In Secret | Page 4

or electric stoves;
or migrated to comfortable hotels. And bachelors took to their clubs.
That is where Clifford Vaux went from his chilly bachelor lodgings. He
fled in a taxi, buried cheek-deep in his fur collar, hating all cold, all
coal companies, and all Kaisers.
In the Racquet Club he found many friends similarly self-dispossessed,
similarly obsessed by discomfort and hatred. But there seemed to be
some steam heat there, and several open fires; and when the wheatless,
meatless meal was ended and the usual coteries drifted to their usual
corners, Mr. Vaux found himself seated at a table with a glass of
something or other at his elbow, which steamed slightly and had a long
spoon in it; and he presently heard himself saying to three other
gentlemen: "Four hearts."
His voice sounded agreeably in his own ears; the gentle glow of a
lignum-vitae wood fire smote his attenuated shins; he balanced his
cards in one hand, a long cigar in the other, exhaled a satisfactory whiff
of aromatic smoke, and smiled comfortably upon the table.
"Four hearts," he repeated affably. "Does anybody--"

The voice of Doom interrupted him:
"Mr. Vaux, sir--"
The young man turned in his easy-chair and beheld behind him a club
servant, all over silver buttons.
"The telephone, Mr. Vaux," continued that sepulchral voice.
"All right," said the young man. "Bill, will you take my cards?"--he laid
his hand, face down, rose and left the pleasant warmth of the card-room
with a premonitory shiver.
"Well?" he inquired, without cordiality, picking up the receiver.
"Mr. Vaux?" came a distinct voice which he did not recognise.
"Yes," he snapped, "who is it?"
"Miss Erith."
"Oh--er--surely--surely! GOOD-evening, Miss Erith!"
"Good-evening, Mr. Vaux. Are you, by any happy chance, quite free
this evening?"
"Well--I'm rather busy--unless it is important--hum--hum!--in line of
duty, you know--"
"You may judge. I'm going to try to secure that code-book to-night."
"Oh! Have you called in the--"
"No!"
"Haven't you communicated with--"
"No!"

"Why not?"
"Because there's too much confusion already--too much petty jealousy
and working at cross-purposes. I have been thinking over the entire
problem. You yourself know how many people have escaped through
jealous or over-zealous officers making premature arrests. We have six
different secret-service agencies, each independent of the other and
each responsible to its own independent chief, all operating for the
Government in New York City. You know what these agencies are--the
United States Secret Service, the Department of Justice Bureau of
Investigation, the Army Intelligence Service, Naval Intelligence
Service, Neutrality Squads of the Customs, and the Postal Inspection.
Then there's the State Service and the police and several other services.
And there is no proper co-ordination, no single head for all these
agencies. The result is a ghastly confusion and shameful inefficiency.
"This affair which I am investigating is a delicate one, as you know.
Any blundering might lose us the key to what may be a very dangerous
conspiracy. So I prefer to operate entirely within the jurisdiction of our
own Service--"
"What you propose to do is OUTSIDE of our province!" he interrupted.
"I'm not so sure. Are you?"
"Well--hum--hum!--what is it you propose to do to-night?"
"I should like to consult my Chief of Division."
"Meaning me?"
"Of course."
"When?"
"Now!"
"Where are you just now, Miss Erith?"

"At home. Could you come to me?"
Vaux shivered again.
"Where d-do you live?" he asked, with chattering teeth.
She gave him the number of a private house on 83d Street just off
Madison Avenue. And as he listened he began to shiver all over in the
anticipated service of his country.
"Very well," he said, "I'll take a taxi. But this has Valley Forge stung to
death, you know."
She said:
"I took the liberty of sending my car to the Racquet Club for you. It
should be there now. There's a foot-warmer in it."
"Thank you so much," he replied with a burst of shivers. "I'll b-b-be
right up."
As he left the telephone the doorman informed him that an automobile
was waiting for him.
So, swearing under his frosty breath, he went to the cloak-room, got
into his fur coat, walked back to the card-room and gazed wrathfully
upon the festivities.
"What did my hand do, Bill?" he inquired glumly, when at last the
scorer picked up his pad and the dealer politely shoved the pack toward
his neighbour for cutting.
"You ruined me with your four silly hearts," replied the man who had
taken his cards. "Did you think you were playing coon-can?"
"Sorry, Bill. Sit in for me, there's a good chap. I'm not likely to be back
to-night--hang it!"
Perfunctory regrets were offered by the others, already engrossed in

their new hands; Vaux glanced unhappily at the tall, steaming glass,
which had been untouched when he