Bob Cook and the German Spy

T >> Tomlinson, Paul Greene >> Bob Cook and the German Spy

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In an incredibly short time he pulled up in front of the hospital. Two
orderlies were summoned, and soon Mr. Wernberg, placed on a stretcher,
was being carried into the building. Once or twice his eyelids fluttered
as though he were about to regain consciousness, but he did not seem to
possess sufficient strength to accomplish that end.

Two doctors hastily took him in charge, Sergeant Riley left word that
he should be summoned the instant the patient was able to talk, and
then Bob ran the car around to police headquarters. Sergeant Riley
invited them all into his office and they discussed what their next
move should be.

A band passed by the door, several men in uniform followed behind on
their way to the city square where they were to make speeches in order
to urge more enlistments in the army and navy. Crowds of enthusiastic
people trailed the procession, and Bob could not help wondering if the
people realized that danger threatened the country from within as well
as from without.

Presently the car bearing the three detectives arrived at headquarters.
They reported that nearby farmers had come to the scene of the fire,
which was now in such condition that no harm could come from it. The
farmers had promised to watch over the smouldering ruins, for ruins were
now all that remained of the old house.

Donovan once again related his story and then went off in search of a
doctor to care for his burns.

"It's bad business, Sergeant," said Mr. Cook.

"It is," Riley agreed. "I'd like to get me hands on some of them
fellows."

"Seems queer that they should have blown up one of their own men."

"'Twas probably a mistake. Perhaps they saw us coming and were in such a
hurry that our friend Wernberg had no time to get away."

"But look here," protested Bob. "Don't you remember what Donovan said
that Mr. Wernberg said when he burst into the room?"

"He said, 'they tried to blow me up,'" quoted Mr. Cook.

"Exactly," exclaimed Bob. "Doesn't that seem queer to you?"

"He was probably left there by mistake, as the sergeant says,"
said Mr. Cook.

"But," Bob insisted, "the door was locked."

The men looked at one another blankly.

"I had forgotten that," said Sergeant Riley.

"Well," insisted Bob, "I'd like to have that part of it explained to
me. You don't suppose for a minute that Mr. Wernberg locked himself
in, do you?"

"I shouldn't think he would," Mr. Cook admitted. "But if he didn't do it,
who did? That's what I'd like to know."

"Mr. Wernberg wasn't the only man in the house, you know," said Bob.

"Who else was there?"

"Didn't Hugh and two of the detectives chase another man?"

"Yez mean the fake detective?" asked Sergeant Riley.

"I do."

"But wasn't he in the same gang? What use would it be to him to blow up
one of his own men?"

"I don't know," said Bob. "Still I don't believe that Mr. Wernberg locked
himself in and threw the key out of the window."

"Doesn't sound likely," the sergeant agreed. "I'd like to know why those
two men were enemies though. From all I can learn I should think they
were working for the same purpose. Why should that fake detective be so
eager to get that paper away from yez, and to get you boys away if he
wasn't up to something suspicious?"

"Don't ask me," exclaimed Bob. "It's too deep for me, and I get more and
more mixed up all the time."

"Well, I believe it's just as I said," continued Riley. "They were both
parts of the same crowd. There must have been evidence against them in
that house and they wanted to destroy it. Your fake detective blew it up
and Mr. Wernberg got caught in there by mistake."

"How do you explain the locked door?" asked Bob.

"I don't, but there must be some explanation for it."

"You think it was an accident, don't you?"

"I do," said Sergeant Riley firmly. "When Mr. Wernberg gets so he can
talk I'll bet he'll say the same thing."

Bob merely shrugged his shoulders. He did not think that the
sergeant's explanation was correct, but he could offer no better one
himself so he said nothing. After all it might be that in the hurry to
get away there was a mix up and Mr. Wernberg was left behind, locked in
the room. Bob had no doubt in his mind that Mr. Wernberg was a member
of a gang that was plotting against the United States. In his heart he
felt sure he was guilty.

On the other hand if the fake detective was not equally guilty he would
be surprised. Certainly no man would disguise himself in that way who
had honorable motives. Nor would any man run away as he had done, or
fire a pistol at real officers of the law unless he was engaged in some
evil doing.

How were these two men connected? That was the question that bothered
Bob. He felt that there was some connection between them, and yet why
should one of them be locked in the second story of a house while the
other one put a bomb under it and burned it up? Perhaps after all it was
as Sergeant Riley had suggested.

"Come on, boys; we'll go home," exclaimed Mr. Cook.

"Thank yez for coming with us," said Sergeant Riley, as Mr. Cook and the
two boys rose to their feet preparatory to leaving.

