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BOB COOK AND THE GERMAN SPY

BY PAUL G. TOMLINSON

Author of "To the Land of the Caribou," "The Trail of Black Hawk," etc.

PREFACE

Every one knows that Germany is famous for her spy system. Scarcely a land on earth but is, or was, honeycombed with the secret agents of the German Government. Ever since this country began to send war munitions to the Allies an organized band of men has plotted and schemed against the peace and welfare of the United States. When America itself declared war their efforts naturally were redoubled. Our Secret Service has been wonderfully efficient, but it has not been humanly possible to apprehend every spy and plotter at once. It is a big task to unravel all the secrets of this great German organization.

We are at war with Germany now and it is the duty of every American to help his government in every way he can. This book is the story of how two boys, too young to enlist, did "their bit" right in their own home town. It is not an exaggerated tale, but presents in story form what has actually happened all around us. Due allowance is made for the fact that the most of our citizens of German birth and descent are good Americans. No one whose motto is, "America First," need fear offense from anything contained in the story of "Bob Cook and The German Spy." Two boys loved their country and did their duty by it. May we all do as well.

PAUL G TOMLINSON.

Elizabeth, N. J.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I WAR IS DECLARED II THE SECRET SERVICE AT WORK III BOB HAS A FIGHT IV HEINRICH AND PERCY V ON THE BRIDGE VI HUGH HAS AN IDEA VII IN THE NIGHT VIII A STRANGE OCCURRENCE IX ANOTHER SURPRISE X BOB IS MYSTIFIED XI THE DESERTED HOUSE XII TRAPPED XIII MISTAKEN IDENTITY XIV AN EXPEDITION XV FIRE XVI MORE COMPLICATIONS XVII A MESSAGE XVIII KARL HOFFMANN XIX A DISCUSSION XX ANOTHER SUSPECT XXI ON THE STREET XXII BOB ACTS QUICKLY XXIII UNDER THE LIGHT XXIV AT THE FACTORY XXV A STRUGGLE IN THE DARK XXVI AN EXPEDITION IS PLANNED XXVII A RAID AND A SURPRISE XXVIII CONCLUSION

BOB COOK AND THE GERMAN SPY

CHAPTER I

WAR IS DECLARED

"Well," said Mr. Cook, "I see that the United States has declared war on
Germany. I am glad of it, too."

"Why, Robert!" exclaimed Mrs. Cook. "How can you say such a thing? Just think of all the fine young American boys who may be killed."

"I realize all that," said her husband. "At the same time I agree with President Wilson that the German Government has gone mad, and as a civilized nation it is our duty to defend civilization. The only way left for us is to go in and give Germany a good beating."

"And I shall enlist and get a commission," cried Harold, their eldest boy. "I am twenty-three years old. I have been at Plattsburg two summers, and I have done a lot of studying; I know I can pass the examinations."

"What will you be if you do pass?" inquired his father. "A lieutenant?"

"Well," said Harold, "a second-lieutenant."

"I wish I could enlist," sighed Bob.

"Huh!" snorted his older brother. "You can't enlist. What military training have you had? And besides, you're only seventeen; they wouldn't take you."

The Cook family were seated at the dinner table, mother, father, and three children, the two boys referred to above and a young daughter, Louise, just thirteen years of age. Congress had that day declared war on Germany, and naturally that was the one thing in every one's mind. Crowds in front of the newspaper offices had greeted the news from Washington with wild enthusiasm, patriotic parades had been organized, and from almost every house and office streamed the Stars and Stripes.

Bob Cook had been among the crowds, and his young mind and heart were fired with patriotism and enthusiasm. A company of soldiers from the Thirty-ninth Infantry called out the week before had caused him to cheer and hurl his cap high in the air, while all the time he envied the men in khaki.

"I hate to think of you enlisting, Harold," said Mrs. Cook sadly.

"Why?" demanded Harold earnestly. "Don't you think it is my duty to offer my services to my country! I'm free; no one is dependent upon me."

"I know," agreed his mother, "but somehow I don't like to have my boy go over to France and be killed. Let some one else go."

"Suppose every one said that," exclaimed Harold. "We shouldn't have much of an army and our country wouldn't be very well defended, would it?"

"Let him go," said Mr. Cook quietly to his wife. "I don't want him killed any more than you do, but there are some things worse than that. Suppose he was afraid to go; you'd be ashamed of your son then I know."

"How do you know I'm going to get killed anyway?" demanded Harold. "Every one that goes to war doesn't get killed. At any rate it's sort of gruesome to sit up and hear your family talk as if you were just as good as dead already."

"True enough," laughed Mr. Cook. "When does your examination come?"

"Next Monday."

"Will you wear a uniform?" asked Louise.

"Why, certainly," said Harold, swelling out his chest at the thought.

"I wish I could enlist," sighed Bob.

"You're too young, I told you," said Harold scornfully.

"I'll bet I could fight as well as you could," said Bob stoutly. "Besides, I'm big for my age and maybe if I told them I was older than I really am they might take me."

"Don't do that, Bob," said his father earnestly. "Don't lie about it."

"They'd find you out anyway," exclaimed Harold. "You can't fool these recruiting officers."

"I'd like to get to France and see the trenches, and see the soldiers, and the guns, and the fighting," Bob insisted.

"Do you realize that Harold may never get to France even if he does enlist and get a commission?" remarked Mr. Cook.

"Why not?"

"First of all on account of Mexico."

"Do you think the Mexicans will make trouble?" inquired Harold.

"I shouldn't be at all surprised," said Mr. Cook. "If they think we have our hands full with Germany those bandits may stir up a fuss and then troops would have to be sent down there."

"And Harold might be one of them," laughed Bob. "That would be a joke, wouldn't it?"

"I don't see why," cried Harold warmly. "If troops were needed in Mexico and I was one of those sent, I'd be serving my country just the same."

"Of course you would," his father agreed. "It might be though that you wouldn't even get out of High Ridge."

