to America—"
“I?”
“Yes, at once. You have a genius for organiza.
tion; your work in England proved that. Let us
know what merchant vessels and passenger steamers
are carrying munitions of war. Be sure, .doubly
sure, that your information is correct, for we shall
act upon it. Our Government stands ready to take
most drastic measures to stop such traffic."
"I see.” The Secret Service agent stroked his
clean-shaven chin in meditative silence. "In Eng-
land I went hand in hand with death; in the United
States I am likely to outlive my usefulness.”
"Perhaps," with dry significance. “But recollect
our Government is ready to adopt any expedient to
stop the exporting of arms and ammunition to our
enemies."
“As for instance ...?”
"Leave our methods to us; you have your work.
24


POWERS THAT PREY
You will make your headquarters at Washington
City. There you will be able to place your hand on
the pulse of the nation, and there you will find
idle women.”
"Have we not already representatives at the
United States capital?"
The Herr Chief of the Secret Service eyed him
keenly. “Our embassy is concerned only with the
diplomatic world. You are to send us word whether
the United States Government arsenals are working
under a full complement of men; of the orders placed
by the Navy Department for submarines, and the ac-
tivities obtaining in private munition plants. Be cer-
tain and study the undercurrent of sentiment for or
against us. Report as you have heretofore."
"How am I to get in touch with the private ship-
yards and munition plants ?”
“I will give you letters to residents loyal to their
Fatherland. A number of the owners of powder
companies and munition plants usually winter in
Washington. I am also told that Mexican juntas
still make Washington their headquarters." The
eyes of the Secret Service agent were boring into
him, but the older man's countenance remained a
mask. “You must bear in mind that if the American
capitalists persist in selling assistance to our enemies
25


I SPY
the attention of the United States must be diverted
to other issues. ...".
"Such a plan could only be carried out by creat-
ing a necessity of home consumption for war muni-
tions," supplemented the Secret Service agent softly.
Without replying the Herr Chief of the Secret
Service pulled forward a small despatch-box from
a cleverly concealed pocket in the upholstery of the
limousine.
“We are motoring to your nearest destination,"
he said soberly, opening the box. “Here are your
letters of credit, your passport, and introductions
to our friends across the water," handing him a
leather wallet. “They will see that you are prop-
erly introduced to Washington hostesses. Go out
in society; I am told it is most delightful at the Capi-
tal. Make friends with influential public men and
prominent Washingtonians. Above all,” with em-
phasis, “cultivate the gentler sex; remember, idle
women make excellent pawns, my dear Herr Captain
von Mueller."


CHAPTER IV
"SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT ?"
M RS. WINSLOW WHITNEY, gathering her
I wraps together, stepped from the limou-
sine.'
"I shall not need you again tonight, Henry," she
said, as the chauffeur sprang to the sidewalk to
assist her.
"Very good, ma'am," and touching his cap re-
spectfully, he took from the limousine the heavy fur
laprobe and hastened to ring the doorbell for his
mistress.
Halfway to her front door Mrs. Whitney paused
to scan the outward appearance of her home. The
large, Colonial, brick double house, with lights part-
ly showing behind handsomely curtained windows,
looked the embodiment of comfort, but Mrs. Whit-
ney heaved a sharp sigh of discontent. The sur-
roundings were not pleasing to her. Again and
again she had pleaded with her husband to give
up the old house and move into a more fashionable
neighborhood. But with the tenacity which easy-
27


I SPY
S
going men sometimes exhibit, Winslow Whitney
clung to the home of his ancestors. It had de-
scended from father to son for generations, and
finally to him, the last of the direct male line. Al-
though business had encroached and noisy electric
cars passed his door, and even government build-
ings dwarfed the impressive size of the old man-
sion, he declined to give up his home, stating that
he had been born there and there he would die.
"Very well, you and Providence can settle the
point between you, Dad," answered Kathleen, his
only child, who had been brought in to use her per-
suasive powers upon her irate parent. “But as
long as mother and I have to inhabit this old
shell you must, simply must, put new works inside
her."
And Whitney, with the generosity which marked
his every action to those he loved, rehabilitated and
remodeled the mansion until it finally rivaled in
up-to-date completeness the more ornate homes of
the newly rich in the fashionable Northwest.
"Has Miss Kathleen returned?” asked Mrs. Whit-
ney, handing her wraps to the breathless Vincent,
who had hurried to answer the chauffeur's imperious
ring.
“No, ma'am.”
28


“AULD ACQUAINTANCE”
“When she does return, tell her that I wish to
see her."
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Is Mr. Whitney in his studio ?”
“Yes, ma'am. Shall I send Julie to you?”
“Tell her to go to my room and wait for me."
As she spoke Mrs. Whitney crossed the broad hall
and, passing the Colonial staircase, entered the ele-
vator. The automatic car carried her to the first
bedroom floor but, changing her mind, she did not
open the door; instead she pressed the electric but-
ton marked “Attic.” Her slight feeling of irrita-
tion aroused by not being met downstairs by any
member of her family was increased by stepping
from the elevator into a dark hall.
"Winslow !" she called. Meeting with no re-
sponse she walked over to the opposite wall and
by the aid of the light in the elevator found the
electric switch and turned it on. Not pausing to look
about her, she went to the back of the large high-
roofed attic and tried the handle of a closed door.
Finding that it would not open to her touch, she
rapped sharply on the panel. She waited several
seconds before she heard a chair pushed back and
the sound of advancing footsteps. The inside bolt
was shot back with distinct force.
29


I SPY
"Well, what is it?" demanded Whitney," jerking
open the door. “Oh, my dear," his tone changing
at sight of his wife, "I had no idea you were re-
turning so soon."
“Do you call half-past six o'clock soon ?” asked
Mrs. Whitney following him into the room. “Wins-
low, Winslow, I warn you not to become too ab-
sorbed in your work.”
Whitney laughed somewhat ruefully. "Does the
kettle call the pot black? What do you do but give
up your time to the Sisters in Unity? I'm a second-
ary consideration. There, there," noting his wife's
expression. "Don't let us dispute over trifes. I'm
making headway, Minna-headway."
“I congratulate you, dear.” Mrs. Whitney laid
a caressing hand on his touseled gray hair. “I never
doubted that you would. But, Winslow, such com-
plete absorption in your work is not healthy. The
doctor has warned you not to shut yourself up in
this room for hours, and particularly that you are
not to lock your door on the inside. Remember your
recent attacks of vertigo."
“McLane's an ass. The vertigo sprang from in-
digestion; hereafter, I'll be more careful what I
eat,” he protested. “There's nothing the matter
with this room; it's well ventilated and heated. And
30


I SPY
-sarcastically—"sweatshop? Four years ago she
took up this fad of painting; you encouraged her at
it-you know you did," shaking an accusing finger
at his wife. "You persuaded me to let her study in
Germany, and she hasn't been worth a button since
-as far as home comfort goes.”
“Winslow!"
"It's true," doggedly. "Formerly she was willing
and glad to help me with my modeling, help me in
making calculations, tracings—now she spends her
time philandering."
“All young girls Airt, Winslow."
"But Kathleen was always so shy,” Whitney shook
his head. “Now I'm asked at the club if she isn't
engaged to this man and that.”
“Will you never realize that Kathleen is excep-
tionally pretty, with the gift of fascination ?”
“A dangerous power,” said Whitney gravely. "I
do not entirely approve of the men whose attentions
Kathleen encourages.”
"As for instance ...
“Young Potter, and this Baron Frederic von
Fincke—you know, Minna, I do not approve of in-
ternational marriages, and I am very glad that Kath-
leen refused that Englishman, John Hargraves,
whom she met in Germany. ..."
32


I SPY
his head and have him sitting in your pockets."
Mrs. Whitney laughed outright. “My dear Wins-
low, neither Kathleen nor I encouraged him to come
here. If you are afraid,” her eyes twinkling, “that
Kathleen considers his attentions seriously, I will
sound her on the subject. And this brings me back
to what I was going to say originally; you must in-
quire about the men Kathleen meets. She is at the
impressionable age and as apt as not to pick up an
undesirable parti.”
"Why didn't Kathleen remain a schoolgirl?”
fumed Whitney. “Then we only had to engage com-
petent nurses and look up their references and our
responsibility ended."
"Your responsibility is just beginning," said Mrs.
Whitney cheerfully. "By the way, the days are
short, and Kathleen should be at home by five o'clock
at least; this is a rough neighborhood for a beauti-
ful girl to walk through unattended."
"My forefathers found no fault with this neigh-
borhood,” replied Whitney stiffly. “Then it was
fashionable, now it is a good respectable business
section; and if dividends continue to dwindle you
may thank your stars we are in a business section
for convenience' sake. I will not give up this house,
Minna, even to please you."
34


“AULD ACQUAINTANCE”
"Dear Winslow, don't excite yourself.” Mrs.
Whitney laid an affectionate hand on his arm. “Re-
member Dr. McLane's advice ... and dinner will
be served in an hour. Please come down and get it
while it is hot," and not waiting to hear his half-
hearted promise she walked from the room and
closed the door. It was some seconds before Whit-
ney resumed his interrupted work.
"Only a little while now," he muttered—“only a
little while."
Before proceeding to her bedroom Mrs. Whit-
ney sought the suite of rooms which had been given
to Kathleen on her coming of age two months before.
Finding the prettily decorated and furnished sitting-
room empty she walked into the adjoining bedroom
and saw Kathleen sitting at her dressing table.
"What detained you?" she asked kindly, as the
girl turned on her entrance.
“The symphony concert was not over until twenty-
five minutes ago. Won't you sit down, dear?” pull-
ing forward a chair. “I must go on with my dress-
ing. My pink satin, Julie, thank you," as the French
maid appeared.
"Are you dining out tonight?" in surprise. “I
thought you told me you had no engagement for this
evening."
35


I SPY
“I hadn't, mother. This invitation was quite un-
expected,” explained Kathleen, arranging her hair
with care. "On my return from the concert I found
this note from Miss Kiametia Grey asking me to
fill a place and prevent thirteen at her dinner to-
night."
"I see.” Mrs. Whitney inspected the dainty note-
paper and forceful handwriting through her gold
lorgnette. The word of Miss Kiametia Grey was
as the law of the Medes and Persians to her many
friends, and Mrs. Whitney had a high regard for
the wealthy spinster who cloaked her warm-hearted
impulsiveness under an erratic and often brusque
manner. "You cannot very well refuse. Who sent
you those orchids ?" pointing to a handsome bouquet
lying half out of its box on the bed.
"Sinclair Spencer,” briefly. “Be careful, Julie,
don't muss my hair," and discussing unimportant
matters Kathleen hurried her dressing as much as
possible.
"Not knowing you were going out I told Henry
he would not be needed tonight," said Mrs. Whit-
ney, suddenly waking up to the fact that Kathleen
was ready to go. “You had better order a herdic."
"Oh!" Kathleen gazed at her blankly. "And the
dinner is at the Chevy Chase Club."
36


“AULD ACQUAINTANCE"
e
"Pardon, madame,” Julie, the maid, spoke in
rapid French. “Mademoiselle Grey telephoned to
ask if mademoiselle had returned and said that she
hoped she could dine with her. Knowing madame
had no engagement this evening, I took the
great liberty of telling Henry to be here with the
limousine.”
"Quite right, Julie,” Mrs. Whitney rose. "Don't
forget your orchids, Kathleen.”
"I am not going to wear them; they'—not meet-
ing Mrs. Whitney's eyes—“they would stain my
dress. Good night, mother. I am likely to be
late; don't either you or Dad wait up for me."
An hour later, her naturally rosy cheeks a deeper
tint from the consciousness that she was late, Kath-
leen made a charming picture as she stood just with-
in the entrance to the assembly room of the Chevy
Chase Club, waiting to greet her hostess who
was at that moment marshalling her guests out
to the private dining-room. It was several minutes
before Miss Kiametia Grey discovered Kathleen's
presence.
"So very glad you could come,” she said, squeez-
ing her hand warmly. “Not only did I want to be
helped over the thirteen bugaboo, but I have such a
nice dinner partner for you. Captain Miller. Yes,
37


I SPY
Judge, you are to take me out. Kathleen, introduce
yourself to the Captain."
"Am I to find him by the process of elimination?"
laughed Kathleen, as Miss Kiametia laid her hand
on the Judge's arm.
"He is just back of you," she called, and Kath-
leen turned around. Every vestige of color left her
cheeks as she encountered the steadfast gaze of a
tall, broad-shouldered man in immaculate evening
dress.
"You?” she blurted out, her white lips barely
forming the word. “You?"
There was an agonizing pause, then Captain Mil-
ler stepped toward her.
"Suppose we go out to dinner," he suggested
suavely.


CHAPTER V
AN EVENTFUL EVENING
W HILE keeping up an animated conversation
w with Judge Powers, Miss Kiametia Grey
saw with inward perturbation that her vis-à-vis, Cap-
tain Miller, was spending much of his time between
courses making bread pellets. What possessed Kath-
leen Whitney? She was usually the soul of courtesy,
and yet her hostess had not seen her address one
word to her dinner partner. Possibly Kathleen had
taken offense at her off-hand introduction to the
handsome officer. But that was not like the warm-
hearted, charming girl she had come to love and
admire, and Miss Kiametia ate her dinner with less
and less relish as she tried to keep up her end of
the conversation and forget about the pair seated
opposite her.
Captain Charles Miller had just finished help-
ing himself to an ice when, from the tail of his eye,
he saw Kathleen quickly palm his place card.
"Let us make it an exchange,” he said, and reach-
ing across her plate, picked up the pretty hand-
39


I SPY
painted Japanese card bearing her name, and slipped
it inside the pocket of his white vest.
For the first time that evening there was color
in Kathleen's cheeks.
"You have not lost your—"
“Courage?”
“Effrontery," she finished. “I cannot see that the
years have brought much change."
"To you, most certainly not," and there was no
mistaking the admiration in his eyes.
“I object to personalities.” She paused. “And
particularly on slight acquaintance."
Miller bowed. "It is my loss that we have not
met before," and he did not miss the look of relief
that lighted her eyes for the fraction of a second.
Swiftly he changed the subject. “Who is the man
glaring at us from the end of the table?”.
"Baron Frederic von Fincke.” Her manner was
barely civil and that was all. Under his heavy eye-
brows Miller's eyes snapped. She should talk to
him, and he squared his broad shoulders.
"I have already met the young girl sitting next
him," he said, “and who is her dinner partner?"
"Captain Edwin Sayre, United States Army."
“Of what branch of the service ?"
“Ordnance."
20


AN EVENTFUL EVENING
"Is it true, Miss Kathleen,” broke in the man
seated on her right, “that Captain Sayre has resigned
from the army to take a position in the Du Pont
Powder Works?".
“I believe so.”
“Is that not establishing a bad precedent, Mr.
Spencer?" inquired Miller. He had met the lawyer
on his arrival before dinner. “Suppose other offi-
cers follow his example, what will the army do in
case of hostilities with-eh-Mexico ?”
"Probably the officers will apply for active sery-
ice.” Sinclair Spencer, glad of the pretext that talk-
ing to Miller gave him of bending nearer Kathleen,
turned his back on his dinner partner. That Kath-
leen had given him her full attention throughout the
dinner had partly compensated for the fact that she
was not wearing his orchids. It had been weeks
since he had enjoyed so uninterrupted a talk with her.
That her manner was distrait and her replies some-
what haphazard escaped him utterly. The drive to
Chevy Chase was both long and cold, and while
waiting for Miss Kiametia's other guests to assem-
ble before he presented himself, he had enjoyed
more than one cocktail. That stimulant, combined
with Miss Kiametia's excellent champagne, had
dulled his perceptions. “The officers will be given
41


I SPY
their old rank," continued Spencer. "In the mean-
time they will have gained most valuable experi-
ence.”
“There is really no prospect now of a war with
Mexico." As she spoke Kathleen looked anxiously
across at Miss Kiametia, but her hostess showed no
disposition to give the signal for rising. Kathleen
was aware by his thick speech and Alushed features
that Spencer had taken more wine than was good for
him. She desired to ignore Captain Miller, but she
was equally desirous not to encourage Spencer's at-
tentions. She moved her chair back as far as she
could from the table to avoid the latter's near pres-
ence as he bent toward her. Deliberately she turned
and continued her remarks to Miller. “As soon as
a fair election is held and a president elected, he will
be recognized by our Government.”
Miller laughed. “A fair election and Mexico are
a contradiction of terms. Trouble there is by no
means over. I hope that you are not a peace-at-any-
price American ?”
"Indeed I am not," and Kathleen's eyes sparkled.
“I am for peace with a punch."
Again Spencer cut into the conversation, but his
condition was so apparent that Kathleen shrank
from him. “Miss Kathleen, give me firs' dance," he
42


AN EVENTFUL EVENING
demanded, as Miss Kiametia laid aside her napkin
and pushed back her chair.
In a second Baron Frederic von Fincke was by
her side, and with a sigh of thankfulness Kathleen
accepted his eager demand for a dance, and they
hastened into the assembly room, which, stripped of
its furniture, was already filled with dancers. It was
the regular Wednesday night dance at the club and
the room was crowded. Kathleen had no difficulty
in avoiding Captain Miller. Since her debut she had
reigned an acknowledged belle in society, and she
was quickly importuned by men eager for a dance.
But as she laughed and jested with her partners,
she was conscious of lagging time and numbing brain.
Could she keep up the farce much longer ? '
From one of the doorways Sinclair Spencer
watched the gay scene with surly discontent. An at-
tempt to dance, while its result had no effect upon his
understanding, had caused his partner hastily to seek
her chaperon. His only ray of consolation was that
she had not been Kathleen Whitney. Come to think
of it, she had never thanked him for his orchids.
The oversight worried him, and he was about to
attempt to dodge the dancers and cross the room in
search of Kathleen when Baron von Fincke stopped
and addressed him.
43


I SPY
mu
"She is very beautiful, your Miss Whitney," he
said slowly. His English was not fluent. “But she
has not the tact of her pretty mother. She
would never have shown her avoidance of Captain
Miller quite so plainly as did Miss Whitney during
dinner.”
"'Twasn't 'voidance," protested Spencer. “I cut
him out.”
"Then why postpone your wooing?” The for-
eigner permitted no hint of his secret amusement to
creep into his voice as he glanced from Spencer to
where Kathleen was dancing.
"Go-going to ask Kathleen tonight,” replied Spen-
cer, with drunken dignity. "I'm no la-laggard.
Speak to Whitney, too; though that isn't important-
he won't refuse." He cogitated darkly for a mo-
ment. "If he does . . . I'll make things hot for
him. ..."
“Hush!" Von Fincke laid a heavy hand on Spen-
cer's shoulder as he looked carefully about them;
apparently no one was within earshot. “Collect
your wits. The time is not ripe for threats, Spen-
cer. The invention is not yet completed; until it is
-no threats. We must not kill the goose before
the golden egg is laid."
“Washn't makin' threats," stammered Spencer,
44


AN EVENTFUL EVENING
startled by the angry gleam in his companion's eyes.
“Now, don't get mad, von Fincke, think of all I've
done in that Mex- "
"Come this way,” and with no gentle hand the
foreigner propelled Spencer down the hall out of
sight of the guests and out of doors.
Miss Kiametia Grey, enjoying watching the danc-
ing as much as her guests enjoyed participating in it,
was interrupted in her desultory conversation with
two chaperons by one of the club attendants.
Upon receiving his message she made her way to
where Kathleen and her partner had just paused
after a breathless extra.
"Having a good time, dearie?" she questioned.
“It is a shame to interrupt your pleasure, but your
father has telephoned that you must be at home by
midnight.”
“And your car waits, Cinderella,” put in Spencer
who, suddenly returning, had overheard Miss Kia-
metia's remark. He had a particularly hard time
with the pronunciation of “Cinderella."
The spinster favored him with a frown, and the
back view of a sharp shoulder blade. To her mid-
Victorian mind Sinclair Spencer was not conducting
himself as a gentleman should, and her half-consid-
ered resolve to drop him from her visiting list be-
45


I SPY
came adamantine as she observed his appearance.
Slipping her hand inside Kathleen's arm she led her
to the cloakroom.
“Catch me asking fourteen to dinner again!" she
exclaimed. “It always dwindles to thirteen at the
last moment, and I have a nervous chill until the
number is completed.”
“Whose place did I fill?" asked Kathleen, pre
senting her cloak check to the maid.
“Nobody's, to be quite candid," Miss Kiametia
smiled ruefully. “My dinner was originally twelve,
but Captain Miller was so charming this afternoon
that I asked him on impulse, and then sent for you
to pair off with him.”
“Thank you.” The dryness of her tone was not
lost on the spinster. There were times when she
wished to box Kathleen's ears. She was a born
matchmaker, and Kathleen's indifference to matri-
monial opportunities was a constant source of vex-
ation to her.
"Never saw two people look so ideally suited to
each other,” she snapped. Kathleen started as if
stung. “And I'm told mutual aversion is often a
good beginning for a romance. I never saw you
discourteous before, Kathleen; you simply ignored
Captain Miller until dessert."
46


AN EVENTFUL EVENING
"Possibly I had good reason.” Kathleen's color
rose. “Where, pray, did you pick him up?"
"Tut, tut! Don't forget you are talking to a
woman nearly old enough to be your mother.” But
Miss Kiametia's kind heart softened as she saw
Kathleen felt her words. "There, dearie, don't
mind an old crosspatch. Captain Miller was intro-
duced to me by Senator Foster. You can see with
half an eye that Captain Miller is a gentleman born
and bred. All ready? Then I'll run back to my
other guests. Come and see me Sunday," and with
a friendly wave of her hand, Miss Kiametia returned
to the dining-room where the dancers had adjourned
for supper.
Kathleen found her limousine waiting at the en-
trance, and bidding the club attendant good-night
she stepped inside the car, but as her chauffeur
started to close the door he was pushed to one side.
“Fa-sher tele-telephoned I was to shee you home,"
announced Spencer, striving to enunciate clearly. His
haste and unsteady gait precipitated him almost on
top of the girl as he endeavored to seat himself by
her side. “D-don't get scared,” placing a moist hand
on her wrist. “Fa-sher's orders. Ask H-Henry.”
The chauffeur touched his cap. "Mr. Whitney
did telephone me to bring Mr. Spencer back with
47


I SPY
you, Miss Kathleen,” he volunteered, and without
waiting for further orders he banged to the door
and climbed into his seat.
With an indignant exclamation Kathleen leaned
over, seized the speaking-tube and whistled through
it. But apparently the roar of the open throttle
drowned the whistle, for Henry did not pick up his
end of the tube. As the car started down the drive
a man jumped to the running-board, jerked open the
car door, and without ceremony pushed Spencer into
a corner and seated himself between the latter and
Kathleen.
"Hope I didn't keep you waiting, Miss Whitney,"
he apologized. "Sorry to have been late."
Kathleen shrank back. She did not need the light
from the lamp at the entrance of the club grounds
to tell her the intruder was Captain Miller. She
was too well acquainted with his voice. A voice
she had hoped never to hear again.
Spencer, considerably shaken by the force Miller
had used in thrusting him back against the side of
the car, muttered a string of curses, which ended
abruptly as Miller's, elbow came in sharp contact
with his ribs.
Too bewildered for speech, Kathleen rested her
head against the upholstered back of the limousine.


AN EVENTFUL EVENING
Neither of the men seemed inclined to break the
silence as the car sped swiftly toward Washington,
and gradually Kathleen's reasoning power returned
to her. She was furiously angry with herself, with
the world, with Fate. Ah, she would be mistress
of her own fate. Kathleen compressed her lips in
mute determination. Captain Miller must be made
to understand that she would not tolerate his further
acquaintance. How dared he thrust his presence
upon her? Kathleen's hot anger cooled for a sec-
ond; if Miller had not thrust himself into the limou-
sine she would in all probability have either had to
order Henry forcibly to eject Spencer, which might
have given rise to unpleasant gossip, or have en-
dured alone the intoxicated man's society for the
five-mile drive into town.
High-power arc lights were strung along the road-
way, and under their white glare Kathleen stole a
glance at Miller. Handsome still, she admitted to
herself, and the same broad-shouldered, athletic fig-
ure. He was the type of man which appeals to
both men and women. She caught her breath
sharply as bitter memories crowded upon her, and
slipping down her hand, drew her skirts surrepti-
tiously away from touching Miller. If he noted the
movement he gave no sign.
49


I SPY
As the lights of Washington appeared, the chauf-
feur reduced the limousine's speed to that required
by law. They were in the heart of the resident sec-
tion when a snore from Spencer explained his long
silence. The warmth and motion of the limousine,
combined with his overindulgence in wine, had lulled
him to sleep. With an effort Kathleen roused her-
self from her dismal reflections.
"Can I leave you anywhere, Captain-Miller?”
she inquired frigidly.
“No thanks, I will walk to my hotel after I have
seen you safely home.”
Kathleen fumbled with the clasp of her evening
wrap and stared down the empty streets. She
waited until they were approaching Lafayette
Square, then broke her silence for the second
time.
"I desire that you leave me here," she stated
calmly. "I am now within a few blocks of my
home.” Without waiting for comment she leaned
forward, tapped upon the front window, and sig-
naled Henry to stop.
Miller rose as the limousine drew up to the curb.
"As you wish,” he said courteously. “But I do not
think this man a suitable companion for you,” and
collaring Spencer, he opened the door and, thrusting
50


AN EVENTFUL EVENING
the still sleeping man out on the pavement, sprang
out after him.
Henry's eyes bulged as he saw the two men, but
Miller's manner stopped the ejaculation upon his
lips.
"Take Miss Whitney home," directed Miller, and
lifting his hat to Kathleen he watched the limousine
turn a corner and disappear. Then he glanced down
at Spencer sprawling on the pavement. A queer
smile lighted his face as he stared at the lawyer.
"What's your little game, Spencer?” he asked
softly, and a hearty kick punctuated the question.


AT THE CAPITOL
Mrs. Whitney was giving her final direction to
the new chauffeur as to which she considered the
best and safest route to the Capitol and the speed
she wished maintained, when her husband joined
them.
"I've decided to take a morning off and go with
you," he announced, entering the limousine. “Room
for me on the back seat?"
"Surely," and his wife patted the wide cushion.
"We do not possess a superabundance of flesh in
this family.”
"Except Dad,” interpolated Kathleen mischiev-
ously. She knew her father disliked the idea of
getting fat, while lacking the initiative of keeping
thin. “What you need, Dad, is a cold plunge and
a ten-mile walk before breakfast.”
Whitney shuddered. “Nice comfortable ideas
you have, Kathleen, for a winter day. It strikes me
you should take a dose of your own medicine.”
Inspecting her keenly. "Late hours do not improve
your appearance, young lady.”
"Thanks," but her usually sunny smile was
strained. “And I suppose you still work all night,
Dad, disobeying Dr. McLane's orders.”
"I don't take orders from McLane," shortly.
“And I didn't work very late last night. Your
53


I SPY
mother came up and tried some of her Sisters in
Unity persuasion upon me, and I capitulated."
Mrs. Whitney did not take the jest in good part.
While she reveled in society, she was essentially a
clubwoman, and nothing delighted her so much as
debating and delivering addresses. She was a cap-
ital extemporaneous speaker, and had held promi-
nent offices in different clubs. Possessing no sense
of humor, which her husband and Kathleen had in
abundance, she seriously objected to their poking
fun at her beloved organization, the Sisters in
Unity, of which she was a charter member. Any
allusion to it in fun she considered an offense in
good taste. Therefore withdrawing into dignified
silence she permitted Whitney and Kathleen to keep
up the conversation. In fact, Whitney did most of
the talking, and neither he nor his wife perceived
Kathleen's inattention.
"I'm on the high road to solving the last prob-
lem," he exulted. "The invention is simple, so
very simple, but, Minna, it will revolutionize many
things in warfare. You won't be ashamed of your
old Dad, Kathleen, when the world acknowledges
what I've done."
"I'm proud of you now, and always have been,"
affirmed Kathleen, and leaning over she placed a
54


I SPY :
“Don't mind, I'll look up Randall Foster; he'll
see we get in. Come this way."
They found the corridors of the huge building
filled with hurrying men and women, and Whitney
spent fully twenty minutes before he succeeded in
obtaining the coveted card to the private gallery
from his friend, Senator Foster. To Mrs. Whit-
ney's dismay they found the gallery filled; but for-
tune favored them, for just after their entrance
three women seated in the front row rose and made
their way out. With a quickness which showed her
familiarity with conventions Mrs. Whitney pounced
upon the seats, and sank into hers with a sigh of
thankfulness. She had overcome a number of ob-
stacles that morning to get there, and though it was
a small matter she hated to be thwarted in any-
thing she undertook.
Kathleen, like many another Washingtonian, con-
fined her visits to the Capitol to sightseeing trips
with out-of-town friends, and she had come there
that morning only because she could think of no
good reason for staying away. To her inward sur-
prise she soon found her attention absorbed by the
debate going on in the Senate, and when one of the
distinguished lawmakers commenced a characteristic
speech she became unconscious of the flight of time.
56


AT THE CAPITOL
As the Senator ended his fiery peroration, she raised
her head and, glancing toward the Diplomats' Gal.
lery, recognized Captain Charles Miller sitting in
the front row regarding her.
"Have you seen Medusa's head?” asked Whit-
ney, tugging at her elbow. "Wake up, Kathleen,
unless you've been turned into marble. Your moth-
er's told you three times that Senator Foster has in-
vited us to lunch with him. She is waiting for us
in the corridor. Come along."
As they joined Mrs. Whitney, a young man hur-
ried up to them. “I am Senator Foster's secretary,"
he explained. “The Senator has gone direct to the
dining-room on the ground floor. This way, please,”
and he piloted them to an elevator. On reaching
the private dining-room of the Senate they found
not only Foster but Miss Kiametia Grey awaiting
them.
“This is my lucky day," exclaimed Foster, heart-
ily. “First, you tell me your wife and Miss Kathleen
are here, Whitney; then I meet Kiametia on the
way to the gallery.” Mrs. Whitney smiled covertly.
The Senator's courtship of the wealthy spinster was
one of the most discussed topics in smart society.
"Couldn't resist the temptation to have you all lunch
with me," added Foster. “Won't you sit here, Mrs.
57


I SPY
Whitney," pulling out a chair on his right, "and
Kiametia," indicating the chair on his left, "and
Whitney next to you. Miss Kathleen, it's not eti-
quette to place father and daughter together, but
I have a stranger for your other hand. Ah, here
he comes ..."
Kathleen's back was to the entrance of the dining-
room, but a sixth sense warned her who the new-
comer was, and her face was expressionless when
Foster introduced his friend, Captain Miller, to
Mrs. Whitney and her husband. After greeting Miss
Kiametia, Miller stepped to Kathleen's side.
"Good morning,” he said quietly, and held out
his hand. Kathleen drew back, then good breed-
ing mastered her indignation. A second later her
hand was laid in his and instantly withdrawn, but
her fingers tingled from his strong clasp.
"Jolly party you must have had last night, Kia-
metia.” Foster's cheery voice enabled Kathleen to
control her somewhat shaken nerves. “Telephoned
Sinclair Spencer to stop and see me this morning,
but his servant said he never showed up until noon
today.”
"Kathleen pleaded guilty to a sleepless night,"
volunteered Mrs. Whitney, to the girl's secret in-
dignation.
58


