"I asked him myself," exclaimed Sergeant Riley, "but he was not well enough to answer me or understand what I was saying." "Do you think he referred to this factory?" inquired Hugh. "The sergeant thinks so," said Mr. Cook. "There are only two others in High Ridge that they would try to destroy probably, so you see the chance is one in three that he was speaking of this one." "I can't imagine a man plotting such things," said Bob bitterly. "He thinks he's helping Germany I suppose." "Huh," snorted Bob. "A nice kind of man that will earn his living in a country and then try to blow it up. Is he going to get well?" "The doctors say he has an even chance," said Sergeant Riley. "Well, all I hope is," said Bob, "that when he does get well they take him and put him in jail for about fifteen years. Have you got plenty of guards, father?" "I think so," said Mr. Cook. "I've got all I can get anyway." "Hugh and I are ready to help you know." "I know it, and I may use you later to-night; we will need them more then probably. In the meantime why don't you go and lie down for a little while?" "We've got a paper here to be translated first," said Bob. "Give it to me," exclaimed Mr. Cook. "I'll call Heinrich in." In response to his summons Heinrich soon appeared from the next room. He looked pale and haggard as though he was tired and worn and worried. He glanced from one to another of the people gathered around the desk, but even his old pals, Bob and Hugh, gave him no more than a fleeting smile. "We have a letter or something here written in German, Heinrich," said Mr. Cook. "I'd like to have you translate it for us, please." Heinrich took the paper that was held out to him. Every one watched him narrowly as he looked at it, and were amazed to see him suddenly turn deadly white. His hand shook violently and he had to lean against the desk to keep from falling. He gazed at Mr. Cook pleadingly, a hunted look in his eyes. "What does it say?" asked his employer. Heinrich gasped and almost choked once or twice. He swallowed hard and finally found his voice again. "I don't know," he replied. "You mean you can't read the German?" That seemed to be as good an excuse as any, so Heinrich seized upon it eagerly. "Yes," he stammered. "That iss it." "I don't believe you," said Mr. Cook calmly. "Please, Mr. Cook," begged Heinrich. "Don't ask me to read it." "But I want to know what it says." "I can't read it." "You don't mean that," said Mr. Cook. "You certainly can read it." "I can't read it," Heinrich repeated. It was plain to be seen that he was suffering great mental agony; he glanced about him fearfully as if he expected to be attacked suddenly. He looked at the paper again and an involuntary groan escaped him. He appealed to Mr. Cook. "Please let me go home," he pleaded.