"Not at all," said Mr. Cook cordially. "If there is anything further we
can do to help, please call on us."

"I will," said the sergeant. "Thank yez again."

"And don't forget to let us know what Mr. Wernberg has to say."

"I won't."

They went out and got into the automobile and a few moments later were
home again.

"After you put away the car, I want you to take a note down to the
Wernbergs for me," said Mr. Cook to Bob as he mounted the steps of
the house.

"To tell them what happened to Mr. Wernberg?"

"Yes."

"I should think it would be better to go and see them."

"No doubt it would, but somehow I don't like the idea of having to go and
talk to Mrs. Wernberg about it. I suppose I'm a coward."

"I don't blame you," exclaimed Bob, and after he had returned the car to
its place in the garage he came back to the house to wait until his
father should have finished the note he was writing.

When it was ready Mr. Cook handed it to Bob, who at once started for the
Wernbergs' house, accompanied by Hugh. They discussed the recent turn of
events in the mystery and were somewhat at a loss as to what their next
move should be. Now that the old deserted house was a thing of the past
they did not know where to look for the seat of the conspiracy. They did
decide, however, that in so far as it was possible they would keep watch
on number twelve eighty-two Elm Street.

They mounted the front steps of the Wernbergs' house, and Bob advanced
toward the door bell. Before he rang it, however, he spied an envelope
lying at his feet, half concealed under the door mat. He stooped to pick
it up, and as he glanced at it he uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"Look, Hugh," he exclaimed.

The envelope was of plain white paper and addressed to Mr. Wernberg.
There was no street number on it, merely the name. This in itself was not
particularly odd, nor was it the cause of Bob's surprise. On the other
side of the envelope, however, was scrawled a drawing. It was the picture
of an alligator.

CHAPTER XVII

A MESSAGE

"Well, Hugh, what do you think about that?" demanded Bob.

Hugh looked blankly at the rude drawing on the back of the envelope.
"I don't know," he said slowly. "Why should they send Mr. Wernberg one
of these?"

"Unless it's a message from one member of the gang to another."

"But Mr. Wernberg is in the hospital."

"The others may not know that."

"That's true," Hugh agreed. "This handwriting is the same as that on the
messages that came to your father and to Heinrich too."

"I know it, and the same as in the list we found in the old house."

"What do you suppose the alligator stands for?"

"I've no idea. Why did they steal Percy?"

"Anyway we'd better ring the bell and deliver our message. We can't stand
out here on the porch all day, you know."

Bob pushed the electric bell, and almost instantly the front door was
opened by Frank Wernberg. It would seem as if he had been behind the door
waiting all the time. His close-cropped light hair bristled fiercely, and
his nose was still slightly swollen; his chin also was still raw where
Bob had planted his fist the day before. Bob thought how much longer ago
than that it seemed; so many things had happened in the last two days.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Frank brusquely.

Bob and Hugh had been so surprised by the sudden opening of the door that
for a moment neither one of them replied.

"What do you want?" exclaimed Frank.

"We've got a letter for your mother," said Bob.

Frank glared at them under lowering brows. "Who from?" he asked.

"That's for her to find out," said Bob. "It's addressed to her you see."

Frank snatched the letter from Bob's outstretched hand, and made as if he
was about to go in and shut the door.

"Wait a minute," exclaimed Hugh. "Here's another."

"What kind of a joke are you trying to play on me?" cried Frank angrily.

"None at all," said Hugh. "This one is for your father."

Frank grew red in the face, "If this is a joke I swear you'll be sorry
for it," he exclaimed hotly.

"It's no joke at all," said Hugh. "We found this letter lying here under
the mat. I was just going to hand it to you."

Frank took the letter from Hugh and looked at it suspiciously. Then he
turned it over and looked at the back of it. Suddenly he turned pale.

Bob and Hugh, watching him closely, noticed this fact, and Bob, suddenly
plucking up courage, determined to speak of it.

"What does that alligator mean, Frank?" he asked.

The color rushed back into Frank's face. He looked as though he were
going to run. He swallowed hard two or three times, choked, and then
swallowed again. "I don't know," he blurted out finally, and stepping
inside slammed the door shut in the faces of the two boys.

Hugh looked at Bob and smiled. "Frank was certainly glad to see us,
wasn't he?" he said sarcastically.

"I should say so," Bob agreed. "Let's go home."

They went down the steps and walked slowly in the direction of the
Cook home.

"Frank's a queer fellow," said Hugh finally.

"He certainly is," Bob agreed.

"Do you think he knows what has happened to his father?"