AT THE CAPITOL
"It was the lobster," answered Miss Kiametia.
"I tried to warn you not to eat it, Kathleen.”
"Well, your lobster won't account for the non-
appearance of Henry,” mourned Mrs. Whitney, her
mind harking back to her own grievance. "How
d'ye do, Mrs. Sunderland," as an elaborately gowned
woman swept by their table, barely returning their
greeting.
"It is the regret of my life,” announced Miss
Kiametia, her eyes twinkling, “that I never kept a
photograph of Mrs. Sunderland taken when she first
came to Washington ten years ago. It would pro-
vide a study in expression and expansion in social
snobbery."
Mrs. Whitney, conscious that she was perhaps
rude by her silence, turned to Captain Miller who
had taken no part in the conversation.
"Is this your first visit to Washington, Captain ?"
she inquired.
"Yes, and I find its residents so delightful that
I hope to prolong my stay."
"What did you think of the speech today?" broke
in Foster.
"Capital! The Senator is right; if this govern-
ment ship purchase bill goes through, the country
will indeed be buying a quarrel.”
59


I SPY
“Quite right,” agreed Whitney, laying down his
fork. "The only people who fail to see it in that
light are those advocating the bill's passage. Every
nation thinks the same.”
“Except possibly Germany,” argued Foster.
“She would probably try and sell us the hundreds
of interned ships in our seaports."
"Well, why shouldn't she?" Miss Kiametia, with
recollections of her misgivings the night before, de-
clined the lobster croquettes. “With the German
steamships and freighters interned here we should
have a merchant marine ready to our hand.”
"And thereby provide instant use for our navy,"
retorted Whitney.
“Uncle Sam had better think twice before taking
issue with the German submarines,” grumbled Miss
Kiametia.
Whitney's eyes lit with an angry sparkle, and he
opened his mouth to speak, but his wife gave him no
opportunity.
“Are you pro-German, Kiametia ?" she asked in
astonishment.
"Well, I lean that way,” admitted the spinster.
“You know I'm named for the sister of Pocahontas,
and my drop of Indian blood gives me a good mem-
ory. It strikes me that this nation is overlooking
60


AT THE CAPITOL
the American Revolution, not to mention 1812, and
I also recollect that England did not show us par.
ticular friendship during the Civil War.”
“The idea of waving the bloody shirt of '76!"
exclaimed Kathleen. "For shame, Miss Kiametia!
We Anglo-Saxons must stand together. And an-
other thing: Germany may have wiped the Bel-
gians off the map, but she's lodged them in every
American heart.”
"And we'll wake up some day and find the Ger-
mans sitting in Canada,” retorted Miss Kiametia.
"Looking at U. S.”
“ 'Over the garden wall,'” quoted Whitney laugh-
ing. “No, no, Kiametia. Wave the bloody shirt,
but don't try to scare us with a straw man.”
"Straw or not, the Kaiser is the world's bogy
man. He has taught us a lesson in preparedness
which this country will be slow to imitate."
“Uncle Sam is a good disciplinarian but a poor
student,” acknowledged Whitney, fingering the table
ornaments nervously. “Well, Foster, I've enjoyed
myself immensely, but there's work awaiting me at
home, and I really must run along."
Mrs. Whitney, talking placidly with Captain
Miller, looked considerably taken aback by her hus-
band's precipitancy. Hastily draining the last drop
61


I SPY
NOU
of her demi-tasse, she added her thanks and good-
byes, and followed her husband and Kathleen from
. the room.
"I'll walk home," announced Kathleen, as Whit-
ney signaled to their chauffeur. "It will do me
good, I need a constitutional."
“But—but it's over a mile,” protested Mrs.
Whitney.
"All the better," and waving her muff in fare-
well, Kathleen hastened off through the grounds in
the direction of Pennsylvania Avenue. She found
the cold invigorating air a bracing tonic after the
steam-heated atmosphere of the Capitol, and was
thoroughly enjoying her walk when she became con-
scious that a figure was keeping pace with her.
Looking up, she recognized Captain Miller. Kath-
leen stopped.
"Which way are you going?” she demanded, to-
tally unconscious of the pretty tableau she made, her
dark beauty enhanced by a becoming hat and silver
fox furs. Not anticipating her abrupt halt, Miller
was forced to retrace his footsteps.
"I spoke to you twice, Miss Whitney, but you
apparently did not hear me,” he answered, lifting
his hat. “I asked if I might accompany you, and
took silence for consent. My way lies your way.”
62


AT THE CAPITOL
Kathleen's fingers clenched tightly together inside
her muff. "Are you dead to all sense of decency ?”
she asked. “Can you not see that your presence is
an offense ?"
Miller's color rose, and there was an ominous
flash in his blue-gray eyes, but she met his look un-
dauntedly. “I think you take an exaggerated view
of the matter," he said quietly. “I desire your
friendship.”
"You dare ask that after ..."
With a quiet masterful gesture Miller stopped
her. "We are living in the present,” he said. “I re-
pent the past. Come”—with deepening earnest-
ness, "you are warm-hearted, impulsive, generous
be generous to me-give me a chance to make
good. Before God, I will not fail you."
Kathleen scanned him keenly. Could she place
faith in his sincerity? As she met the penetrating
glance she knew of old, now softened by the fasci-
nation of his winning smile, she came again under
the old personal charm.
"I cannot be friends with a man whom I do not
respect,” she stammered.
“But you shall respect me,” with dogged determi-
nation, “and then ..."
A bevy of girls, coming out of Galt's, paused to
63


I SPY
greet Kathleen, and Miller, not waiting to complete
his sentence, bowed to her and continued up the
Avenue. He paid no attention to the streets he
traversed, but on turning into F Street sought shel-
ter near a shop to light his cigarette. As he
threw the burnt match to the pavement he was at-
tracted by a large photograph of Kathleen Whitney
in the window. It was an excellent likeness, and
Miller, studying the clear-cut features, the lovely
eyes, and soft rippling hair, felt his heart throb. He
glanced at the sign above the window and found he
was standing before Edmonston's Photographic
Studio. On impulse he entered the building.
Miller's absorption in Kathleen's photograph had
not gone unnoticed, and when he emerged from the
studio, the observer accosted him.
"Beg pardon, sir, I'm Henry, Mr. Whitney's
chauffeur," he said. “Mr. Spencer, sir, was much
put out to wake up this morning, sir, and find him-
self in a strange hotel.”
"Better that than being registered 'drunk and dis-
orderly,'” smiled Miller.
"Yes, Captain Miller. I told him, sir, that you
had done him a service." .
“Ah, indeed? May I ask how you know who I
am?"
m-


AT THE CAPITOL
"I made out you'd have trouble with Mr. Spencer,
sir, and as soon as I'd left Miss Kathleen at home,
sir, I ran the car back down by the park, sir, just
in time to see you leading Mr. Spencer into the ho-
tel. The doorman there gave me your name, sir.”
"I see," replied Miller thoughtfully. "I lunched
with Mr. Whitney today, and it was mentioned that
you had not shown up," and his eyes were guilty
of a peculiar glint as he scrutinized the intelligent
face and finely proportioned figure of the chauffeur.
Henry reddened. “I wasn't feeling very well in
the night, sir, and overslept,” he explained. “Eh,
Captain,” as Miller turned away. “I saw you look-
ing, sir, at Miss Kathleen's picture. Did you get a
copy in Edmonston's ?"
"No," curtly.
"I thought not, sir. They never part with their
photographs in there, sir. But there's an extra
one in Mr. Whitney's library, sir, which I could
i.. could . .," he stopped abruptly as he met
Miller's gaze.
After a pause Miller slipped his hand into his
pocket and on pulling it out disclosed a gold coin
lying in his bare palm. “I see you are amenable
to reason, Henry," he said serenely, and the chauf-
feur stammered his thanks.
65


CHAPTER VII
PHANTOM WIRES
INCLAIR SPENCER walked up and down the
u Whitney drawing-room examining the costly
bric-a-brac, totally blind to the merits of each piece
and in several instances replacing them with entire
disregard as to whether they rested on the edge, or
on firm foundation. His occupation was interrupted
by the return of Vincent, the butler.
"Miss Kathleen is not at home, sir," he an-
nounced.
"Quite certain, Vincent ?” holding out a treasury
bill with a persuasive gesture.
“Quite, sir." Vincent looked offended, but slipped
the large tip in his pocket with inward satisfaction.
He saw Spencer's crestfallen appearance and
thawed. “Julie, the maid, says Miss Kathleen
hasn't returned from the Red Cross meeting, sir,
but that she's liable to come in 'most any time.”
"Well, perhaps is Mr. Whitney at home?"
“Yes, sir; but I dassent interrupt him, sir. He's
working in his studio."
66


PHANTOM WIRES
“Then I'll wait here for a time, at least. Don't
wait, Vincent."
"Very good, sir.” But Vincent paused irreso-
lutely. His conscience was reproaching him. Miss
Kathleen's orders had been very explicit; if Mr.
Spencer called to see her father, well and good; if
he came to see her, he was not to be admitted.
For six weeks the seesaw had kept up, and Vin-
cent had grown weary of answering the door for
Spencer. He had been an almost daily caller, oc-
casionally admitted when Winslow Whitney was
downstairs, and always a visitor on Mrs. Winslow's
weekly day at home. But these latter visits had
profited him nothing. Kathleen never gave him an
opportunity to see her alone, and it was the same
at dinners and dances to which they were both in-
vited. Spencer had come there that morning fully
determined to see Kathleen and, as he expressed it
to himself, "have an understanding with her." Hav-
ing for once gotten by Vincent's relaxed guard, wild
horses would not have dragged him away.
Vincent's harassed expression altered to one of
relief as he heard the front doorbell sound, but his
feelings underwent a change when he saw Kathleen
standing in the vestibule instead of Mrs. Whitney,
who had announced that she would return early
67


I SPY
as she was walking and not using the limousine.
“Any mail for me in the noon delivery?” asked
Kathleen, and her smile faded at the butler's nega-
tive reply. Why did her letters to England remain
unanswered? John Hargraves was the promptest
of correspondents, and the question she had asked
him required an answer. Preoccupied with her own
thoughts, she was about to enter the elevator totally
oblivious to Vincent's agitated manner. As she
placed her hand on the elevator door, Sinclair Spen-
cer walked into the hall.
"How are you?” he said, his off-hand salutation
concealing much tribulation of spirit. Vincent
caught one glimpse of Kathleen's face and discreetly
vanished.
"Do you wish to see my father, Mr. Spencer ?"
asked Kathleen, utterly ignoring his outstretched
hand.
"No. I came expressly to see you," and his air
of dogged determination was not to be mistaken.
Kathleen came to a sudden decision.
"Suppose we go into the drawing-room," she sug-
gested. “I can spare you a few minutes." But once
in the room she did not sit down. "Why do you
wish to see me, Mr. Spencer ?".
"To ask you to marry me." Sinclair's usually
NE
68


PHANTOM WIRES
Alorid face was white, and his customary self-assur-
ance had departed.
"I thank you for the complimient,” with icy polite-
ness, “but I must decline your proposal.”
“You—you refuse?" Spencer spoke as in a dream.
“Yes. Surely, Mr. Spencer, you cannot have ex-
pected any other answer—cannot have deluded your-
self into thinking that I could possibly accept you?
I have tried in every means within my power to dis-
courage your attentions."
"But why?” Spencer's air castles were tumbling
about his ears, but he stuck to his guns. His affec-
tion for Kathleen, fanned by her indifference, had
become all-absorbing. Courted and flattered by
mothers with marriageable daughters, he had come
to believe that he had but to speak to win Kath-
· leen.
“Why discuss the matter further?” asked Kath-
leen. She heartily wished the scene over; it had not
been of her seeking. To wantonly hurt another's
feelings was alien to her nature, and that Spencer
was suffering his demeanor betrayed.
"I must.”. Spencer came a step nearer. “Tell me
why you refuse me."
"Your habits ..."
"I haven't touched a drop of wine since that din-
69


I SPY
ner at Chevy Chase,” triumphantly. "And if you
don't approve, I'll not take another drink as long as
I live.”
"I certainly think it would be better for you to
stick to that resolution.” Kathleen moved toward
the hall door. “I really do not see any object in
prolonging this discussion."
"But I do," following her. “I have perhaps
startled you by my abrupt manner. I do love you,
Kathleen"-his voice shook-"love you better than
anybody. I know that I can make you care for me.
I have money ..."
“That makes no difference."
“With you, perhaps not,” but Spencer looked du-
bious. "I swear never to touch wine again. I will
gratify your every wish”—Kathleen shook her head,
and he added heatedly, "What is there about me
you don't like?”
"I–I cannot tell—” Kathleen edged toward the
door. “It's a case of 'Dr. Fell.'".
"Fell?” Spencer turned red, his self-esteem
pricked at last. “Is that another name for Captain
Miller?" with insolent significance.
Kathleen stepped back as if struck. “I think it
time to end this conversation,” she said, but her
remark received no attention.
70


PHANTOM WIRES
“I see it all now,” muttered Spencer. “Captain
Miller has won your affection.”
"He has not.” The contradiction slipped from
Kathleen with more vehemence than she intended.
Spencer brightened. In endeavoring to convince
herself, she had thoroughly convinced him.
“You are not engaged to him?” he asked eagerly.
"Certainly not.” Kathleen crimsoned with indig-
nation. How dared Sinclair Spencer catechise her!
“I must insist that you leave. · And, Mr. Spencer,
please remember, I desire that you never again
allude to your proposal of marriage.”
“But I shall,” doggedly.
“Then our acquaintance will cease." Her man-
ner even more than her words roused Spencer to
sudden wrath.
"No, it won't," he retorted. “And I will make
you—understand-make you reconsider your refusal
to marry me. Good morning,' and without a back-
ward look he departed.
Kathleen drew a long breath of relief as the front
door closed behind him. “Thank God, he's gone,"
she said aloud, unconscious that her words were
overheard. "He is insufferable. I cannot under-
stand why father ever encouraged him to come to
the house."
71


I SPY
Rapid walking soon brought Spencer to the cor-
ner of Seventeenth and H Streets, and hailing a
taxicab he gave the chauffeur an address on Nine-
teenth Street. Fifteen minutes later he was ushered
into the presence of Baron Frederic von Fincke.
“And how is the excellent Mr. Spencer this morn-
ing?" asked von Fincke genially, offering his guest
a chair.
Spencer, however, remained standing and disre-
garded the question as well as the chair.
"Who is this fellow, Charles Miller?" he asked
in his turn.
Von Fincke laughed softly. “Consult your
'Who's Who,' my dear friend; do not come to me,
an outsider."
"You know why I come to you,” with pointed ac-
centuation. “I am determined to find out Miller's
antecedents, and I am convinced you can tell me if
you will."
Von Fincke shook his head. “You overrate my
powers,” he insisted suavely. "I have met Captain
Miller as one meets any visitor to this cosmopolitan
city. My acquaintance extends no further than our
meeting at Miss Grey's dinner at the Chevy Chase
Club six weeks ago."
Spencer paused in indecision; for the moment,
72


PHANTOM WIRES
the foreigner's candid manner disarmed his doubts.
“Quite sure you can't find out about Miller ?” he
persisted.
"I can but question my few friends in Washing-
ton; their information of Captain Miller may be
of the vaguest. Why do you not apply to Senator
Randall Foster? He and the Captain are what you
call—inseparable.”
"So they are, but I'm not going to Foster for
anything."
“No?"
"No!” The repetition was almost a roar. Spen-
cer's temper, always uncertain, had been severely
tried that morning, and was rapidly giving way un-
der the strain of bitter disappointment. "I ran up
against Foster in those Senate lobby charges, and of
all the cantankerous—" He paused expressively,
then added, “I used to have a high regard for his
sagacity and business judgment until he lost his
head over that Grey woman. Because she don't
choose to be decently civil, he's turned surly.
You wait! I'll bring them to time, and Kathleen
Whitney also.”
“Ah!”
“You may ‘Ah!' all you wish, but I am going to
marry that girl, in spite of her refusal."
73


I SPY
"And how is that to be accomplished if you have
not the young lady's consent?"
Spencer thrust his hands deep into his pockets and
faced von Fincke resolutely. "She idolizes her
father; his word is law to her."
“And you have his consent to the match ?”
“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 an-
noyed.”
“Indeed?” Spencer eyed his companion suspi-
ciously. "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?” Von Fincke walked over to his
desk and seated himself. "Suppose we sit and
talk ..."
"No," defiantly. “The time for talking has gone
by. You know, I'll bet my last cent that Whitney
has patents pending in the United States Patent Of-
fice for his invention. All this waiting for him to
finish his work is poppy-cock. Why are you protect-
ing Whitney, unless he's your tool ?"
Von Fincke laughed. “You have strange ideas.
74


PHANTOM WIRES
ove
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. "I'm
going to investigate Whitney's affairs and his house
before I'm much older. Don't bother to ring for a
servant,” he added, seeing his host's hand hovering
over the electric desk bell, and not waiting for an
answer, bolted from the room.
Von Fincke's hand descended on the electric bell
button with imperative force, and rising he hastened
into the hall. He paused at sight of his breathless
valet ushering Spencer down the staircase. Not
until he was thoroughly convinced that Spencer had
left the house did he turn back from the head of
the stairs.
"He grows troublesome, that Spencer,” he mused
as he made his way to his own suite of rooms.
An hour later Captain Charles Miller turned in
at the main entrance of his hotel and went directly
to his room on the eighth floor. Humming softly
to himself he hung up his overcoat and hat in the
closet, and removing his coat placed that also on a
75


I SPY
hanger. Back once more in his bedroom, he care-
fully arranged the heavy draperies over his window
so that his movements were completely screened, and
taking a black silk muffler fastened it securely over
the knob of the hall door. The window and door
of his private bathroom were likewise draped.
Finally satisfied that he was secure from observa-
tion and all sound deadened, Miller took from his
overcoat pocket four porcelain castors, and drop-
ping on his knees by the side of his brass bed, he
deftly inserted them in place of the bed's regular
steel castors.
Pausing long enough to clear the toilet articles
from his bureau, he lifted from a box-shaped leather
bag marked “Underwood” a Massie Rosonophone
and deftly installed it on the bureau top. Taking
a slight copper wire he attached it to one of the posts
of the bed and connected it with the apparatus, mak-
ing sure that the wire was suspended clear of the
ground and surrounding objects. With another sus-
pended wire he grounded the apparatus on the ra-
diator.
At last convinced that all was adjusted properly,
Miller moved over to his desk and gazed intently
at a large photograph of Kathleen Whitney. It
was an occupation of which he never tired. The
76


PHANTOM WIRES
faint buzz of the alarm bell sent him back to the
wireless apparatus, and slipping on his headpiece
telephone he picked up his pencil. Listening in-
tently to the dots and dashes, Miller took down the
message passing through space.
As he jotted down the last letter and the wire-
less apparatus ceased to receive, Miller regarded
the written coded message before him on his writ-
ing pad with deep satisfaction. He was at last in
tune with the transmitting station. The code only
remained to be solved.
vre-


I SPY
nodded her head vigorously. "You're safe; go on."
Again Foster hesitated. He knew Miss Kiametia
dearly loved a morsel of gossip, but he also knew
that she could be trusted not to divulge matters of
real importance. He, as well as the other members
of the set in which the Whitneys and Miss Grey be-
longed, had observed Captain Miller's attention to
Kathleen, had noted the gradual thawing of her stiff
manner to him as the weeks went on, and he be-
lieved that Miss Kiametia's questions were prompted
by the affection she bore Kathleen. He also was
aware that the spinster cordially detested Sinclair
Spencer and was secretly elated at Kathleen's indif-
ference to the lawyer's attentions.
“I imagine Miller is here in the interests of the
Allies,” he said, lowering his voice. “I know that
he has entered into negotiations for the purchase of
war munitions, and that he is hoping to put through
a deal for certain cavalry horses. I am so positive
that he is what he represents himself to be that I
have given him letters to influential men in my
State."
"That possibly explains his many abrupt absences
from the city," commented Miss Kiametia sagely.
"He has the habit of backing out of dinner engage-
ments at the eleventh hour. But tell me, do you
80


KAISER BLUMEN
know nothing about the man's family_his char-
acter?"
“Not a word. His letter of introduction was
good, his business references excellent, and so"-the
Senator's gesture was expressive. “I had no idea
he would prove such a Beau Brummel when I in-
troduced him to my Washington friends.” Foster
turned and looked across the room at Miller. “I
should judge that he has seen service, his carriage
is military."
"He appears to be an American, but he has cer-
tain mannerisms”-Miss Kiametia paused and, not
completing her sentence, turned her attention to
other guests. After their departure she beckoned
Foster to join her by the door.
“Captain Miller piques my curiosity," she whis-
pered. “You say you know nothing about his fam-
ily—I am going to find out about his character now."
“How?” Foster looked mystified. “Where are
you going?” as she moved forward. “Remember,
what I told you was confidential."
"Trust me," and with a most undignified wink,
Miss Kiametia sailed down upon Mrs. Whitney and
Captain Miller. “You can't escape me," she said
to the latter, as he rose on her approach. “You
must come and be victimized."
81


I SPY
"In what way?"
“By my latest fad-palmistry. Come, Minna,
we'll go into the library," and laying a determined
hand on Miller's arm she led the way into the cozy
room, followed by Mrs. Whitney and the highly
amused Senator. Miss Kiametia was a good organ-
izer, and she marshalled her three guests into seats
by the library table, placing Miller between herself
and Mrs. Whitney.
"Is this a séance ?" inquired Kathleen, watching
the group from the doorway. Another of Miss
Kiametia’s receiving party had taken her place at
the tea-table.
“Come and lend Captain Miller your moral sup-
port,” called Miss Kiametia, “while his character
is being divulged. "No, you are to sit still," as
Miller made a motion to rise. “Kathleen can
stand behind us and prompt me if my deduc-
tions go astray; she knows you better than the rest
of us."
Kathleen advanced with lagging steps into the
room. She had turned singularly pale, and Miss
Kiametia, watching her closely, wondered if she was
taking the game seriously. She stopped just back
of Miller's chair and rested her hand lightly on
Miss Kiametia's shoulder as the latter pulled the
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KAISER BLUMEN
electric lamp nearer so that its rays fell full upon
Miller's palm.
"Has the size of the hand anything to do with
the subject?" asked Miller, as the spinster picked
up a magnifying glass.
“Don't make suggestions to the oracle," laughed
Foster. “Go ahead, Kiametia."
"Your life line is good," pronounced the spinster,
“but as it divides toward the end you will prob-
ably die in a country different from that of your
birth.”
“Any particular time scheduled for the event?”
questioned Miller, skeptically, but Miss Kiametia
ignored the remark.
"This branch from the head line to the heart”-
indicating it with a slender paper-cutter—"denotes
some great affection which makes you blind to rea-
son and danger.” She paused irresolutely. “Pshaw!
I'm reading from the left hand, let me see the
other. ..."
"Isn't the one nearest the heart the surest guide ?"
inquired Miller.
"It is not," with decision, and Miller, smiling
whimsically, extended his hand toward them.
"The right hand of fellowship,” he remarked,
placing his palm directly under the light.
83


I SPY
20
· "My theory is correct.” Miss Kiametia shot a
triumphant look at Mrs. Whitney. "There are al-
ways more lines in the right palm than in the left;
and see, here is a wider space between the lines of
the head and life-contact with the world, Captain
Miller, has taught you self-reliance, promptness of
action, and readiness of thought. Hello, what is
that on your index finger—a half-moon?”
“Yes.” Miller smiled covertly; the spinster's seri-
ousness amused him immensely. “Isn't that accord-
ing to Hoyle ?"
“No, nor according to Cheiro, either," tartly.
"Hold your palm steady so that I can see more
clearly. It's a scar, isn't it?"
“Yes."
Mrs. Whitney and Senator Foster were closely
following Miss Kiametia's words, and neither saw
the perplexed frown which wrinkled Kathleen's fore-
head as she stared down at Miller's right hand.
She was distinctly puzzled.
"The strength of your own individuality will carry
you over many obstacles,” finished Miss Kiametia,
giving Miller's hand a friendly tap with the paper-
cutter.
"Read mine next," and Foster held out his right
hand.
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KAISER BLUMEN
"Haven't time; besides,” the spinster's eyes twin-
kled, “I know your character like a book. What
is it, Sylvester?" as her colored butler appeared,
card tray in hand. “More visitors ? Oh, yes, the
Peytons—I particularly want you to know them,
Minna; no, you must not think of leaving yet," and
with her accustomed energy Miss Kiametia whisked
Mrs. Whitney into the drawing-room, Senator Fos-
ter following. As Kathleen stepped toward the
door, Miller stopped her.
"Don't go,” he pleaded, his voice, though low, vi-
brating with pent-up feeling. “Kathleen, my be-
loved, don't go."
She placed an unsteady hand on the portière. "I
must,” she stammered. “They need me. ...".
“No, I am the one who needs you. My last
chance of happiness lies in the balance. Kathleen,
give me a hearing."
Slowly, reluctantly she turned in his direction.
"Be wise, leave things as they are. ..."
"I cannot." Miller was white with the intensity
of his emotion. "I love you, love you."
Kathleen's hand crept to her heart as if to still its
wild throb.
"Don't, don't"-she looked beseechingly at him.
"Have you forgotten ..."
85


I SPY
“Yes,” boldly. "I only realize you are all in all
to me."
In the dead silence that followed the ticking of
the small desk clock was distinctly audible..
“Why not leave well enough alone?'' she begged,
a trifle wildly.
“Because I cannot stand it," huskily. “To see you
day after day— Will nothing I say convince or
move you? Am I outside the pale of affection ?"
No answer. In the prolonged silence Miller's
self-control snapped, and stepping to her side he
drew her in his arms. For a second she struggled
to release herself, then her strength gave way and
she leaned limply against him.
"I am a fool, a fool to listen to you," she gasped,
“but 1–1-love you now as I never did before."
With a low cry of unutterable happiness Miller
bent his head and their lips met in a passionate kiss.
The hall clock was chiming six when Mrs. Whit-
ney and Kathleen reached home. Not waiting for
her mother, Kathleen ran upstairs and shut herself
in her own room. Without troubling to switch on
the electric lights she made her way to a chair by the
window and flung herself into it.
Love, the all-powerful, had conquered reason.
Against her better judgment she had pledged her
86


KAISER BLUMEN
.
faith to Charles Miller. Her heart throbbed high
with hope, and with dreamy, happy eyes she stared
out of the window into the darkness. Slowly she
reviewed the events of the past six weeks. Never
intrusive, yet always by her side and at her beck
and call, never at a loss to do and say the right
thing, Miller had wooed her in his own masterful
way, trampling down prejudice, suspicion, unbelief,
until he had gained his heritage-love. The specter
of the past was laid-involuntarily Kathleen shiv-
ered.
"Is Mademoiselle here?” asked the French maid,
peering in uncertainly from the hall door. She had
rapped repeatedly and getting no response had gone
downstairs to look for Kathleen, only to be told that
she was in her own room..
"Come in, Julie, and turn on the electric switch,"
directed Kathleen, and blinked as the room was sud-
denly flooded with light. Without rising she re-
moved her hat-pins and handed her hat and coat to
the maid. "Just the blue foulard tonight. What
have you there?"
"Some flowers, mademoiselle," handing the box
to Kathleen. “Captain Miller left them at the door
himself, and seeing me in the hall asked that I give
them to you at once.” With a Frenchwoman's tact
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I SPY
she busied herself in getting out the blue foulard and
pretended not to see the blush and smile which ac-
companied Kathleen's opening of the box. She did
not speak again, helping Kathleen with deft fingers
to finish her toilet, and then stood back to contem-
plate the effect. “Will mademoiselle attend the
meeting tonight?" she asked.
“No, I am not a member of the Sisters in Unity.
I had forgotten the club was to meet here. Per-
haps mother will need you now. Don't wait."
But the Frenchwoman lingered. “Mademoi-
selle,” she began. “Mademoiselle."
“Yes, Julie."
"Pardon.” Turning abruptly, Julie opened the
door and glanced up and down the hall, then gently
closed and locked it. With equal quietness she
bolted the sitting-room door. Watching her with
growing curiosity Kathleen saw that her comely face
was white and drawn.
"Listen, mademoiselle.” The Frenchwoman was
careful to keep her voice low-pitched. “I dare to
speak tonight-for France."
"For France !" echoed Kathleen.
"France.” Julie's tone caressed the word. “My
country needs your father's invention—Ah, made-
· moiselle, do not let him sell it to another."
88


KAISER BLUMEN
"He will offer it first to our own Government."
"Will he, mademoiselle? Ah, do not be offend-
ed,” catching Kathleen's swift change of expression.
"I dare speak as I do—for France; think me not
disrespectful-but others wait to tempt your
father.”
"Nonsense !"
"I know what I know, mademoiselle. It has got-
ten abroad that Mr. Whitney has completed his in-
vention, that tests prove it successful-and, made-
moiselle, this house is watched."
Kathleen looked at Julie incredulously. Had the
maid taken leave of her senses? Between nervous-
ness and anxiety the Frenchwoman was trembling
from head to foot.
“Warn your father, mademoiselle; he will listen
to you."
"I will,” with reassuring vigor. "Tell me, Julie,
what has aroused your suspicion ?”
“Many things. When it creeps out that M.
Whitney has succeeded, I say to myself-the Ger-
mans, they will be interested. And I wait. Then
madame engages Henry ..."
"Henry? The chauffeur?”
"But yes. I do not like Henry, mademoiselle.
He is too much in the house for a chauffeur; I meet
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I SPY
him on the stairs, always on his way to the attic with
some message to M. Whitney who works in his
studio there. He laughs and teases me, that Henry,
but wait!” Julie's eyes were blazing. "And that
Monsieur Spencer; I trust him not also. Ah, made-
moiselle, do not let him be closeted with your
father-he is the younger and stronger man."
“Julie, are you quite mad?” exclaimed Kathleen,
her eyes twice their usual size.
"No, mademoiselle. I watch; yes, always I watch
and listen. Your father did well to have iron shut-
ters on the windows and new bolts on the door, but
he knows not that I am within call-on the other
side of the door.",
"Upon my word!" Kathleen's brain was in a
whirl. Was Julie's mind unbalanced? She knew
that the Frenchwoman's fiancé and two brothers had
been killed early in the war. Had grief for them
and anxiety for her beloved country developed hal-
lucinations? One thing was apparent—it would
never do to disagree with her in her overwrought
condition. Kathleen laid her arm protectingly about
her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. She was
very fond of the warm-hearted Frenchwoman.
"Do not worry, Julie. I will see that father takes
every precaution to safeguard his invention." She
90


KAISER BLUMEN
hesitated. "I, too, sympathize deeply with France."
“God bless thee, mademoiselle.” With a move-
ment full of grace Julie raised Kathleen's hand to
her lips, then glided from the room, her slippers
making no noise on the thick carpet.
Left alone Kathleen picked up her box of flowers
and walked thoughtfully into her sitting-room. Her
interview with Julie had depressed her. As she
passed her desk she saw a note addressed to her
lying on it, but recognizing Sinclair Spencer's hand-
writing she tossed it down again unopened. It would
keep to read later. She walked over to the pier
glass and began to adjust the flowers which Miller
had sent her. More interested in his note which
accompanied his gift, she had at first taken them
for violets, but looking more closely at the corsage
bouquet she found it contained cornflowers.
Again she read his note:
MY DARLING:
I send you the harbinger of spring, of hope, of happiness.
Ever fondly your lover,
CHARLES.
Back to Kathleen's memory came a vision of wav-
ing wheat in a field on the outskirts of Berlin and
scattered among the grain grew the cornflower
91


I SPY
Kaiser blumen. She raised her hand to her hot
cheeks. How came Miller to send her flowers
which he knew were connected with that past he so
ardently wished forgotten?


