I Spy | Page 6

not my information always reliable?" interpolated the
Secret Service agent.
"So it has proved," acknowledged his chief cordially, but a mark was
mentally registered against the Herr Captain. German bureaucracy does
not tolerate presumption from a subordinate. "And owing to your
excellent record, you have been selected for a most delicate mission."
"Under the same conditions?"
"The Imperial Government cannot be questioned," retorted his chief,
his anger rising.
"I am different from other operatives." A puff of cigarette smoke
wreathed upward from the speaker's lips. "A free-lance."
"And you have been given a free hand. We have not inquired into your
methods of procuring information, being content with the result."
"And does not the result justify not only your confidence but
promotion?"
The Herr Chief of the Secret Service considered before replying; then
he answered with a question.
"Have you been to Ireland?"
The Secret Service agent smiled grimly as he took from his pocket a
book of cigarette papers. Counting them over, he selected the
seventeenth paper, and passed it to his companion, who examined the
small blank sheet with interest. "Just a moment," and the young man
again slipped his hand into a vest pocket, this time bringing out a nickel
flashlight. Pressing his thumb on the switch he held the glass bulb

against the rice paper. In a few minutes a faint tracing appeared on the
blank page, which grew brighter as the rays of light generated more
heat.
"Hold it a moment," said the Herr Chief of the Secret Service. "Keep it
over the bulb," and taking out his notebook he made several entries,
then closed it with a snap.
"Finished?" As he asked the question, the Secret Service agent replaced
his pocket flashlight, drew out his tobacco pouch, poured a little in the
rice paper, and proceeded to roll the cigarette with practiced fingers.
"About Sheerness?" questioned the Herr Chief of the Secret Service.
"All is arranged."
"Good." The Herr Chief of the Secret Service permitted himself to
settle back more comfortably on the roomy seat so that he faced his
companion. In the closed and semi-darkened limousine there was no
danger of their conversation being overheard.
"I reserved for myself, Herr Captain," said the Herr Chief slowly, "the
pleasure of informing you that your valuable services to the Kaiser and
the Fatherland"--the Secret Service agent raised his hat--"are
recognized. The Cross may yet be yours."
"How can I express my gratitude?" stammered the Secret Service agent.
"By not jumping to hasty conclusions," smiled his chief. "Never again
question your orders."
"Be just," protested the Secret Service agent warmly. "I have risked my
life daily for the Kaiser and the Fatherland in a hostile country. There
have been hours which I do not care to remember." The speaker's tone
grew husky. "Some day--a short shift; and I must make provision for
another."
"I understood you were not married?"

There was a barely perceptible pause. "Spies do not marry, sir."
"And if a Secret Service agent has a healthy regard for his own safety,
he is careful of serious entanglements," cautioned his chief. "However,
judging by your past work, I believe you are quite able to take care of
yourself. Thanks to the warnings and information of your organization
we have been able to meet some of the Allies' contemplated concerted
attacks, and your information as to the sailing of transports and the
movements of ammunition trains has been of inestimable service."
"Do you still wish me to keep up this particular work?"
"No." The Herr Chief of the Secret Service leaned forward in his
earnestness. "This war has demonstrated again and again that victory
goes with the heaviest artillery."
"True! Antwerp, one of the strongest fortified cities on the Continent,
crumpled up before our siege guns," broke in his companion.
The older man paid no attention to the interruption, but continued
gravely: "Hand to hand conflict and cavalry charges are a thing of the
past. We shell out the enemies' trenches from batteries six to twelve
miles away. All this you already know; I repeat it now to explain what I
am about to say. We are in possession of the mining district of France,
they are getting hard pushed for ammunition; England's supply is not
inexhaustible; Russia cannot half arm her fighting forces. They one and
all are appealing to the manufacturing capitalists of the United States to
furnish them with arms and ammunition."
"And with success," dryly.
The Herr Chief of the Secret Police frowned. "It must be stopped. You
are to go to America--"
"I?"
"Yes, at once. You have a genius for organization; your work in
England proved that. Let us know what merchant vessels and passenger

steamers are carrying munitions of war. Be sure, doubly sure, that your
information is correct, for we