"I doubt it. I don't believe he would have been so surly if he had
known."

"What do you think about the alligator?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Bob. "It must mean something though, and
Frank must know what it is. Did you see how pale he got when he saw it!"

"Maybe it's the sign of some secret society like the Black Hand, or the
Ku Klux Klan, or something like that."

"Still I can't understand why they should send a warning to Mr. Wernberg
if he is a member of the gang."

"It may not have been a warning," said Hugh. "Perhaps it was just a
message of some kind or another."

"Then why should Frank have been so scared when he saw it?"

"Don't ask me. I'm getting more mixed up every minute."

They turned into the Cooks' yard and slowly approached the house. A man
and woman were just disappearing around the corner.

"Who are they?" Hugh inquired.

"Lena, the cook, and one of her beaux," said Bob.

"I thought Heinrich was in love with her."

"He is," laughed Bob, "but he has a rival, and that's the man."

"What's his name?"

"Karl Hoffmann."

"Another German," said Hugh soberly.

"Say, Hugh," laughed Bob, "you certainly are suspicious. You suspect good
old Lena, and now you suspect the man with her because he has a German
name. Why, that man Hoffmann has worked for father for years, and father
thinks the world of him."

"That doesn't mean he may not be mistaken," Hugh insisted.

"Why, father has even selected him as one of the guards for the factory,"
said Bob. "I guess that shows how much confidence he has in him."

"But suppose Lena is disloyal," exclaimed Hugh. "If Karl Hoffmann is in
love with her there's no telling what she might get him to do."

"But Lena is not disloyal," said Bob peevishly. He was becoming tired of
Hugh's constant slurs against the people whom his father employed.

"Well, I'd watch them all," said Hugh.

Bob offered no further comment. He could not convince Hugh that his
suspicions were unfounded so he decided there could be no use in arguing
with him. They entered the house and found Mr. Cook seated in the
library alone.

"Did you deliver my note?" he asked.

"We did," replied Bob.

"Who came to the door?"

"Frank," and Bob related their experiences to his father. Mr. Cook was
much interested and puzzled by the manner in which Frank had acted when
he saw the drawing of the alligator on the back of the envelope.

"We thought perhaps it might be the sign of some secret society,"
said Hugh.

"Possibly so," agreed Mr. Cook. "Let's see; the same sign was on the
paper you found in the old house, Heinrich got a note with the
picture on it, and now this letter you picked up on the Wernbergs'
porch had it too."

"And the handwriting was the same as on that postal card you got this
morning," said Bob.

"I didn't see any picture on that though."

"No," agreed Bob. "Neither did I."

"I threw the card away," said Mr. Cook. "I was afraid your mother might
find it and worry."

"Perhaps there won't be any more trouble, now that Mr. Wernberg is out of
the way," suggested Bob. "If he was the leader of the gang, his burns
will keep him in the hospital and out of mischief for some time to come."

"You didn't hear what happened this afternoon then?" asked his father.

"No, what?" demanded Bob and Hugh in one breath.

"You remember the railroad bridge, don't you?"

"I guess we'll never forget that, will we, Hugh?" exclaimed Bob. "You
don't mean that they tried to blow it up again?"

"Well, it looks so," said Mr. Cook. "One of the guards on the bridge this
afternoon saw a man coming down the river in a rowboat. He called to him
to halt, but the man kept right on. The guard challenged him three times,
but as the man gave no answer he fired at him."

"Did he kill him?" demanded Bob excitedly.

"No," said Mr. Cook, "he didn't try to kill him. He just wanted to scare
him, and when he fired the man jumped out of the boat into the water. The
guard hurried down to the bank of the river, but the man had scrambled
ashore and run off; you know it's quite a long distance from where the
railroad tracks cross the bridge down to the water. The guard got a long
pole and waded out into the river after the boat. He caught it finally
and when he had hauled it ashore he found it was loaded with dynamite. Of
course no one knows, but they think he planned to blow up the bridge."

"Whew!" exclaimed Hugh. "The man got away, you say?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Couldn't the guard see what he looked like?"

"Yes, he did see that, and here is the interesting part."

"What do you mean?"

"Why," said Mr. Cook, "the man was rather slight, weighing perhaps a
hundred and fifty pounds and he had a close-cropped black mustache."

"The fake detective!" exclaimed Bob. "Was that who it was?"

"The description fits him, doesn't it?"

"Yes," agreed Hugh, "but he was out at the old house this afternoon. How
could he be on the river at the same time?"

"He was out at the old house early this afternoon," said Mr. Cook. "This
episode at the bridge happened only about an hour ago."