CHAPTER IX
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
W HITNEY scanned the long drawing-room
v and library beyond in comic despair. The
furniture of both rooms, which opened out of each
other, had been carried into another part of the
house, and in its place were rows on rows of gilt
chairs, while in the bow window stood an improvised
platform.
"Can I get you a seat, sir?" asked Vincent, plac-
ing a pitcher of ice water and tumblers on the speak-
er's table.
“No, thanks; my days as parliamentarian are over,
thank the Lord. I have learned, Vincent, that when
the Sisters in Unity hold an election it's safer to be
on the other side of the bolted door."
“Yes, sir." Vincent removed a cherished Sèvres
vase from its customary abiding place on the mantel
and tucked it carefully under his arm. “Miss Kath-
leen is looking for you, sir. I think I hear her in
the hall now, sir,” and he hastened into the library
as Kathleen stepped into the drawing-room.
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I SPY
"Where have you been since dinner, Dad? I
went from the top of the house to the bottom look-
ing for you."
"Had to go over to the drugstore to get a pre-
scription filled. Can I do anything for you?”
“Yes. Come and spend the evening with me,”
she coaxed.
Whitney laughed. “Can't, my dear. I have im.
portant work ahead of me tonight.”
“It must wait until tomorrow," coaxingly, strok-
ing his cheek softly. “I don't like these lines, Dad.
Your health is more to be considered than your
work.”
Whitney's air of tolerance turned to one of deter-
mination. “You are wrong; my work is of primary
importance. It's only a matter of hours now, Kath-
leen; then I can loaf for the rest of my days."
She shook her head. “Unless you take rest you
cannot stand the strain. Mother tells me you worked
all last night and far into the morning."
"My brain is clearer at night, and I have always
required very little sleep.” He frowned with grow-
ing impatience. “There is no use discussing the
subject.” He spoke in a tone which forbade further
argument.
"Dad," Kathleen lowered her voice and moved
94


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
closer to him, "has it occurred to you that—that
people are unduly curious about your invention?".
Whitney eyed her keenly. “It has," he admitted
tersely, "and I have taken precautions." He stared
at the clock and frowned impatiently. “Nearly eight
—the meeting will commence soon; let's get out of
here."
"Wait, Dad." Kathleen laid a restraining hand
on his shoulder. “I cannot bear to think of you
alone in the attic—so far away from—".
“Sisters in Unity—the very best of reasons for
going to the attic "
"Let me come with you," eagerly. "I'll bring
my own work and not say a word to you. I'm ner-
vous, Daddy, I–I don't want to be by myself to-
night-and there's something I want to—o—" her
voice broke.
Whitney glanced at Kathleen in surprise. What
had come over her?
"Oh, come along," he agreed roughly. “Only
remember, I won't be tormented with small talk."
Kathleen's eyes brightened with relief as she ac-
companied him into the hall. As they appeared the
elevator door opened and Mrs. Whitney stepped
out into the hall.
"Why, I thought you were lying down, Kathleen;
95


I SPY
you said that you were too tired to come in later
to our club meeting and hear Senator Foster's ad-
dress on 'Peace,'” she exclaimed, and not waiting
for an answer, turned to Whitney. “Can you spare
me a moment, Winslow? I wish your advice," and
with a quick tilt of her head she indicated the small
reception room on the left of the front door. “Come
in here."
"Certainly, Minna. Don't wait for me, Kath-
leen,” but the girl paused irresolutely.
"Shall I go to the studio ?” she asked.
“No, you cannot get in; the door is locked. Go
to your sitting-room and I'll stop for you on the way
to the studio."
"Honest Injun, Dad?” And her father, nodding
vigorous assent, watched her go up the stairs, then
with a brisk step entered the reception room.
"How charming you look, Minna !” he exclaimed,
in honest admiration.
"You think so ?” and Mrs. Whitney dimpled with
pleasure. “I do want to win the election tonight-
and clothes count for so much in woman's politics."
"I back you to win against all comers," and Whit-
ney gave her shapely shoulder a loving pat as he
stooped to kiss her. "What is the matter with
Kathleen tonight? Her behavior troubles me."
room.
96


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
His wife laughed softly. "She is suffering from
an old complaint she is in love."
"What!" Whitney stared at her in blank astonish-
ment. "With whom?” and sudden, sharp anxiety
lay behind the abrupt question.
"I suspect-Captain Miller.”
"Miller? That silent,” Whitney checked his
impetuous words. “Miller? Good Lord!”
"What can you tell me about Captain Miller ?”
Her feminine curiosity was instantly aroused at his
quick change of expression.
"Just what I have seen of him and nothing more.
He never talks of himself."
"Such a relief,” sighed Mrs. Whitney. “There
is Randall Foster-talks always of his own achieve-
ments. Wait until Kiametia Grey marries him. I
sometimes wonder..."
"I can't see that we are directly concerned with
that romance," broke in Whitney with characteris-
tic impatience. “What's your opinion of Miller?"
"I rather like him; he's very agreeable, good-
looking, and seems to have plenty of money ..."
"Then you . .."
"Favor his suit? Yes," tranquilly.
"But, heavens, Minna, you know nothing about
Captain Miller's past."
. 97


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Un
"You can inquire about it; in fact, I think it is
your duty to do so. He calls here entirely too fre-
quently not to be asked his intentions."
"What the" Whitney reddened angrily and his
voice rose. “A nice task you put before me. I
dis "
“Sh!" Rising hurriedly, Mrs. Whitney laid a
warning hand on his arm. “There's the bell, and
this room is needed for the cloaks. Where is Julie?"
Paying no attention to her husband's apparent de-
sire to say something more, Mrs. Whitney stepped
into the hall. Whitney stood in deep thought for
a brief moment, then hastened after her, but his hope
to slip upstairs unseen was frustrated. Miss Kia-
metia Grey, enveloped in a heavy fur coat, prompt-
ly hailed him and as he stood chatting to her in
the hall the front door again opened and Henry,
the chauffeur, who had been requisitioned to assist
Vincent, ushered in Sinciair Spencer.
"Good evening, Mrs. Whitney," Spencer's loud
cheery voice boomed through the hall, and un-
der cover of his jovial manner he scanned Whit-
ney and his wife. Had Kathleen spoken to them
of his proposal of marriage that morning and her
refusal? “Just dropped in to see your husband,
Mrs. Whitney; hadn't hoped for the pleasure of

98


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
seeing you. Hello, Whitney. Evening, Miss Grey."
But the spinster, with a stiff bow, slipped past the
lawyer and into the reception room without seeing
his outstretched hand. Spencer's florid complexion
turned a deeper tint as he met Henry's blank stare,
but a covert glance at the Whitneys convinced him
that they had not seen Miss Kiametia's rudeness."
"Do take Mr. Spencer upstairs, Winslow," sug-
gested Mrs. Whitney, as the chauffeur opened the
door to admit more guests. “I have a meeting of
my club tonight, Mr. Spencer, and therefore ..."
"Certainly, certainly; please don't let my presence
put you out," with a courteous bow. “Come on,
Whitney, let's go up to your studio,” and he fol-
lowed his host into the elevator.
Whitney stopped the car at the first bedroom
floor. “We will be far more comfortable in my
wife's boudoir than in my studio," he said. “Go
ahead, Spencer, first door to your right. I'll stop
in my bedroom and get some cigars."
Glancing curiously about the large attractive hall,
Spencer entered the daintily furnished boudoir, and
was examining the many water colors and photo-
graphs which hung on the walls, when Whitney
came in carrying a cigar box and a tray containing
Scotch and vichy.
99


I SPY
“That's some of Kathleen's work,” he explained,
observing that the lawyer had picked up a min-
iature of Mrs. Whitney. "She is clever with her
brush.”
“Very clever,” agreed Spencer enthusiastically.
“There is no one, Whitney, whom I admire as I
do your daughter;" drawing a lounging chair near
the table on which his host put the tray. "Why does
Kathleen avoid me?"
"Does she?"
"She does,” with bitter emphasis. "And it cuts
-deep."
"You are supersensitive," protested Whitney po-
litely. "I do not for a moment believe Kathleen
would intentionally hurt your feelings."
Spencer did not answer at once, and chafing in-
wardly at being kept from his work in the studio,
Whitney glared first at his guest and then at the
clock, but the hint was lost.
Suddenly Spencer's right fist came down on the
table with a resounding whack. “Kathleen turned
me down this morning.” Whitney's eyes were riveted
on his guest but he said nothing, and Spencer con-
tinued earnestly. “I want you to use your influ-
ence ..."
"No." The monosyllable was spoken quietly, but
100


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
announce
the gleam in Whitney's eyes was a silent warn-
ing. “We will leave my daughter's name out of
the discussion. Was there anything else you wished
to see me about? If not ..." and he half rose.
Instead of answering Spencer lolled back in his
chair and, taking his time, lighted a cigar.
“Your note for twenty thousand dollars is due in
ten days,” he announced. “Are you prepared to
take it up?"
There was a protracted pause before Whitney
spoke. “Are you willing to let me curtail your
note with a payment of five thousand dollars ?” he
asked.
"No."
Whitney's hand closed spasmodically over the bot-
tle of whiskey, and he was livid with anger as he
glared at the younger man. Spencer's good looks
were marred by signs of recent dissipation, and the
coarse lines about his thin lips destroyed the air of
refinement given him by his well-cut clothes. Whit-
ney cast a despairing look about the room, at the
pretty knick-knacks, pictures, and handsome furni-
ture-all indicated a cultivated woman's taste. How
his wife loved her belongings!
With the curtailing of his income through the
shrinking and non-payment of dividends, he had
101


I SPY
drawn upon his principal and-keeping up appear-
ances was an expensive game. Every piece of prop-
erty that he owned was heavily mortgaged, and
every bit of collateral was already deposited to
cover notes at his bank. Slowly Whitney's fingers
loosened their grip upon the bottle of whiskey.
"Well," and his voice cut the stillness like a whip-
lash. "What is your pound of flesh ?”
Spencer knocked the ash from the end of his cigar
into the tray with care that none should fall upon
the polished mahogany table top
"Kathleen might reconsider—eh?” suggestively.
“And-eh—there is your invention-your latest in-
vention."
It was approaching midnight when Whitney
stepped alone into the hall. The hum of voices rose
from the room below; evidently Vincent had neg-
lected to close the drawing-room doors, or else the
Sisters in Unity needed air. Listening intently, he
judged from the direction of the voices that the
women had not gone into the dining-room.
Whitney walked toward the elevator, paused,
then continued down the hall and without rapping
entered Kathleen's sitting-room. But he stopped
on the threshold on beholding Kathleen sitting be-
fore her desk with her head resting upon its flat
102


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
top, sound asleep. By her side lay paint box and
brushes and a half-completed miniature of Captain
Miller. Without disturbing her, Whitney crept
softly from the room.


CHAPTER X
SISTERS IN UNITY
ze
IT was a very much flurried Vincent who admitted
1 Senator Randall Foster, and helped him off
with his overcoat.
“They're still argufying," he said, indicating the
closed drawing-room doors with a jerk of his thumb.
"I'll get word to Mrs. Whitney, sir, that you have
come."
“No, no, don't interrupt the meeting," hastily in-
terposed the Senator. "I may be a few minutes
early. Can I see Mr. Whitney ?”
"Yes, sir, certainly, sir. Come this way," and
Vincent moved toward the elevator shaft. "I don't
believe Mr. Whitney has gone to his studio, yet,
sir; he never takes anyone there, and I haven't seen
Mr. Spencer leave."
"Mr. Spencer?” Foster drew back. "Is he with
Mr. Whitney?"
“Yes, sir, so Henry told me."
“After all, I don't believe I'll disturb Mr. Whit-
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SISTERS IN UNITY
ney, Vincent. Is there some place I can wait down-
stairs ?”
"Yes, sir, the reception room.” The butler led the
way to it. “I'm afraid, sir, you'll find it very un-
comfortable in here, sir," looking at the racks of
coats and cloaks, “but”-brightening "here's a
copy of the evening paper; Mr. Whitney must have
left it; and this chair, sir—".
“Yes, yes, Vincent, thank you, I'll be all right."
Foster took possession of the solitary uncovered
chair. “This is an excellent opportunity of reading
over my speech. Be sure and let me know, Vincent,
the instant I am wanted in the drawing-room."
"Surely, sir. I'll tell Mrs. Whitney that you are
here, sir," and Vincent retired.
Inside the closed drawing-room and library the
atmosphere was surcharged with electricity. Miss
Kiametia Grey, who had locked horns with her op-
ponents on numerous subjects, sat back, flushed and
victorious; she was beginning to feel the fatigue in-
cident to having borne the brunt of the discussion,
and was secretly longing to have the meeting adjourn
to the dining-room where she suspected Mrs. Whit-
ney had provided a bountiful supper. She felt the
need of refreshments, if only a Roman punch.
Mrs. Whitney was also feeling the strain. She
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I SPY
had designated a sister official to occupy the chair
when the nominating speeches were in order, and
was awaiting the announcement of the result of the
ballot with inward trepidation. Her composed man-
ner and smiling face won Miss Kiametia's admira-
tion; she was herself of too excitable a tempera-
ment to keep her equanimity unimpaired, and she
watched Mrs. Whitney's calm demeanor and unruf-
fled poise, conscious of her own disheveled appear-
ance. She missed Kathleen; the latter's presence
had become an almost virtual necessity to the spin-
ster. Despite the disparity in ages, their tastes were
similar, and both had a keen sense of humor. It
had added zest to the spinster's enjoyment of the
season's gayeties to have Kathleen with her, and
she had watched the girl's gradual absorption in
Captain Miller with lynx eyes. The obliteration
of Sinclair Spencer as a possible suitor had filled her
with delight. But she had seen Spencer in the house
that very night. What did that mean? What was
he there for? Surely, Kathleen had not ...
A stir in the back of the room recalled Miss Kia-
metia's wandering thoughts, and she leaned eagerly
forward to hear the report of the chairman of the
tellers. Mrs. Whitney was elected and Miss Kia-
metia had also carried the day. Round after round
106


SISTERS IN UNITY
ove
of hearty applause greeted the announcement, and
as it died out the two successful candidates for first
and second place in the organization stepped to
the platform. But after expressing her thanks, Miss
Kiametia again resumed her seat among the mem-
bers, while Mrs. Whitney took up the duties of pre-
siding officer.
As the regular business of the meeting drew to
a close one of the members rose, and on being recog-
nized announced that she had a resolution to offer,
and read in a high singsong voice:
"Be it resolved that this organization of Sisters
in Unity indorse the peace movement, and that it
use its wide influence to check the tendency toward
militarism which injudicious and misguided Ameri-
cans hope to foist upon the American public."
Applause greeted the speaker, and a gray-haired
woman across the room demanded recognition from
the chair.
"I would like to say a few words in favor of that
resolution," she began, finally catching Mrs. Whit-
ney's attention. “Our wars with England, our
mother country, were but as the wrangle of rela-
tives. The leaders in the warring nations in Eu-
rope today are all related. Let us keep clear of all
international entanglements. Let us have peace.
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I SPY
Woma 1 arose
Through peace this country has achieved greatness.
Peace and prosperity go hand in hand. Peace up-
lifts; war retards. Militarism is a throw-back to
feudal days. On its lighter see, militarism is an
appeal for gold lace and brass buttons. A man
puts on our uniform because it is a thing of show,
in other words, conspicuous ..."
"Madam chairman!" Her face flaming, an irate
woman arose. "No, I don't care whether I'm in
order or not; I will be heard-Mrs. Lutz is quite
right, the United States uniform is conspicuous, and
has been conspicuous on many a bloody battlefield
since 1776. The uniform is honored alike in court
and camp in every nation of the world.”
As she sat down pandemonium reigned. Instantly
Miss Kiametia was on her feet, and her strident
call, “Madam chairman, madam chairman,” rose
repeatedly above the hubbub. Mrs. Whitney
pounded for order and gave the spinster the floor.
"I rise to a question of information,” explained
Miss Kiametia, in tones which echoed through the
rooms. "Is this an indignation meeting or an as-
semblage of Sisters in Unity ?" she demanded, and
sat down. In the comparative quiet that ensued,
the peace resolution was seconded and passed by a
small majority.
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SISTERS IN UNITY
Mrs. Whitney stepped to the edge of the plat-
form. "Senator Randall Foster has very kindly
consented to address us tonight,” she said. "So dis-
tinguished a lawma er needs no introduction to this
organization. Mr. Senator,” as Foster entered
through the door held open for him by Vincent,
"we invite you to the platform.”
Bowing his thanks, Foster joined Mrs. Whitney
and immediately began one of those adroit, well-
worded addresses which had made him a marked
man in the Senate. “I come to you a special plead-
er,” he continued, with growing earnestness, "to
spread the gospel of peace. It is your privilege to
weld public opinion, and opinion can be as a yoke
upon a man's neck. In this free America opinion
governs.' Jingoes would try to plunge us into war.
When a boy is given an airgun, his first impulse is
to go out and shoot it off. Arm the men of this
country and their impulse will be the same. A small
standing army does not tend to militarism; its size
does not lend itself to the issuing of imperative man-
dates; and mandates, ladies, lead to war.
"It is especially a woman's duty to demand peace.
In war, upon the woman falls the suffering and the
sacrifice. The lover, the brother, the father, the
son may find honorable death upon the field, but at
109


CHAPTER XI
A MAN IN A HURRY
LI EAVY clouds hung low and not a star was
11 visible. The darkness was intensified by the
gleam of distant city lights, for in that section of
Washington lying to the southwest of Pennsylvania
Avenue a defective fuse had caused the dimming of
every electric light in the vicinity. Far up on one
of the roofs a man, crouching behind the meager
shelter offered by a chimney, blessed the chance
which fortune provided.
Crawling on hands and knees, he cautiously made
his way to the edges of the roof, on which he had
dropped from the higher building next door, and
looked down. His eyes straining in the darkness,
every sense alert to danger, he scanned intently
each window ledge and cornice. No hope there.
Not even a lead pipe or telephone wires afforded
a hold for desperate, gripping fingers. Unlike the
building adjoining on the south, the new house had
no party wall, and a gulf too wide to jump sepa-
rated it from its northern neighbor. The sheer
drop to the garden beneath was suicidal.
-
-
- -
III


I SPY
The man lay for a few seconds striving to collect
himself. He could not return the way he had come.
He would be caught like a rat in the trap with the
arrival of dawn, if not before. Perhaps his pur-
suers were on his trail already. The thought spurred
his numbed body to action, and lifting his head he
glanced along the flat roof. Toward the center of
it rose a box-like structure with apparently an arched
skylight above it. A little distance away from the
structure, he distinguished the outlines of what ap-
peared to be a scuttle. Warily he approached it, .
and using every precaution to make the least pos-
sible sound, he attempted to raise the scuttle. A
long sigh of relief escaped him as he succeeded. The
scuttle was not locked.
He paused long enough to glance keenly about
him. There was no sign of another human being,
but a sound smote his ear. Somcone was moving
on the pebbled roof of the building he had just left.
Without an instant's delay he groped about until
his feet touched the rung of a ladder, and drawing
to the scuttle behind him, he made his way down the
ladder.
On reaching the bottom he paused in indecision.
He could make out nothing in the inky blackness,
and with every sense alive to danger, he waited.
II2


A MAN IN A HURRY
But apparently his entrance had disturbed no one,
and taking heart of grace, he pulled out a tiny flash-
light and pressed the button.
The light revealed a large attic partly filled with
trunks and worn furniture. A large wine closet, the
bottles shining as the light fell on them through the
slat partition, occupied one part of the attic, while
a wall partition, with closed door, ran across the
entire western side. To his right, the man made
out the head of a narrow staircase. He was mak-
ing his way to the staircase when his acute hearing
caught the sound of a softly closing door on the
floor below and approaching footsteps.
Casting a hunted look about him, he spied a closed
closet door. He doused his light while making his
way to the closet, and jerked open the door, at the
same time throwing out his right hand, the better
to judge the depth of the dark closet. His groping
fingers closed on cold steel. His heart lost a throb,
then raced madly on, as he clung weakly to the
metal. An elevator shaft, and he had mistaken it
for prison bars!
For a second his chilled body was shaken with
hysterical desire for laughter; then his strong will
conquered. He had not forgotten the advancing
footsteps. A desperate situation required desperate
113


I SPY
chances. Stepping back he closed the outer door of
the elevator shaft and pressed the button for the
elevator. Which would reach him first-the per-
son creeping upstairs or the automatic electric ele-
vator?


CHAPTER XII
A SINISTER DISCOVERY
M RS. WHITNEY sat up in bed and contem-
IVT plated her husband reproachfully as he en-
tered her room.
"Have you been working all night?” she inquired.
Whitney nodded absently as he stooped to kiss
her. “Now, don't worry, dear; work will not in-
jure me. I've just had a cold shower and feel ten
per cent better, and all ready for my breakfast. You
are the one who looks tired; that's a very becoming
cap you are wearing, but you need more color here,”
pinching her cheek. “I don't like to see you so pale.
Were the Sisters in Unity as strenuous as ever?”
“Just about — but, Oh, Winslow, I was
elected ..."
"That was a foregone conclusion, you modest
child.” Again Whitney kissed her. "Congratula-
tions, my darling, though why you should want
it. ..."
Mrs. Whitney laughed good-naturedly. "I'm too
happy today to argue the question," she broke in.
115


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n
“Kiametia Grey frightened us all last night by faint-
ing ..."
"Fainting! Kiametia ? I thought she was as
tough as a horse ?”.
“So she is usually, but she has been doing too
much socially, and late hours do not agree with a
woman of her years."
“She isn't so old,” protested Whitney.
"She is older than I, and I'm not so young,” Mrs.
Whitney, whose years sat lightly upon her, jerked
a dainty dressing-gown about her shoulders. “Kia-
metia did faint and when she came to, declared it
was the overheated atmosphere of the rooms and
the continuous talking which had upset her.”
"Well, you must admit, Minna, the Sisters are
famous for noisy discussions. Kiametia is generally
able to hold up her end of an argument. I am sorry
she had to give in to superior numbers,” Whitney
laughed. “You'll never convince me that she
fainted.”
"She did, too; and felt so badly that I persuaded
her not to go home, but to spend the remainder of
the night in our blue bedroom.”
"Good heavens!" Whitney gazed blankly at his
wife. “Did she-did ..."
"No, she did not stay there," pausing dramatical-
116


A SINISTER DISCOVERY
ly. "She found Sinclair Spencer sound asleep in
the bed.” She waited expectantly for her husband's
comment, but getting no reply, she burst out, “What
was he doing there—how came he to be there?”
"I was foolish enough to offer him whiskey." Her
husband seated himself carefully on the edge of the
bed. "Spencer had been drinking before he came
to see me, and a very little more made him tipsy. I
was fearful that if I took him downstairs he would
try and break up your meeting, so persuaded him
to go and lie down on the bed in the blue room.”
"Sometimes, Winslow, for a thoughtful man, you
ball things up dreadfully,” sighed Mrs. Whitney.
"Why did you select that room? You always put
your friends in the hall bedroom."
"Never gave the matter of the rooms a thought."
Whitney moved restlessly; he hated to see a woman
cry, and his wife looked perilously upon the point
of tears. In spite of his assertion that he did not
miss the loss of sleep, his nerves were not under
full control. Ordinarily not a drinking man, he
had stopped on his way from his bedroom to help
himself to the small amount of Scotch left in the
bottle.
"Such a scene as I had with Kiametia," groaned
Mrs. Whitney sighing dismally at the recollection.
117


I SPY
“Finally, I convinced her that I knew nothing of
Mr. Spencer's presence, and she consented to sleep
in the hall bedroom."
"I'm glad Kiametia discovered Spencer in time."
His chuckle developing into a laugh, Whitney rose
and walked to the door. “It's no crying matter, my
dear. Kiametia will be the first to enjoy the joke.”
"If it had been anyone but Sinclair Spencer!" Mrs.
Whitney shook her head forlornly. “She has de-
veloped an intense dislike for him.”
"And Kiametia is usually a woman of discern-
ment.” His sarcasm passed unheeded, and he
opened the hall door. "Hurry and dress, Minna,
I'll wait for you in the dining-room. Heavens!
What's that?"
A mufled cry, long drawn out, agonizing, vibrated
through the stillness.
Spellbound, husband and wife eyed each other,
then Whitney stepped into the hall just as Miss Kia-
metia tore out of her bedroom.
“What is it?" she demanded. “Oh, stop it, stop
it!" clapping her hands over her ears as the cry rose
again.
"It comes from the elevator shaft, sir,” panted
Vincent, appearing up the stairs, Henry, the chauf-
feur, close at his heels. Without moving, Whitney
wn
118


A SINISTER DISCOVERY
stared stupidly at the two servants, and it was Henry
who laid a trembling finger on the elevator button.
As they heard the automatic car come to a standstill
on the other side of the closed mahogany door there
was a second's pause; then Miss Kiametia, summon-
ing all her fortitude, laid her hand on the door knob
and pulled it open. A horrified exclamation escaped
her as her eyes fell upon Kathleen, whose bloodless
face was pressed against the iron grating of the
inner door, to which she was clinging for support.
"Let me out,” she pleaded, her eyes dark with
horror. “Let me out."
At sight of his daughter Whitney recovered him-
self. "Stand back, Kathleen,” he directed. “Then
we can slide open the door.” He had to repeat his
words twice before she took in their meaning. Re-
leasing her hold upon the grating, she covered her
face as if to shut out some terrifying spectacle. As
Henry pushed back the door, she collapsed into her
father's arms.
“Bring Kathleen in here," called Mrs. Whitney
from her doorway, where she had stood, too fright-
ened to move. "There are smelling salts on my bu-
reau. What can have brought on this attack of hys-
terics, Kiametia ?”
"The Lord knows. Perhaps the machinery's out
real
119


I SPY
of order and she's been stuck between floors.” The
spinster, suddenly remembering her extremely light
attire, backed toward her room.
Whitney, reëntering the hall, caught her words.
“Go to Kathleen, Minna; she asked for you," and as
his wife turned back into her bedroom, he added,
"See if there is anything wrong with the elevator,
Henry."
Obediently the chauffeur stepped through the nar-
row entrance to the elevator and into the steel cage.
The next instant he turned an ashy face toward his
companions.
"Look!" he gasped. “Look!" And his shaking
hand pointed to that part of the elevator concealed
by the solid wall of the shaft from the view of those
standing in the hall. With one accord they crowded
into the elevator, and a stricken silence prevailed.
Crouching on the floor at the far end of the shal-
low cage was Sinclair Spencer. The rays of the
overhead electric lamp, by which the cage was
lighted, showed plainly the gash in his throat, while
crimson stains on his white shirt added to the ghastly
tableau. Death was stamped upon the marble
whiteness of his upturned face.
"Good God!" Whitney reeled back and but for
Vincent's arm would have fallen.
120



ON
TE
"As Henry pushed back the door, she collapsed into her
father's arms."