"You think they'd keep us right here?" demanded Harold, his face falling.

"Possibly," said Mr. Cook. "It might be that you'd have your hands full too."

"Do you think the Germans could land an army and invade this country?" exclaimed Mrs. Cook in alarm.

"Not for a minute do I think that," said Mr. Cook.

"Then what do you mean?"

"Aren't there lots of Germans in the country already?"

"Do you think they'd make trouble?"

"Most of them would be peaceable enough, but some of them would only be too glad to blow up some factories, or railroads, or things like that."

"They've been doing that for the last two years," said Harold, "but I don't see what there is in High Ridge."

"There's my company," said Mr. Cook. He was president of the High Ridge
Steel Company.

"But you don't make war supplies," exclaimed Mrs. Cook. "Why should they want to blow up your plant?"

"Up until now we haven't manufactured war supplies," Mr. Cook corrected. "This afternoon, however, we took a contract from the Government to make high explosive shells. And, what is more, we are going to do it at cost price so we shan't make a cent out of it."

"I think that's fine," said Bob enthusiastically. "Perhaps you'll have to stay home and guard father's factory, Harold."

"Do you think there'll be any danger to it?" Harold asked his father.

"I don't know," replied Mr. Cook. "There are a lot of rabid Germans in
High Ridge and you can't be sure just what they will do."

The telephone rang at that moment and Bob excused himself to go into the next room and answer it. Dinner was now over and the rest of his family shortly followed. As they entered the sitting-room where the telephone was located, Bob was in the act of hanging up the receiver.

"Who was it, Bob?" asked his mother.

"I don't know; it sounded like a German's voice. At any rate he had the wrong number. He said, 'Iss dis Mr. Vernberg?'"

"Oh, Wernberg," exclaimed Mr. Cook. "He's the man who moved into that house down on the corner about two years ago. Karl Wernberg is his full name and he's one of the worst of the Germans; he used to be an officer in the German army, I understand."

"What do you mean 'he's one of the worst of the Germans'?" asked Harold.

"Why, the way he talks against the United States and for Germany. He's made all his money here, too."

"What's his business?"

"Some kind of chemicals, I believe."

"Perhaps he's making bombs," laughed Harold, and the rest of the family joined in the laugh. That is, all but Bob, who took the suggestion seriously, and his heart thumped a beat faster at the thought.

In fact, as he went to bed that night his mind was filled with thoughts of spies, and plotters, and the hundred and one other things connected with the war that he and his family had discussed that evening. He went to the closet and took out the .22 caliber rifle that he owned; it was in good condition and Bob assured himself that he had plenty of cartridges, though he knew so small a gun would be of but little use in time of trouble.

As he undressed he thought over the events of the day. Never had he experienced such excitement. War had been declared, and many of the young men, not much older than he, had enlisted. He, too, wanted to go in the worst way, but he knew that his father and brother were right when they said he would not be accepted.

"Why not?" muttered Bob to himself. "I'm big enough and strong enough too; I could stand it as well as most of those fellows, even if they are older. Besides I weigh a hundred and fifty-three and I'm five feet nine inches tall. Perhaps they won't take me because I've got light hair and blue eyes," he murmured bitterly. "They think I look like a German."

Stripped to the skin he stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. Certainly he was big and strong. He had always lived a clean, outdoor life, he had been active in athletics and right now was captain of the high school baseball team. The muscles played and rippled under his white skin, as he moved his lithe young body to and fro.

A few breathing exercises before he jumped into bed, and then he was under the covers. And all night long he dreamed of chasing big fat Germans up and down the streets, over fences, and across fields, and even up the steep sides of houses. Usually just as he had caught up with them he awoke. Most of all he dreamed he was pursuing Karl Wernberg, who was a middle-aged German and not hard to overtake. But Bob did not catch him because he always woke up too soon.

CHAPTER II

THE SECRET SERVICE AT WORK

The following morning Bob was in the trolley car on his way to school. The car was full, and every one was eagerly scanning a newspaper or discussing the war with his neighbor. Words of praise for the President were to be heard on all sides, and enthusiasm was everywhere in evidence. Old men wished they were young enough to enlist.

All at once Bob heard voices raised in dispute. The trouble was at the opposite end of the car, but he could hear plainly what was said.

"It is wrong, all wrong," exclaimed a florid-faced man with a light mustache, who plainly was of German blood. "What has Germany done to this country?"

"They've sunk our ships when they had no right to, and they've murdered our peaceful citizens," said the man next to him. "Isn't that enough?"

"They were forced to do it," the German insisted.

"Oh, no, they weren't," said his neighbor calmly. "Any one can play the game according to the rules if he wants to; there is never any excuse for dirty work."

"Germany wants peace with the United States," said the German loudly.

"Well, if they do, they take a strange method of showing it," replied the other man with a grim smile. "Personally it's my opinion that we've been patient with Germany far too long. Now they've forced war upon us and for my part I'm ready to go out and fight for my country."

Every one in the car was now listening to the discussion, and perhaps the most interested listener of all was young Robert Cook.

"Well, I won't fight for the United States!" exclaimed the big German, rising to his feet. "I won't fight for Germany either, but I'll fight all right." He started toward the door of the car, while Bob pondered over his last remark and wondered what it could mean.

As the German approached the door, a man dressed in a neat black suit and soft hat got up out of his seat. Bob was watching the German and also noticed this man, though not particularly; he did see that he had a square jaw and a determined look in his gray eyes.

The German started to crowd past the stranger who stood squarely in the aisle. "Don't be in such a hurry," said the man quietly. "You stay here."

"I want to get off this car," shouted the German angrily. "Get out of my way."

"I want you to come with me," said the man still in the same quiet tone.
As the German started to protest once more he drew back his coat slightly
and Bob saw the gleam of a badge on his coat. "Sit down," he said to the
German, who obeyed without further question.