"He must have hurried right down there," exclaimed Bob. "When he realized
that the police were on his trail he probably decided he had no time to
lose, and that's why he dared try such a thing in broad daylight."

"Where did you hear about it, Mr. Cook?" inquired Hugh.

"Sergeant Riley just told me over the telephone; I had called him up to
inquire how Mr. Wernberg was getting along."

"How is he?" asked Bob.

"Pretty bad yet; once in a while he recovers consciousness, but only
for a few minutes. Besides he suffers so from his burns he can't do
any talking."

"And meanwhile his gang keeps on working," said Hugh.

"Is that fake detective part of his gang?" said Bob. "He's the one who
blew him up."

"I don't know," exclaimed Hugh in despair. "We just go 'round and 'round
in circles and don't seem to get anywhere at all."

"But the fact remains, doesn't it, boys," inquired Mr. Cook, "that
whether we know who the gang is, and what the relations are between the
two gangs--if there are two--that somebody is hard at work plotting
against this country? Also they are becoming bolder for they know that
their time is short; sooner or later they are bound to be caught."

"You're afraid for your factory to-night, aren't you, father?" asked Bob.

"I am, indeed," said Mr. Cook.

Bob was on the point of asking if he and Hugh might not help guard it
when the telephone rang and his father was called away to answer it.

CHAPTER XVIII

KARL HOFFMANN

"Let's go down and talk to Heinrich," exclaimed Bob when his father
left the room.

"Aren't you going to ask your father if we can stand guard to-night?"

"Wait till after dinner. I'll ask him then."

"Do you think he'll let us?"

"I guess so. It depends on how badly he needs us."

They went out, and just at the corner of the porch met Karl Hoffmann. He
had said good-by to Lena and was on his way home. Bob knew him well, as
he did most of his father's employees, for much of his spare time was
spent down at the factory. Furthermore, on account of Lena, Hoffmann was
a frequent visitor in the Cook home.

He was a big, fine looking fellow of about forty. He had black hair and a
piercing black eye, a typical Prussian, for it was from that province in
Germany that his parents had migrated some twenty-five years previously.
He was a powerful man, standing nearly six feet in height, and not yet
showing any tendency towards stoutness, so common among Germans.

"Hello, Karl," cried Bob cheerily.

Hoffmann stopped short. His face had been drawn into a scowl as he strode
along, and he had been deeply engrossed in his own thoughts. Bob had
often seen him that way after talking with Lena, however. She was
something of a flirt and received lightly her admirers' advances. Many a
time both Heinrich and Karl had been driven almost to desperation by the
manner in which she treated them. Neither did they like each other,
because they were rivals.

"Hello there, Bob," he exclaimed, his face brightening. Bob had always
been a marked favorite of his, and many a thing he had showed him about
the machinery at the factory.

"You look mad," said Bob.

"I was sort of mad," said Karl. "I was worried."

"Anything I can do for you?" Bob inquired, nudging Hugh with his elbow.
He loved to tease both Karl and Heinrich about their love affair.

"No, thanks," replied Karl seriously. "It will be all right I hope."

"I hear you're making ammunition down at the factory," said Bob.

"Yes."

"Keeps you pretty busy, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does. We're going to work both a night and day shift
next week."

"You want to watch out for some of these bomb plotters," said Bob. "There
are a lot of them around here, I understand."

"That so?" exclaimed Karl. "I hadn't heard of any."

"Well, they're here all right."

"We have the plant guarded, you know."

"I know it. It's a good thing too."

"I think it's unnecessary," said Karl. "I told your father so, too."

"You're more of an optimist than he is, I guess," laughed Bob. "He's
heard a lot of things that have made him sort of nervous."

"That so?" demanded Karl. "I wonder what they were?"

"I don't know," Bob lied. He thought that if his father wanted to tell
his employees any details he would probably do so himself.

Just then Hugh plucked his sleeve. "Look, Bob," he exclaimed. "Here comes
Frank in to see you."

Bob swung around just in time to see Frank Wernberg on a bicycle turning
into the driveway. He rode a few yards and then suddenly turned around
and rode out again. Coming to the street once more he dismounted from his
bicycle, and gazed back at the Cooks' house as if he was debating
whether he should go in or not. Finally, however, he seemed to decide
against that course and jumping on his wheel rode off down the street.

"He lost his nerve," exclaimed Hugh. "You ought to have called to him."

"A fine chance of that," snorted Bob. "If he wants to he can come in here
and see me, but I won't run after him."

"Who was that boy?" asked Karl curiously.

"Frank Wernberg," said Bob.

