The Apartment Next Door Part 9

Dean started to slow down, but it was too late. Out of a cut in the hillside, half screened by a clump of bushes at the side on which Jane was riding, a great gray motor shot out just as they were pa.s.sing. Jane caught just one glimpse of the man on the driver's seat. It was Frederic Hoff, frantically twisting at the wheel in an effort to avert the threatened collision. There came a thud and a crash as the forward part of the Hoff car struck the motorcycle a glancing blow, overturning it completely. Too terrified even to shriek, Jane felt herself being catapulted out of her seat and flung high in air. Then came a blank.

Her companion did not escape so easily. The heavy machine crashed over on him and dragged him several yards. His head, as he landed in the roadway, struck a stone, and the motorcycle itself pinned him to the earth by its weight, one of his arms doubled up in an alarming fas.h.i.+on, as he lay there completely senseless.

Jane fortunately had landed on some soft gra.s.s, though with sufficient force to leave her badly stunned. As she lay there, a boyish figure in her disguise, her senses began gradually to revive, although it was some time before she opened her eyes.

Vaguely, as from a great distance, she began to hear voices, and it seemed to her that they were German voices, arguing about something. The voices seemed angry and excited. At first she did not bother about them. She was wondering how badly she was hurt. Her arms and limbs had a curious sort of deadness about them, a detached sensation, as if they belonged to some one else. She wondered if she was paralyzed and dared not try to move them, fearful lest she might find that it was the terrible truth.

The voices--the German voices--came nearer, became louder and more strident. She struggled to collect her thoughts. Where was she? What had happened? Where was Thomas Dean? Gradually some memory of the accident came to her. They had been run down by the Hoffs' car. The voices she kept hearing were those of the two Hoffs, angrily wrangling about something. As she revived further she became acutely conscious that her head seemed to be splitting. What was it the Hoffs were arguing about? Still lying there motionless, with her eyes closed, endeavoring to collect herself, she tried to listen to what they were saying.

"I tell you there is not time. I must hurry. Every minute is precious. I cannot delay my work for these swine, no matter if they both are dying or dead," old Otto was angrily shouting with many German oaths.

"I tell you," Frederic was saying,--his voice was calmer but determined,--"we've got to get these people to a doctor. It's too heartless. I will not leave them here."

"And betray us at the last moment, when our plans are all ready," snarled old Otto.

"There is less danger if we bundle them into the car and take them with us than if we leave them here," protested Frederic. "Two bodies right here at the entrance would be fine, nicht wahr?"

His last remark appealed to old Otto.

"That is so," he muttered. "It is not safe. We must hide the bodies, both of them, yes?"

The bodies! Jane decided that Dean must have been killed and that they thought that she, too, was dead. As she strove to open her eyes she could hear Frederic protesting.

"It's inhuman," he cried. "They both are hurt, but perhaps still alive. We must take them to a hospital."

"And endanger all our plans," stormed old Otto. "Throw them into the woods."

"We'll do nothing of the sort," Frederic insisted, his voice becoming unusually stern and severe. "I'm going to get both of these people to a doctor at once, I tell you."

With effort Jane opened her eyes and looked cautiously about. Where was Thomas Dean? How badly had he been hurt? The Hoffs' automobile was slowly backing up. As she looked old Otto sprang out of it and righted the motorcycle. As he did so Jane saw the body of Dean lying senseless beneath it, but to him the old German paid no attention. He was examining the motorcycle and still sputtering that the swine should be left to rot.

"We are going to take them with us in the car," directed Frederic in a voice of authority. "I command it."

At the word old Otto's mutterings ceased, though he shot a black look at the younger man.

"This machine," he suggested, "it is not hurt. I will take it and do our work. There is haste. You remain with the car. Do what you will with these people."

"Go then," said his nephew curtly. "You can take the train at the first station and make time."

As the old man mounted the motorcycle and sped away Frederic sprang from the car, and approaching the spot where Dean's body lay, began making an examination of his injuries.

"Scalp wound, perhaps fractured skull, broken arm," Jane heard him saying aloud to himself. She noted curiously that as soon as he was left to himself he began speaking in English.