There was a mild flurry of excitement in the car, and there were smiles of amusement on the faces of many of the passengers as they glanced at the German sitting meekly in the corner of the seat. He seemed entirely cowed now, and kept his eyes fixed upon the floor, save for an occasional look he stole at the secret service man standing in front of him. The latter seemed entirely at his ease and acted as if not a thing out of the ordinary had taken place.

Bob was greatly impressed, and looked with marked respect at the quiet-mannered detective standing near him. He wondered what it was all about, and his father's words of the evening before concerning plotters and spies came again to his mind. He wondered if he could join the secret service and help his country in that way. Then he remembered that he was only seventeen and sighed to think that there was probably less chance of that than there was of being taken into the army.

What was the detective going to do with the German, wondered Bob. The car was approaching the high school, and he would have to get off soon and he did not want to miss any of the drama. Suddenly he remembered the police station on the block adjoining the school building and decided that that must be the detective's destination. Bob decided to stay on the car long enough to see anyway.

They passed the high school, and sure enough, as they came to the next corner, the secret service agent motioned to the German to follow him out. Bob decided to go along. They got off the trolley car and entered the police station. Behind the desk sat the sergeant, a man named Riley, well known to Bob. The detective led his prisoner up to the rail.

"I want you to take care of this man for me, Sergeant," he said, at the same time displaying his badge.

"Certainly," said Sergeant Riley quickly. "Here, Donovan," he called to a policeman standing near by. "Take this man and lock him up."

Officer Donovan beckoned to the German who was standing sullenly by the side of the policeman; his face was white and his eyes gleamed wickedly while he opened and closed his hands nervously. He even started to protest, but before he could say anything Sergeant Riley quickly silenced him. Without further ado he joined the policeman, and together they disappeared through the door leading out to the room where the cells were located.

Satisfied that his prisoner was taken in charge, the secret service agent turned and without further ado left the building.

Bob was much excited and interested. "Who was that secret service man?" he inquired of the sergeant.

"Dunno," said Riley. "I never saw him before."

"He didn't even make a charge against the man," said Bob.

"I know it," said Riley. "He don't have to."

"I thought you couldn't lock up a man unless there was some charge against him," exclaimed Bob.

"We have orders to lock up every man them fellers bring in here," said Sergeant Riley. "We keep 'em here until we get word to do something else with 'em. It's not for us to ask questions, you know."

"Have you got any more here?" demanded Bob.

"That's the first; we have accommodations for seventy-five though."

"Whew," exclaimed Bob. "Do you think there'll be much trouble with the
Germans here in High Ridge?"

"Can't say. Some of them are a crazy lot. At any rate we're ready for 'em. And what are you doing here at this time o' day anyhow? You'll be late for school; your visiting hour here is usually in the afternoon."

"I saw that fellow on the trolley," Bob explained. "I wanted to see what happened to him."

"Well, you better run along," advised the sergeant. "Come in and see me later."

Bob hurried out and ran down the block toward the high school. His mind was not on his lessons, however. War was uppermost in his thoughts, and he still pondered over what his father had said the evening before, and the recent arrest of the German in the trolley car. Probably after all there was something in this scare about spies and plotters.

He arrived at school fifteen minutes late, but nothing was said to him. School discipline was greatly relaxed that morning and instead of recitations the first period, the principal gave a talk on patriotism and what the declaration of war would mean. He especially warned the pupils against acting differently toward any of their number who might be of German blood.

"They may be just as good and loyal citizens as we are," he said. "At any rate we must act as though they were until they convince us otherwise."

Bob considered this good advice, but he still thought of his father's words and his experience of that morning. "Suppose anything should happen to father's steel works," he thought. They were making shells for the Government and could afford to run no risks. "I'll see if I can be of any help in protecting them," he told himself.

He tried to concentrate his mind on his tasks, but it seemed hopeless. The words of the German in the trolley came back to him continually—"I won't fight for Germany. I won't fight for the United States either, but I'll fight all right." What could he have meant? Did he mean that he wouldn't try to enlist in either the German or American armies, but that he'd do his fighting on his own account? How could that be? Bob wondered if the fighting he would do would be for this country or Germany. If for this country, it seemed queer that the secret service officer should have arrested him. The thought of bombs returned insistently to Bob's mind.

Recess came at last and he sought out Hugh Reith, his best friend. Hugh was a boy of Bob's own age, almost exactly his size, and as they both liked to do the same things they were bosom companions. Bob was light and Hugh was dark, his hair was almost raven black, and his eyes a deep brown. He had large hands and several crooked fingers owing to the fact that he had broken them playing base ball. He was stronger than Bob, though not so agile or quick on his feet, and while he could defeat his light-haired friend in tests of strength he was not a match for him when it came to speed.

"What do you think of this war, Hugh?" Bob asked eagerly.

"I wish I could enlist," said Hugh.

"So do I, but I guess we can't."

"We're too young, I suppose. Isn't there anything we can do to help?"

"My father thinks we may have trouble with the Germans here in town. If anything starts you can be sure I'm going to get in it if possible."

"Say," exclaimed Hugh, "did you see young Frank Wernberg this morning when the principal was making his speech about patriotism?"

"No, what was he doing?"

"Oh, he was snickering and making side remarks to Jim Scott, and making himself generally objectionable."

"If I'd been Jim I'd have told him to keep quiet," said Bob warmly.

"That's just what he did do finally."

"Did he stop?"

"Oh, for a little while," said Hugh. "He was awful, I thought."

"You know," said Bob, "my father says that Mr. Wernberg is about the most rabid German in High Ridge. He's crazy on the subject."

"Who, your father?"

"No, Mr. Wernberg. He's crazy on the subject of Germany. He thinks it is the greatest country in the world and that every one in the United States is a fool or something."

"Why doesn't he go back to Germany then?" demanded Hugh angrily.

"That's what I—"

"Sh," hissed Hugh. "Here comes Frank Wernberg now."

