“Bob,” said Carter to one of his men, “we haven’t much time, and there’s a lot to be done. You take the servant’s room and the kitchen, and you, Williams, take the old man’s quarters. I’ll take care of the young man’s bedroom, and we’ll tackle the living room and dining room later.” Thoroughly experienced in this sort of work all three of them set at once to their tasks. Carter, standing for a moment in the doorway, surveyed Frederic Hoff’s quarters, taking in all the details of the furnishings. Both the sitting room and the bedroom adjoining were equipped in military simplicity, with hardly an extra article of furniture or adornment, chairs, tables, everything of the plainest sort. Moving first into the bedroom, Carter quickly investigated pillows and mattress, but in neither place did he find what he sought, evidence of a secret hiding place. He rummaged for a while through the drawers of two tables, carefully restoring the contents, but discovering nothing that aroused his suspicions. The books lying about on the tables and on shelves he examined one by one, noting their titles, examining their bindings for hidden pockets, holding them up by their backs and shaking the leaves. There was nothing there. Lifting the rugs and moving the furniture about he made a careful survey of the flooring, seeking to find some panel that might conceal a hiding place. Once or twice in corners he went so far as to make soundings but apparently the whole floor was intact. His search in the bath room was equally profitless, and at last he turned to the clothes press. As he opened the door an exclamation of amazement burst from his lips. There, concealed behind some other suits, was the complete outfit of a British cavalry captain. “That’s one on the Chief,” he said to himself. “It must have been Hoff that Dean and Miss Strong saw. I wonder where he got it?” With a grim smile of satisfaction he devoted himself to going carefully through all the pockets and over all the seams of the clothing in the closet. He even felt into the toe of the shoes and examined the soles. There was nothing to be found anywhere, but he felt satisfied. The uniform in itself was to his mind damning proof of the young man’s occupation. No explanation that could be given by a young man of German name, even though he was American-born, or had an American birth certificate, could possibly account for his having a British uniform. It was prima facie evidence that Frederic Hoff was a spy. What puzzled Carter most was how Hoff managed to smuggle the uniform in and out of the apartment without being observed. For more than two weeks now every parcel that had arrived at the house of the Hoffs had been searched before it was delivered. The house had been constantly under the strictest surveillance. It was out of the question for him to have worn the uniform in or out as it could not be easily concealed under other clothing.