He left Dean and approached her. As he came nearer she closed her eyes again, trying to plan some course of action. Her head was throbbing so that she found it impossible to think. She felt toward young Hoff a warmth of grat.i.tude for not having gone off and left them helpless as his uncle had insisted. Even though he was an enemy of her country, a man to be hated, a spy, she could not help being glad for his presence there. What would she have done without him, with Dean lying there injured and helpless on this lonely mountain road?

"This chap seems only stunned," she heard him say as he bent over her, then as he looked closer, she heard him exclaim: "My G.o.d, it's Jane!"

In an instant he was down at her side on his knees. Tenderly one of his arms went about her and lifted her head.

"Miss Strong, Jane, Jane," he implored, "Jane dear, speak to me."

Stunned though she still was a flush crept into Jane's cheeks at the unexpected term of endearment, though she still kept her eyes closed. Gently he laid her back on the turf and hastened to the automobile, returning with a flask which he held to her lips. Slowly Jane opened her eyes.

"Thank G.o.d," he cried. "Jane dear, tell me you are not hurt."

For a moment she lay there, staring wonderingly at him as he bent over her imploringly, the tenderest of anxiety showing in every line of his face. Unprotestingly she let him slip his strong arm once more under her head. In her dazed brain there was a strange conflict of peculiar emotions. He was a German, a spy,--she hated him, and yet it was wonderfully comforting to her to have him there. Under other circ.u.mstances she could have loved him. He was so handsome, so masterful and so kind, too. He cared for her. Had he not called her "Jane, dear" in his amazement at finding her lying there? But she must not let herself think of him in that way. It was her duty, her sacred duty to trap him, to thwart his nefarious plans against her country. She must do her duty just as her soldier brother was doing his in far away France.

Still supported by Hoff's arms she sat up, trying to collect her thoughts and gingerly testing the movement of her arms and limbs.

"Tell me," he cried again, "Jane, dear, are you hurt?"

"I don't think so," she managed to say.

With his a.s.sistance she got up on her feet and walked uncertainly to the car, shuddering as she looked at Dean's crumpled senseless body.

"Your friend," said Hoff, as he placed her in the forward seat and wrapped a rug about her, "I am afraid, is badly hurt."

"It's our chauffeur, Thomas Dean," she explained confusedly.

She had been wondering what she could say to Frederic to account for her presence there. It was unconventional at least for a girl to be motorcycling about the country dressed in man's clothes with a chauffeur. Hoff must surely realize now that she had been shadowing him. She felt almost certain that he had known it from the very first, since that afternoon when he had overheard her telephoning about the "fifth book." Yet never by word or manner had he betrayed the fact that he suspected her. Beyond his customary reserve in speaking about himself or his activities, there was nothing to indicate that he knew anything yet. Whatever she told him now she must be careful not to betray her mission. Perhaps even in spite of all that had happened she still might be able to aid Chief Fleck in trapping them.

But did she really want to trap Frederic Hoff? Had Thomas Dean's bitter charge that she was trying to protect him been true? Frederic Hoff loved her. She, yes--she had to admit it to herself--she was beginning to love him. Could she go on with it?

Hoff had been busy lifting the unconscious Dean into the tonneau. As she watched him as he lifted up the body unaided she was conscious of admiration of his great strength.

"Will he die?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he answered. "He is badly hurt. We must get him to a doctor at once."

He stopped a moment longer to examine the car. Fortunately the glancing blow that it had struck the motorcycle had done no more damage than shatter one of the lamps and bend the mud guard. Soon they were moving rapidly in the direction of New York.

"I think," said Hoff, "we had better leave him in the care of the first doctor we come to. We can say that he is an injured motorcyclist we found lying in the road."

"And me?" asked Jane, almost fearfully.

"I'll take you back to the city with me."

"No," she replied, "that won't do. I ought to stay by him. Besides, if I return with you, it will be hard to explain."

He turned to look inquiringly at her and for a moment drove on in silence.

"There's nothing more you can do for the man once he is in competent medical hands, except to notify his people. Is he married?"

"No," said Jane, "he's not married. I can tell his friends."

"Did your parents know about"--he hesitated--"about this trip with the chauffeur?"

Jane blushed guiltily, wondering what he suspected of her. She hoped that he did not think she had a habit of going off on such journeys with the chauffeur. Even though the man at her side was officially her enemy she resented being put into a position that would cheapen her in his eyes.