CHAPTER III

BOB HAS A FIGHT

Frank Wernberg was a stocky, light-haired boy with blue eyes and a pink and white complexion; that is, it was usually pink and white, though this morning his face was flushed and red. His eyes had a glint in them not usually apparent and his mouth was drawn down at the corners into a scowl. His hair, close-cropped, seemed to bristle more than was its wont; in fact his usual mild-mannered appearance had given way to one of belligerency.

"Hello, Frank," said Bob pleasantly.

"Hello," said Frank shortly.

"What's the matter?" inquired Hugh. "You seem to have a grouch."

Something was in the air and the boys felt uneasy in one another's presence. Usually they laughed and joked incessantly, and Frank Wernberg was one of the jolliest boys in the school. He was inclined to be stout and like most fat people was full of fun as a rule. This morning, however, his demeanor was far from happy.

"Why shouldn't I have a grouch?" he demanded angrily. "I've just been talking to that chump, Jim Scott. He seems to think that any one who disagrees with him must be wrong."

Bob nudged Hugh. "What was the argument?" he asked.

"The war," said Frank bitterly. "I said I thought Germany was all right, and he tried to lecture me about it. Hasn't a fellow a right to his own opinion?"

"Sure he has," exclaimed Bob. "Any one can think Germany is all right if he wants to, but no one who is an American can side with Germany against the United States at a time like this."

"Who says they can't?" demanded Frank flaring up.

"I say so," exclaimed Bob.

"Who are you to tell others what they can do?"

"I'm an American, anyway."

"Well, I'm a better American than you are," cried Frank hotly.

"And you stand up for Germany now?"

"I do, because Germany is right and America is wrong."

The three boys were standing in one corner of the school yard, removed from all the others so that the rapidly rising tones of their voices passed unheard. Their faces were now white and their breath came fast. Hugh had taken no part in the argument thus far, but he stood shoulder to shoulder with Bob, prepared for any emergency.

"And what's more," exclaimed Frank, "this country was forced into war by a lot of men who want to make money out of it."

"You're crazy," said Bob.

"No, I'm not crazy either. Some of those men live right in this town too.
I guess you know who I mean all right."

"What do you mean?" demanded Bob in a tense voice. "Name somebody. I suppose the fact that Germany has murdered a lot of Americans has nothing to do with our going to war."

"Certainly not," said Frank. "It's the men who want to make money."

"Who says so?"

"I say so, and so does my father."

"Huh!" sniffled Bob. "Name one of the men."

"They may get fooled," said Frank darkly. "Something might happen to their factories and they'd lose money instead of making it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you know all right."

"He hasn't named anybody yet," Hugh reminded his friend.

"That's right," exclaimed Bob. "Who are they, Frank?"

"Well," said Frank, "one of the men who thinks he is going to make a lot of money but who may get fooled is—"

"Go on," urged Bob, as Frank hesitated.

"Your father!" snapped Frank suddenly.

Quick as a flash Bob's right arm shot out and his clenched fist caught Frank squarely on the nose. Hugh started forward as if to help his friend, but Bob waved him aside. "This is my affair," he panted.

Whatever else he was, Frank was no coward. Blood was already trickling from his nose and the force of the blow he had received brought tears to his eyes. He recovered himself almost immediately, however, and with head down rushed at Bob. Bob was waiting for him and sent a crushing blow to his opponent's jaw. Again Frank staggered back, but a moment later advanced for more.

He was more wary this time, however, and several of Bob's blows missed their mark. The boys danced about, each sparring for an opening. They were of almost equal size and weight, though Frank was probably a better boxer. Bob, however, was furiously though quietly angry, and convinced that the right was on his side had an advantage to that extent. Meanwhile the rest of the boys, attracted by the noise of the combat were running from all directions to get a close view of the fight. They quickly formed a ring around the two combatants and urged their favorites on. Most of them cheered for Bob, he being popular with all, while Frank had not so many friends.

Bob lowered his guard for an instant, and Frank was quick to take advantage of the opportunity offered. He dealt Bob a staggering blow directly over the left eye; a ring on his finger broke the skin and blood flowed into Bob's eyes, while a swelling appeared almost immediately. He felt no pain, however, and with a yell of rage he rushed at his opponent. He had thrown caution to the winds and consequently Frank drove home two more good stiff punches to Bob's wet and bleeding face. Nothing daunted Bob clinched and swaying back and forth for a moment they presently fell to the ground. Over and over in the dust they rolled, each one trying desperately to get his arms free. The crowd cheered wildly and moved back to give more room to the fighters.

Presently the spectators saw that Bob was on top. He was in better physical condition than Frank and this fact was beginning to count. Frank was short of wind and puffing hard. Bob sat astride him, holding him pinned to the earth with both knees while he pounded his head up and down on the ground.

"Lemme up," said Frank weakly.

Bob bumped him once or twice more for good measure. "Had enough?" he asked.

"Yes," gasped Frank, while the spectators yelled their approval.

Suddenly the cheering stopped and a gap appeared in the ranks of the onlookers. The principal of the school came running toward the spot where the fight had occurred.

"What does this mean?" he demanded, much out of breath.

The two fighters picked themselves up slowly. They were smeared with dirt and blood. Bob's collar was torn and Frank's coat was almost ripped from his back. Bob's left eye was half closed and rapidly turning black; Frank's nose was swollen and the skin all scraped off the side of his jaw.

"We had a fight, sir," said Bob.

"So I see," said the principal, while the crowd snickered.

"He started it," exclaimed Frank.

"I did not," cried Bob hotly, turning half way around as if he was considering pitching into his opponent again.

"We won't discuss that question here," said the principal. "The best thing for you two boys to do is to get cleaned up and then come and see me in my office."

He turned away, slowly followed by Bob and Frank and all the rest of the spectators. "Good boy, Bob," whispered Hugh in his friend's ear. "You did him up all right and he deserved it too." Many others also took occasion to show Bob that they heartily approved of what he had done.