A SINISTER DISCOVERY
"Here, sir, sit here, sir," and the butler half lifted
him to a chair in the hall. “Go get whiskey, Henry,"
noting the pallor of Whitney's face. “Quick, man!"
"Telephone for a doctor, Vincent," directed Miss
Kiametia, pulling herself together. She had been
the first to bolt out of the elevator. “I will stay
with Mr. Whitney until you get back," and flashing
her a grateful look, the butler, relieved to have re-
sponsibility taken from his shoulders, filed down-
stairs after Henry.
Miss Kiametia laid trembling hands on Whitney's
bowed shoulders.
"It's awful, Winslow," she stammered. “Aw-
ful!"
As he paid no attention to her, but stared vacantly
at the floor before him, she paced to and fro, always
careful, however, never to go in the direction of the
elevator. The exercise brought back some sem-
blance of self-control, and her eyes were beginning
to take on their wonted snap when Whitney rose un-
steadily and stepped toward the elevator. Miss
Kiametia's voice stopped him on its threshold.
"I wouldn't go in there again," she advised.
“Wait until the coroner comes.”
“The coroner?" staring stupidly at her.
“Yes, hadn't you better send for him?"
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I SPY
Whitney's hands dropped to his side with a hope-
less gesture. "The coroner," he muttered. "God
help us !"
"Winslow!” Mrs. Whitney appeared in the door-
way, tears streaming down her white cheeks. "Kath-
leen is completely unnerved; come and help me quiet
her."
At that moment Henry arrived, tray in hand. “I
couldn't find the whiskey, sir,” he explained, breath-
less with hurry. “But here's some cognac, sir.
Let me pour it out," and he handed a filled liqueur
glass to Whitney, who swallowed the stimulant at a
gulp.
"Shouldn't mind having some of that myself,"
announced Miss Kiametia. "Bring the tray here,
Henry,” walking over to a table. “And, Winslow,
take a glass to Kathleen; it will do her good. Henry,
did Vincent telephone for the doctor?" she added
below her breath, as Whitney and his wife disap-
peared in the latter's bedroom and closed the
door.
“Yes, Miss Grey, but he was out. So Vincent
rang up the hospital and the coroner."
“Good." Miss Kiametia debated a moment
whether or not to take more cognac, and ended by
refilling her glass. "Stay right in this hall, Henry;
om
122


A SINISTER DISCOVERY
don't leave it for a moment until the doctor comes.
I'm going in to dress."
As the door closed behind the spinster, Henry
stood in deep thought, then pouring out a glass of
cognac he hastily drank it. Setting down the glass,
he tiptoed over to the elevator, but one look at the
still figure crouching with head thrown back and
sightless eyes turned to the ceiling sent him back
into the center of the hall. Drawing out his hand-
kerchief, he mopped his damp forehead.
From Mrs. Whitney's bedroom came the murmur
of voices, and Henry, darting a quick, searching
look about the empty hall, slipped over to the door
and applied his ear to the keyhole. The sound of
approaching footsteps and voices warned him of the
arrival of the physician, and when Vincent appeared,
followed by two men, he was standing on guard near
the elevator shaft.
A quick word of explanation sufficed, and then
the younger of the newcomers entered the elevator.
He recoiled at sight of Spencer, then advancing
tested the dead man's pulse and heart.
"This is a case for you, Penfield,” he exclaimed
backing out into the hall, and without a word the
coroner took his place beside Spencer. The young
physician turned to Vincent. “Didn't you tell me
123


I SPY
that someone was ill and required medical assis-
tance? Mr. Spencer is dead; I can do nothing for
him."
Without answering, Vincent tapped on Mrs.
Whitney's door, and Whitney's voice bade him enter.
“Dr. Hall, sir," announced the butler. “Want him
to come in, sir?-Yes, sir; this way, Doctor," and he
pulled to the door after the physician. The elevator
drew Vincent's eyes as a magnet draws steel, and he
started violently at sight of the coroner beckoning
to him from its entrance.
“Call up Police Headquarters," directed Penfield.
"Tell them I am here, and ask to have Detective
Mitchell and three plain-clothes men sent over at
once. Be quick about it," and his peremptory tone
caused the agitated butler to hasten his usually
leisurely gait. Henry started to follow him, but the
coroner called him back. “Explain to me exactly
what happened when Mr. Spencer was found,” he
said, stepping into the hall.
The tale lost nothing in Henry's telling, and Pen-
field was gnawing his fingernails, a trick he had if
perplexed, when Vincent escorted the detective and
plain-clothes policemen into the hall. The coroner
rose with alacrity.
“Glad you could come, Mitchell," he said. “Let
124


A SINISTER DISCOVERY
me put you in possession of all facts so far known,"
and he repeated all that Henry had told him.
Mitchell listened in silence; only the gleam in his eyes
attested his interest, as his face remained expression-
less. And that gleam deepened as he stepped into
the elevator and examined Spencer. When he came
out he was wrapping his handkerchief around a
knife. Exchanging a glance with the coroner, he
turned to Vincent.
"Show my men over the house,” he directed, “and
you," addressing Henry, "inform Mr. Whitney that
Coroner Penfield and I would like to see him at
once."
"I am here." Whitney, who had entered the
hall unnoticed a second before, joined the group.
"What can I do for you?"
“Answer a few questions," and Penfield, observ.
ing the strain under which he was laboring, pushed
a chair in his direction. “Sit down, Mr. Whitney."
He turned back to Henry. "You need not wait,”
and the chauffeur reluctantly went down the stairs.
The coroner waited an appreciable moment before
again speaking to Whitney. “Was Mr. Spencer
visiting you?” he questioned.
"Only for the night."
"When did you see him last?"
i
125


I SPY
roo
"About midnight."
"And where was that?"
"In the bedroom across the way," pointing to it,
and the detective crossed the hall and entered the
room, the door of which was closed.
"And what was Mr. Spencer doing the last time
you saw him ?” asked the coroner, with quiet per-
sistence.
"Falling asleep," tersely. "Spencer was drunk,"
added Whitney after a pause. "His behavior led
me to believe that he would intrude upon my wife's
guests if he went downstairs, so I suggested that he
spend the night here.” Whitney drew a long breath.
"Is Spencer really dead?”
“Yes."
Whitney shrank back in his chair; he had aged
in the past hour, and he was conscious that his hands
were trembling. “I feared so," he muttered, "I
feared so. Can"-clearing his throat—"can Spen-
cer be moved?"
"Not just yet; there are certain formalities to
be gone through with first." Penfield paused to
make an entry in his notebook. “Of course, there
will be an autopsy—at the morgue. Oh, Mitchell,"
as the detective returned, “have you any questions
to ask Mr. Whitney?”
126


A SINISTER DISCOVERY
Before answering the detective drew up a chair
near Whitney. “I am told your daughter's screams
aroused the household,” he said. “Can I see Miss
Whitney?”
"No, you must wait until she is composed; the
doctor is just administering an opiate,” replied Whit-
ney hastily. “Kathleen has been through a most har-
rowing experience."
"I see.” Mitchell drummed impatiently on the arm
of his chair. Whitney eyed the two men askance.
Their manner, combined with the events of the
morning, was telling on him. At any price he must
break the silence—he could endure it no longer.
"I wish to God," he exclaimed, “Spencer had
chosen any other spot to kill himself in than our
elevator!"
The coroner was the first to reply. “The wound
was not self-inflicted."
“What!” Whitney sprang to his feet. "Do you
mean-Spencer was murdered?"
“Yes.” Both men never moved their gaze from
Whitney's ashen face. "Were all members of your
family on good terms with Mr. Spencer?"
"They were,” Whitney moistened his parched
lips, and only the detective caught his furtive glance
behind him.
127


I SPY
"Did anyone beside your immediate family spend
last night in this house, Mr. Whitney?” he asked.
"No — yes,” confusedly. “Miss Kiametia
Grey ..."
“Winslow" – Mrs. Whitney, fully dressed,
stepped into the hall from her boudoir. "Pardon
me," with a courteous inclination of her head as the
coroner and Mitchell rose. “Winslow, I've asked
the servants, and they tell me she has disap-
peared ..."
“She? Who?" chorused the three men.
"Julie, my French maid."


CHAPTER XIII
HIDE AND SEEK
YHARLES MILLER was generally an early
riser, but the head waiter at the Metropole
was surreptitiously scanning his watch before giving
the signal to close the dining-room doors, when the
Captain walked in and took his accustomed seat at
a distant table. Miller had but time to glance at
the headline, “Stormy Cabinet Meeting Predicted
at White House Today," in his morning newspaper,
when eggs and toast were placed before him. His
attentive waiter poured the hot coffee and placed
cream and sugar in his cup without waiting for in-
structions.
“Eggs all right, sir?” he asked anxiously, a trace
of accent in his pleasant voice.
"Yes, thanks." Miller looked at him casually.
"I haven't seen you before; where's Jenkins?"
"Transferred to the café, sir," smoothing a wrin-
kle out of the tablecloth as he spoke. "I'll try to
give satisfaction, sir.”
Miller nodded absently. “Oh, it's all right," he
129


HIDE AND SEEK
"I quite understand—Ludwig" Their eyes met,
then Miller turned on his heel. "Auf wiedersehen,"
he exclaimed under his breath, and the waiter's stolid
expression changed to one of relief.
Miller, who had checked his overcoat and hat be-
fore entering the dining-room, wasted no time but
entered a public telephone booth. When he emerged
he was whistling cheerily, and the doorkeeper
watched him hail a street car with curious eyes.
"Always running in and out,” he muttered. "It
beats me when he sleeps."
First stopping at a florist's and then a jeweler's
establishment, Miller bent his footsteps toward the
Portland, and to his satisfaction found Senator Fos-
ter enjoying a belated breakfast in his apart-
ment.
"I'm glad to discover a man keeping later hours
than I” he remarked, accepting the chair Foster
pulled forward. “You must have an easy conscience
to sleep so late in the morning."
"Or enjoyed the devil of a night-er-mare."
The Senator's face was flushed and his strong voice
husky. "You mistake; this is luncheon, not break-
fast. Keep me company? No?” Foster pecked
viciously at his lamb chop. "I've no appetite at all.
Caught a beastly cold at the Sisters in Unity meeting
131


I SPY
last night. Cough all the time-beastly climate,
Washington.”
“Why stay here?"
"Oh, Congress ..."
“But that adjourned three weeks ago."
Foster frowned, then smiled. "A woman's whim
-we are not always independent, Miller"-a shrug
completed the sentence. “Change your mind and
have some Scotch ?"
"No, thanks.” Miller drew his chair closer to
his companion, and lowered his voice. “I called
this morning, Senator, to ask some questions about
Winslow Whitney."
Foster's smile vanished, and the glance he shot
at Miller was sharp.
"It depends on the questions,” he began stifly,
"whether they are answered or not."
“Quite right," with unruffled composure. "I shall
ask nothing which cannot be answered with pro-
priety.” Miller ceased speaking to light a cigarette.
"All Washington knows Whitney is a man of
wealth”-his keen eyes detected the sudden altera-
tion in Foster's expression "of standing in the so-
cial and business world, but has he achieved success
as an inventor?”
“Yes," was the instant and unqualified response,
132


HIDE AND SEEK
and Miller's eyes lighted, but it was some seconds
before he put another question.
"Are you familiar with his latest invention?".
“You mean his camera for use in aeroplanes?"
“Yes. Do you think it has any hope of success?”
“I believe so; Whitney declares the experiments
are entirely satisfactory."
"Have you seen results of the tests ?"
"Whitney showed me views of New York City
and its environs taken from an aeroplane. They
were-wonderful—" the Senator puffed nervously
at his cigar—"perfect maps.”
"Indeed?" Miller made no effort to conceal
his eager curiosity. “At what height were they
taken?"
"Ah, that I do not feel at liberty to disclose.
How, when, and where this new camera can be util-
ized is of interest to all military men; but as Whit-
ney's friend, I could not divulge details he may de-
sire kept secret, even if I knew them."
“Pardon me, I thought you his most intimate
friend ..."
"I am, but not his confidant. And as his friend,
I cannot discuss his private affairs with you."
"I don't agree with you there.” Miller tossed his
cigarette stub into the iron grate. “Would it not
133


I SPY
be a friendly act to place Whitney in a position to
coin money?”
“Ah, so that is why you take an interest in his
invention?” Foster laid down his cigar and con-
templated his companion closely. "You wish to
buy ..."
"Exactly."
"Is the purchaser to be the same for whom you
are collecting horses and ammunition?”
“Yes."
Foster did not answer at once, and Miller, with-
out seeming to do so, took silent note of the hand-
some appointments of the dining-room. The silver
service on the sideboard, the cut-glass decanters and
liqueurs seemed somewhat out of place in a bache-
lor apartment. Somewhat puzzled, Miller looked
more fully at his host, hoping to find an answer to
his unspoken doubts. Careful of his dress, deport-
ment, and democracy, Foster had early gained the
sobriquet “Dandy," but there was nothing effemi-
nate in his spare though muscular form, and his
long underjaw indicated bull-dog obstinacy. Con-
fessing to fifty, Foster did not look his age by ten
years.
"I shall have to ponder your question, Miller."
As he spoke Foster rose. “Frankly, I've been striv.
134


HIDE AND SEEK
ing to interest our Government in Whitney's inven-
tion, and that is one of the things which has kept me
in Washington. Suppose we go and see Whitney
now. I know that he is anxious to dispose of his
invention—he is hard pressed for money."
"Indeed!” The pupils of Miller's eyes contracted
suddenly. "Possibly Whitney will give me a hear-
ing, and I need not offer"-he stopped, looked at his
cigarette case, returned it to his pocket, and fol.
lowed Foster out of the room—"a large sum,” he
finished, helping the Senator into his overcoat.
Foster laughed shortly. "You will get no bar-
gain. Whitney's politeness is on the surface; un-
derneath he is as hard as nails, and suspicious"
The Senator's cough cut short his speech and echoed
down the corridor as he closed the door to his apart-
ment. “Won't even let me look at the camera,
much less let me examine the lens, specifications,
drawings, plate, et cetera. In fact, refused to
give me any details, although he knows I must
have the information so as to interest others in his
invention.”
"But surely he has had the camera tested thor-
oughly?”
"Oh, yes. It has leaked out that the lens is so
powerful and the mechanical parts of the camera
10
135


I SPY
so perfect that maps of the country taken at a re-
markable height depict fortifications to the minut-
est detail. No one knows the method employed to
bring about such a result. That is the secret locked
inside Whitney's studio and his brain. Whitney is
a genius, and unlike others of his ilk, is extremely
modest about his own achievements. He covers his
real nature under a mantle of eccentricity. I doubt
if his wife and daughter really gauge his capabili-
ties.” A violent fit of coughing interrupted him,
and he did not speak again for some minutes. As
the elevator reached the ground floor, Foster saw
his chauffeur standing near the office. “My car at
the door?” he asked, as the man approached.
“Yes, sir,” touching his cap. “Will you drive,
sir?"
"Not today, too much cold, don't want pneumo-
nia. Jump in, Miller.” Foster signed to him to
enter first. “Take us to the Whitneys', Mason," he
directed, and sprang into the tonneau.
Five minutes later they stopped in front of the
Whitney house, and directing his chauffeur to wait,
Foster accompanied Miller up the steps, but before
either could touch the bell, the door was opened by
Vincent whose white face brightened at the sight
of the Senator.
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m
as no
"Step right in, sir," he begged. “The master was
just telephoning for you, sir.” Vincent paused and
looked doubtfully at Miller. “Did you wish to see
Miss Kathleen, sir?"
“Yes," taking out his visiting card.
“Miss Kathleen is sick in bed." Vincent ap-
peared still more confused, but Foster, standing
somewhat in shadow, caught Miller's look of alarm
which the butler missed.
"What is the matter with Miss Kathleen?” de.
manded Miller, and there was no mistaking the
feeling in his voice and manner.
"She had a shock, sir, a most awful shock.” While
speaking Vincent tiptoed toward the library; he felt
that he could never make a loud noise in that house
again. “An awful shock," he repeated. “We all
felt it."
“What do you mean?” Foster laid an impatient
hand on the old servant's shoulder.
"Why, sir, he's dead ...".
"Whitney?” The question sprang simultaneously
from Foster and Miller.
"No, no, sir. Mr. Sinclair Spencer, sir. He was
murdered"-Vincent shuddered as the last word
crossed his lips.
His hearers stared stupidly at each other, and
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ing a trifle foolish, he dropped her hand and stepped
back.
"What can I do for you?” he asked, coldly. "You
said you needed me.”
"Well, so I do, as legal adviser," with unflatter-
ing emphasis. "Good morning, Captain Miller; I
did not recognize you at first. I suppose you have
both heard of Sinclair Spencer's tragic death.”
"Yes, but none of the particulars," answered Mil-
ler. “And also that Kathleen is ill. Do tell me how
she is," and though he strove to conceal his anxiety,
his manner betrayed his emotion to the sharp-eyed
spinster.
"The doctor gave her an opiate," she said quick-
ly. “She will be herself again when she awakes.
Her condition does not worry me.” She hesitated,
shot a quick furtive look at Miller's intent face, and
added: “But I am alarmed by the mystery sur-
rounding Sinclair Spencer's death."
"Tell us the details,” urged Foster
“Details," echoed the spinster. “There are none.
We were awakened this morning by Kathleen's
screams, rushed into the hall and found her in the
elevator with Sinclair Spencer's dead body. She ap-
peared completely unstrung, could make no coherent
statement, and when the doctor came, was given an
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I SPY
opiate.” She paused and looked hopelessly at the
two men. “We know no more of the murder than
that."
“We must wait until Kathleen awakens," said
Whitney, and Miss Kiametia started violently at the
sound of his voice; so absorbed had the others been
in her remarks that his quiet entrance a few min-
utes before had passed unnoticed. “I trust that she
will then be more composed.”
“Did she say nothing to you and Minna when
you were with her before the doctor arrived ?" ques-
tioned Miss Kiametia, smothering her eagerness
with difficulty.
"Nothing that made sense.” Whitney ran his fin-
gers through his gray hair until it stood upright.
"She babbled Spencer's name, alternating with the
moaning cry, ‘Kaiser blumen.'"
"Kaiser blumen! What in the world—” The
spinster checked her hasty speech on catching sight
of Detective Mitchell loitering just inside the libra-
ry door. “Do you want to see Mr. Whitney?" she
asked, raising her voice a trifle, and all turned to
face the detective as he advanced toward them.
Bowing gravely to Senator Foster and Captain Mil-
ler, Mitchell stopped opposite the spinster, but his
first remark was directed to Whitney.
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HIDE AND SEEK
"Your wife tells me, sir, that the French maid,
Julie, has been in your employ over four years."
"She has," acknowledged Whitney, making no ef-
fort to conceal his impatience. “Will you kindly
postpone your questions, Mitchell, until later; I de-
sire to converse with my friends now."
"I will intrude but a moment longer." Mitchell
slipped one hand inside his coat pocket. “When will
it be convenient, sir, for you to take me into your
studio?"
Whitney looked at the detective as if he did not
believe his ears.
"Why the devil should I take you through my
studio ?” he thundered, his anger rising. “I take no
one there—you understand, no one."
"Pardon me, these are exceptional circumstances.
As an officer of the law it is my duty to examine the
entire premises where a crime has been committed.
On reaching your attic, I found the door leading to
your studio locked, and I have come downstairs,
sir, to ask you to take me into that room."
"And I absolutely refuse."
“In that case, sir," there was a steely glint in
Mitchell's eyes which betokened trouble, "I shall
send for a locksmith and have the bolt forced."
"Wait," Foster laid a restraining hand on Whit-
141


I SPY
ncy's shoulder as the latter made a hasty step in
the detective's direction. “I assure you, Mitchell,
that the so-called studio is Mr. Whitney's workshop;
he is, as you no doubt know, an inventor.” Whit-
ney opened his mouth to speak, then closed his jaws
with a snap. "Mr. Whitney is now engaged upon
a most important invention. It is quite natural that
he does not wish ..."
"It is hardly a matter of wishes, Mr. Senator,"
broke in Mitchell. “A murder has been committed
here, and it is imperative that everything be done
to apprehend and convict the criminal.”
“Ha!" Whitney's snort was almost a triumphant
challenge. His altered demeanor did not escape the
shrewd eyes watching him so keenly. “So you think
I murdered Spencer ?"
“I have not said what I think," retorted the de-
tective brusquely. “Come, sir, we are wasting time;
take me over your studio at once."
Whitney's haggard face reddened with anger;
twice he opened and shut his mouth, then thinking
better of his first impulse, he turned on his heel.
"Follow me,” he directed ungraciously. As he
stepped toward the doorway he looked back and
encountered Miller's intent gaze. The Captain's
gray eyes, their devil-may-care sparkle dampened by
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HIDE AND SEEK
anxiety for Kathleen, broad forehead, and firm
mouth inspired confidence. He looked a man whose
word could be relied on. Whitney, harassed by
conflicting doubts, and agonizing apprehensions,
acted on impulse. "Come with us, Captain. We'll
be right back, Kiametia ; you and Foster wait for
us here."
By common consent the three men avoided the
elevator and walked up stairs. On reaching the
attic, Whitney made at once for his studio and in-
serting keys in the double lock turned the wards,
and opened the door.
"Go in," he said, and waited until the two men
had preceded him in the room, then entered and
closed the door, shooting the inner bolt. The detec-
tive looked around as the faint click of the metal
caught his ear. "Force of habit,” explain d Whit-
ney. "Hurry and make your examination, I Titchell;
I wish to rejoin my friends downstairs as quickly
as possible. Have a seat, Captain ?”
But Miller declined, and stood watching Mitchell
as he made a thorough search of the apartment.
Nothing escaped his attention, and such furniture
as the room boasted was minutely scrutinized, even
the Cooper Hewitt lights and cylinder arc lights being
switched on to assist in the examination. Models,
143


I SPY
large sink, darkroom, cabinets, tool chest, drawing
tables, and small chemical laboratory were subjected
to a thorough search. Miller's silent wonder grew;
nowhere did he perceive a model resembling a cam-
era, or the camera itself.
Whitney, sitting astride an ordinary wooden chair,
followed the detective's movements with sardonic
amusement, which now and then found vent in a
grim smile. Whitney's expression was not lost upon
Miller, who, finding him a more interesting study
than Mitchell, watched him intently while appearing
to be deeply engaged in examining an elevator
model.
"Isn't this the design copied in building your ele-
vator, Mr. Whitney ?” he asked. .
"Yes; that is the model I made when the elevator
was built. It was one of the first installed in a pri-
vate residence in Washington."
"It is somewhat different from others that I have
seen," commented the detective, replacing a bottle
carefully on a shelf. “The cage is so very shallow
in depth and so long in width."
"I 'ad to cut my coat according to my cloth,”
curtly. “This house is very old and the outer walls
are of unusual thickness, also the inner ones, which
accounts for the peculiar shape of the elevator. The
144


HIDE AND SEEK
brick shaft had to be built to conform to the walls
and staircase. I also invented that safety air brake
catch," he added, as Miller ran the elevator to
the top of the shaft and released the cage with a
sudden jerk. The elevator slipped down a flight,
then automatically adjusted itself and stopped.
"A clever idea,” said Miller admiringly. “When
I first used your elevator, Mr. Whitney, I was
struck by its unexpected capacity to hold six people.
Its shallowness is deceptive."
"That's so." Whitney stared at the clock sugges-
tively. “Kathleen, as a child, used to slip in un-
seen, and as the majority of the people enter the
elevator facing the floor button plate with their
backs to where she stood, she gave her governesses
many scares.”
The detective stopped to examine the elevator
model carefully, and pressed the button marked
"Attic.” “Persons entering the elevator instinctive-
ly pull to the inner door with their left hand and
push the floor button with the right, and they would
be standing with their backs to where Spencer lay,"
he said.
"And anyone could have started the elevator with-
out knowing of his presence," put in Miller softly,
and the detective nodded assent.
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“You have no floor indicator connected with the
elevator, Mr. Whitney," commented Mitchell
thoughtfully.
"No." Whitney rose abruptly. "Finished your
search?” Not waiting for a reply he prepared to
leave, and a covert sneer crossed his lips as he asked,
"Found anything criminal?"
"Only these bottles," indicating the shelves near
the laboratory. "There's enough poison here to
kill a regiment."
"And only for use in photography,” Whitney bu-
sied himself in adjusting shades which the detec-
tive had raised or lowered the better to see the room.
“Rather a commentary on the laws governing the
sale of poisons, Mitchell; can't buy them at a drug-
gist's, but any man, woman, or child can go into a
photographic supply store and buy any quantity of
deadly poison and no questions asked.”
"Perhaps," was Mitchell's sole comment, as he
removed a stopper from a blue glass bottle and
sniffed at its contents.
“Hm! You are of an inquiring turn of mind."
Whitney's eyes contracted suddenly. “May I re-
mind you that Spencer, whose death you are investi-
gating, was stabbed."
"With a dull knife," answered Mitchell, setting
146


HIDE AND SEEK
down the bottle. “And it must have taken muscular
force to drive the knife home."
Whitney was suddenly conscious of both men's
full regard, and his thin, wiry figure stiffened. His
eyes snapped with pent-up feeling.
"Is a man to be convicted of crime because it is
physically possible for him to commit murder ?” he
demanded harshly, and not waiting for an answer
unbolted the door. "I fear, Mitchell, you have
wasted both my time and yours. Remember this,
sir." He stepped directly in front of the detective.
“Those making a charge must prove it. Now go."


CHAPTER XIV
A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
M ISS KIAMETIA GREY waited until the
IVT sound of Whitney's, Miller's and the detec-
tive's footsteps had died away down the hall before
addressing Senator Foster.
"Suppose we sit over there,” she suggested, indi-
cating a large leather sofa, and not waiting for his
assent, walked over to it and seated herself.
The sofa stood with its back to one of the win-
dows, and from its broad seat its occupants would
have a complete view of the attractive library with
its massive furniture, huge old-fashioned chimney,
and bookcase-lined walls. Foster, following Miss
Kiametia, was startled by a glimpse of her face as
she stepped into the sunlight whose merciless rays
betrayed the new lines about her closely compressed
lips. A touch of rouge enhanced her pallor. Sud-
denly conscious of his intent regard she seated her.
self, turning her back squarely to the light.
"Sit there,” she exclaimed pettishly, pointing to
a Morris chair which stood close to the sofa. "I
148


A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
“Suppose you give me an exact account of what tran-
spired this morning.”
He listened with rapt attention to the spinster's
graphic description of the finding of Kathleen and
Sinclair Spencer in the elevator.
"Strange, very strange," he muttered, as she
brought the recital to an end. "How did Kathleen
come to enter the elevator without seeing its occu-
pant?"
"You take it for granted that Spencer was dead
at that time?" asked the spinster.
A look of horror crept into Foster's eyes. "Kia-
metia, what do you mean to insinuate? Your ques-
tion implies,"
"Nothing," hastily. “I only want you, with your
sane common sense, to kill an intolerable doubt.
Kathleen cannot-cannot know anything of this
crime.”
“If you doubt, why not ask Kathleen how and
when she came to be in the elevator with Spencer's
dead body?!
“Kathleen is still under the effects of the opiate,
and you heard what Winslow said a few minutes ago
about her behavior before the physician's arrival."
"Don't worry.” Foster laid a soothing hand on
hers. “Kathleen's condition is not surprising under
11
151.


A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
"I've done some remarkably stupid things occa-
sionally," said Miss Kiametia composedly. “That
was one of them.”
“Kiametia !" called a voice in the hallway, and
the next moment the portières parted and Mrs.
Whitney walked into the library. "Oh, there you
are, my dear; I feared you had gone. I am so glad
to see you, Senator," clasping Foster's extended hand
warmly. “Winslow and I both hoped you could
come to us. We want your advice.”
“I am entirely at your disposal.” As he spoke,
Foster dragged forward a comfortable chair. "Sit
here, Mrs. Whitney; you look quite done up," and
his sympathetic tone and manner brought tears to
her hot, tired eyes.
"It is such a comfort to see two such dear friends,"
she said, looking gratefully at them. “And to talk
to you openly, away from those dreadful detectives.
I haven't had an opportunity to speak privately to
Winslow. Detective Mitchell is his shadow."
"A little brief authority," Foster shrugged his
shoulders. "How is Kathleen?”
"Sleeping, thank God!” Mrs. Whitney lowered
her voice. “I really feared for her reason before
the doctor came. I could not soothe her, or quiet
her wild weeping." She stopped to glance hastily
153


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Vd
over her shoulder. “Vincent said something about
Captain Miller having called—is the Captain here?"
"He has gone upstairs with your husband and
Detective Mitchell," answered Foster. “Tell me,
Mrs. Whitney, was Sinclair Spencer visiting you
for any length of time?"
"Oh, no; his stopping here last night was quite
unexpected; in fact so unexpected to me that I ac-
cidentally put Kiametia in the same room with
him."
"I didn't stay there," hastily ejaculated the spin-
ster, crimsoning. “The moment I saw him in bed,
I fled.”
"Was he asleep?" questioned Foster; Miss Kia-
metia had not told him these details in her descrip-
tion of events at the Whitney residence.
"I presume so; his eyes were closed—thank good-
ness !” she added under her breath, and quickly
changed the subject. “Any news of Julie's where-
abouts, Minna?"
“Apparently not; I telephoned to Police Head-
quarters half an hour ago, and the desk sergeant
said they had found no trace of her.”
"Where is your maid's bedroom, Mrs. Whitney.?"
asked Foster.
"She rooms with the cook on the third floor."
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A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
"What does the cook say about Julie's disap-
pearance?"
"She is as mystified as the rest of us; declares
Julie went to bed at the same time she did, and that
when she awoke this morning, the covers on Julie's
bed were thrown back. Thinking Julie had pre-
ceded her downstairs, she dressed and attended to
her usual duties. It was not until I rang for Julie
that the other servants realized that none of them
had seen her this morning. Not one, apparently,
has the faintest idea as to when she disappeared,
and where." . .
"So !" ejaculated Foster unbelievingly. "I ima-
gine the police will jog their memories.”
“Let us hope they will succeed in finding Julie,”
snapped Miss Kiametia. “I confess the situation
is getting on my nerves. If she committed the mur-
der, she should suffer for it. If not, she should
come forward and prove her innocence.”
"It is essential that Julie be found,” agreed Fos-
ter. "For my part, I ..."
“Beg pardon, sir," and Vincent approached.
“This note has just come for you," presenting his
silver salver to the Senator. “There's no answer,
sir. The clerk at the Portland sent the messenger
here with it, as it was marked 'Immediate.'”
155


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nounc
With a word of apology to his companions, Fos-
ter tore open the envelope and hastily scanned the
written lines.
"I must leave at once," he announced, carefully
placing the note in his leather wallet. "I had for-
gotten entirely that I had an important business
engagement. Please tell Winslow, Mrs. Whitney,
that I will come back this evening; and you must
both count on me if there is anything I can do for
you."
"Won't you wait for Captain Miller?" asked
Miss Kiametia, concealing her disappointment at
the abrupt termination of the interview.
"Miller? I'm afraid not. Please tell him I was
called away and that I leave my touring car at his
service."
"If you plan to do that, may I get your chauf-
feur to take me home?" asked Miss Kiametia
quickly.
“Why, of course; I only wish that I could accom-
pany you.” Foster wavered, he desired most ar-
dently to see the spinster alone, but the note was
urgent, and considering the source, could not be ig-
nored. "Good-bye.” Shaking hands warmly with
Mrs. Whitney and Miss Kiametia, he hastily de-
parted.
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A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
Foster's appointment consumed over an hour, and
on leaving the government building where it had
taken place, he walked aimlessly through the city
streets, so deep in thought that he gave no heed to
the direction he was taking. His absorption blinded
him to the appearance of an inconspicuously dressed,
heavily veiled woman who, at sight of him, shrank
back under cover of the archway leading to a movie
theater, until he had passed safely up the street. She
was about to step out on the sidewalk again when
the sight of a man walking rapidly down the street
in the direction Foster had disappeared, caused her
to remain in partial concealment. The woman
peered at the last man irresolutely, while pretending
to examine a gaudy, Aaring poster of the movie,
one hand pressed to her rapidly beating heart. Com-
ing to a sudden decision, she hastened after him,
and nearing an intersecting street, overtook him.
“Captain Miller," she called timidly, and at sound
of his name, Miller turned toward her.
“Yes ?” his hand raised toward his hat at sight
of a woman. “You called me?"
“Yes, Captain." She drew nearer. "You do not
recognize me, but"-sinking her voice-"I am
Julie."
"Julie?" he echoed.
157


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e
1
e now.
"Oui, monsieur," in rapid French. "Mademoi-
selle Kathleen's maid. Ah, monsieur, for the love
you bear her, advise me now. It is for her sake, not
for mine."
The Captain eyed her intently. "I don't catch
your meaning," he said, in her native tongue.
: "You have surely heard, Captain, of the death
of that devil, Spencer"-Behind her veil, the French-
woman's eyes sparkled with rage. “Well, Captain,
his death was justified.”
"I have no doubt of it," agreed her companion.
“But, in the eyes of the law, it will be termed ...".
“Murder." Her white lips barely formed the
word, and she glanced fearfully behind her. Her
half-conscious action recalled the Captain to their
surroundings, and he, too, glanced up the street.
Apparently they had it to themselves; in that unfre-
quented part of the city there were few passers-by.
The Captain's eyes narrowed; he preferred never
to be conspicuous; a crowded street was more to his
liking.
"Suppose we move on," he suggested, but the
Frenchwoman held back. si
"I have spent all the morning at the moving pic-
tures,” she said. “There it is dark. Let us find
another."
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A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
“Very well; we can talk as we go," and the Cap-
tain suited his step to hers. "And suppose also that
we confine our remarks to English."
"As monsieur pleases.” She half repented her im.
pulsive act. She had intrusted her secret to another.
Would that other prove loyal? A faint shiver crept
down her spine, and she pressed one mitted hand
over the other. "I seek seclusion, monsieur, because
- I know too much."
"'A little knowledge'”—the Captain did not fin-
ish the quotation. "Let us turn down here," and
not waiting for her consent, he piloted her up a
side street. “You do not, then, wish to make a con-
fidant of the police?"
"Non, non, monsieur,” lapsing again into rapid
French. "I think only of Mademoiselle."
A sudden gleam lighted the Captain's eyes.
"Kathleen,” his voice lingered on her name. "You
think she is in danger?".
"I do, monsieur, in great danger. Did I not see”
-she paused in her hasty speech and bit her tongue;
one indiscretion was leading to another. “It mat-
ters not what I saw, monsieur—I am sometimes
nearsighted."
"In that case, your eyes will be examined if tes-
tifying in a trial for murder," and he smiled covertly
n
SC
159


I SPY
as he saw the fear tugging at her heart-strings.
"Enough, Julie; I will respect your confidences. You
know-how, I do not inquire—of my deep affection
for Mademoiselle Kathleen. ..."
"Who would not love her?" broke in Julie pas-
sionately. "So generous, so fearless and loyal! Ah!
she will be faithful to France—she will guard her
father's secret-aye, even to the bitter end."
"Hushl not so loud,” admonished the Captain,
laying a steadying hand on her arm. "Let me think
a moment." Totally unconscious of the tears which
fell one by one on her white cheeks, the excited
Frenchwoman kept step with him in silence for three
blocks; then the Captain roused himself. “You are
willing to shield Mademoiselle Kathleen at all
costs ?” he asked..
"Oui, monsieur."
"And you think you can best accomplish that re-
sult by avoiding the police ?"
"Oui, monsieur.”
"Have you money?"
"A little, monsieur.” She turned her troubled
countenance toward him. "I cannot travel far."
"It is wiser not to travel at all.” The Captain
slackened his walk before an unpretentious red brick
residence. “The landlady of this house takes pay-
160


A QUESTION OF LOYALTY
ing guests and asks no questions. Here you can re-
main perdue," with emphasis, “and no one inside
will trouble you; but be cautious, Julie, how you
venture on the street day or night.”
"But, monsieur"- Julie drew back—"I do not
fear for myself, only for mademoiselle, and I like
not to be indoors all day. The police, they will only
trouble me with questions should I return to the
Whitneys."
"If you do not return to the Whitneys, Julie, the
police will think you guilty."
“Me, monsieur?”
“Yes."
.
"But-but" stammered the Frenchwoman,
overwhelmed. “I have committed no crime. I but
left because I could not bear to tell what I
know."
"Your departure is construed as a confession of
guilt.” The Captain bent his handsome face nearer
hers. “It is only a question, Julie, of the depth of
your affection for Mademoiselle Kathleen. Are you
willing to shield her at all costs ?"
The Frenchwoman faltered for a second, then
drew herself proudly erect. “Oui, monsieur.
Mademoiselle was kind to me when I lost all-my
lover, my brothers died for France. There is no
161


I SPY
one who cares for me now but mademoiselle. I shall
not betray her."
"Good!" The Captain wrung her hand.
“Come," and he led the way into the house..


