Sheltered by a great rock and the underbrush about it, Jane, with Fleck
and Thomas Dean, peered eagerly out at a dingy, weather-beaten frame
structure which neighborhood gossip had told them was the sheltering
place of the “Friends of the Air.” In its outward appearance at least,
Jane decided, it was disappointingly unmysterious. It looked to her
merely like a cheap summer boarding-house that had gone long
untenanted. There was a two-story main building, cheaply constructed
and almost without ornament, sadly crying for new paint, and the usual
outbuildings found about such places in the more remote country
districts.
Still from Chief Fleck’s manner she was certain that he regarded their
achievement in locating the place as of the highest importance. They
had run their two automobiles noiselessly up the lane leading from the
main road until they were perhaps half a mile distant from the house
and then had concealed them in the woods near-by, being careful to
obliterate all traces of the wheel tracks where they had left the lane.
Making a détour among the trees they had reached their present position
not more than three hundred yards away from the buildings. They had
carried the rifles with them, and these now were close at hand, hidden
under the log on which the three of them were sitting. Carter, with the
other men, under Fleck’s orders, had divided themselves into scouting
parties and had crept away through the woods to study their
surroundings at still closer range while the waning afternoon light
permitted.
At first glance one might have been inclined to believe the buildings
untenanted. There seemed to be no one stirring about the place, and
some of the unshuttered windows on the second floor were broken. The
only indications of recent occupation were a pile of kegs at the rear
of the house and near-by a heap of freshly opened tin cans. Near one of
the larger outbuildings, too, was a pile of chips and sawdust.
“There does not seem to be any one about,” whispered Jane. “What do you
suppose they do here?”
“I can’t imagine yet,” said Fleck with an impatient shake of his head.
“The fact that this house is important enough for the Hoffs to visit
once a week makes it important for us to cautiously and carefully
investigate everything about it. It may be a secret wireless plant away
off here in the woods where no one would think of looking for it. It
might be a bomb factory where their chemists manufacture the bombs and
explosives with which they are constantly trying to wreck our munition
plants and communication lines. Perhaps it is just a rendezvous where
their various agents, the important ones engaged in their damnable work
of destruction, come secretly to get their orders from the Hoffs and to
receive payment for their hellishness accomplished.”
“It’s all so funny, so perfectly absurd,” said Jane with a nervous
little laugh.
“Absurd,” cried Fleck indignantly, “what do you mean? It’s frightfully
serious.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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