A short time later Frank and Bob stood before Mr. Hewitt, the principal. He was a kindly man and well liked by all the boys, even if they did love to imitate the way he had of looking at them over his spectacles. He was always fair to every one and the boys knew they could expect to be treated justly by him at all times. They respected him and looked up to him.

"Well, boys," said Mr. Hewitt, "I'm sorry you had a difference of opinion."

"That's just what it was, sir," exclaimed Bob quickly.

"Haven't I a right to opinion?" demanded Frank.

"What is your opinion?" inquired Mr. Hewitt.

"Well," said Frank slowly, "I say that the United States is wrong about going to war with Germany."

Mr. Hewitt glanced at Frank over his spectacles. "I'm afraid I can't agree with you, Frank," he said. "I don't like war and I don't believe many of our people do either. There is a limit to any country's patience, however."

"Some people here want war," said Frank.

"Yes," exclaimed Bob. "He said that my father wanted war so he could make money out of it."

"He's making ammunition for the Government," Frank exclaimed.

"But at cost price," said Bob. "He will lose money if anything."

"I have always regarded Mr. Cook as one of our best citizens and a fine man," said Mr. Hewitt. "I think you must be wrong, Frank."

"I tried to convince him that he was," said Bob, stealing a sidelong glance at Frank's battered features. Mr. Hewitt also looked at Frank and a faint smile flitted across his face.

"People should be careful about what they do and say these days," he advised. "You are very wrong to talk against the United States, Frank."

"I only repeated what my father says," exclaimed Frank. "He knows."

"I'm sure he's mistaken this time," said Mr. Hewitt quietly. "I also hope he won't talk like that again; people's feelings are easily aroused in times of war and he might suffer harm."

Frank looked sullenly at the floor and said nothing. Bob held out his hand to him. "Let's shake hands," he said. "We all ought to work together now. I'll forget this morning if you will."

Frank made no move. "Come on, Frank," urged Mr. Hewitt. "Do as Bob says, and in the future try to remember that you were born in America, not in Germany. You were born here, weren't you?"

"No, sir," said Frank. "I was born in Germany."

"Well, at any rate remember that you are living in the United States. Shake hands and go back to your work, and I hope you will have no further trouble."

Frank somewhat reluctantly shook hands with Bob and they walked out of the principal's office together. At the door of the study room Frank turned to Bob. "I shook hands with you then because I had to," he snapped. "I warn you though, I'll never do it again, and you'll be sorry for what you did to me this morning. Yes, you and your whole family!"

Bob was completely taken aback by this sudden outburst but before he could make any reply Frank was gone. Bob walked slowly to his desk, carefully avoiding the glances of the many boys in the room who looked curiously at him and his black, swollen eye.

When school closed that afternoon he hurried away as quickly as he could, for he had no desire to discuss the matter with his schoolmates. Around the corner he waited for Hugh and together the two boys started homeward.

"What did Mr. Hewitt say?" asked Hugh.

Bob told him.

"Good for him," exclaimed Hugh. "What did Frank think of that?"

"He was mad," said Bob, and he told his friend of the threat Frank had made. Hugh was silent for some time.

"We must watch him pretty closely," he said at length.

"Yes," Bob agreed, "and his father too."

CHAPTER IV

HEINRICH AND PERCY

"Bob!" exclaimed Mrs. Cook as her son arrived home that afternoon. "What have you been doing to get that black eye?"

Bob related the story of his fight with Frank Wernberg. He did not tell her of the threat Frank had made against him and his "whole family," however, for he had no desire to cause any alarm. His mother listened with a troubled countenance.

"Oh, Bob," she said. "I wish you wouldn't fight like that."

"But he insulted the United States, and father too," Bob insisted.

"I know," she admitted. "Still I hate fighting so. One boy in the family is enough to worry about."

"Where is Harold?" exclaimed Bob.

"Down at the armory," said Mrs. Cook. "I wish it was all over."

"I wonder if I can go down and see him," said Bob eagerly.

"Perhaps," said his mother. "I don't know." She turned away and Bob hurried out of the house and turned his steps towards the garage. His plan was to get his bicycle and ride down to the armory. He entered the garage just in time to see Heinrich, the chauffeur, stuffing a large roll of bills into his pocket.

"Whew, Heinie!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get all the money?"

Heinrich seemed much embarrassed at being thus interrupted and colored violently. "Golly," said Bob, "I never saw so much money in all my life."

"Dot's not so much," said Heinrich. "Besides it iss mine."

"I didn't say it wasn't," laughed Bob.

Heinrich Muller was the Cooks' chauffeur. He was a German, as his name implies, but he had been in the United States for over twenty years and had originally come into the employ of the Cook family as a coachman. Then when the automobile had taken the place of the horse to such a large extent he had been converted into a chauffeur.

He was a mild mannered, quiet little man, and had always been a prime favorite with the children of the neighborhood. He could do wonderful things with a jackknife and the whistles, canes, swords and other toys he had made for the Cook children had often filled their friends with envy. He wore thick glasses with gold rims and was very bow-legged. He always said that his legs were crooked because he had ridden horseback so much when he was a young German cavalry trooper.

He was a skillful man with horses, and had never liked an automobile half as much. He loved all animals and they seemed to love him too. At the present time his pets consisted of a small woolly dog, an angora cat, a parrot, and an alligator. The last named pet he kept in an old wash tub, half full of water, and called him Percy. He used to talk to all his pets as if they were human beings, Percy included, and many people had ventured the opinion that his brain was not quite as good as it should be.

"A little bit cracked, but harmless and faithful," was the way Bob's father described him.

Bob had never seen Heinrich so upset as he was that afternoon. He put the rolls of bills in his pocket and looked at Bob fiercely through his thick glass spectacles. His watery blue eyes looked almost ferocious.

"What do you want here?" he demanded.