CHAPTER XV
THE GAME, "I SPY"
D ARELY pausing to dip his pen in the inkstand,
Charles Miller covered sheet after sheet of
thin paper with his fine legible writing. As he
reached the final word he laid down his pen and
stretched his cramped fingers and gently rubbed one
hand over the other. For the first time conscious
of the chill atmosphere, he rose and moved about the
room. Stopping before the steam heater to turn
it on, he walked back to his desk and carefully read
what he had written, correcting a phrase here and
there. Finally satisfied with the result, he selected
an envelope and placing the papers inside, sealed
and addressed'it. For a second he held the envelope
poised over the unstained blotting-paper, then raising
it gently, breathed on the still wet ink. At last con-
vinced that it was dry, he placed the envelope in
the pocket of his bathrobe, and picking up his pa-
jamas went into the bathroom which opened out
of his bedroom, and closed the door.
Five seconds, fifteen seconds passed, then the long
163


I SPY
curtains before the window alcove gently parted
and a man looked into the empty room. With head
and shoulders protruding he waited until the sound
of running water reached his ears, then advanced
softly into the room. The desk was his objective
point, and his nimble fingers made quick work of
sorting its meager contents. His search was unre-
warded; there was not a scrap of incriminating writ-
ing in any drawer, and the neat pile of blotting-
paper was untouched.
The intruder's expression altered; curiosity gave
way to doubt. Without wasting time he replaced
every article where he found it, pausing occasionally
to listen to the sound of splashing coming from be-
hind the closed bathroom door. Convinced there
was no immediate danger of interruption from that
quarter, he walked swiftly to the closet and minutely
examined Miller's clothing. Just as he was leaving
the closet a box-shaped leather bag marked “Un-
derwood” attracted his attention, and pushing aside
a bundle of soiled underclothing, he knelt down and
inserted a skeleton key in the lock, and after a sec-
ond's work, forced back the wards and opened the
lid of the box. The typewriter it contained proved
uninteresting, and putting back everything as he had
found it, he returned to the window by which he had
164


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cheeks as he met Henry's attentive regard. “Did
you give her my note?” .
"I sent it to her by the nurse, sir; Miss Kathleen
still keeps her room," said Henry respectfully.
“Vincent tells me that she refused even to see her
mother and father."
· "Have you an answer for me?” as the servant
paused.
“The nurse came to the kitchen and gave me
these"-pulling a letter and package out of his
pocket—"to deliver personally to you, sir; Miss
Kathleen asked to have them sent at once."
Taking them Miller examined the addresses; the
note was the one he had written Kathleen, and the
package bore the label of a prominent jeweler, upon
which was written Kathleen's full name in Miller's
handwriting. Both were unopened. Miller placed
them in his pocket with unmoved face.
“Why did you not deliver them to me last night?”
he asked curtly.
"I started to, sir, but seeing you walking with
Baron von Fincke down Massachusetts Avenue, sir,
I. ..." Henry's eyes wavered and fell before
Miller's scrutiny.
"Followed me?” prompted the latter, bending
forward.
166


THE GAME, "I SPY”
"Only a little way"-quickly. "I did not like to
intrude, sir, and by following hoped to get a chance
to give you Miss Kathleen's package and note. I
lost sight of you at Thomas Circle, sir, and went
home. That is the gospel truth, sir, as sure as my
name is—Heinrich.”
Miller viewed the chauffeur in silence. “So !” he
exclaimed, and a pleased smile brightened his face.
“Naturalized, or born in this country?"
"Born here, sir, of naturalized parents.” The
chauffeur twisted his cap nervously. "German-
American, sir."
"There is no such thing, Heinrich.” Miller's
voice deepened. “The hyphen cannot be recognized.
You are either American or German."
The chauffeur straightened himself, and his heels
clicked together as he raised his hand in salute.
“Hoch der Kaiser !"
The words were echoed by Miller as he sprang
forward and grasped the chauffeur's hand. "For
the Fatherland !” he added in German. "Why have
you not declared yourself before ?"
"Until last night, Herr Captain, I was not abso-
lutely sure you were one of us. But later in the
evening Baron von Fincke ..."
"Stood sponsor for me,” finished Miller, thrust-
all.
12
167


I SPY
ing his hand in his pajama pocket, and thereby push-
ing an envelope still deeper in it. "What have you
to report? Wait, speak English; the walls have
ears."
The chauffeur whitened and moved closer to Mil-
ler. "Was Mr. Spencer in your confidence ?"
"No."
"And the Baron did not trust him," said Hein-
rich, reflectively. “If he was not one of us, how
came he to be killed ?"
"God knows." Miller threw out his hands in a
hopeless gesture. “I don't.”
“But there must be some motive for the crime,”
argued the chauffeur. “Miss Kathleen must have
suspected something before taking ..." Powerful
hands on his throat choked his utterance.
"Never mention Miss Kathleen's name in that
connection again," commanded Miller, his voice low
and stern. “You hear me, you dog!" and he shook
Heinrich until his teeth rattled, then released
him.
"Pardon,” gasped the badly frightened man. “I
meant no offense."
"See that you follow my instructions hereafter.”
“Yes, sir”—Heinrich caressed his throat tenderly,
and looked at Miller with a new respect. “I was
168


THE GAME, “I SPY”
only going to mention, sir, that Mr. Spencer meddled
in what did not concern him. I believe he suspected
what I have come to believe."
“And what is that?"
“That this photography business is only a
blind.”.
"A blind?" Miller looked thoughtfully at his com-
panion. “Suppose you pull up a chair; wait, first
hang your cap over the keyhole of the hall door."
While waiting for Heinrich to follow his instructions
Miller seated himself. “A blind?” he repeated.
"No, no, Heinrich, you are mistaken; Mr. Whitney
has invented a very perfect aeroplane camera, of
that I am thoroughly convinced. And our country
needs it ..."
"Undoubtedly, sir,” Heinrich almost stuttered in
his growing. excitement. “But he has invented some-
thing that we need more. ..."
"What is that?”
“I don't know, sir.”
Miller, who had been leaning forward in his
eagerness, drew back. “Don't waste my time, Hein-
rich," he said roughly.
"Your time won't be wasted," protested the Ger-
man. "Have patience and let me explain. I can-
not manage this affair alone, I need assistance-and
169


I SPY
-you are a frequent caller at the Whitney
house. . . ."
“Well, what then?"
"Mr. Whitney may be persuaded to take you to
his studio ..." the chauffeur hesitated,
"Proceed," directed Miller shortly. "You can
count on me."
“Good," the chauffeur hitched his chair closer.
"Day before yesterday I carried a telegram up to
the studio. Not hearing any sound in the room, I
carefully turned the knob of the door and found it
unlocked. For months I have tried that door, hop-
ing for just such luck," he interpolated. “Opening
it very softly, I saw Mr. Whitney standing with his
back to me, and facing the muzzle of a rifle. I had
only time to note that the rifle was braced on two
iron brackets and that Mr. Whitney was holding a
string which was attached to the trigger; when I saw
a flash, the rifle's recoil—and Mr. Whitney still
standing just where he was.".
Miller stared incredulously at Heinrich, down
whose face sweat was running; the man was obvi-
ously telling the truth at least, what he believed
to be the truth.
"Wake up, Heinrich,” he said skeptically, and the
chauffeur flushed hotly.
170





THE GAME, “I SPY”
"It's God's truth I'm telling you,” he declared
solemnly. “For the sake of the Fatherland, believe
me."
"I will," and Miller's fist came softly down on his
desk. “Did you hear no report?"
"None; there was a Maxim silencer on the rifle."
"I see and blank cartridges in the breech.”
“That is what I first thought on seeing Mr. Whit-
ney still standing," admitted Heinrich. “I believed
he was trying to commit suicide. Then I heard him
exclaim: 'God be thanked! I've solved the prob-
lem; it stood the test.'”
"Hardly a suicide's speech.” Miller stared at
Heinrich. "Probably he was testing the Maxim
silencer."
"No, Herr Captain.” The chauffeur almost
jumbled his words over each other in his haste.
“An instant after the flash, I saw Mr. Whitney
sway upon his feet, recover his balance, and stand
upright."
"The blast of powder must have caused that."
"He was fully the length of the room from the
muzzle of the rifle. There were no powder marks
on his vest and coat when he opened the door in re-
sponse to my knock a few minutes later. You see,
Herr Captain, as soon as I got back my wits, I
171


I SPY
closed the door. When Mr. Whitney pulled out
his gold pencil from his vest pocket to sign for the
telegram I heard something drop on the floor, and
letting the receipt slip fall, I stooped over and
picked up with it—this," and he laid on the desk
a Mauser bullet.
Miller examined it curiously. His companion was
the first to break the silence. “It is flattened on one
side, Herr Captain."
“I see it is.” Miller weighed the bullet in his ,
hand. “You have something more to tell me, Hein.
rich; out with it."
"Yes, Herr Captain. That night I bribed Vin-
cent to let me valet Mr. Whitney, and I found the
vest he wore that afternoon. In it, over the heart,
was a round hole."
"Did the bullet fit it?"
"Exactly." There was a protracted silence, which
the chauffeur broke with a question. "What do you
make out of it, sir?"
Miller did not answer directly. "Was Mr. Whit-
ney wearing his ordinary business suit?” he in-
quired.
“Yes, Herr Captain."
“You are sure he wore nothing over it?"
“Absolutely positive.”
172


THE GAME, “I SPY”
Miller handed back the bullet. “It rather looks
as if Mr. Whitney has invented some wearing ap-
parel which Mauser bullets cannot penetrate," he
said slowly, “or else ..."
"Yes, Herr Captain.”
“You are a great liar."


CHAPTER XVI
AT THE MORGUE
HORTLY before three o'oclock on that same
afternoon in which Heinrich had confided in
Miller, dashing turnouts and limousines, their
smartly liveried coachmen and chauffeurs asking now
and then the direction from street-crossing police-
man, trotted and tooted their way down busy Sev-
enth Street toward the wharves, their destination a
modest two-storied stuccoed building bearing the
words, “D. C. Morgue.” The inquest on Sinclair
Spencer was to be held there at three o'clock.
Spencer's tragic death twenty-four hours before
had indeed created a sensation in the nation's Cap-
ital. The wildest rumors were afloat. Was it de-
liberate murder or suicide? The press, ever keen to
scent sensational news, had devoted much space to
the little known facts and hinted at even more start-
ling developments; all of which but whetted the curi-
osity of the public. The social prominence of the
Whitneys had precipitated them still further into the
liinelight; not often did the smart set have so choice
174


AT THE MORGUE
ese
about, to the reporters' table, where a seat had
been reserved for him by the morgue master.
Across the east end of the room was the raised plat-
form upon which stood a long table and chairs for
the coroner, the deputy coroner, and the witnesses,
while to their left were the six chairs for the coro-
ner's jury. As the Senator seated himself he spied
Charles Miller among the men standing at the back
of the room. There was a vacant chair next to his,
and after a few hurried words with the coroner, Fos-
ter beckoned Miller to join him.
"I called you up repeatedly this morning," said
Miller, pushing his chair closer to the Senator so as
to make room for a reporter on his left. “But your
servant declared you were not at home." .
"I spent most of the morning at the Whitneys'
and lunched with Miss Grey. Horrible affair, this;
the Whitneys are all unstrung."
"Did you see Kathleen?"
"No." Foster stroked his chin nervously. "She
has steadily refused to see anyone, even her parents.
Her conduct is most strange.”
"I don't agree with you," warmly. “She has un-
dergone a great shock, finding a friend dead in an
elevator. ..."
"Ah, did she?” The words seemed forced from
O
177


I SPY
Foster; he would have given much to recall them
on seeing the look that flashed in Miller's eyes.
"She did,” he asserted tersely. "Kathleen is the
soul of honor-you have but to know her to appre-
ciate that-she and evil can never be associated to-
gether.”
“You are a warm champion," exclaimed Foster.
"I should almost imagine"
"That I am engaged to her?” calmly. “Quite
true, I am."
Foster drew back. "I-I beg pardon," he stam-
mered in some confusion. “I had no idea affairs
had progressed so far-I am sorry I spoke as I did."
"You were but echoing what I hear on all sides,"
answered Miller bitterly.
! "True," Foster nodded. "Kathleen's extraordi-
nary silence, when by a few words she could explain
what happened yesterday morning before her
screams aroused the household, is causing unfavor-
able comment and unfortunate conjecture."
“The mystery will be explained this afternoon,”
and quiet confidence rang in Miller's pleasantly mod-
ulated tones. "Hello, I see some members of the
Diplomatic Corps are present.”
“And the so-called 'four hundred,'" growled
Foster. The close atmosphere had started him
178


AT THE MORGUE
coughing, and he scowled at Baron Frederic von
Fincke who was seated near by. “Where is the
jury?” he asked, as soon as the paroxysm of cough-
ing was over.
“Viewing the body in that room." Miller indi-
cated a closed door to his right. "The jury is sworn
in there by the morgue master."
As he spoke the door opened and the six men, led
by the morgue master, filed into the room and took
their places, and the low hum of conversation died
away as the coroner, stepping to the platform,
stated briefly the reason for the inquest, and sum-
moned Dr. Hall, of the Emergency Hospital, to the
witness chair. He was quickly sworn by the morgue
master, and in response to the coroner's question,
stated that he had reached the Whitney residence
shortly after eight o'clock Wednesday morning in
answer to a telephone call.
“Tell the jury what you found on your arrival,"
directed the coroner.
"I was shown upstairs by the butler, whose inco-
herent remarks led me to suppose that someone was
ill in the elevator. On entering it I found Mr.
Spencer, whom I knew slightly, lying there dead.”
"Did you make a thorough examination ?"
"Only enough to prove that life was extinct. The
179


I SPY
butler informed me that my services were needed by
Miss Whitney, and I went at once to her.”
“In what condition did you find her?"
"Hysterical. To quiet her, I finally administered
an opiate, and sent for a trained nurse."
"Did you consider her case dangerous ?”
“No, but she was completely unstrung; her ner..
vous system had undergone a severe shock, and I
feared for her mental condition if not given imme-
diate relief and complete rest."
"Have you seen her today?"
“Yes, this morning."
"How was she ?"
"Much improved.”
"Did Miss Whitney speak to you of Mr. Spen-
cer?"
"She did not.”
“Did you question her on the subject of the mys-
tery surrounding Mr. Spencer's death?”
"I did not. In her condition I judged it a topic
to be avoided. I also cautioned her parents not to
discuss it with her unless she voluntarily alluded
to it."
"How long had Spencer been dead, Doctor, when
you saw him?"
"I cannot answer positively, as I did not make
180


I SPY
"Did you search for the weapon with which Mr.
Spencer's throat was gashed?”.
"At once, sir," answered Mitchell promptly. “At
the back of the elevator near the body I found this”
-holding up a short bone-handled knife which he
took from his coat pocket. “The blade was covered
with blood.”
Coroner Penfield took the knife and after examin-
ing it, handed it to the foreman of the jury who,
upon scanning it closely, passed it on to his com-
panions.
“Have you ever seen such a knife before?” ques-
tioned the coroner. “The blade is a peculiar shape."
"Yes, sir; that shape of knife is sometimes used
in modeling clay and by glaziers when handling
putty.”
Penfield and the deputy coroner exchanged glances,
then the coroner resumed his questions. “Did you
examine the bedroom Mr. Spencer occupied Tuesday
night, Mitchell ?"
"I did, sir."
"Had the bed been slept in?”
“Apparently it had, sir. The pillows and cover-
ing had been tossed about."
"Did you find anything in the room belonging to
the deceased ?”
182


I SPY
Valu.
just now," and Mitchell departed. “Ask Mr. Whit-
ney to step here," directed Penfield, a second after-
ward.
“Beg pardon, sir,” and the morgue master stepped
before the platform. “Mr. Whitney went back to
his residence to escort his daughter here. Mrs.
Whitney, however, is waiting in the next room."
“Very well, bring Mrs. Whitney here," and the
coroner left his seat to assist her to the platform.
Mrs. Whitney's customary self-control and air of
good breeding had not deserted her, and whatever
her inward tribulation at appearing before a coro-
ner's jury, it was successfully concealed as she re-
peated the oath after the morgue master.
"Your full name?" questioned Coroner Penfield.
"Minna Caswell Whitney, daughter of the late
Judge William Caswell, of New York."
“You were married to Winslow Whitney in,"
"1896."
"And you have resided in Washington since then?”'
“Yes, except in the summer months when we went
to our home in Massachusetts or, occasionally,
abroad.”
“Will you kindly state what took place at your
house on Tuesday evening, Mrs. Whitney?"
"I entertained the Sisters in Unity, and afterward
184


AT THE MORGUE
went to bed.” The concise reply wrung a smile from
Foster.
"At what hour did the members of your club de-
part?"
"A little before one o'clock, Wednesday morn-
ing.”
"Then did you go direct to bed?".
"No, I first showed Miss Kiametia Grey who,
owing to an attack of faintness, was spending
the night at my home, to her room; then I re-
tired.”
"Were you aware that Mr. Spencer was also
spending the night under your roof?”.
"Not until Miss Grey informed me of the fact;
I had inadvertently placed her in the same room with
Mr. Spencer. I immediately took her to another
room."
"Was Mr. Spencer's bedroom in darkness when
you ushered Miss Grey into it?"
"It was."
“Did not your husband tell you of Mr. Spencer's
presence?"
“I did not see my husband until Wednesday morn-
ing; he had gone to his studio in the attic when I
went to my bedroom. He frequently works all night
on his inventions."
n
185


I SPY
"Were you awakened during the night by any
noise ?"
"No."
"Did you see your daughter before retiring?"
"No."
"Did she attend the meeting of your club?”
"No, she is not a member."
"When did you first hear of Mr. Spencer's
death ?”
"The next morning, when my daughter's screams
aroused the household.”
“How long has Julie Genet, your French maid,
been in your employ?"
"Four years."
"Have you heard from her since her disappear-
ance ?"
"No."
"Was she acquainted with Mr. Spencer?"
"I really don't know."
The coroner flushed at her tone. "Was Julie dis-
contented with her place?” he asked, somewhat
harshly.
"I have no reason to suppose so; she never com-
plained.”
"How did you come to employ her?”
“A friend of mine brought her to this country, and
186


AT THE MORGUE
a year later Julie came to me; she was highly recom-
mended.”
"Has she any relatives in this country to whom
she might have gone?”
"None that I ever heard of.” Mrs. Whitney re-
flected for a second, then added, “Julie told me some
months ago that her only near relatives had been
killed in the war in France."
"Was Julie a well trained servant?”
"She was indeed; also good-natured, thoughtful,
and obedient."
"When did you last see Julie?"
“Downstairs, when giving final directions to Vin-
cent. I told her to assist him in closing the house,
and then go direct to bed; that I would undress
myself as it was so late.”
"Did she appear as usual?".
“Yes."
"Did you go at all to Mr. Spencer's bedroom yes-
terday morning after hearing of his death ?”
"No."
“We will not detain you longer, Mrs. Whitney,"
and with a slight bow to the jurors and the coroner
she made her way from the room.
Her place was taken by Vincent, the butler, who
testified that he had gone about his work on Wednes-
· 187


I SPY
day morning as customary, that all windows and
doors were locked as he had left them the night
before, and that he and Henry, the chauffeur, were
busy replacing the drawing-room furniture, removed
the night before to make room for chairs for the
meeting of the Sisters in Unity, when startled by
Miss Whitney's screams. He also stated that hav.
ing gone to bed very late, he had slept heavily and
had not been awakened until aroused at seven o'clock
by the cook. His bedroom was across the hall from
the other servants. He had not realized that Julie
Genet was absent until Mrs. Whitney rang for her;
he had supposed the maid was upstairs waiting upon
either her or Miss Whitney. No, Julie was not quar-
relsome; she was quiet, deeply engrossed in her own
affairs, and spent much of her time sewing in Miss
Whitney's sitting-room. He had heard that she was
to have been married the previous December, but
the war had taken her fiancé back to the colors, and
he had been killed in the retreat on Paris.
Henry, the chauffeur, was the next to testify. He
admitted admiration for Julie and stated that she
had not encouraged his attentions, and the remainder
of his testimony simply corroborated that of Vincent.
He did not sleep in the Whitney residence, but took
his meals there.
188


AT THE MORGUE
When giving their testimony the chambermaid,
laundress, and scullery maid also stated they did not
sleep at the Whitneys'; that Julie, while always pleas-
ant, kept very much to herself. They one and all
declared that they had never entered Sinclair Spen-
cer's bedroom Wednesday morning after the dis-
covery of the tragedy. The coroner quickly dis-
missed each one, and Rosa, the cook, looking ex-
tremely perturbed, was the last servant to be ques-
tioned. She stated that she had not gone upstairs
Wednesday morning until noon.
"Sure, I dunno whin Julie wint downstairs
Wednesday mornin'," she declared. “I slep' that
heavy I niver hear her a'movin' around.”
"Was it her habit to get up before you did ?"
asked Coroner Penfield.
"Yis, sor. She had oneasy nights, like, an' would
be off downstairs at the foist peep o' day. She
trooded too much over the papers, I'm feared;
though 'twas natural to read av the divils who killed
her kin and swateheart in France."
“Did Julie ever speak to you of Mr. Spencer?"
"Wance or twice, maybe,” admitted Rosa reluc-
tantly.
"Did she ever meet Mr. Spencer away from the
house?”
189


AT THE MORGUE
O'Leary. Careful of that step," and as the morgue
master appeared, he asked, “Is Miss Kiametia Grey
here?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"Then ask her to come in.” He exchanged a few
remarks with the deputy coroner in a tone too low
to reach the ears of the attentive reporters, then
turned back to the witness chair as Miss Kiametia
seated herself.
"We will only keep you a few minutes,” he began,
after the preliminary questions had been asked the
spinster. "I understand you were accidentally shown
into the bedroom already occupied by Mr. Spencer.”
“I was," stated Miss Kiametia, as the coroner
paused. “Neither Mrs. Whitney nor I was aware
he was within a mile of us."
“Did you discover his presence at once?”.
"No." The spinster's tone was short. "The bed
is in an alcove, and I had only turned on the electric
bulb by the bureau; thus the room was in partial
darkness. I-eh-eh-" then with a rush—"I did
not know he was there until I was ready to get
in bed."
"Was Mr. Spencer asleep?"
"I never waited to see."
Coroner Penfield stifled a smile and changed the
191


I SPY
subject. “Were you aroused during the night by
any noise ?"
"No," sharply. "When once in the hall bedroom
I took a pretty stiff drink of whiskey as a nightcap,
for I was feeling pretty shaky about then. Conse-
quently I slept soundly all through the night."
"Was Mr. Spencer a great friend of yours ?”
"No," with uncomplimentary promptness. "But
I did occasionally ask him to large entertainments.”
"Did you see Miss Whitney before retiring on
Tuesday night?"
"No. Her mother told me she had gone to bed
early.”
"Did you see Mr. Whitney ?”
"No."
"Did you see Julie, the French maid?"
"Not upstairs. Mrs. Whitney gave me the whis-
key and a dressing-gown.”
"Can you tell me if Mr. Spencer was wearing his
pajamas in bed?"
"I cannot,” dryly.
"Did you enter Mr. Spencer's bedroom the next
morning after hearing of his death?"
"I did not."
"While in his room Tuesday night did you ob-
serve his clothes on a chair or table?
192


AT THE MORGUE
"No, and after discovering his presence, I was
too keen to get out of the room to notice anything
in it.”
“Then possibly you left the light burning by the
bureau ?"
"I did nothing of the sort. It is a hobby of mine
never to waste gas or electricity, and I remember
distinctly stopping to put out the light after I had
picked up my clothes."
"Quite sure, Miss Gray?" and the spinster bridled
at his quizzical glance.
“I am willing to take my dying oath,” she said
solemnly, "that I left that room in total darkness."


