“She was in bed when I left. All she caught was just a glimpse of me in Dad’s dust coat, and that came to my ankles. I wore it until I was a block away from the house. Will I do?” “You can’t change your eyes,” said Dean boldly, that is boldly for a chauffeur, but he knew that Jane knew he wasn’t a chauffeur except by choice, so that made it all right. “I couldn’t well leave them behind. I understood that I was to have a lot of use for my eyes to-day.” “Yes, indeed, you very likely will.” “Do you know I hardly recognized you at first and was almost afraid to speak? I had expected to find you in a car. What was the idea of the motorcycle?” “It was Chief Fleck’s suggestion. The Hoffs will be motoring. People in a car seldom pay any attention to motorcyclists. If we were to follow them in a motor they’d surely notice it. Last week they managed to dodge the people the Chief assigned to trail them. Maybe as two dusty motorcyclists we’ll have better luck.” “I hope so. Where do you intend waiting to pick them up?” “Getty Square in Yonkers is the best place. Everybody going north goes that way. I can be tinkering with the machine while you keep watch for them. They will not be apt to suspect a pair of Yonkers motorcyclists. There’s no danger of missing them.” “Did you tell the Chief about seeing Mr. Hoff in that uniform?” “Of course. He did not seem even surprised. Some one had reported to him already that there was a German going about in British uniform.” “What had he heard? What was the man doing?” questioned Jane anxiously. Even though she believed Frederic Hoff an alien enemy, even though she was all but sure that he was a murderer, she kept finding herself always hoping for something in his favor. He seemed far too nice and entertaining to be engaged in any nefarious, underhanded, despicable machinations. Yet she had seen him masquerading as a British officer. She could not doubt the evidence of her own eyes. “What happened was this,” continued Dean. “A woman—one of the society lot—was driving down Park Avenue day before yesterday morning in her motor. It had been raining, and the streets were muddy. At one of the crossings a British officer stopped to let the car pass. One of the wheels hit a rut, and his uniform was all splashed with mud. He burst into a string of curses—_German_ curses.” “He cursed in German?” cried Jane. “Sure,” said Dean. “On the impulse of the moment he forgot his rôle and revealed his true self—an arrogant Prussian officer.” “What did the woman do?” “Reported him to the first policeman she met, but by that time he had vanished, of course.” “What did Chief Fleck think about it?” “He didn’t seem to take the story seriously.” “Do you suppose it could have been Mr. Hoff?” “It must have been he, or one of his gang, at any rate. I don’t see why the Chief does not order his arrest at once. He is far too dangerous to be at large.”