“No danger of that,” laughed Frederic. “Old Otto never had seen the chap who was coming. His real nephew, Frederic Hoff, whose American birth certificate was used, died years ago. Besides I had the German officer’s papers and knew just what his instructions were. The worst of it was when old Otto insisted every night on toasting the Kaiser, and when he kept trying to get me mixed up in his dirty schemes. I had to go through with the former once in a while, but on the latter, I—how do you Americans say it—just stalled along. My orders were to land him only on the big thing—his wonder-workers.” “But how did you explain to him that British uniform?” “Now that was really an idea. The old fellow was getting a bit cross and suspicious with me because he thought I wasn’t doing enough while they were getting his ‘wonder-workers’ ready. At one time he was so distrustful of me that he had me followed.” “Oh, yes, I know,” said Jane quickly. With a thrill she remembered the scene she had witnessed from her window the night K-19, her predecessor on Chief Fleck’s staff, had been murdered. In her relief at discovering that Frederic was no German spy, she had forgotten that for weeks and weeks she had all but believed him guilty of murder. Now, something told her, surely and confidently, that he could explain it all. “I saw you from my window one night before I met you,” she went on. “A man was following you, and you chased him around the corner.” “I remember that,” he said; “the poor chap was found dead the next morning. Old Otto killed him. The man had been following me, and I had imagined that he was one of old Otto’s spies and knocked him down. I couldn’t find anything on him to indicate who he was, so just as he was beginning to revive I left him and came on home. It seems old Otto had been watching him trail me. He followed along and shot the man. He gleefully told me about it the next day, the hound. I ought to have given him over to the police, but that would have upset our plans.” “I see,” said Jane; “what about Lieutenant Kramer? Was he working with old Mr. Hoff?” “That’s the funny part of it. Here in this country you’ve got so many kinds of secret agents they’re always trampling on each others’ toes. There’s your treasury agents, and your Department of Justice agents, and your army intelligence men and your naval intelligence men—nine different sets of investigators you’ve got, counting the volunteers, so some one told me, and each lot trying to make a record for itself and not taking the others into its confidence. Rather stupid I call it.” “I should say so,” agreed Jane. “Here was I watching old Hoff for our government, and Kramer watching me for your navy and Fleck watching both of us. It was a funny jumble.” “But about that uniform?” Jane persisted.