CHAPTER XVII
CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
M R. WINSLOW WHITNEY will be the next
M witness," announced Coroner Penfield, first
signifying to Miss Kiametia Grey that her presence
was no longer required in the witness chair, and the
spinster, with an audible sigh of relief, picked up
her gold mesh purse and its dangling accessories and
hastily left the room.
There was an instant craning of necks and rais-
ing of lorgnettes as the door opened to admit Wins-
low Whitney. Courteously acknowledging the bows
of several friends seated near the entrance, he made
his way to the witness chair with a firm tread, and
his clear voice was plainly heard as, in answer to the
morgue master's questions, he stated his full nane,
age, and length of residence in Washington, hav-
ing first taken the oath to tell the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth. Charles Miller,
watching him intently, was relieved to find that the
nervous twitching of the muscles of his face and
hands, so noticeable the day before, was missing.
194


. I SPY
“Certainly; otherwise I should not have invited
him," replied Whitney, with quiet dignity.
"Let me amend my question.” The coroner laid
down his pencil. “Was Mr. Spencer on a friendly
footing with each member of your household ?"
"I have every reason to believe he was."
"Was Mr. Spencer's manner the same as usual
when he called upon you Tuesday evening?"
"No."
"In what way was it different?"
"He had been drinking."
“Was he rough, boisterous ?”
“The latter, yes. So much so, that I suggested he
spend the night. I did not wish him to go down-
stairs and disturb my wife's guests, which he was
quite capable of doing had the whim seized him.”
"Were you then upstairs, Mr. Whitney?"
"Yes, in my wife's boudoir on the first bedroom
floor."
"When did you last see Mr. Spencer alive?”
“When I showed him into his bedroom and loaned
him a pair of pajamas.”
"Did you help him undress ?”
"No, as he assured me, with drunken gravity, that
he could manage it himself.”
"Did you inform your wife and daughter that
196


I SPY ..
ver
ses
"I am told that you are working on a sort of
camera which, used in an aeroplane, makes a map
of the country over which the machine passes. Is
that correct, Mr. Whitney?"
“Yes,” acknowledged Whitney. “A patent is
pending."
"Had it gotten about among your servants that
you were working upon an important invention?”
“It's very possible,” Whitney conceded.
"Did Julie, your wife's maid, ever evince undue
curiosity in your work?”
Whitney wrinkled his brow in thought. "No,"
he said. “I can't say that I am aware she did. When
I go to my studio, as we usually call my workshop,
it is an understood thing that I am not to be dis-
turbed by anyone. It is a rule I enforce by dismissal
if broken, and the servants have learned by experi-
ence to obey."
“Has your household access to your studio when
ou are not there?"
"No, I securely lock the door whenever I leave
ne room."
"Are you ever joined while in your studio by your
wife and daughter and their friends ?".
"Occasionally they bring Miss Grey and Senator
Foster in to see my models."
198


I SPY
The coroner, making no comment, held up the
knife with the black bone handle. "Have you ever
seen this knife before?”
Whitney turned a shade whiter. "I may have;
there is nothing distinctive about the knife.”
"Is it not used for modeling in clay?"
"I believe so."
“Who made the clay models in your studio, Mr.
Whitney?"
"I did.”
“Unassisted ?"
The question remained unanswered, and after a
brief pause the coroner pushed back his chair and
rose. “That is all, thank you, Mr. Whitney; kindly
wait in the adjoining room to the left; you will find
a chair there."
With a stiff bow Whitney stepped down from the
platform and made his way through the silent crowd
to the room indicated.
As the door closed behind him, Penfield called
the deputy coroner to the stand. Laying down
his pen, Dr. North took his seat in the witness
chair, and after being sworn, turned to face the
jurors, chart in hand.
"You made the autopsy upon Mr. Sinclair Spen-
cer?" questioned Penfield.
W
200


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
room
“I did, Doctor, in the presence of the morgue
master."
"Please state to the jury the result of that au-
topsy."
The deputy coroner glanced at the notes on the
back of the chart, then reversed it, holding it aloft
so that all in the room could see the anatomical
drawing of a human figure.
"The knife penetrated this section of the neck,
just missing the carotid artery,” he began, using his
pencil to indicate the spot marked on the chart.
“While the wound bled profusely it was superficial
and did not cause death."
His words created a sensation. Men and women
looked at each other, then sat forward in their
chairs, the better to view the deputy coroner and his
chart.
“Were there indications of death from extreme
alcoholism, then?" questioned the coroner, and his
voice sounded unusually loud in the deep silence
which prevailed.
"No. Judging by the contents of the stomach Mr.
Spencer had not taken alcohol to excess."
"Then if the knife wound was not fatal, and there
was no indication of intoxication, what caused Mr.
Spencer's death ?" demanded the coroner.
nusu
ce
201


I SPY
"On examination," Dr. North weighed his words
carefully, "I found a powerful drug had evidently
been used, producing instantaneous death by para-
lyzing the respiratory center and arresting the heart
action."
All in the room were giving the deputy coroner
rapt attention. Many had come there purely from
love of sensation, and they were not being disap-
pointed. The eyes of Charles Miller and Senator
Foster met for a second, then quickly shifted back
to the deputy coroner. The reporters, their pencils
flying across the sheets, were the only ones in the
room who had not glanced at the witness.
"Have you discovered the drug used ?" questioned
the coroner.
"By tests I found it to be cyanide of potassium,
a most deadly poison, generally instantaneous in its
action."
"How large a dose was given?”
“I don't know, as there were no indications of it
in the gastric contents."
“Then how was the drug administered?"
“Through the blood.”
"By means of the knife?"
The deputy coroner looked puzzled. "Possibly,"
he admitted. “But I could find no trace of the poison
202


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
left on the knife blade. There was no mark on the
body to show how the poison was administered."
"At what hour did death occur?"
“Between three and four in the morning, judging
by the condition of the body."
"Was there any indication, Doctor, of resistance
on the part of the deceased? Did he make an effort
to defend himself.”
"No. Judging from his expression and the con-
dition of the muscles I should say that Mr. Spencer
never knew what killed him, never knew even that
his life was threatened.”
"Were his hands opened or clenched ?'
"His right hand was clenched,” acknowledged the
deputy coroner. "Not, however, for the purpose of
defense, but to retain his grasp upon this " and
drawing an envelope from his pocket he carefully
shook into his open palm a crushed and faded
flower. “It is a cornflower,” he explained. “Some-
times called bachelor's button. The stem is broken
short off.” And he held the flower so that all might
view it.
Senator Foster, who had followed the testimony
with unflagging interest, heard a sudden sharp intake
of breath to his right, but glancing quickly at Charles
Miller he found his face expressionless.
203


I SPY
Penfield took the cornflower and envelope from
the deputy coroner and laid them carefully on his
desk, while continuing his examination. No one
paid any attention to the lengthening shadows of
the late afternoon, and the coroner's next question
was awaited with breathless interest.
“Is cyanide of potassium used in photography ?"
he inquired.
"It is." .
"That is all, Doctor, you are excused," and the
deputy coroner returned to his seat.
The next witness was the morgue master, and his
testimony simply corroborated that of the deputy
coroner. He was followed by William Banks and
John P. Wilson, respectively, both well known in
the financial world of Washington, who testified to
Sinclair Spencer's standing in the community, and
stated that his financial condition precluded any sug-
gestion of suicide; and that to their knowledge he
had no enemies.
The lights were burning when the last named wit-
ness left the chair, but there was no sign of weari-
ness among the men and women in the room. Al-
though several consulted their watches, no one rose
to go. Their already deeply stirred interest was
quickened into fever heat as, in obedience to the
204


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
coroner's summons, Kathleen Whitney took her
place in the witness chair.
Dressed with the strict attention to detail and
taste which made her one of the conspicuous figures
in the younger set, Kathleen's appearance and beauty
made instant impression upon juror and spectator
alike. But her chic veil failed to hide the pallor
of her cheeks, and the unnatural brilliancy of her
eyes. Despite every effort at control, her voice
shook as she repeated the oath word for word and
stated her full name and age.
"Have you always resided in Washington ?" asked
the coroner.
“Yes.”
“Were you educated in this city?"
"Yes, except for a winter in Germany."
"Did you take up a special study while in Ger-
many, Miss Whitney ?".
“Yes, miniature painting—".
“And modeling?" as she paused.
"Oh, no, I never studied that abroad although
I occasionally help my father by modeling in
clay.”
"When did you make your début in Washington
society?"
"Last winter."
205


I SPY
"Did you then make Mr. Sinclair Spencer's ac-
quaintance ?"
"No." She moved involuntarily at the mention
of Spencer's name. "I had known him previously.
He was one of father's friends, and much older
than I.”
"Were you not reported engaged to him last fall?"
Kathleen flushed at the question. “ I never heard
of it," she said coldly. "I do not encourage gossip."
"Miss Whitney." Coroner Penfield surrepti-
tiously scanned a small note handed him before the
commencement of the inquest. The handwriting
was distinctly foreign. "Miss Whitney," repeated
Penfield. “Did you not refuse Mr. Spencer's offer
of marriage on Tuesday morning ?”
For a moment Kathleen stared at him in speech-
less surprise. "Where did you get that piece of
information?" she demanded, recovering herself.
“You have not answered my question, Miss Whit-
ney," and the quiet persistence of his manner im-
pressed Kathleen.
“Yes, I refused him," she admitted.
“Did Mr. Spencer make any attempt to persuade
you to reconsider your refusal?”
“Yes.” Kathleen shot an impatient look at the
coroner. "I cannot see what my private affairs have
206


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
to do with the regrettable death of Mr. Spencer,"
she protested.
Penfield ignored her remark. "Did Mr. Spencer
communicate with you Tuesday by letter or tele-
phone?" he asked and waited, but the question re-
mained unanswered. To the disappointment of the
reporters, he did not repeat it, but asked instead:
"Were you aware on Tuesday evening that Mr.
Spencer was spending the night at your house?”
"No."
"Did you see either your father or your mother
that night before retiring?”
"No."
"When did you last see Julie, your mother's
maid?"
"Before dinner when she came to my bedroom to
help me change my dress.”
"Did she seem discontented with her situation ?"
questioned the coroner.
"No."
"Did Julie ever evince dislike to Mr. Spencer?”
Kathleen's hand crept to her throat and she
plucked nervously at her veil. “Julie was too re-
spectful to discuss our family friends with me," she
said.
"You have not answered my question, Miss Whit-
207


I SPY
ney," was Penfield's quick retort, and Kathleen
flushed under the rebuke.
"Because I am aware that you are striving to
make me incriminate Julie in Mr. Spencer's
death,” she began heatedly. “Instead, you and the
police should make every effort to find Julie and
protect her ..."
“From what?"
“I don't know," hopelessly. “Julie has no friends
in this city, no one whom she could turn to in trouble
but me. I cannot understand her disappearance; I
fear, greatly fear, foul play."
“Circumstantial evidence points to her having dis-
appeared of her own volition, Miss Whitney, to es-
cape being charged with a heinous crime."
"Pardon me, her disappearance is the only scrap
of evidence which leads you to think she might pos-
sibly have murdered a man whom she knew by sight,"
retorted Kathleen.
"Was it your habit to supply Julie with money?"
questioned the coroner.
"Yes, which she sent to France as her mite toward
the war fund," answered Kathleen heatedly. “I am
confident Julie had nothing whatever to do with the
death of Mr. Spencer."
"Can you tell us who did, Miss Whitney?" asked
208


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
Penfield, and he saw the terror which crept into her
handsome eyes.
"I cannot,” she answered with unsteady lips. “I
never awoke that night.”
"What took you downstairs at so early an hour
yesterday morning?"
"I had rung the upstairs bell for Julie, and as
she did not come, I started to go down and find
her,” she hesitated uncertainly.
“Continue," directed Penfield. “Tell your story
of finding Mr. Spencer's body in your own way."
It was some minutes before Kathleen obeyed his
request. “I went to the elevator and pushed the
button," she began slowly. "I was in a hurry, and
when I heard the click which indicated the cage was
there I opened the outer mahogany door, pushed
back the inner steel grille-work door, stepped into
the elevator and without looking about me, closed
the doors, and pushed the basement button. Then I
turned about”-Kathleen moistened her dry lips
"and saw-and saw-Mr. Spencer lying there—the
blood”—she closed her eyes as if to shut out
the recollection—"I think for a time I lost my rea-
son. I have no intelligent recollection of anything
that occurred until I found myself in bed with a
trained nurse in attendance."
209


I SPY
As her charming voice ceased, Charles Miller,
who had never taken his eyes from her face, gently
moved his chair so that Foster's figure cast him in
shadow. Never once had Kathleen glanced his way;
she sat for the most part with her eyes downcast or
looking directly at the coroner. Kathleen was vis-
ibly moved by the recital of her experiences in the
elevator, and Penfield waited an instant before ques-
tioning her further.
"Could you tell from what floor the elevator
came when you pushed your floor button ?” he
asked.
"No," was the disappointing answer. “The ele-
vator runs practically noiselessly, and we have no
floor indicator such as you see in stores."
"Was the electric light turned on in the elevator
when you entered it?".
"No."
"Then how could you see Mr. Spencer so clearly?"
“The brick elevator shaft is lighted by a skylight,"
answered Kathleen. "The electric light is only
needed at night.”
"Do you recognize this knife?" and Penfield held
it before her as he spoke. Kathleen's eyes did not
shift their gaze, but her teeth met sharply on her
lower lip.
210 -


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
"I see that it resembles one that I have,” she said.
“You still have yours ?”
“Yes, you will find it in my desk drawer at home.”
“Had you only the one knife, Miss Whitney?"
"I may have had others,” indifferently. “I do
not recall; I buy my painting and modeling supplies
as I need them."
The coroner replaced the knife without further
comment.
"You use azurea perfume, do you not?” he asked.
“Yes."
"What was your object in trying to rub out a
blood stain on the front of Mr. Spencer's white shirt,
Miss Whitney, while you were in the elevator?"
asked Penfield.
Kathleen looked at him dully. "Wh-what d-did
you say?" she stuttered.
For answer Penfield took from the pile of cloth-
ing on the table a white shirt and pointed to a dis-
coloration on its glazed surface.
"When I first saw this shirt on Mr. Spencer it
reeked of perfume," he said sternly. "Submitted
to chemical tests, I find a blood stain was partially
removed by azurea. Again I ask, what was your
object in attempting to remove the blood stain ?"
But Penfield spoke to deaf ears. Kathleen had
u wel
211


I SPY
fainted. Excitement waxed high in the room as
Kathleen was carried out by Charles Miller, the
first to reach her side, and placed in the tender care
of Mrs. Whitney and the trained nurse. Waiting
only to see her brought back to consciousness by
Dr. Hall, Miller slipped back into the inquest room.
Detective Mitchell was again in the witness chair.
"You made a thorough examination of Miss Whit-
ney's room?" inquired the coroner.
"Yes, Doctor."
"And what did you find ?"
"This torn note"-and the detective held up the
pieces in each hand.
“Read its contents aloud," ordered Penfield.
The Connecticut
Tuesday afternoon.
KATHLEEN, MY DARLING:
· I implore you to reconsider-before it is too late. Con-
sult your father's best interests before you reject me.
Yours, with undying affection,
SINCLAIR.
Mitchell paused after reading the signature, then
continued. "Here is a sample of Mr. Spencer's
handwriting, attested by his cousin, Captain Dun-
bar; the handwriting of the notes is identical, sir,"
and he placed the papers in Penfield's hand. Read-
212


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
ing them carefully, the coroner passed them along to
the jury for examination.
"Where did you find this note ?” he asked
Mitchell.
"Among Miss Whitney's painting materials in her
sitting-room."
"What is that in your lap?” and the coroner
pointed to a paper box. ' In answer Mitchell raised
the cover and displayed a bouquet of faded corn-
flowers.
"I found it in Miss Whitney's sitting-room also,"
he stated. In tipping the box, the better to show its
contents, a small piece of white muslin rolled to the
floor. Quickly Penfield retrieved it. "I discovered
that handkerchief secreted in the folds of Miss
Whitney's blue foulard gown," added Mitchell, as
the coroner spread open the handkerchief. It was
badly mussed and its white center bore dark stains.
Penfield sniffed the faint perfume still hanging about
it; then without comment handed the handkerchief
to the foreman of the jury.
"That is all, Mitchell," announced Penfield, and
as the detective departed, he turned and addressed
the jury. His summing up of the case was quick and
to the point, and at the end the jurors silently filed
into another room. It was long after seven o'clock,
213


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but no one stirred in the room, and the silence, which
none cared to break, slowly grew oppressive. The
long wait was finally terminated by the reappearance
of the jury. Coroner Penfield rose and addressed
them.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” he said, "have you
reached a verdict?”.
“The jury find," answered the foreman, "that
Kathleen Whitney is responsible for the death of
Sinclair Spencer by poison on the morning of
Wednesday, March 24, 1915, in her family resi-
dence in the city of Washington."
Quickly the crowded room emptied, reporters
rushing madly for motors; not often had the district
morgue housed a cause célèbre, and its sensational
details had to be rushed on the wire. Charles Mil-
ler, separated from Foster by the sudden crowding
of the doorways, waited to one side for him.
"Americans are an emotional people," commented
a quiet voice at his elbow, and turning hastily Miller
recognized Baron Frederic von Fincke. "One death
more or less does not create a furore elsewhere."
“That depends on who dies," retorted Miller.
“True. If it should be a member of the Imperial
Family'-Von Fincke's gesture was eloquent. “To
them, all give way. We others are pawns.'
214


CHAPTER XVIII
A PROPOSAL
THE atmosphere inside the house matched the
1 leaden skies outside in point of gloom, and
even the wood fire, crackling on the hearth, failed
to mitigate the air of restraint and cheerlessness
which prevailed in the dining-room. The rain, fall-
ing in torrents, had brought with it a penetrating
cold wind, a last reminder of winter, and Vincent,
passing noiselessly to and from the pantry with sun-
dry savory dishes, was grateful for the heat thrown
out by the blazing logs.
Mrs. Whitney, whose eyes were red and inflamed
from constant weeping, gave up her attempt to eat
her breakfast and pushed her plate away.
"Let me give you some hot coffee, Winslow,”
she suggested. “Your cup must be stone cold, and
you haven't touched your fish balls."
Absorbed in his newspaper, Whitney did not at
first heed her request, but the pulling back of the
portières aroused him, and glancing over his shoul-
der, he saw Kathleen entering the room.
15
215


I SPY
“Good morning, Dad," laying her hand for a
second on his shoulder before taking the chair Vin-
cent pulled out. “Just a cup of coffee, mother dear,
that is all," and Kathleen unfolded her napkin.
"You told me upstairs you would remain in bed,
Kathleen.” Mrs. Whitney looked solicitously at
her. "Are you prudent to tax your strength after
all you were subjected to yesterday?”
“I couldn't stay still a moment longer.” Kath-
leen's slender, supple fingers played with a piece of
toast. “You need not bother to conceal the news-
papers, Dad," as Whitney surreptitiously tucked the
Herald and the Post behind his back. "I read them
up in my room.”
“My dearest, I'm sorry you did that." Whitney
leaned over and clasped her hand tenderly. "I gave
orders that ..."
“Vincent is not to blame," broke in Kathleen. "I
borrowed the nurse's newspapers before she left.”
“There was no sense in your reading all this jar-
gon," protested Whitney warmly. “And there is no
need, Kathleen, of paying attention to one word pub-
lished here. Your friends believe in you absolutely,
as we do."
“Thank you, Dad." Kathleen returned the strong
pressure of his hand, and leaning over, kissed Mrs.
216


A PROPOSAL
Whitney. “Bless both your dear loyal hearts." Her
eyes brimmed with tears, and she dashed them im-
patiently away. "It was better that I should see
the papers," she continued a moment later, “and
know the world's unbiased opinion.”
“Unbiased opinion in a newspaper!" Whitney
laughed mirthlessly. “That and the millennium
will arrive together. Have you everything you want,
Kathleen ?"
“Yes, Dad.”
“Then you need not wait, Vincent. Now, Minna,
what did you ask me a few minutes ago ?”
"If you will have some hot coffee. Yes? Then
send me your cup," and Mrs. Whitney, taking it
from Kathleen, poured out the coffee and hot milk.
As she returned the cup and saucer, she glanced care-
fully about the room, but Vincent had departed to
the kitchen. Satisfied on that point, she lowered her
voice to a confidential pitch. “I hear the servants
are planning to leave."
"Who cares?” Whitney shrugged his shoulders.
“There are better where they came from."
"Quite true," agreed Mrs. Whitney. “Then, will
you give me their wages ..."
"Wages ?” Whitney flushed with anger. "No,
if the dirty dogs wish to leave us in the lurch
217


I SPY
without notice, they will not get one cent from me."
“They won't leave us,” declared Kathleen. "At
least, I am sure that Vincent and Rosa will not go.
They have been with us too long."
“I only know what Henry told me he heard in the
kitchen this morning,” explained Mrs. Whitney.
“Oh, Henry!" exclaimed Kathleen contemptu-
ously. "I wouldn't put any faith in what he says;
he is forever making trouble in the kitchen. He
is ..."
The violent ringing of the telephone bell inter-
rupted her.
“I have finished my breakfast, I'll go," volun-
teered Mrs. Whitney, and she hastened into the pan-
try where a branch telephone had been installed for
the use of the servants. Before the swing door
sed tightly, they heard her say: "Oh, Kia-
metia ..."
"What is the reason the servants are so anxious
to decamp?” asked Whitney, handing Kathleen the
dish of fruit, which she declined.
"You forget this house has become a chamber of
horrors." Kathleen's voice shook, and she paused
to take a hasty swallow of hot coffee. "Possibly the
presence of the detectives makes them nervous.”
"Well, a sudden leave-taking from here will prob-
218


A PROPOSAL
ably center the detectives' attention upon them more
than if they stayed and did their work.”
"That is highly probable. Tell me, Dad”—Kath-
leen regarded Whitney intently—“how is it that I
am not in jail ? Did not the coroner's jury convict
me?"
“Their verdict read that you were responsible for
Spencer's death, and as such you are under suspicion
and will be held for the Grand Jury.".
"Oh!" Kathleen shuddered slightly.
“I had no difficulty arranging bail,” continued
Whitney. “The officials themselves realize-must
realize," he interjected, with bitter force—“there
is little real evidence against you. The coroner's
jury—the fools"—the words escaped between
his clenched teeth—“to place faith in circumstantial
evidence !” Whitney's clenched fist descended on the
table with a force that made the goblets ring. “My
dear, why, why did you try to whitewash Julie?"
"Because I knew she had nothing to do with Sin-
clair Spencer's death.”
“You knew nothing of the sort”—with subdued
violence. “You are totally wrong. That Julie ran
away is confession of complicity in the crime."
"I don't believe Julie ran away; I do not"-meet-
ing her father's angry eyes steadily. “I believe she
219


I SPY
was enticed away. I tell you, Dad, if this mystery
is ever to be cleared, you must find ..."
"Captain Miller," announced Vincent, drawing
back the portières from the doorway, and Miller,
emerging from the hall, advanced into the room.
Kathleen's coffee cup descended with a clatter on
its saucer as her nerveless fingers released their hold,
and placing one hand on the back of her chair to
steady herself, she rose slowly to her feet.
"Senator Foster would like to speak to you a min-
ute, Mr. Whitney,” added Vincent. “He is waiting
at the front door, sir."
"Certainly." Whitney shook Miller's hand cor-
dially. “Excuse me a second, Captain, I'll be
back in a jiffy," and he followed Vincent from the
room.
Impulsively Miller stepped toward Kathleen,
hands extended and eyes alight with passionate ten-
derness. “My love, my dear, dear love!"
"Stop !" Kathleen spoke in a dangerously low tone.
"I must request you to leave this house at once.”
“Kathleen!"
“You understand the English tongue?" Her cold
repellent manner caused him to pause in uncertainty. .
“Or shall I translate my request into German?"
"I will not put you to that inconvenience," he re-
220


A PROPOSAL
torted hotly; then his manner changed. "Ah, Kath-
leen, do not let us waste the precious seconds bicker-
ing. Tell me what I can do for you."
“You ask me that?" Her tone was impossible to
translate.
“Yes.” Miller held her gaze, his handsome eyes
speaking a language all their own. "You gave me
the right, my darling, to protect you—and I shall
protect you."
Her strength suddenly deserting her, Kathleen
sank down in her chair.
"You will protect me," she echoed. “You?''
Her tone stung him to the quick. “Yes—I," he
said slowly. “Do you not realize the depth of my
love? I would willingly sacrifice my career, my life
for you and count it no sacrifice.”
"Would God I could believe you!" The cry was
wrung from her, and she raised her trembling hands
to brush away the blinding tears.
Miller dropped on one knee beside her. “My
dearest, my heart's desire!” he whispered passion-
ately, taking her hands prisoner. At his touch she
shrank back, remembrance crowding upon her.
"Gol" she stammered. “I have kept faith; go,
before I say too much.”
Before Miller could answer he heard his name
221


I SPY
called, and the sound of rapid footsteps. With a
bound he was on his feet, and pausing only long
enough to whisper “Courage, Kathleen,” he joined
Winslow Whitney in the hall.
But Kathleen was hardly conscious of his de-
parture. With an exceedingly bitter moan, she
dropped her head upon her arms and cried as if
her heart would break. Mrs. Whitney, entering
from the pantry a second later, paused aghast, then
running to Kathleen, soothed her with loving word
and hand back to some semblance of composure.
Miller found Winslow Whitney walking rapidly
up and down the hall. He stopped at sight of the
latter. "Come in the library," he said. "I've given.
instructions that we are not to be interrupted," clos-
ing the door and also pulling to the folding doors
behind the portières leading to the dining-room.
“Make yourself comfortable, Captain," producing
a box of cigars. “Don't mind if I walk up and
down; I think better when moving about.”
"Same here," but Miller selected the most com-
fortable chair in the room and puffed slowly at his
cigar, while never taking his eyes from his host.
Neither man spoke for fully five minutes, then Whit-
ney pulled up a chair and sat down near his com-
panion.
222


A PROPOSAL
"Have you seen Senator Foster today?" he in-
quired.
"Not to talk to; but I caught a glimpse of him
coming here as I entered.” Miller knocked the gath-
ering ash from the end of his cigar. “I was with
him at the inquest yesterday.”
"I saw you both there.” Whitney selected a cigar
and, lighting it, sat back. “Did Foster happen to
tell you that Sinclair Spencer had in his will made
him executor of his estate?"
"No."
"Well, he came here today to tell me that, and
also that Kathleen is mentioned in Spencer's will as
residuary legatee.”
"What!” Miller's surprise was shown in his face,
which had grown suddenly white.
"Spencer evidently really cared for Kathleen,"
went on Whitney, paying no attention to his ejacu-
lation. “A queer fellow, Spencer; I did not give
him credit for possessing sincere feeling, except
where he himself was concerned.”
"Was Spencer wealthy?” The question shot from
Miller against his will.
"Report says so; I never inquired, myself.”
Whitney puffed a cloud of smoke, and as it cleared
away, turned impulsively to Miller. “I'm damned
223


I SPY
manne
if I like Foster's manner to me today!” he burst
out.
"Why, what happened?” Miller bent eagerly
forward.
“I only asked him to postpone probating Spencer's
will," began Whitney, laying down his cigar.
Miller's eyes opened. “Did he agree to it?"
“No-refused curtly." Whitney's eyes flashed.
“And the manner of his refusal-rankles,” he con-
fessed.
"Your request was somewhat singular," com-
mented Miller slowly.
"Nothing singular about it," retorted Whitney.
"I was thinking of Kathleen when I made the re-
quest. Man, do you not see," and the haggard
lines in his face deepened, "the instant that will is
offered for probate its contents become public. And
its publication now will but strengthen the suspi-
cion already centered about Kathleen, by supplying
a possible motive for Spencer's murder."
"Suspicion cannot injure the innocent,” protested
Miller.
"Oh, can't it! That's all you know about it,"
growled Whitney, wiping beads of moisture from his
forehead. “So much for Foster's friendship when
put to the test. I made it plain to him that my re-
224


A PROPOSAL
quest was prompted by my desire to shield Kathleen
from further publicity."
"I understand, Mr. Whitney,” said Miller gently.
“Yes, I believe you do," went on Whitney fever-
ishly. “That an old friend should be the first to
go back on me; there's the sting. We are a proud
family, Miller, united in our affections." He cleared
his throat of a slight huskiness. “I would have
given everything I possess to have spared Kathleen
that scene at the inquest yesterday; I never for a
moment imagined"-He straightened up.--"I am
going to move heaven and earth to clear Kathleen
from this vile suspicion that she is in some way re-
sponsible for Sinclair Spencer's death.”
"I'm with you, Mr. Whitney,” Miller's voice rang
out clear and strong, carrying conviction, and a flash
of hope lighted Whitney's brooding eyes. “I love
your daughter, sir, and came this morning to ask
your consent to our marriage.”
Whitney looked at him long and intently, and Mil-
ler bore the scrutiny without flinching, his direct gaze
never shifting, and his strongly molded features set
with dogged determination.
"You make this proposal, and at this time?" asked
Whitney at last.
"Yes.” Miller's hand tightened its grip on the
225


I SPY
arm of his chair. “Clouds can be dispelled, sir; and
my faith in your daughter will never be shaken.”
Without a word Whitney extended his hand, and
Miller grasped it eagerly. “You have my consent,
Captain," he said, the huskiness of his voice more
pronounced. “I cannot, of course, answer for Kath-
leen; I would not force her acceptance of any
man.” He turned to relight his cigar, and Miller's
swift change of expression escaped him. “Tell me,
Captain," continued Whitney, tossing away the
match. “What conclusions did you draw at the in-
quest?"
SCTVO
"I think the jury acted on inconclusive evidence,"
said Miller thoughtfully. “Before rendering any
verdict they should have waited to hear Julie's tes-
timony."
"You have hit the nail on the head,” declared
Whitney. “I firmly believe, in spite of the other serv-
ants' testimony, that Julie and Sinclair Spencer knew
each other well, and his death is the result of a clan-
destine love affair with her.”
"Love may have entered into it," acknowledged
Miller. “But I think there is also another motive
behind Spencer's murder, the significance of which
we have not fully grasped.”
“And that is ?”.
226


A PROPOSAL
Miller did not answer directly. "What motive
inspired Spencer to feign drunkenness," he asked,
"and when everyone was asleep, to steal over this
house like a thief in the night?”
Whitney drummed impatiently on the desk.
"There is but one apparent answer," he admitted
reluctantly. "You believe that he was interested in
my inventions ?”
“I do; his actions certainly point to that conclu-
sion."
Whitney shook his head. "His behavior that
night would have been just the same if planning a
clandestine meeting with Julie.”
"But, my dear sir, he could have met Julie else-
where with far less danger of discovery. Besides,"
Miller hesitated, "let us give the devil his due.
Spencer was evidently very much attached to Kath-
leen. With her image before him, I do not believe
he spared a thought for the French maid.”
Whitney looked his disbelief. “In this instance,
I cannot speak well of the dead," he said slowly.
“I know too much of Spencer's past. He was not
above courting the maid and the mistress at the same
time.”
"Well, at least Spencer was no fool; if he did
court Julie, it was not done in this house." Miller
227


I SPY
tossed his cigar stub into the ash receiver. “It
might be that he used the maid to assist him in se-
curing information about your inventions."
"You may be right.” Whitney started from his
chair. “And Julie, perhaps believing in his protesta-
tions of affection at first, awoke to his duplicity, and
took the occasion of his spying to kill him."
“Yes, that's about my idea."
"But-but-" Whitney turned bewildered eyes
on his companion. “What prompted Spencer to de-
sire to steal my inventions?".
“That we have still to learn. That he did try,
I am as convinced as if I had seen him." Miller
picked up another cigar. "And, Mr. Whitney, per-
mit me to call attention to one very essential
fact ..."
“Go on," urged Whitney.
“That what Spencer failed to accomplish, others
may.”
e mon
"Nonsense."
"It is very far from nonsense." Miller's earnest-
ness impressed Whitney. “I do not for one moment
believe that Spencer was working alone.”
"You hint at conspiracy?” Whitney frowned per-
plexedly.
“Call it that if you wish; only, sir, take every
228


A PROPOSAL
precaution to safeguard your inventions from pry-
ing eyes."
“I have, already."
"How, for instance ?"
“With double locks, iron shutters, and electric
wires, my workshop is hermetically sealed."
"Until a clever thief gains entrance." Miller
laughed faintly. "The science of house-breaking
keeps step with modern inventions to protect prop-
erty. What one man can conceive another man can
fathom.”
"You may be right.” Whitney took a short turn
about the room, then stopped in front of his com-
panion. "What precautions would you suggest ?"
Miller did not answer immediately. “It is very
likely that another attempt will be made to secure
the drawings and specifications of your inventions,
if not your models,” he said finally. "And if on
guard, you may not only catch the thief but Spencer's
murderer."
"A good idea," acknowledged Whitney. “But
how would you suggest going about to catch the
thief?”
“By laying a plot for him; forget to lock your
studio door occasionally, lay prepared paper in-
conspicuously about, and powder your tables and
229


I SPY
floor with fine dust. The thief will leave an indelible
trail behindthim."
"And walk off with all necessary data," answered
Whitney skeptically. “As clever a thief as you paint
will never leave that room, once he is inside it, with-
out full knowledge of my inventions."
“The thief will not have an opportunity of steal-
ing what he came for, because the specifications and
drawings of your inventions will not be there."
"Eh!" Whitney's cigar fell unheeded to the
floor. “Where will they be?"
"In my possession."
Too astounded to speak, Whitney stared at his
companion. It was over a minute before he recov.
ered himself.
“Do you think I will trust you with the drawings
and models of my latest inventions ?” he asked.
“You did not withhold your consent when, a short
time ago, I asked for Kathleen's hand in marriage,"
said Miller slowly. “Do you hold your inventions
dearer than your daughter's future happiness, which
you are willing to intrust to my care?”
Never taking his eyes from his companion's face
Whitney stepped back. The seconds lengthened into
minutes before he spoke. "Come upstairs," he said
and, turning, made for the closed door.
230


