“Damn them,” he cried again, “in spite of everything we do they get track of all our troop movements. Their information, whenever we succeed in intercepting it, is always accurate. If I had my way I’d lock up every German in the country until the war was over, and I’d shoot a lot of those I locked up. Until the whole country realizes that we are living in a nest of spies—that there are German spies all around us, in every city, in every factory, in every regiment, on every ship, everywhere right next door to us—this country never can win the war.” “What does the ‘97’ at the end mean?” questioned Jane timidly, a little bit frightened at his outburst, yet more than ever realizing the vast importance of his work—and hers. “Oh, that’s nothing. Probably old Hoff’s number. Most spies are known just by numbers.” “Yes, of course,” said Jane, flushing as she recalled that she herself was now “K-19.” Was she a spy? Was Mr. Fleck a chief of spies? She always had looked on a spy as a despicable sort of person, yet surely the work in which they both were engaged was vital to American success at arms—a patriotic and important service for one’s country. “I suppose,” she said thoughtfully, unwilling to pursue the chain of her own thought any further, “that there is evidence enough now to arrest old Mr. Hoff right away.” “You bet there is,” said Mr. Fleck emphatically, “but that is the last thing I am thinking of doing yet. He is only one link in a great chain that extends from our battleships and transports there in the North River clear into the heart of Berlin. We’ve got to locate both ends of the chain before we start smashing the links. We’ve got to find who it is in this country that is supplying the money for all their nefarious work, from whom they get their orders, how they smuggle their news out. Most of all we have got to find where the end of the chain is fastened in our own navy. The traitors there are the black-hearted rascals I would most like to get. They are the ones we’ve got to get.” “Yes, indeed,” assented Jane, suddenly recalling the navy lieutenant she had seen in the Ritz chatting so confidentially with old Otto Hoff’s nephew. Was he, she wondered, one of the links in the terrible chain? Was he the end—the American end of the chain? “We’re certain about the old man now,” said Fleck, rising as if to indicate that the interview was at an end. “We’ve got to get the young fellow next. There is nothing in this to implicate him. That’s your job. Find out all you can about him. Get acquainted with him, if possible. That’s one of the weakest spots about all German spies. They can’t help boasting to women. Try to get to know this Fred Hoff. It’s most important.” “I’ll do more than try,” said Jane spiritedly. “I’ll get acquainted right away. I’ll make him talk to me.” CHAPTER V ON THE TRAIL