"My bicycle," said Bob.

"It iss got a puncture," said Heinrich.

"Oh, Heinrich," Bob exclaimed. "Why didn't you fix it?"

"I had no time so far."

"I need a new one anyway," said Bob, looking at his wheel where it rested against the wall of the garage. "This one is six years old."

"It iss one bunch of junk," said Heinrich.

"Right you are," laughed Bob. "I tell you what, Heinrich; you've got a lot of money now, why don't you buy me a new one for my birthday?"

"Dot iss my money," said Heinrich insistently.

"Of course it is," exclaimed Bob. "You don't suppose I thought for a moment that you stole it, do you?"

Heinrich glanced at him questioningly. "Come and see Percy," he said, apparently very anxious to change the subject.

"What has he done lately?" asked Bob.

"He iss grown."

They approached the tub where the alligator was kept. "I can't see that he has grown much," exclaimed Bob. "He looks about the same to me."

"He iss now two feet and one inches long," said Heinrich proudly. "He does not grow fast though."

"I wish my bicycle was fixed," sighed Bob. "I wanted to ride down to the armory."

"Harold iss in the army," said Heinrich.

"I know it," said Bob. "I wish I was too."

"You want to fight?" Heinrich asked.

"Of course I do. Don't you? You're an American citizen, aren't you, Heinie?"

"Yes, indeed," said Heinrich quickly. "For twelve years I been one."

"You're all right," exclaimed Bob heartily. "If all Germans were as loyal as you I wouldn't have this black eye right now."

"A German hit you?"

"He ought not to be a German, but he is," said Bob bitterly.

"Who was it?"

"I won't tell you. What's the use?"

"It was Frank Wernberg," said Heinrich.

Bob looked curiously at the chauffeur. "How do you know?" he demanded.

"Was it him?"

"Yes, but how could you find it out so soon?"

"Mebbe I guess," said Heinrich.

"Probably you did," laughed Bob. "What do you know about the Wernbergs anyway, Heinie?"

"Nothing," said Heinrich quickly and he acted as though he had made a mistake. "Look at Percy," he exclaimed. "He iss going down into the water."

The alligator slipped slowly off the rock where he had been dozing. He slid quietly into the water and remained floating there all its four feet standing straight out.

"He iss cute," said Heinrich proudly.

Bob had never considered an alligator as being cute, but he did think "Percy" was interesting. Little did he dream how much more interested he would be in the small animal before many days had passed.

CHAPTER V

ON THE BRIDGE

Harold came home for dinner that night. He was serving in the ninth infantry as a private until such a time as he should pass his examination and receive his commission.

"Bob has seen active fighting sooner than you have, Harold," laughed Mr.
Cook glancing at his younger son's battered eye.

"Yes, and he won the battle too," said Bob warmly.

"All I can say is," remarked Harold, "that Frank Wernberg must be an awful looking sight if he's worse than you."

"He is," said Bob. "You ought to see his nose."

"Don't talk about it," urged Mrs. Cook. "I hate it."

"All right," laughed her husband. "Tell us what you have to do down at the armory, Harold. You were lucky to get off to-night."

"Oh, I've got to go back," said Harold. "We'll probably be ordered out for guard duty to-night. I may be guarding your plant for all I know."

"I hope we'll need no guards," said Mr. Cook earnestly. "In spite of all
I said last night I can't believe that many people will be disloyal."

"Some German got on our wire by mistake again to-day," said Louise. "He wanted Mr. Wernberg just as that man did last night."

Mr. Cook shook his head slowly. "I don't like that man Wernberg," he said.

"Oh, the secret service must be watching him," said Bob. "They seem to be ready for anything," and he related what had taken place in the trolley that morning when he was on his way to school.

The telephone rang and Bob answered it to find Hugh Reith on the wire. He wanted Bob to go down to the armory that night and see the soldiers. Bob readily agreed.

A short time after supper Hugh arrived at the Cooks', and the two boys accompanied by Harold set out. They felt very proud to be walking with a real live soldier, a man in the olive drab uniform of the American Army. Harold carried a rifle, with an ugly looking bayonet affixed to the barrel, the whole thing being nearly as tall as he was.

The roll call had been started at the armory and Harold took his place in line just in time to answer to his name. Bob and Hugh looked on from the gallery and were greatly impressed by the business-like appearance of the men, and the curt, crisp orders of the officers. The soldiers were divided into squads and presently were marched out of the building to unknown destinations.

"I guess it's all over,'' remarked Hugh.

"Looks so," Bob agreed. "It's early yet though and I don't want to go home."

"Nor I. What do you say to a walk down by the river? My canoe is in Brown's boathouse and I'd like to take a look at it. It has been laid up all winter and I'll want to get it out pretty soon."

"All right," said Bob. "How shall we go?"

"We can take a short cut down over the railroad bridge."

"Come ahead."

They set out through the streets of High Ridge. Few people were stirring and nowhere were any signs of war. The soldiers had disappeared and the quiet town seemed far removed from the strife of conflict. It seemed incredible that even at that moment some one might be plotting to overthrow the law and order of the little city. It was a far cry to the crimson-stained battlefields of France.

"No school to-morrow," said Hugh finally.

"That's true," exclaimed Bob. "I had forgotten that this is Friday."

"Nothing to worry about," said Hugh. "No lessons to prepare and as far as
I am concerned I'd just as soon stay up all night."

"We ought to have baseball practice to-morrow," said Bob. "Somehow I've lost all interest in it though; this war is more exciting to me."

"If we could only do something," sighed Hugh bitterly.

"Where do you suppose those soldiers went?"

"Out for a hike probably. They looked fine, didn't they?"

Bob said nothing; both boys were busy with their thoughts and walked along in silence for some distance. Presently the steel span of the great bridge across the Molton River loomed ahead of them in the darkness.

"There's the bridge," Bob exclaimed.