"No," she replied, "they knew nothing about it."

Hoff drove on in silence. She had feared that he might ask her more embarra.s.sing questions, might insist on knowing where she had been going when the accident occurred. A panic seized her. What if he should ask her? What could she tell him? He had a masterful way about him. If he took it into his head to make her confess she realized that she would have a struggle to keep from telling him everything. She made up her mind that she would not, she dare not answer any more questions.

When he spoke again she was relieved to hear a suggestion instead of a query.

"When we have crossed the ferry," he said, "you can put on a dust coat to hide your costume, and I will send you home in a taxi. Will that be all right?"

"That will do nicely," she replied, gratefully conscious that he was endeavoring to plan so that her part in the afternoon's adventures need not become public.

Nevertheless she waited nervously while Hoff and the doctor carried Dean into the doctor's home. What if the doctor's suspicions should be aroused, and he should insist on knowing all the details of the accident? To her astonishment the doctor seemed to accept Hoff's brief recital of finding an injured motorcyclist on the road without question. Perhaps if she had seen the amount of the bills Hoff left to care for the chauffeur's treatment she might have understood better.

Yet unconscious though Dean had lain all the way, as they resumed their journey without him, she felt a sudden sense of dread at being alone in the car with Frederic Hoff. It was not that she longer feared he would endeavor to make her tell her reasons for the expedition. She was afraid that with just the two of them alone in the car he might seize the opportunity to declare his affection for her.

But, to her amazement, he hardly spoke a word to her on all the rest of the journey homeward. Once in a while as she ventured a glance in his direction, annoyed a little perhaps by this neglect of her, she saw only a strong face set in lines of thought, his brow wrinkled in deep perplexity, and his blue eyes looking steadily at the road ahead--and at something far, far beyond.

Save for an occasional solicitous question about her comfort he did not speak again until just after he had put her in a taxi at the ferry. As Jane was trying to say her thanks he leaned forward unexpectedly, his tall frame blocking the whole doorway.

"Jane," he said, his voice vibrant with emotion, "Jane, you must trust me. Everything must come out all right. Some day--some day soon when we have won--I am coming to find you and tell you that I love you."

"When we have won!" Jane shuddered and drew back in the car, aflame with sudden wrath.

She had read and had heard often of the unspeakable conceit of the Prussians. She knew that they regarded themselves as supermen who could not be defeated. Her challenged American pride rose to battle. As she rode home she was sure now that more than she hated anything else in the world she hated Frederic Hoff, the spy, the German, who had dared to boast to her that they expected to win.

CHAPTER XII.

PUZZLES AND PLANS.

Chief Fleck had spent a sleepless night trying to put two and two together. Instead of the answer being "four" as it should have been each time he completed his figuring the result was "zero." Time and again he mustered the facts into columns, only to succeed in puzzling himself the more.

Two German spies, the Hoffs, had set out together in their motor on their usual mysterious Wednesday mission. Two other persons, two of his most intelligent operatives, Thomas Dean and Jane Strong, had set out on a motorcycle to shadow them.

What had happened?

Otto Hoff had returned to his apartment on foot, hours before his usual time, seemingly much perturbed about something.

Frederic Hoff had arrived back at the apartment, also on foot, some hours later than usual, and the motor had not been returned to its usual garage. Frederic Hoff had appeared to be unusually elated about something.

Thomas Dean was in a doctor's home somewhere up the Hudson with a broken arm and a bad scalp wound and was unable to tell what had become of either Miss Strong or the motorcycle.

Jane Strong had arrived home in a taxicab half an hour before Frederick Hoff, apparently unhurt but in a most peculiar condition of mind. When Chief Fleck had called her on the 'phone she had refused to answer any questions. The best he could get out of her was a promise that she would come to his office in the morning.

From this situation Fleck's shrewd and experienced mind had been wholly unable to make any satisfactory deductions. That something unforeseen and unusual had happened to the Hoffs he was certain. It was the first time on a Wednesday that they had not returned together. Whatever it was that had happened it had depressed old Otto and had been a cause of elation to Frederic. What could it have been? That was the poser.