CHAPTER XIX
THE YELLOW STREAK
TEAVING the War Department, Detective
L Mitchell debated for a second whether to walk
around the back of the White House grounds to
the Municipal Building, or to go to Pennsylvania
Avenue and take an east bound electric car. But
there was no sign of let-up in the pelting rain, and
pulling his coat collar up about his ears, he hastened
toward the avenue, and at sight of an approaching
car broke into a run. The usually empty sidewalks
were filled with hurrying government employees,
anxious to get their luncheon and return in the pre-
scribed half-hour to the State, War, and Navy De-
partments, and the detective had some difficulty in
dodging the pedestrians. .
Seeing an opening among the lowered umbrellas,
he stepped off the curb and dashed for the street
car. He was almost by its side when the hoarse
sound of a motor siren smote his ear, and glancing
sideways, he saw a touring car bearing down upon
him at full speed. In trying to spring backward his
16
231


I SPY
foot slipped on the wet asphalt and he sprawled
forward on his knees. The automobile was almost
upon him when strong hands jerked him safely to
one side. Scrambling to his feet, Mitchell turned
to look at the man whose strength and quickness had
saved him from a nasty accident.
"Much obliged, Captain Miller," he said. “I
owe you a great deal.”
Miller stooped over and picked up the detective's
hat. “Why don't you chaps arrest such speeders ?"
he inquired, pointing to the vanishing car.
“We do in most cases," returned Mitchell, brush-
ing the mud from his trousers, and limping back to
the sidewalk. "However, the driver of that car is
exempt."
"Why?"
"We can't arrest a United States Senator."
"Ah, then you got his number.” Miller led the
way to the sidewalk.
"That car doesn't need a number to identify it,"
grumbled Mitchell. “Its color and shape are too
distinctive. We on the force call it the 'Yellow
Streak. The car belongs to Senator Randall Foster;
when he's at the wheel, the Lord help the pedes-
trians !"
"So it would seem," dryly. “Where are you
232


THE YELLOW STREAK
going, Mitchell ?” observing the detective's rather
shaken appearance.
"To the Municipal Building."
"Suppose you come and lunch with me first at
the Occidental,” and the smile which accompanied
the invitation was very persuasive. “It's near where
you are going."
Mitchell had not lunched, and a hurried breakfast
had been consumed before six o'clock. It was his
hunger which had occasioned his haste to reach the
Municipal Building and later a near-by café. His
official business was not very pressing, and since
meeting Miller at the Whitneys' two days before, he
had heard of his attentions to Kathleen Whitney.
The rumor had interested him as much as Miller's
personality. Promptly he accepted Miller's invi-
tation, and the two men boarded the next downtown
car.
Within a short time they were both eating an ap-
petizing lunch in the attractive restaurant of the Oc-
cidental. Just before the arrival of coffee and
cheese, Mitchell sat back in his chair with a sigh
of physical content. The Martini had warmed his
chilled body, and the lassitude which comes after
a hearty meal was stealing over him. Miller had
proved an agreeable companion, able to talk upon
233


I SPY
CI
any subject—except one, in spite of the detective's
hints in its direction. Their table was in one corner
apart from the others, and there was no danger of
their conversation being overheard. Taking in their
isolated position at a glance, the detective changed
his tactics.
"I saw you at the Spencer inquest," he said ab-
ruptly, applying a match to his cigar. "What do
you think of the verdict?"
"What every sane man thinks," answered Miller.
“That the prosecution will have to secure more ma-
terial and tangible proof before it can secure an in-
dictment by the Grand Jury."
"I'm not so certain of that,” responded the de-
tective, ruffled by Miller's casual manner. "Our
evidence against Miss Whitney was pretty conclu-
sive."
"It would have been just as conclusive if applied
to any other inhabitant of the Whitney house that
night."
"Hardly.” Mitchell smiled broadly. “I fear your
friendship blinds you to the danger in which Miss
Whitney stands."
Miller refrained from answering until their waiter
had served the coffee and cheese and departed. “Cir-
cumstantial evidence will not always convict-fortu-
1 answe
234


THE YELLOW STREAK
nately," he said, helping himself to the Camembert.
“What have you proved ...".
“That Spencer was Miss Whitney's rejected
lover," broke in Mitchell. “That the knife belonged
to her; that she tried to remove incriminating blood
stains on his shirt with her perfumed handkerchief;
and that he held in his hand a flower, possibly broken
from the bouquet which she was wearing at the
time."
"It sounds formidable," commented Miller quietly.
“But there are a number of laws. You have not
absolutely proved that the knife belonged to Miss
Whitney, only proved that it is probable she might
have owned it. Wait"-as Miller started to inter-
rupt. "The deputy coroner testified that Spencer
was killed by cyanide of potassium.”
"Which, as Spencer did not swallow it, was ad.
ministered by aid of the knife," retorted Mitchell
hastily.
“The deputy coroner said he found no trace of
the poison on the knife blade." Miller paused to
refill Mitchell's coffee cup. "Secondly, cyanide of
potassium is not a drug which Miss Whitney would
be apt to have around.”
"I saw a half-filled bottle of it in Whitney's work.
shop last Wednesday."
235


I SPY
“Quite true, I saw it there myself,” admitted Mil-
ler. “I also saw that Whitney kept his studio work-
shop under lock and key."
"To outsiders; but it is just possible he is not so
strict about the members of his household, his tes-
timony to the contrary," argued Mitchell. “The
point is not well taken, Captain, and even if it
were," he stirred his coffee thoughtfully, “Miss
Whitney did not need to enter her father's work-
shop to secure the cyanide of potassium; I find she
buys all his photographic supplies at a shop not far
from here, and recently purchased a new supply of
cyanide."
“Purely circumstantial evidence,” responded Mil-
ler, keeping his expression unaltered by an effort.
The detective's last statement had startled him. “In
regard to the flower which Spencer held in his hand:
you say it was probably broken from the bouquet
which she wore at the time of committing the crime
-I am, for the sake of argument only, admitting
that she might be guilty. The medical evidence went
to prove that Spencer was killed between three and
four in the morning; it is straining probabilities to
claim that a young girl, in donning her wrapper,
pinned on a bouquet of flowers."
"How do you know she was not fully dressed?
236


THE YELLOW STREAK
It was not so late in the morning; she could have
gone to bed after the crime, or she may not have
gone to bed at all."
"All supposition,” scoffed Miller.
"Not quite all.” The detective, nettled by his
jeering smile, spoke hastily. "On further inquiry I
learned from one of the servants today that Miss
Whitney had on the same dress Wednesday morn-
ing, when her screams aroused the household, which
she wore at dinner the night before.”
“Ah, indeed?" Miller's smile had ceased to be
skeptical, it was strained. “And which servant im-
parted that information to you?”
"Henry, the chauffeur."
"For a chauffeur, Henry seems to know a great
deal about what transpires inside the Whitney
house," observed Miller thoughtfully. “Tell me,
Mitchell, what motive do you attribute to Miss
Whitney for the killing of Sinclair Spencer?”
Mitchell looked uncomfortable, and it was not
until Miller repeated his question that he spoke. "I
believe Spencer persuaded Miss Whitney to meet him
clandestinely that night, and threatened to compro-
mise her if she refused again to marry him.”
"Oh, come !" Miller spoke more roughly than he
realized. "Wake up, Mitchell; you've been read-
237


I SPY
ing penny dreadfuls. Try and think up a motive
which will hold water."
The detective flushed. “That is quite motive
enough," he said. “If Miss Whitney takes the stand
in her own defense she can, on that motive, enter a
plea of killing to protect her honor. ..."
"And any jury in the country would acquit her,”
broke in Miller. "She would ..."
“Thus escape the gallows," finished the detective.
"But I can suggest an even better solution of the
problem," put in Miller suavely, although his fin-
gers itched to choke his companion.
"And that is— ?"
“That the detective force find the guilty party."
Mitchell suppressed a smile. "And where would
you suggest that we hunt for this guilty party?" he
asked. “Provided he or she is still at large, and not
out on bail under indictment.”
"Search among the men and women who spent
Wednesday night at the Whitneys', servants as well
as guests.”
"Captain," in his earnestness Mitchell leaned
across the table, “it is contrary to all records of
crime that a man or woman will commit murder with-
out motive ..."
"You forget homicidal maniacs."
238


I SPY
"And why did he confide in you?"
"He desired my help,” responded Miller.
“Seemed to think my opinion might be worth some-
thing, but, honestly, Mitchell, I can't see anything to
this secret leak business—the Secret Service opera-
tives are putting a scare over on the government.
"It's more than that, sir. No more coffee," and
the detective, his sudden doubts dispelled by Miller's
sunny smile, leaned back once more in his chair. “It
seems that officials here are awakening to the reali-
zation that government secrets are being betrayed.
If the American troops are ordered to a certain point
on the border, the order is known in Mexico before
it is executed. It is the same with coded communi-
cations to Foreign Powers. The movements of our
fleet are known to foreign naval attachés even be-
fore the maneuvers are carried out. The where-
abouts of the smallest torpedo boat and submarine
is no secret-to any but the American people."
“Is that so ?" Miller looked politely incredulous.
"And is the Secret Service not investigating the mat-
ter?"
"Sure; they'll handle it all right." Mitchell
twisted about in his chair. “At present, Captain, my
entire attention is claimed by the Spencer murder.
Where would you suggest that I begin my search
240


I SPY
impressiveness. “Even the most hardened crim-
inal would not have deliberately walked into that
elevator and shut himself in with the man he had
murdered a short time before—and yet, you argue
that a highly strung, delicately nurtured girl did ex-
actly that. It's preposterous !”
“It does sound cold blooded," admitted the de-
tective. “It is just possible that after committing
the crime, she lost consciousness and remained in the
elevator all night. ..."
"Talk sense !” ejaculated Miller disgustedly and,
without waiting to hear the detective's thanks for his
luncheon, turned on his heel and hurried up Four-
teenth Street. Mitchell watched his tall, erect fig-
ure out of sight with absorbed attention.
"I'd give a lot to know who he suspects mur-
dered Spencer,” he muttered under his breath, and
started for the Municipal Building.
As Miller approached his hotel, he thought he
saw Foster's yellow touring car move away from
the ladies' entrance. After procuring his mail he
went at once to his room. He was about to open
his letters when his eyes fell on an open drawer of
his desk. Putting down the bundle in his hand, he
carefully investigated every pigeonhole and drawer.
The papers he looked for were missing.
242


THE YELLOW STREAK
Rising quickly, Miller examined the windows of
his room and bathroom. They were securely fas-
tened on the inside. In deep thought he went out
into the hall to where the floor chambermaid and a
companion were sitting in full view of his door.
"Have you been here long?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” replied the elder girl. “I've been on
duty here ever since noon, and Mary,” laying her
hand on her companion, "was here all the morning."
"Has either of you seen anyone enter my bed-
room?"
"No, sir, only yourself, sir," answered the first
speaker, and Mary echoed her words.
ansi


I SPY
months? Had Italy cast her lot with the Allies ?
Julie's restlessness increased as each question re-
mained unanswered. From whom could she get a
newspaper? Mrs. Robinson had assured her that
she was the only boarder in the house, and on the
one occasion on which she had left her room, she
had seen no one but the servant. The latter had
gone out, and Mrs. Robinson had not responded to
her call ten minutes before. Julie sighed again and
gazed wearily out over the backyards; then a thought
came to her. Why not go to a front window and
hail a newsboy; there might be one in the vicinity?
With brightened eyes Julie left her room and,
walking down the hall, turned the knob of the door
opposite her own. It would not open. Bethinking
herself, Julie rapped timidly on the door panel;
then receiving no reply, she rapped again. No voice
nor footstep responded to the summons; apparently
the room was empty. Considerably perplexed, Julie
turned and made her way to the second bedroom
· floor. Quickly she rapped at each closed door and
tried its knob. Each door was locked and her re-
peated raps went unanswered. In the fourth floor
she met with the same results, and, returning again
to the stairs, she made her way down them almost
at a run.
246


I SPY
ing: “Subscriber's copy." What had Mrs. Robin-
son meant by telling her she did not take newspa-
pers?
Not pausing to worry further over that problem,
she hastily scanned the first page of the five-thirty
edition of the Times; and her eyes dilated as she
read the scare headings:
SPENCER'S WILL OFFERED FOR
PROBATE
KATHLEEN WHITNEY, CONVICTED BY
CORONER'S JURY, IS RESIDUARY
LEGATEE OF MURDERED
CLUBMAN
SOCIETY GIRL OUT ON BAIL FURNISHED BY
SENATOR FOSTER
Too stunned to move or cry out, Julie stared
dumbly at the newspaper. Kathleen Whitney, her
kind friend rather than employer, was convicted
then her absence had not benefited her ? Captain
Miller's advice had been wrong. Her faith in him
was misplaced. To what had he brought her? She
cast a terrified look at the partly closed door behind
her. Better jail than- The thought of jail brought
her whirling senses back to Kathleen. But Kathleen
was not in jail; the paper stated that she was out on
bail. If at home, she could be reached.
248


I SPY
neau and, seating herself on the floor, pulled the
heavy laprobe over her. Thus protected, she sat
in the darkened interior of the car for what seemed
an interminable time. The slam of a door and the
sound of approaching footsteps caused her to half
rise and peep through the storm window. At sight
of Henry standing by the bonnet lighting his pipe
she sank hastily back and secreted herself under the
laprobe. 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.
"I come with unlimited financial credit," and the
short, stockily built man drew from an inside pocket
a leather cardcase and passed it to the Baron, who
read its contents carefully before returning it.
"I am glad you have arrived, Hartzmann," he
volunteered. “As a diplomatic center Washington
is dull. I call at the State Department-no news;
it is not in touch with secret history.”
“My dear Baron, what can you expect?" Hartz-
mann shrugged his shoulders amusedly. "Trained
250


THE AWAKENING
diplomats do not confide state secrets to a premier
who derives his income from a newspaper and the
lecture platform."
“True. Diplomat and politician are synonymous
in America; oil and water would sooner mix in the
Old World.” Von Fincke carefully replaced his bank
book in a dispatch-box. “Your friend, Captain von
Mueller, has won many friends during his sojourn
in Washington."
"A brilliant man; he will go far." Hartzmann
rubbed his hands with satisfaction. “His work in
England will not be forgotten. He has courage,
and the instinct of the hunter; he never blunders."
"High praise," said von Fincke. “I am the more
glad to hear it because I have intrusted a most deli-
cate mission to him—the securing of Whitney's latest
invention"-with peculiar meaning. “My other ef-
forts in that line having proved failures." Quickly
he forestalled the question he saw coming, “And
your plan of campaign, Hartzmann, what of it?"
“First, let me give you this," taking several pa-
pers from his vest pocket. "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 mi-
nute care before placing it inside his dispatch-box.
251


I SPY
"A concerted movement has been commenced by
us to secure a majority control of many of these
plants."
eve
“In several instances it is planned to buy the great
gun and munition factories outright,” explained
Hartzmann. "Our agents are already trying to en-
gage the output of munitions until 1916, so that even
if the United States requires powder and high ex-
plosives, it will be impossible to supply the Govern-
ment."
"Anything, anything to stop the supply going to
the Allies.” Von Fincke emphasized his words with
a characteristic gesture.
"Our work is already telling." Hartzmann care-
fully 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 Rus-
sian soldiers in the outer trenches are dead so as to
get their guns and ammunition to fight with.”
"Excellent!" and von Fincke beamed with
pleasure.
“I shall instigate strikes in the munitions fac-
tories," continued Hartzmann. “Tell me, how have
you succeeded with the passports ?”
Von Fincke's expression changed. "Not so well
as I hoped. The Secret Service are active in in-
252


THE AWAKENING
vestigating all that are issued. It is difficult to cir-
culate them under such espionage."
"It is risky," agreed Hartzmann. "Our agents
have opened headquarters in New York. We hope
to destroy by means of fire bombs British ships clear-
ing from American ports."
"If that is accomplished, it will lend material aid
to our war zone policy," exulted von Fincke.
"And later on we hope to establish the Ameri-
can seaports as bases for a fleet of naval auxiliaries,
loaded with supplies for our swift submarines and
cruisers. I am making arrangements for taking care
of the necessary clearance papers.”
"Excellent l" ejaculated von Fincke for the second
time, and opened a notebook which he took from
his dispatch-box. “Our reservists in this country re-
port regularly. Under the guise of rifle clubs they
keep themselves in excellent practice. Bodies of
them are unobtrusively seeking employment along
the Canadian border."
"Well done; it is a wise move." Hartzmann
helped himself to a cigar. “What about this Spencer
mystery, Baron? As our agent in Mexican affairs
he received a small fortune. Does not his death
come at a most unfortunate moment ?" .
Von Fincke pursed up his lips. "No. Spencer
253


I SPY
was a good tool, but sometimes too inquisitive; how-
ever, I shall not be sorry if Miss Whitney receives
the full penalty for her crime." The two men re-
garded each other in silence for a brief second, then
von Fincke added: “From reports which have
reached me, I judge the mine is well laid, and Mex-
ico will yet prove troublesome to her northern neigh-
bor."
"And useful to us," mused Hartzmann. "The
United States when angry with Germany will make
waron Mexico."
"Perhaps," skeptically, “but to me it appears in-
tervention in Mexico will hang fire until ...".
"Engineered,” Hartzmann smiled meaningly.
“Huerta will leave shortly for the Panama-Pacific
Exposition, and then..." Not completing his sen-
tence, he pointed to a paragraph near the bottom of
the first page of the Times which lay spread on
the table by him. “The Sisters in Unity, I see, is
a strictly neutral organization for peace at any
price."
“The dear ladies!" Mockingly von Fincke's hand
rose in salute. “They are the best propagandists in
the country, and Senator Foster proves an able ad-
vocate of peace—when urged by a woman.”
"He is a clever speaker,” agreed Hartzmann.
254


I SPY
"No, Herr Captain; I think not. The reserve
fleet will be missing."
"Will the President review the fleet?"
"It is so believed, Herr Captain."
Von Fincke, who had been silently eyeing his com-
panions, stood up. “Would that not give us an op-
portunity to bottle up the fleet in the North River
by slipping down one of our biggest ocean steamers
and sinking her in the channel?”
"It might be done,” but Hartzmann looked doubt.
ful. “The Harbor Police of New York are vigi-
lant. 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. I hoped that you would
get my note in time.”
"I found it on my return to the hotel. Hartzmann,
well met.” Von Mueller returned the older man's
firm clasp. “It is some years. ...".
"Years? What are they when old friends fore-
gather,” exclaimed Hartzmann. "Let us sit and
talk."
256


THE AWAKENING
“Wait, wait,” remonstrated von Fincke. "Hein-
rich," turning to the chauffeur, who stood respect-
fully waiting, "did you learn the strength of the
fleet?"
"Of the thirty-five United States battleships, only
twenty-one are in commission and ready for emer-
gency," he said. “Of these twenty-one three have
broken shafts, and the fourth is a turbine engine bat-
tleship, which needs overhauling."
"Is this all the fighting strength of the United
States navy?" questioned Hartzmann, jotting down
the figures in a notebook.
“No, Herr Captain; there are seventy fighting
craft; but not in commission and all require over-
hauling. Half of the submarines will not-er-
'sub,' so to speak.” A ghost of a smile crossed Hein-
rich's lips. “The complement of torpedo vessels
has been reduced from fifteen to twenty-five per cent,
and the Atlantic Fleet needs five thousand men."
"Interesting data," said von Mueller. "I con-
gratulate you, Heinrich. What of the army?”
"Nothing definite to report today, Herr Captain.
If rumor speaks truly, discontent will shortly reduce
the standing army to a man and a mule."
"A mule can fight on occasions,” laughed von
Mueller.
257


I SPY
"But not against trained men, backed up by field
guns firing in one hour two hundred thousand
shells carrying high explosives," boasted Hartz-
mann triumphantly. "Weapons such as these, von
Mueller, alter the face of nature as well as the fate
of nations."
“Any further news tonight, Heinrich ?" asked von
Fincke.
"No, Baron.” The chauffeur saluted. “Any or-
ders ?"
"A moment," broke in von Mueller. “I will be
at the Whitney residence tonight, Heinrich; see
that I am admitted,” he added, observing the slight
change in the chauffeur's expression.
"It can be arranged, Herr Captain," hastily. "I
was but thinking of Julie—the French she-devil.
Should she come ..."
"She will not return." Von Mueller spoke with
confidence. “I have convinced her that she will bet-
ter protect Miss Whitney by remaining in hiding,
thus directing attention to herself as the criminal."
“But will she not read the papers?” touching the
Times.
"No; the landlady will keep them from her."
"The police are ransacking the town for her,"
persisted Heinrich.
258


CHAPTER XXI
THE FINGER PRINT
V ATHLEEN WHITNEY breathed inward
I thanks when dinner was over. It had been
a trying ordeal on top of an agonizing day. Clois-
tered in her room with only her sad thoughts for
company, she had been relieved to find that Miss
Kiametia Grey had been prevailed upon by Mrs.
Whitney to prolong her afternoon visit to include
a family dinner. But the spinster's endeavor to
divert her by relating society gossip finally palled,
and she permitted her thoughts to stray to other
scenes.
"Did you receive your invitation to the Morton
reception, Kathleen ?" asked Miss Kiametia, break-
ing off her conversation with Mrs. Whitney with
her customary abruptness, and startling Kathleen
back to the present.
"Yes-no; I don't know," was her confused reply.
“It is here.” Mrs. Whitney went into the library
and returned with a large envelope.
“What night?" Miss Kiametia took the card and
nve
260


THE FINGER PRINT
examined its heavily embossed surface with interest.
“Nouveau riche stamped all over it, as well as
R. S. V. P.'Real Slick Vittles, People,'” and she
laughed disdainfully.
"All the trimmings.” Mrs. Whitney replaced the
card in its envelope. "I have written our regrets.
I understand the reception is given to announce the
engagement of Mona Morton to some South Amer-
ican Monte Cristo.”
"Speaking of engagements," Whitney turned to
the spinster, "what about you and Randall Foster,
Kiametia ?”
"I shall never marry." Miss Kiametia's half ban-
tering tone dropped, and the eyes she turned to Kath-
leen were shadowed with a haunting regret. “The
habits of a life-time cannot be broken."
"Oh, Kiametia !” exclaimed Mrs. Whitney in open
disappointment. “Senator Foster is splendid-and
I had hoped_why do you discourage his atten-
tions?”
"Can't stand the way he wears his hair," an-
nounced Miss Kiametia with an air of finality which
warned against further discussion.
"Marry him and make him change his barber,"
advised Whitney rising. “I have to go out, Minna;
you and Kathleen must not wait up for me. Good
261


I SPY
night, Kiametia; Henry is downstairs, he can take
you home in the car, if you wish. See you tomor-
row," and he moved toward the door. After a brief
hesitation Kathleen followed him into the hall.
"Must you go out, Dad?” she asked helping him
with his overcoat. “It is still stormy tonight, and
I feel lonely”—her voice broke, and turning Whit-
ney impulsively took her in his arms.
“My darling little girl.” He stopped and steadied
his voice as he kissed her tenderly. “There, don't
worry, trust old Dad to put things straight-as he
did your broken dollies. Go early to bed, dear,
and get some rest.”
“Rest!" Kathleen strove to suppress all trace of
bitterness. “Now, don't have me on your mind;
come home early," and she returned his kiss and
went slowly back into the drawing-room, as the
front door closed after her father.
“We are going up to my boudoir, Kathleen; won't
you come, dear?" asked Mrs. Whitney.
"Not just now, mother; I want to talk to Vincent
when he gets the table cleared away.”
"I envy you, Vincent," chimed in Miss Kiametia.
“Such an excellent servant. Oh, Minna, don't go
to the elevator; suppose we walk upstairs.”
Left by herself Kathleen went in search of Vin-
262


THE FINGER PRINT
ome
cent. He was not in the pantry, but judging by the
still unwashed dishes that he was probably eating
his supper in the kitchen, she refrained from calling
him upstairs, and walked listlessly back into the
drawing-room.
Sick at heart, utterly discouraged, she threw her-
self down on the large sofa and sank back among
the pillows. Throughout the long day she had tried
to banish all thought of Charles Miller. It was
hopeless; his image was in her heart as well as be-
fore her mental vision. To some women it is given
to love lightly, tasting but the essence, while to others
love is a lifetime of steadfast devotion. And that
winter had brought to Kathleen her one great pas-
sion; for weal or for woe she had given her heart
to Charles Miller, and she must drain the cup to
the bitter dregs.
With the gradual awakening to the belief that
Charles Miller was really a blackguard, a - she
shuddered, and raised her hands as if to ward off
an overwhelming horror. And he had dared to
approach her that morning with loving words on
his lips. His eyes had met hers frankly—there had
been no effort to avoid, no show of fear-no, he
was only facing a loyal woman. Kathleen choked
back a moan. Truly, he understood the art of dis-
18
263


I SPY
simulation. If she had not known of his duplicity,
of his guilt, his expression as he addressed her that
morning would have proclaimed him innocent of
all wrongdoing. His expression, ah, it had been
that which had sowed a little seed of hope in her
heart. Perhaps she could sketch his face as he ap-
peared that morning, again catch the expression that
inspired confidence in spite of all.
She sat bolt upright and glanced eagerly about
for a scrap of paper and a pencil. The white back
of a magazine on a lamp table caught her eye and
she went toward it. By the lamp lay Miss Kiame-
tia's gold mesh purse, vanity box, and pencil. Kath-
leen snatched up the dangling baubles and the maga-
zine and returned to the sofa. If only she could
get her impression down on paper before remem-
brance faded! She could copy it at her leisure. She
jerked feverishly at the gold pencil, and as she pulled
it out laid its point on the white paper—and then
sat petrified. It was a hypodermic needle. Some
seconds passed before she moved; then she raised
the gold cylinder-outwardly it resembled a pencil,
inside were concealed the syringe and needle. With
anxious haste she manipulated its delicate mechan-
ism, and slipped back the needle to its hiding place.
Forgotten for the moment was her own problem.
264


THE FINGER PRINT
Brilliant, gifted Kiametia Grey a drug fiend Oh,
the pity of it! In the light of her discovery Kath-
leen remembered many idiosyncrasies which the drug
habit would explain; often that winter she had found
Miss Kiametia dozing in her chair at the theater,
at dinners, in motors, but had put it down to over-
fatigue from too much social gayety. Miss Kiame-
tia's variable likes and dislikes, her sudden whims
and fancies, her irritability—all were traceable to
the same cause.
The sound of her name caused Kathleen to raise
her head with a start. Henry, the chauffeur, was
standing just inside the hall door.
"Beg pardon, Miss Kathleen,” he said. “Mrs.
Whitney wished me to tell you that Miss Grey will
spend the night here and has retired to her bedroom.
And I was to ask you if you had any orders for the
motor tomorrow."
"No, none, thanks. As you go downstairs, tell
Vincent that I wish to see him.”
“Vincent has gone, Miss Kathleen.” Meeting
her quick glance, he added, "It is his evening out."
“Oh! Please ask Rosa to stop in my room before
she goes to bed.”
"Very good, Miss Kathleen.” As he turned to
leave, the loud buzz of the front doorbell sounded.
265


I SPY
Not waiting to hear the directions Kathleen called
after him, Henry darted into the hall.
Picking up Miss Kiametia's gold purse and the
hypodermic needle, Kathleen replaced them on the
table, but halfway to the hall door she hesitated.
Should she not take them to Miss Kiametia ? Sup-
pose Henry, for instance, should take it into his head
to examine them? At the thought Kathleen's face
hardened, and she returned to pick up Miss Kiame-
tia's property. Henry's voice from the doorway
arrested her.
“Captain Miller," he announced, and retired.
Kathleen stood as if carved from stone, every
vestige of color stricken from her. If her life had
depended upon it, she could not have turned around.
"Have you no word for me?" asked the familiar
voice, and Miller stepped in front of her, his wistful
eyes pleading for him. But Kathleen was mute.
Slowly, unwillingly his eyes dropped before her level
gaze and rested finally on the gold baubles in her
hand. “Why do you not wear my ring, Kathleen?”
The question stung her out of the bewildered
trance into which his unexpected appearance had
thrown her.
“The ring was returned to you for good and suffi-
cient reasons," she said icily. "That you choose to
266


I SPY
United Service Club,
London, England.
MY DEAR Miss WHITNEY:
I send the inclosed, forwarded to me by Major Seymour,
who was until recently a prisoner in Germany. My
nephew, John Hargraves, was killed in action.
Very truly yours,
PERCIVAL HARGRAVES.
John dead! Her loyal friend dead—and killed
in action! Through a blur of tears Kathleen read
the stained scrap of paper inciosed in the English-
man's note:
DEAR KATHLEEN:
I saw Karl in London at Victoria Station. I swear it
was he-warn Uncle-Kathleen ... Kathleen.....
Shaken with grief Kathleen raised her head and
looked at her companion sitting immovable in his
chair. If he felt any interest in the letter and her
emotion, he did not evince it. Three years before,
he, she, and John Hargraves had been friends in
Germany. John, the soul of honor, loyal and un-
selfish in his friendship, had laid down his young
life for his country. His last dying word had been
of her-to warn her ... Kathleen stood erect,
wrath drying the tears which affection had brought.
270


THE FINGER PRINT
John had seen Karl in London in war times; there
was but one answer to the puzzle..
“Captain Karl von Mueller,” she said cuttingly,
“to use the name by which I knew you abroad, do
you wish my father's invention for Germany ?”
"I do." Rising quietly, he faced her, stern and
unyielding. "Why dissemble any longer? Your
father promised to sell it to us; then went back on
his given word. In handing me the invention you
will but redeem his pledge."
“You have a strange conception of honor.” Her
eyes were blazing with fury. "Your statement about
my father is open to doubt. Captain von Mueller,
I give you forty-eight hours to leave this country be-
fore I denounce you as a German spy."
"Really?" His slow smile of unbelief caused her
to writhe inwardly. “Do you think the unsupported
statement of a woman suspected of murder will find
credence?" Kathleen clenched John Hargraves' let-
ter until her knuckles shone white under the taut skin.
"Secondly," he continued in the same quiet tone,
"you speak tonight only of this winter. Have you
forgotten our relationship in Germany?”
"That is hardly the term for it,” she said proudly.
"I met you at the house of a German school-
mate ..."
271


I SPY
“And our friendship rapidly ripened into love," he
said softly, never removing his gaze from her blood-
less face. "Our walks in the meadows about Berlin,
our elopement ..."
“But not our marriage,” she burst in. "John Har-
graves can testify that I left you."
"John Hargraves is dead."
“True," she could hardly articulate. “But we
were not married."
“Quite so; that is my point—I did not marry
you."
Kathleen swayed upon her, feet and threw out
her hand blindly for support. “You curl you des-
picable cur!" she gasped. “Don't touch me." But
though she shrank from him, his strong hand stead-
ied her toward the hall door.
"Washington society is surfeited with scandal,” he
said. “When more composed think of your father's
latest invention."
If she heard him she gave no sign. Mental tor-
ture had exhausted her emotion. She never raised
her head as he guided her to the staircase; her eyes
stared only at his open right hand.
The house was dark except for the hall light burn-
ing dimly, when Winslow Whitney inserted his latch-
key and entered the front door. Removing hat and
272



SENS
WA
S
lo
LO
“Whitney paused to snatch up a magnifying glass and by its
aid examined the finger prints."