It appeared ghostly in the dark, the big steel girders taking on weird and fantastic shapes. A train rushed across its span, roaring and throwing a shower of sparks high into the air.

"Come on," urged Hugh and scrambled up the embankment.

Bob followed close at his heels and together they made their way towards the bridge itself. They soon found themselves picking their way on the open ties above the water; as they were headed west they of course took the east-bound track. The walking was precarious and they had to pay close attention to what they were doing, for a misstep might prove fatal.

Suddenly a sharp command to halt startled the two boys. They stopped short and peered intently about them in the dark.

"Who are you?" demanded a curt voice, and Hugh and Bob saw the figure of a man in khaki outlined against the skyline. A faint flicker of light showed a keen-edged bayonet affixed to the gun he carried.

"Who are you!" repeated the voice, strangely familiar in tone to both of the boys. "Come over here, and keep your hands over your head."

"Harold!" exclaimed Bob suddenly. "Is that you?"

"That you, Bob?" queried Harold, for the guard proved to be Bob's older brother. "Who's that with you?"

"Hugh."

"Well, it seems to me you two are pretty nervy," said Harold testily.
"What are you doing down around here anyway?"

"We were going down to Brown's boathouse to see Hugh's canoe," Bob explained. "We thought we'd take the short cut over the bridge."

"And stand a good chance of getting shot," said Harold. "All bridges are guarded by soldiers with rifles, and we're not supposed to wait forever before we shoot either." Hugh and Bob had advanced to the spot where Harold was standing, and the three young men were grouped in a small circle.

"We never thought of that," said Bob sheepishly.

"Don't you know the United States is at war?"

"Of course we do."

"Well, then—. Sssh!" hissed Harold suddenly.

He peered intently down the railroad track. The figure of a man could be seen approaching. "Get back, quickly," whispered Harold, and the two boys flattened themselves against one of the big steel girders.

Nearer and nearer came the man. Harold stood motionless, his gun half raised and ready for instant action. Hugh and Bob looked on, fascinated. When about thirty yards distant the man stooped and appeared to be fumbling with something at his feet. Only for a moment, however, for he soon straightened up again and proceeded on his way.

"Halt!" commanded Harold sharply.

The man started, and then came to an abrupt stop.

"Come over here," Harold ordered.

His order was obeyed somewhat slowly, but without question.

"What's your name?" queried Harold, as the man came up to him.

There was no answer.

"What's your name?" repeated Harold shortly.

"John Moffett," said the man sullenly.

"Where do you live?"

"High Ridge."

"Where in High Ridge?"

"Elm Street."

"What number?"

"Twelve eighty-two," said the man after a moment's hesitation.

"What are you doing on this bridge?"

"I been across the river to see my brother."

"Why didn't you take the passenger's bridge then, instead of this?"

"This one is shorter for me."

"Oh, no, it isn't," said Harold quickly. "The other one takes you right into Elm Street."

The man offered no comment.

"Why did you bend over down there a minute ago?" Harold asked.

No answer was forthcoming.

"Answer my question," ordered Harold curtly.

The man shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "My shoe lace came undone," he muttered finally. All the time he was talking he kept looking behind him and over the route he had just come. He seemed to be intensely nervous about something.

Harold looked at him up and down from head to foot, as best he could in the poor light. He appeared undecided as to what he should do.

"You'd better come along with me," he said finally. "I guess the captain might like to talk to you for a few minutes."

"Where is the captain?" demanded the man.

"That's nothing to you," said Harold. "You do as you're told. You walk on ahead of me and don't try any funny business; I'll be right behind you and my gun is loaded."

"Which way?" the prisoner asked.

"That way," directed Harold, indicating the High Ridge end of the bridge with the point of his bayonet. "As long as you live in High Ridge I'll see you part way home," he added drily.

"Yes, sir," exclaimed the man, it seemed almost joyously. He set out immediately, Harold following close at his heels.

"You two better go home," Harold called to Bob and Hugh as he walked off down the track.

"All right," called Bob, and then he turned to his friend. "We'll take our time," he announced.

"Sure," agreed Hugh. "Who do you think that man was?"

"I don't know, but he did act sort of queer I thought. Probably Harold was wise to arrest him."

"What'll they do with him?"

"Oh, lock him up probably," said Bob carelessly. "I guess some officer will question him and if he's all right he'll be let go; otherwise I don't know what will happen to him."

"How about the canoe?" suggested Hugh.

"You mean, shall we go on to the boathouse?"

"Yes."

"The other end of the bridge is probably guarded too," said Bob. "We would be held up there and maybe be arrested ourselves." He peered earnestly down the track which led over the bridge to Rivertown on the opposite bank. Suddenly he started violently and clutched Hugh by the arm.

"What's that?" he gasped in a terror-stricken voice.

CHAPTER VI

HUGH HAS AN IDEA

"What's what?" demanded Hugh, peering in the direction Bob indicated.

"Look!" cried Bob.

"I am looking. What is it?" The tone of his friend's voice had alarmed him greatly, though he did not know what it was that Bob saw.

"Can't you see? Right down there!"

"Where? Where?" pleaded Hugh. "Tell me, Bob."

"Down under the track. I see sparks."

"It's a bomb," cried Hugh suddenly catching sight of the little flashes of light. "It's a bomb that man planted there."

"What shall we do?" cried Bob, acting as if he was ready to turn and run.

"Go and get it," said Hugh instantly. "Come along," and he started towards the spot of danger. Spurred on by his comrade's show of courage, Bob followed.

Their hearts were in their throats and terror held them in its grasp as they hurried along. The little sparks still appeared, and the sputtering of the fuse could be heard distinctly as they ran forward. The footing was dangerous and who could tell but that at any moment the bomb might explode and blow them into eternity.

Hugh reached the spot first. He was outwardly calm, but had the sun been shining his face would have shown white and frightened. A second later Bob arrived and stood beside him.

"There it is," he gasped. "It's a bomb all right."

