“Good Lord,” cried the British colonel excitedly. “You don’t suppose those bloody Boches got him at the last—after all he’s been through? I hope he’s safe.” “Don’t worry, Colonel Brook-White,” came the calm voice of Frederic Hoff from the rear seat. “Chief Fleck has me here safe in shackles with the other prisoners.” “God,” cried Fleck, in astonished perplexity. “Is Frederic Hoff a Britisher—one of your men?” “Rather,” said Brook-White. “Chief Fleck, may I present Captain Sir Frederic Seymour, of the Royal Kentish Dragoons.” But Fleck was too busy just then to heed the introduction, or to pay attention to the muttered “_Donnerwetters_” of indignation that burst from the lips of his other prisoners. Jane Strong had fainted dead away against his shoulder. CHAPTER XVIII WHAT THE PACKET CONTAINED “But,” said Jane, “I can’t understand it yet. How did you, a British officer, happen to be living with old Otto Hoff? How did you ever get him to trust you with his terrible secrets?” Captain Seymour chortled gleefully. Now that he was arrayed in proper British clothes, once more comfortable in the uniform of his regiment and had his monocle in place and was with Jane again, everything looked radiantly different. Even his speech no longer retained its international quality but now was tinctured with London mannerisms. “Oh, I say,” he replied, “that was a ripping joke on the bally Dutchmen.” Jane eyed him uncertainly. He seemed almost like a stranger to her in this unfamiliar guise, though for hours she had been eagerly looking forward to his coming. The exciting developments of the night before still were to her very puzzling. She recalled Frederic’s identification of himself, and after that all was blank. When she had come to she had found herself in a motor being rapidly driven toward New York in the early dawn, with Carter as her escort. He had not been inclined to be at all communicative. “Let the Captain tell you the story himself,” said Carter. “He knows all the details.” “But when can I see him?” questioned Jane. “When,” she hesitated, remembering the shameful bonds that had held him, “when will he be free?” “He’s as free this minute as we are,” Carter explained. “It didn’t take the Chief long to get the bracelets off, after Colonel Brook-White had identified him. There’s a lot for the Captain to do still, but rest assured, he’ll waste no time getting back to the city to see you.” “I hope not,” sighed the girl. She was too weary, too weak from the revulsion of feeling that had come on learning that her lover instead of being a dastardly spy was a wonderful hero, to make even a pretense at maidenly modesty. She wanted to see Frederic too much to care what any one thought.