THE FINGER PRINT
overcoat, he made his way noiselessly to his studio
in the attic. With cautious movement he fingered
the locks on his door. Would Miller's plan for
catching Spencer's murderer work out? According
to their arrangement he had left the door insecurely
fastened.
Just as he was about to creep into the room, he
heard distinctly in the stillness a whispered word in
a voice his keen ear instantly recognized. All idea
of caution forgotten, he threw open the door and
switched on the electric light. To outward appear-
ances the room was empty.
Darting over to where he kept his secret papers,
he lifted a powerful Mazda lamp, the better to scan
the prepared paper left where an incautious thief
would be obliged to rest his hand with some degree
of force. Under the powerful light the finger prints
stood out distinct and clear. But with eyes starting
from his head, Whitney paused to snatch up a mag-
nifying glass, and by its aid examined the finger
prints minutely.
"It's-his-finger print-but the voice, my God!
the voice ... Kathleen, Kathleen'!" A gurgle
choked his utterance, and the magnifying glass clat-
tered beside him as he fell inertly on the floor.


CHAPTER XXII
"TRENTON HURRY”
CHARLES MILLER, completing a hurried toi-
U let, paused at the sound of a sharp rap on his
bedroom door.
“Come in," he called. "Ah, Henry, good morn-
ing," as the chauffeur stepped briskly over the
threshold. The latter's white face and agitated
manner indicated that he was the bearer of por-
tentous news. Miller made a hasty step in his di-
rection.
“Kathleen-is she ill?” he asked.
The chauffeur looked to see that the bedroom
door was securely fastened before he answered.
"It isn't Miss Kathleen," he answered cautiously.
“Mr. Whitney has had a stroke."
“What?" Miller recoiled. “When?”
"Some time last night.”
"Will he recover?”.
“Dr. McLane says that he cannot tell yet, Herr
Captain. He was alive but still unconscious when
I left the house to come here."
CCO
274


“TRENTON HURRY”
“What”—Miller looked anxiously at the chauf-
feur-"what brought on the stroke? Mr. Whit-
ney appeared to be in robust health when I saw
him last."
"The Doctor seemed to think it was caused by
sudden shock, Herr Captain.” Henry stepped closer.
“Miss Kiametia Grey found Mr. Whitney in his
studio lying on the floor unconscious."
“Miss Grey found him!” Miller's eyes opened
wide in astonishment.
"Yes, Herr Captain; at four o'clock in the morn-
ing," with significant emphasis, and the two men
looked at each other.
"And what was Miss Grey doing in the attic at
that hour of the morning?"
“She said she had gone upstairs to see Rosa, the
cook, who was suffering from a bilious attack early
in the evening.”
“But,” perplexedly, "if I remember correctly,
Rosa testified at the inquest that the servants' bed-
rooms are not in the attic but on the floor be-
neath."
“They are, Herr Captain. On answering the bell
from Mr. Whitney's studio I found Miss Grey there
trying to revive him.”
"You answered the bell at four in the morning?"
275


“TRENTON HURRY”
"God be praised!" Henry stepped back, his eyes
snapping with delight. "Ah, we will win it yet, that
Cross!" he exulted; then cautiously took from an
inside pocket a folded sheet of letter paper and with
care removed from between the pages a piece of
paper. "When Miss Grey was occupied in her ef-
fort to revive Mr. Whitney I looked quickly about
the studio,” he explained. “This paper caught my
eye-and I bring it to you, Herr Captain."
"Thanks,” laconically, laying the paper down on
the desk. "One moment before you go," and from
a well-filled wallet he extracted a treasury bill whose
denomination caused Henry's eyes to beam with
pleasure.
“At service, Herr Captain,” he said, saluting. "I
will return and report later."
"Very well, Henry," and the chauffeur bowed
himself out, but on the other side of the door he
hesitated, fingering Miller's tip with satisfaction.
"He is liberal, that von Mueller," he muttered.
“But it is just as well not to tell him that there were
two sheets of finger prints," and he went whistling
down the corridor.
Tiptoeing to his door, Miller listened for a sec-
ond, then, convinced that the chauffeur had moved
away, he turned the key in the lock. Going to his
277


I SPY
ТОГ
desk, he picked up the sheet of finger prints and
studied them long and attentively; then glanced
down at his right hand. Horror lurked in the
depths of his frank eyes.
"The mark of Cain,” he stammered, and opening
the silver frame containing Kathleen Whitney's pho-
tograph, he deftly slipped the paper between the
two pieces of cardboard.
It was getting toward dusk when Mrs. Whitney
stole softly into Kathleen's bedroom and stood look-
ing down at her as she lay, eyes closed, white face
pillowed on one shapely arm, her breath hardly
stirring the laces on her gown. Convinced that she
was asleep, she moved cautiously away, hoping not
to disturb her, but at that moment Kathleen opened
her eyes and raised herself on her elbow.
"Don't go, dear," she begged. "How is Dad?"
"Just about the same.” Mrs. Whitney carried
a chair to the bedside. "It is too bad to have roused
you."
"I wasn't asleep-only thinking”-drearily—“I
am glad you came in. Does Dr. McLane hold out
any hope?"
“Yes," and Mrs. Whitney's care-worn face bright-
ened. "Is it not good news?"
278


“TRENTON HURRY”
"The very best,” Kathleen smiled through her
tears. “You must be worn out," and she stroked
the hand on the bed with loving fingers. "You
should take some rest.”.
“I am not tired,” protested Mrs. Whitney. "The
nurse has just come in from her afternoon constitu-
tional, and I felt that I could leave Winslow for a
little time. Tell me, dear,” sinking her voice. “Can
you let me have a hundred dollars?"
“I would gladly, mother, but I don't believe I have
half that amount left. You are welcome to that,
though; my purse is in my desk.”
“Thank you, dear, I'll get it later," but the trou-
bled shadow did not lift from Mrs. Whitney's pretty
face. “Both Vincent and Henry have asked me for
their wages; I have given Henry part ...".
“Give him the whole, only get rid of him," burst
out Kathleen. "I cannot bear the man.”
“Why, Kathleen! Has he been disrespectful ?”
“N-no, only—I don't trust him.”
“Please, dear, don't excite yourself.” Mrs. Whit-
ney noticed with alarm the hectic flush that dyed
Kathleen's white cheeks. "I will fill his place. Come
to think of it, I did not like his manner this morning
when he asked for his wages, and he went out with-
out leave ..."
19
279


I SPY
nanner was
fore anything further is said," began the spinster,
reddening, "I must confess that I overheard Kath-
leen mention money difficulties—I didn't mean to
hear it"-hastily—“but I just want to say that I'll
be your banker until Winslow gets better."
"You dear!" Kathleen sat up and kissed her
warmly and Mrs. Whitney, quite overcome, em-
braced her with tears in her eyes.
"What's a friend for if she can't be of use!" Miss
Kiametia's manner was always most brusque when
seeking to cover emotion. “Land sakes! I forgot to
tell you that Randall Foster wishes to see you
both."
“Now !" Kathleen looked down at her negligée
attire. “Can't he wait until tomorrow? Dr. McLane
said I could get up then.”
"He is very anxious to interview you this evening,
Kathleen. Put on this pretty dressing-gown,” and
Miss Kiametia picked it up from the couch. "You
help her into it, Minna, while I go and get Randall,”
and not waiting for a reply she whisked out of the
room, returning a few minutes later with Senator
Foster.
"I am here under the doctor's order," explained
Kathleen, taking his proffered hand, after he had
greeted Mrs. Whitney. “Won't you sit down ?"
282


I SPY
Spencer or his estate?” and the scorn in her eyes
hurt Foster as she looked at him.
"The law requires certain formalities," he said
hurriedly. “As executor, I shall have to talk over
his will with you, but later will do."
"Both now and later, I flatly refuse to consider
any such bequest he may have made me," went on
Kathleen, unheeding his words as her excitement
increased, and Miss Kiametia hastened to avert the
threatened scene.
"Where were you yesterday afternoon, Randall ?”
she asked.
"In Baltimore.” Foster flashed her a grateful
glance. “I hope you made use of my car yesterday,
Mrs. Whitney; I told Henry to take it out until
yours was repaired.”
"You were very kind; Winslow went out in it."
Mrs. Whitney's glance strayed to the door; she was
anxious to return to her husband's bedside.
“And with your permission, Randall, I'm going
to use your car now to take me home," chipped in
Miss Kiametia.
"Oh, Kiametia, you must not go,” protested Mrs.
Whitney. “You are such a comfort-such a
help ..."
"Don't go,” added Kathleen. “Your presence
284


“TRENTON HURRY”
makes my enforced idleness here easier to bear."
"Thank you, my dears." The spinster looked im-
mensely pleased. “Of course I'll stay, if you really
feel you want me.”
"I am the only one bereft," said Foster wistfully.
"I cannot call upon you tonight, Kiametia.”
“Of course you can," exclaimed Mrs. Whitney,
smiling faintly. “We are not so selfish as to keep
Kiametia to ourselves all the time. If you will ex-
cuse me, I must go back to Winslow."
"Certainly.” Foster rose and opened the door
for her. "I must not stop longer. Good night, Miss
Kathleen, I hope that you will feel better in the
morning."
“Thanks; please come here just a moment," and
reluctantly Foster approached the bed. He did not
wish to resume discussion about Spencer's will. “Tell
me," Kathleen lowered her voice, “when will the
Grand Jury meet?"
“Not for ten days or more."
"That is all, thanks,” and Foster moved away.
At the door he signaled to Miss Kiametia to step
into the hall with him, and after a quick glance at
Kathleen's averted face, the spinster followed him,
softly closing the door behind her.
As the click of the latch reached her, Kathleen,
285


I SPY
no
have reason to believe that Captain Miller is not
what he seems. Listen, mademoiselle: I was in M.
Foster's touring car-no matter how I came there
now-last night. Henry was driving it. He knew
not that I was in the tonneau. When he stopped
the car and got out I watched him enter a residence
in Nineteenth Street. I dared not stay longer in
the car, and hid in the vestibule of the house adjoin-
ing the one he had entered. They are what you call
semi-detached, and concealed I was very close at
hand. I had been there but a short time when a
man ran up the steps of the next house and I recog-
nized Captain Miller. He entered and I waited
long, Oh, so long, when out came Henry and Cap-
tain Miller ..."
"Well?” prompted Kathleen, as Julie came to a
breathless pause.
"The Captain entered the car with Henry and
drove off. After their departure I rang the bell of
the house where I was hiding and asked the butler
who were their next-door neighbors. He said Baron
Frederic von Fincke.”
"Oh, more evidence against him!” Kathleen drew
in her breath sharply.
"Mademoiselle?" But Kathleen did not explain
her remark, and Julie continued hurriedly; "I at
288


I SPY
a folded sheet torn from a newspaper which she
drew from under her apron- "'Fire at Roebling's
Plant of Incendiary Origin.' Tell me, mademoiselle,
what is Roebling's?"
"A factory near Trenton, New Jersey, which I
believe"-Kathleen spoke somewhat uncertainly-
"manufactures insulated as well as barbed wire."
"Ah, that is used in trench fighting!” The French-
woman took from the bodice of her black gown a
crumpled telegram singed at the edges. “Henry
received this but an hour ago. I watched, Oh, so
carefully. I saw him turn pale, and such was his
haste to leave the house that he did not wait to
see that the paper burned when he threw it in the
grate. Can you translate it for me, mademoiselle ?”
Smoothing out the telegram, Kathleen, with the
maid intently peering over her shoulder, read the
words it contained besides the address, in puzzled
silence:
Trenton, hurry.
Hartzmann.


I SPY
"A nice hour for you to keep your appointment,
and for me to see attractive men,” she grumbled,
leading the way to the library. “Fortunately, I have
a reputation for eccentricity-it saves me a great
deal of annoyance, and covers-er-indiscretions."
"You—the most discreet of women," protested
Foster, seating himself on the sofa by her. "And I
have come tonight to confide in you ..."
"Have you?” dryly. “I doubt it; but go ahead"
-generous encouragement in her tone.
"How is Whitney?”.
"Pulse stronger, but still unconscious. Minna,
poor child, insists that he knows her, and will not
permit herself to believe in what I fear is the in-
evitable.”
"Perhaps it is better so," compassionately. "What
should we do without hope in this world? I should
not be surprised if Kathleen's condition is graver
than her father's.” Meeting her surprised look, he
tapped his forehead significantly. "Brain fever.”
"She is acting queerly," admitted the spinster.
"Tonight she locked herself in her room, won't see
even the nurse, and refuses food."
"I fear the breaking point is near," conceded Fos-
ter. "I did not like Dr. McLane's manner when we
met him on leaving Kathleen; he also is worried."
292


I SPY
composure. “I'll find mine, if I have to search this
house from the top to the bottom."
“But please see Miss Whitney first,” broke in
Mitchell.
Miss Kiametia cast him a strange look. “That is
the first place I shall go," she announced, and the two
men watched her depart in silence. Foster was
about to speak when the electric lights flickered,
grew dim, and then went slowly out.
"Trouble in the power house," grumbled Mitchell,
searching his pocket for his electric torch. "I no-
ticed a tie-up in the street cars just before I came in.
Can you find any candles on the mantel, sir?" flash-
ing his torch in that direction. “Every light in the
house must be out."
se
re
Henry, the chauffeur, paused in indecision on
Baron Frederic von Fincke's doorstep. “You are
quite certain the Baron said he would return on the
night train ?"
"Quite," answered the valet. "He is due here at
seven o'clock in the morning. Good night."
“Good night," echoed Henry, and turning went
swiftly down the street. He stopped for a moment
at a news stand, talked with the proprietor, and then
turned his footsteps toward the Whitneys'. As he
298


IN FULL CRY
passed the War, State, and Navy Building the
lighted windows attracted his attention. With deep-
ening interest he noted the location of the rooms
from which the light shone. Officials of the govern-
ment were working late.
Turning, Henry sped down a side street and slip-
ping up an alley, entered the Whitney house by the
rear entrance. He stood in deep thought outside
the kitchen door for a moment before opening it;
a flash from his electric torch showed the dark room
was totally empty. Satisfied that Rosa had gone
to her bedroom, he crept softly up the back stairs
and along the front hall of the first bedroom floor.
He had almost reached Miss Kiametia Grey's bed-
room door when a slight noise made him pause and
glance up the winding front stairs. He shrank
farther back in the shadows of the dark hall as a
faint light appeared, outlining a white face peering
down the staircase.
Henry caught his breath sharply. How came Julie
to be back in the house? The she-devil! Spying
upon him. By God! The reckoning was close at
hand, and he crawled forward a pace, then stopped.
Julie had vanished, and with her the light. Henry
debated for a moment. With Julie in the house, his
plans were changed.
299


I SPY
Losing no time, and as noiseless as the shadows
about him, Henry made his way down the back stairs,
into the kitchen, down another flight of steps into
the sub-cellar, past the bottom of the elevator shaft,
the motor room, and to the front of the house.
With swift, deft fingers he swung aside a panel of
shelves containing rows of preserve jars and pickles,
and stepped inside a small chamber. Carefully he
drew to the panel which, with its strong, well-oiled
hinges, made no sound as it slipped into place. A
second more and the small chamber was flooded with
light as Henry found the switch. Never glancing
at the batteries lining the wall, he went direct to the
small pine table, and his fingers sought the telegraph
instruments and set them in motion.
Upstairs in the library the two candles which
Foster had been able to find in the desk drawer
burned brightly in their improvised candlesticks.
The flame, however, served but to intensify the
darkness of the large room. The minutes had
ticked themselves away in swift succession, but still
Miss Kiametia Grey did not return. Mitchell
shut his watch with an impatient snap, and Foster,
his nerves not fully under control, looked up at the
sound.
“What can be keeping Miss Grey ?” he asked.
300


IN FULL CRY
10
sure
"Can't imagine, unless—" The detective never
completed the sentence.
"Come quickly," whispered a voice over his shoul-
der, and swinging about with a convulsive start,
Mitchell recognized Charles Miller. With common
impulse he and Foster sprang up, but he was the
first to reach Miller's side, and the candlelight shone
on burnished steel. “Put up the handcuffs, Mitch-
ell," directed Miller contemptuously. “The time has
not yet come to use them.”
"I am not so sure of that,” retorted Mitchell.
"You are ..."
"We can argue the point later.” Miller made
for the door. "Both of you come with me; but for
God's sake, make no noise." His manner impressed
them, and after one second's hesitation, the detec-
tive replaced the handcuffs, and in their stead pro-
duced a revolver.
“Go ahead,” he said. “But remember, Miller,
if you attempt to escape you will be arrested.”
Without replying Miller led the way through the
silent house, his torch and occasional whispered di-
rection guiding them to the sub-cellar.
Inside the chamber under the parking of the
house, Henry worked with tireless energy, taking
down the coded messages as they flashed from the
301


I SPY
cordon of operatives about the house. Heinrich
Strauss, alias Henry Ross, chauffeur, cannot escape.
Listen, isn't that a shot?"
"I hope to God they've caught him alive!” ex-
claimed Mitchell, looking sorrowfully at the dead
woman. "He'll swing for this murder, if not for
the death of Sinclair Spencer.”
"I doubt if he was guilty of that crime," said
Miller quietly.
"What!” Mitchell stared incredulously at him.
"What leads you to think that?”.
"Hush !" Miller held up a warning hand as the
sound of hurrying footsteps reached them. A second
more and Julie appeared in the sub-cellar, guided
by their light. Her eyes were gleaming with a
strange excitement. Unnoticed by the others, Mil-
ler swiftly removed his coat and threw it over Mrs.
Whitney so that it covered her face.
"He is caught, that Henry!" called Julie, catch-
ing sight of Foster standing in the opening of the
secret chamber. "He was getting away, Oh, so
softly in the dark, and I tripped him. But yes, and
he fired”-touching a red gash in her cheek. “But
the others, they pounced upon him. La-la! And
they are bringing him here. But what—?” trying
to peer past Foster.
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RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE
Miller stepped forward. "Crouch down behind
those barrels, Julie,” he ordered, and the French-
woman, startled by his sudden appearance, obeyed
mechanically. By sheer force of personality Miller
took command. "Go back and wait in the telegraph
room,” he whispered hurriedly. "You do the ques-
tioning, Mitchell; I'll keep out of sight here."
Before Mitchell could ask the question burning on
his lips, a number of men made their way down the
staircase, Heinrich Strauss in their midst, hand-
cuffed to the tallest operative. Mitchell saluted as
he recognized the foremost man.
"This room will interest you, Chief," he said,
making way for him, and Connor took a compre-
hensive look over the chamber.
“We've found the leak,” he acknowledged.
"Clever work that," inspecting the arrangement of
the wires. He drew back at the sight of the covered
figure stretched across the table. “What's this
murder?"
• “Yes," answered Mitchell. "Henry, here," jerk-
ing his thumb toward the erstwhile chauffeur, "killed
the woman before we could interfere."
"Did I?" demanded Heinrich. "How are you
going to prove it? I wasn't in this room ..."
"You waste time," said a cool voice behind him,
305


I SPY
and Miller stepped into the circle. “The game is
up, Heinrich."
"You renegade!” Heinrich was livid with fury.
"This man is Heinrich Strauss,” continued Miller
quietly. “One of the most expert electricians and
telegraph operators in Germany. He could be de-
scribed as an electrical genius."
"His work shows that,” acknowledged Chief Con-
nor.
A slight stir in the doorway caused Heinrich to
turn, and he smiled evilly at sight of Kathleen and
Miss Kiametia Grey.
"I'm glad you've come," he said, addressing Kath-
leen directly, as she shrank back at sight of him.
"That man there," pointing to Miller, "is Karl von
Mueller, captain in the Secret Service.” A low moan
broke from Kathleen, and she looked anywhere but
at Miller, who had stepped forward to stand be-
tween her and the pine table with its pathetic bur-
den. “Von Mueller," continued Heinrich, "killed
Sinclair Spencer.”
"I deny it,” exclaimed Miller.
"Lies won't help,” retorted Heinrich. “Miss
Whitney, did you not attempt to rub off with your
handkerchief from Spencer's blood-stained shirt,
Captain von Mueller's finger print?"
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I SPY
plied with. “There, that tells the story; open it."
Detective Mitchell bent eagerly forward and
gazed at the sheet, then turned to Miller.
“Let me see your hands," he directed. Obediently
Miller held them palm uppermost, and the detective
and Chief Connor examined the half-moon scar on
the index finger of his right hand with minute care
"It tallies,” exclaimed Mitchell. A cry from
Kathleen broke the silence. Miller whitened as he
heard it.
"The evidence is conclusive, is it not ?" mocked
Heinrich. “If that dead woman could speak”—
pointing to the table—"she would tell you how she
saw the crime committed.”
"Suppose we take her mute testimony"--and with
a swift movement Miller removed his coat.
“Merciful God!" With eyes starting from his
head Heinrich recoiled. “Mrs. Whitney! Why
didn't she let me know she was coming down
here?"
“Ah, then she was in the habit of coming ?”
Miller's remark remained unanswered. Heinrich
stared and stared again at Mrs. Whitney, great
beads of sweat standing on his forehead. “I thought
it was Julie—that hell-cat !” he muttered. “Why,
why didn't she speak, and let me know who she
308


I SPY
his silence would not benefit the dead woman, while
speech would cruelly hurt and mortify both Kath-
leen and her father. “My government was anxious
to secure Mr. Whitney's inventions; he would not
sell to them, although Baron,” he stopped and
scowled at Miller—"offered him a large sum.
Whitney stuck to it that none but his own country
could have the inventions. Then I suggested to
Mrs. Whitney that she get the drawings and speci-
fications for me; and again I paid her a large sum
of money. But it was as difficult for Mrs. Whitney
to get into the studio as for me, and the danger to
herself was not small. Her husband was very sus-
picious, and he never permitted her to remain in the
room alone.
"However, because she was not aware I had per-
fected, as I thought, another plan to secure the in-
vention, and tempted by the sum of money I held
before her to succeed, she made another attempt
last night. She cried out with disappointment when,
after entering, she found only blank paper, and
Whitney heard her." He stared at the horrified
faces about him, and clearing his voice, added, “The
shock finished Whitney."
"You are the devil incarnate!" exclaimed Miss
Kiametia, wrathfully.
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RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE
wa
"I'm not, but he is.” Heinrich raised his manacled
hands menacingly toward Miller. "I never fully
trusted you, von Mueller; although I never found
any evidence of your double dealing in your room.
But while outwardly appearing to confide in you, I
took the precaution to incriminate you should my
plans miscarry. I observed the peculiar scar on your
finger, and conceived the idea of copying your finger
tips in wax. With Mrs. Whitney's help, I secured
an impression of your finger prints and had it copied
in wax. The workman, another German sympa-
thizer, achieved a wonderful copy of the original,
and by my advice Mrs. Whitney wore the wax finger
tips whenever she had work to do."
"An ingenious plan, very,” ejaculated Mitchell,
"and one new to me."
"Mrs. Whitney was wearing them on the night
that Sinclair Spencer took it into his besotted brain
to investigate this house," went on Heinrich. “Mrs.
Whitney told me afterwards that she was on the
way here to see me, when she spied Spencer crouch-
ing in the elevator, the door of which was open. She
was afraid of being discovered if she went upstairs
again, and to stay was equally dangerous.
"She had with her a hypodermic syringe which I
had given her to use in an emergency.” Kathleen
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I SPY
straightened up, and for the first time stared full
at the spy. "The syringe was filled with a solution
of cyanide of potassium," continued Henry. "Ad-
justing the needle, Mrs. Whitney entered the ele-
vator, and before Spencer could move, thrust it into
his neck. Spencer gave one convulsive start, at-
tempted to get up, and his heavy body lurched full
against her. She held a knife in her left hand, and
as he half arose from his knees, the force of contact
against the worn edges of the knife gashed his
throat. I had asked Mrs. Whitney to bring me one
of the knives which her daughter had for modeling,
as I wanted to use some putty down here.
"With great presence of mind," continued Hein-
rich, after a brief pause which no one cared to break,
"Mrs. Whitney ran the elevator to the attic, and
before leaving dipped her wax finger tip in the blood
flowing from Spencer's throat, and made a distinct
impression of von Mueller's finger print on Spen-
cer's white shirt front. Mrs. Whitney left the ele-
vator at the attic, but Detective Mitchell arrived
: before she missed the syringe. On discovering Miss
Grey had it, she made various attempts to get it
back.
“I found the hypodermic syringe," confessed Miss
Kiametia. "It was lying inside the elevator, and I
314


CHAPTER XXV
LOVE PARAMOUNT
D AUSING only long enough to say a parting
1 word to Coroner Penfield and Chief Connor,
Miller hastened up the back stairs and entered the
library. Kathleen and Miss Kiametia Grey, utterly
unmindful of the hour, sat on the sofa, and near
them stood Julie, a neat bandage wound about her
cheek and head, while Senator Foster paced agitat-
edly up and down the room. He stopped on seeing
Miller.
“Will you kindly inform us who you are ?” he
demanded peremptorily. "The Secretary of State
showed me a letter tonight from Vincent stating
that you were a German spy ..."
"Oh, that Vincent!” exclaimed Julie. "I talked
too much to him."
"I came here at once," went on Foster, paying
no attention to Julie, “hoping to elicit some facts
about you from Miss Grey and Miss Kathleen. Tell
us at once who you are."
"Charles Miller Trent,” was the calm reply.
316


I SPY
the elevator a moment later, and switched on the
light. I was almost overcome by the sight of M.
Spencer, and turned out the light to shut away the
view. I rushed to my room; but I could not rest. I
was in agony for you, mademoiselle; that very after-
noon I had warned you against Monsieur Spencer,
and I feared-Oh, forgive me that you had killed
him because he had injured your father. After a
long interval I crept upstairs to the attic and there
tried to puzzle out what would be best to do for
mademoiselle. Fearing the police would make me
tell what I had seen, I ran away."
"When did you discover Sinclair Spencer in the
elevator, Kathleen ?" asked Miss Kiametia.
“When I went to find Julie on Wednesday morn-
ing," began Kathleen. “I was very absent-minded
that morning, and after pressing the button for the
elevator never noticed whether it was long arriving
at my floor or not—the length of time it takes to
reach a floor is the only way we have of judging
from where it comes,” she explained. “I entered
the elevator intent only on pushing the basement
button, which I did with my right hand, pulling the
folding grille-work steel door to with my left hand.
My back was turned to where Sinclair Spencer lay."
She shuddered at the recollection. "Just before the
324


I SPY
interior of South America my cousin and I, then fif.
teen and sixteen respectively, played a trick on one
of our Indian guides. With the assistance of other
Indians he branded my finger, saying by the half-
moon we would be identified one from the other."
“That explains.” Kathleen drew a long breath.
"I racked my brain to remember whether I had
seen the scar on your finger in Germany, and con-
cluded you had perhaps received the injury since-
since our last meeting.”
“Tell me, Kathleen," broke in Miss Kiametia,
"how did it happen that Sinclair Spencer had a
flower from your bouquet in his hand?”
· "I don't know, except that I wore the flowers the
night before, and one may have fallen on the floor
of the elevator and he picked it up."
Julie, who had followed Kathleen's every word
with the closest attention, stepped to Miller Trent's
side. “Monsieur, can you explain this telegram?"
handing it to him. "Heinrich dropped it here late
this afternoon."
Miller read the two words, then drew out a pen-
cil. “Divide the word 'Trenton' to 'Trent on' and
it reads: 'Trent on, hurry.' Yesterday afternoon I
met a man named Hartzmann; he had known Karl
intimately, and before I left him I realized some.
326


I SPY
rich creeping downstairs and followed him. I never
for one moment suspected Mrs. Whitney."
"Nor did anyone else,” agreed Foster. "Except
that Heinrich was shocked into confession by his
having unintentionally killed Mrs. Whitney, think-
ing her Julie, we might never have learned the whole
truth. Mitchell, after seeing Vincent's note to the
Secretary of State, was thoroughly convinced you
were guilty. By the way, Kiametia, what kept you
so long upstairs when Mitchell asked you to find out
if Miller was with Miss Kathleen ?"
“Searching for that hypodermic needle; I be-
lieved Kathleen had taken it back.”
"Did you see Mrs. Whitney upstairs ?”
“No, I stopped for a moment in Winslow's room,
and the nurse told me Minna had gone to her bed-
room to lie down."
“What possessed her to go to the sub-cellar?"
asked Foster.
“Probably a demon of unrest, or she may have
had some message to leave for Heinrich," suggested
Miller. "When he grappled with her in the dark
she undoubtedly thought him a detective and dared
not call out for fear of disclosing her identity. Prob-
ably she thought Heinrich out of the house, and
never dreamed of his attacking her."
ses
328


I SPY
perform the ceremony; he confessed that he got
drunk, lost his head, and-and-suggested that you
dispense with the marriage ceremony."
Kathleen crimsoned to the roots of her hair.
“Did he tell you that I indignantly refused, escaped
from him, and started out to walk to the nearest
railroad station. There I met John Hargraves, told
him of my elopement, then accompanied him to the
hotel in the next town where his cousin was stopping
and spent the night with her, returning next day un-
der her escort to the school. She explained to the
principal that I had been visiting her, and smoothed
over what promised to be a scandal.”
“Yes, Karl wrote me of that also, but he did you
the tardy justice of never mentioning your full name.
When I met you at Chevy Chase I realized sud-
denly that you had mistaken me for him and—".
Miller hesitated for a brief second—“I followed the
game. Kathleen,” his hitherto clear voice faltered,
"I followed it to my own undoing. Each time that
you repulsed me, you inspired me-first, with ad-
miration; then, all unbidden, came love, love, so
faithful and unswerving that not even the toils of
treachery and false witness which threatened to
envelope you, could alter it." He hesitated again,
his face white and strained. “Tell me frankly,
334


LOVE PARAMOUNT
Kathleen, did you accept me on Tuesday only be-
cause you thought me Karl?".
"No." Kathleen's face was rosy with color and
her eyes shone with a new radiance. Eagerly Mil-
ler clasped her hands and, bending his head, kissed
them. “Whatever schoolgirl affection I cherished
for Karl was long since dead before I met you. To
you alone I gave my heart."
"My love, my love,” he murmured softly. “May
God aid me to atone to you for the sorrow of the
past!" and looking up into his eyes, as his arms stole
round her, Kathleen read there that the glory of life
was hers at last.
(1)








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ing it bey
return pron.