Coupled with this was the annoying fact of Jane Strong's sudden reticence. Hitherto he had found her at all times ready and eager whenever he called on her--ready to do anything he asked her, or to tell him everything. Why had she suddenly balked? He recalled that Dean had hinted, and Carter, too, that the girl was becoming interested in the younger of the Germans, yet he scouted the possibility of Jane having gone over to the enemy's side. A girl of her stock, living with her parents, with a brother fighting in France, never could be guilty of disloyalty, even if she were in love. Yet how was her disinclination to talk to be accounted for? After he had received a report that she was at home he had waited, expecting her to call him up. When she had not done so, he had called her. She had been positively curt and decisive. She had nothing to say to him, she had replied, at present. Dean was safe. She would come to his office in the morning. There was nothing for him to do but to await her arrival.

He was expecting Carter, too. He had sent him to Nyack the evening before as soon as he had learned of Dean's whereabouts. Carter was to find out everything that Dean had learned and report as soon as he could. It was Carter who arrived first.

"Dean doesn't know what happened to him, nor where the girl went," said Carter. "They had lost the Hoffs' trail at the Garrison ferry, as he told you over the 'phone. They had to wait there half an hour for another boat. They scouted around West Point, and nearly three hours afterward they picked up the trail heading toward New York. About ten miles south of West Point they were clipping along a mountain road when something happened. Dean is not sure whether he hit a stone in the road or whether an automobile struck them. He was knocked unconscious and didn't remember anything more until he came to and found the doctor setting his arm."

"Who took him to the doctor's?"

"It was a couple, the doctor said, who explained that they had found Dean lying in the road under his wrecked motorcycle. The doctor could not remember what the couple looked like. Said he had been too busy looking after the injured man. I did worm out of him, though, that the man had left two hundred dollars with him to take care of Dean."

"That's funny," said the chief.

"It sure is," said Carter. "Looks like hush money to me. What does the girl say?"

"Nothing yet," said Fleck. "She wouldn't talk at all last night, but she's coming here at ten."

"That's funny," said Carter. "Why wouldn't she talk?"

"I don't know yet," said Fleck decisively, "but I am going to find out. Do you really suppose that she has fallen in love with young Hoff?"

Carter shook his head.

"Dean thought so, and I know that Dean was in love with her himself, but I don't know. I'd bank on that girl somehow, even if she is in love."

"There she comes now," said the chief as he heard the door of the outer office open.

As Jane entered she faced the two men almost defiantly. She too had had a sleepless night. Although she herself had been physically uninjured in the accident the shock to her nerves had left her unstrung, and besides she had been bothering all through the dark hours as to how much of what had happened in the last few hours it was her duty to tell to Chief Fleck.

As her personal relations with Frederic Hoff and her feelings toward him had in no way affected her sense of duty she felt that it was unnecessary for her to report the declaration of love he had made to her. Surely an affair that involved only the heart was her own property so long as she faithfully reported anything and everything that might lead to the exposure of the Hoffs' plots. She could not see that it was any of Chief Fleck's business, nor her country's either, if Frederic Hoff had fallen in love with her. At any rate it would be utterly impossible for her to make any statement about her own feelings toward him. Even in her own heart and mind she was not quite sure what they were. From the first his forceful personality had had great charm for her. His obvious interest in her she had found delightful and flattering. When she recalled how gallantly he had insisted on remaining to rescue Dean and herself, even before he knew her ident.i.ty, she was filled with admiration for him. Yet always matched against all that she found lovable in him was the knowledge that he was a German, a traitor, a spy, perhaps a murderer, and at times she felt that she hated him with a hatred that never could be overcome.

"Well," said Fleck, studying her countenance, "what have you to tell us?"

"How is Dean?" she asked. "Will he live?"

Fleck and Carter exchanged glances. Was she, they wondered, really concerned in the handsome young chauffeur's welfare, or had she merely put the question to gain time in framing what she was going to say?

"I just left him," said Carter, in response to an almost imperceptible nod from the chief; "he's all right except for a scalp wound and a broken arm."

"I'm glad," said the girl impulsively.

"What happened to him?" asked Carter.

"Don't you know? The Hoffs' automobile hit us and overturned the motorcycle."

"The Hoffs' car!" cried Fleck and Carter together.

"Yes, I thought you knew."