"Wernberg?" exclaimed Karl. "Does his father live down on the
corner here?"

"Yes."

"I don't like that man," said Karl soberly. "I hope he's not a friend
of yours."

"He is not," exclaimed Bob warmly. "What do you know about him, Karl?"

"Nothing much; I just don't trust him."

"No one seems to like him," laughed Bob. "I guess he won't bother us for
some time to come though now."

"Why not?" demanded Karl quickly.

"He's sick."

"What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know," said Bob evasively. He suddenly remembered that probably
he had no right to talk about what they had done that day. "All I know is
that he's in the hospital."

"Serves him right," exclaimed Karl. "That's a good place for him and for
all of his same kind."

If Hugh had had any lingering doubts as to whether or not Karl was loyal
they were now dissipated. If Mr. Wernberg was implicated in German plots
against the United States, certainly no man who sympathized with him
would hate him as Karl Hoffmann plainly did.

"We may come down and help you guard the factory to-night, Karl," said
Bob. "You'll be there, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll be there," said Karl. "I wish you wouldn't come though."

"Why not!"

"Suppose something should happen and you got hurt?"

"I thought you said there was no danger."

"I don't think there is, but I know your father doesn't agree with me,
and if something should happen to you, just think how badly he'd feel."

"We want to help though," insisted Bob.

"Let the men who are paid for it do the guarding."

"But it's my father's plant," said Bob. "You don't think I want anything
to happen to it if I can help it, do you?"

"If he wants you to come, all right," said Karl. "Still you take my
advice and stay home."

He said good-by to the boys and went off toward his house. He had to be
at the factory early and wanted his supper before he went on duty.

"Well, Hugh?" demanded Bob after Karl had gone. "What do you think of
him?"

"Oh, he's all right," said Hugh.

"Do you think he would be disloyal?"

"No, I guess any man who hates Mr. Wernberg as much as he does can't be
pro-German. Still he was funny about not wanting us at the factory
to-night."

"I know why that was," exclaimed Bob. "He thinks we're just a couple of
kids and would only be in everybody's way."

"I guess so," Hugh agreed. "He seemed like a nice fellow all right."

"He is, but Heinie doesn't think so. Let's go ask him about Karl now, and
I'll guarantee you'll see some fun. Heinie gets mad the minute you
mention his name."

"He's jealous of him, isn't he?"

"He surely is. Lena likes Karl better than she does him, I think, and I
guess Heinie knows it. That's why he doesn't like Karl."

"Still I don't blame Lena," observed Hugh. "Karl is certainly
better looking."

They found Heinrich seated on a chair in the garage busily counting over
a large pile of bills. When the boys appeared he showed the same
embarrassment he had when Bob had surprised him at the same work before.

"The rich man again," laughed Bob, but Heinrich said nothing.

"Any trace of Percy?" Bob inquired.

"No," said Heinrich sorrowfully. "I guess he iss gone."

"We've just been talking to Karl Hoffmann," said Bob. "You don't suppose
he could have stolen him, do you?"

Immediately Heinrich's manner changed. He rose to his feet angrily, while
Bob nudged Hugh. Heinrich became pale with rage.

"That scoundrel!" he stammered. "I would not be surprised if he would
steal poor Percy. He iss mean and low enough to do anything."

"Why, Heinie," said Bob mildly. "I always thought Karl was a fine
fellow."

"He iss a low down snake!" cried Heinrich. "I would not trust that fellow
mit two cents."

"Lena likes him," said Bob.

Heinrich became madder than before at this remark. He stuttered with
rage, and advancing toward Bob shook his clenched fist in his face. "Sure
she like him," he cried. "Why not? He gives her presents all the time and
it iss for that that she like him. She knows what a low down cur he iss,
for I have told her so. Only because he has money and can give her
presents does she like him. But I will show her!"

"What are you going to do?" demanded Bob, somewhat alarmed by the
violence of Heinrich's manner.

"I buy her presents now," exclaimed Heinrich. "You see that?" he
demanded, pulling the roll of bills out of his pocket. "You see that?" he
repeated. "Well, I got some money now, and I show her who can buy nice
presents. She like me better than Hoffmann when I get more money than
he." Heinrich looked at the bills held in his fist, and then jammed them
back fiercely into his pocket.

"Where'd you get all the money?" asked Bob. "You didn't draw it out of
the savings bank, did you?"

"No," exclaimed Heinrich. "I earn it."

"Working for father?"

"No, for Mr. Wernberg."

"What!" exclaimed Bob, completely taken by surprise. He and Hugh looked
at each other in astonishment. This was a new turn of events.

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