"Pinch the fuse," cried Hugh excitedly. "Put it out."

Both boys reached for it, but Bob was first. He had completely recovered his nerve now and was perhaps even more self-possessed than Hugh.

Bob grasped the lighted part of the fuse between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He squeezed it tightly, but quickly withdrew his hand with a cry of pain. The fuse still sputtered.

"Let me!" almost sobbed Hugh. "Let me try."

He repeated Bob's performance, except that he held on in spite if the pain he suffered. With tight-shut lips and set jaw he pinched the fuse with all his strength. Finally he could stand it no longer and let go.

"It's out," cried Bob. "No, it isn't either," he exclaimed a second later as the fuse once more showed red and the tiny sparks again made their appearance. "We'd better run for it, Hugh. What's the use in our being blown up along with the bridge?"

"Get out of the way!" ordered Hugh, and Bob obeyed at once. There was something in the tone of his friend's voice that made him hasten to do as he said.

Hugh knelt on the ties and leaned down over the bomb.

"Here comes a train," cried Bob suddenly. "On this track too."

Hugh paid no attention to this warning. He picked the bomb up in his two hands and staggering under its weight, carried the spitting and sputtering engine of death to the edge of the bridge. With a supreme effort he hurled it from him. A moment later a splash told that it had landed in the river below.

"That'll never do any more harm," he gasped faintly.

"Stay there, Hugh!" shouted Bob. "Look out for the train!"

The two boys crowded close against the side of the bridge and a moment later a heavy train thundered past them. Through the lighted windows could be seen crowds of passengers, and Hugh and Bob shuddered as they thought what might have happened to the train with its load of precious human freight had the bomb exploded. They felt faint and weak after their experience and presently sat down until their shattered nerves should have recovered somewhat from the shock.

The night was cool, but Bob mopped his perspiring brow. "Whew," he gasped. "That was a close call."

"I should say it was," echoed Hugh. "What luck that you should have seen those sparks when you did! There was only a couple of inches of fuse left."

"Lucky you were with me too," said Bob soberly. "If I'd been alone I think I would have run for home."

"Haven't you two gone home yet?" demanded a voice, and the two boys looked up to see Harold standing over them.

"Not yet," said Bob.

"Well, you'd better skip," Harold advised. "You'll get in trouble around here."

"There'd been more trouble if we hadn't been here," said Bob quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Bob related the story of the bomb to his brother.

"Say!" exclaimed Harold in an awestruck voice. "That was pretty good work of you two. A train came along on that track too."

"Hugh got the bomb out just in time," said Bob.

"Say," repeated Harold. "Say," he said again, completely overcome.

"Do you think they'll let us enlist on the strength of what we did?" Hugh asked hopefully.

"I doubt it," said Harold. "I'll certainly speak to the captain about you though."

"We might as well go home now, I guess," said Bob. "You don't want to see your canoe tonight, do you?"

"No," replied Hugh grimly. "I've lost all interest in canoes for the present."

They said good night to Harold and started homeward. They still felt a little shaky as a result of the bomb episode, but before long the walk and the crisp night air had refreshed them and their spirits once more revived.

"I wonder what they'll do to that German," exclaimed Bob.

"Harold said they had locked him up for over night, and I guess when they hear what he tried to do, they'll keep him longer than that."

"They'll send him to jail probably."

"I hope so," said Hugh. "Any man who would try to blow up a bridge and kill crowds of people deserves worse than jail."

"They'll give him five or ten years all right," said Bob.

"Yes, and when they try his case we'll have to act as witnesses I suppose."

"I wouldn't mind that," Bob exclaimed. "It might be a lot of fun."

"Aren't these plotters silly?" said Hugh. "They may be able to blow up a plant or a bridge here and there, but they'll lose more than they gain."

"Why so?"

"Because it'll make the people mad. When they once get angry they'll fight and work much harder to defeat Germany. Half the people in this country don't seem to realize that we are at war now, but when a few of them get blown up we'll begin to do something."

They discussed the war and the possibility of sending American troops to France. Hugh wanted to go into the aviation corps when he was old enough but Bob thought the infantry and solid ground under his feet would be good enough for him.

Presently they came near home. Hugh lived two blocks farther down the street than Bob and consequently he had to pass the Cooks' house on his way.

"There's the Wernbergs'," said Bob. "A light in the second story back window, and two automobiles in front."

"Do you suppose they're up to anything?" exclaimed Hugh.

"I suspect them all right, but how can we prove it?"

"I have an idea," Hugh exclaimed suddenly. The two boys were standing on the opposite side of the street from the Wernbergs' house, regarding it curiously.

"What is it?"

"Can you get your automobile?"

"I guess so, if Heinrich hasn't taken the family out."

"Let's get it and follow one of those machines. In that way we can see where the people live who are at the Wernbergs'. Maybe we can learn something about them if we know who they are."

"A good scheme," exclaimed Bob readily. "We'll have to be awfully careful though; if they ever found out we were following them it might go hard with us."

"We'll be careful all right," said Hugh grimly. "Come ahead, we want to be ready to start and they may leave at any time."

The two boys walked quickly up the street, taking care to keep on the opposite side from the Wernberg home. When they arrived in front of the Cooks' they darted across the street and hurried along the driveway until they came to the garage. The door was shut and locked. Bob knocked loudly.

There was no reply. Bob looked at his watch under the light of a match which Hugh struck. It was twenty minutes of eleven.

"That's queer," he muttered. "Heinie is usually in bed long before this."

"Maybe he is now, and is asleep," Hugh suggested.

Bob glanced up at the second story window. "I don't think so," he said. "The window is closed in the room where he usually sleeps, and I know he is a crank on fresh air."

"Throw some gravel at it," said Hugh. "That'll get him up if he's there."

This plan was followed, but with no success.

"He's out," said Bob finally. "What'll we do?"

"Is the car there?"

"Yes, but what good will it do us if we can't get in?"