hings would be inconvenient, not
serious. He began running again. Then he walked as fast as he could.
He was more and more convinced that those Germans would count on his
going back for his belongings. They would not imagine that a dollar
American would leave his possessions and hoof it to the Dutch
Limberg on a night like this.

His brain was on fire. He thought of everything. Furstenheimer had
been a trailing sleuth. He had fooled Kirtley completely. It was a
masterly piece of work. Gard metaphorically took off his hat to the
German Secret Service. Notwithstanding the Jim Deming episode and
Anderson's animadversions, this had been a highly expert
demonstration of the art.

Gard's mind went over his whole trip from Eisenach, trying to find
where his suspicions should have been more aroused. He could
discover no loophole where any unflattering dullness on his part was
particularly at fault. He had made rather the most advances at
Cologne to the self-styled Furstenheimer with his Roman horse.

How casually, too, the two confederates had been picked up at the
cathedral! Their intelligent interest in stained glass! Very clever.
All had been wonderfully clever. He now saw that when Furstenheimer
left him at Cologne to decide about joining him, and also when the
three had gone off to inspect the windows, there had been ample time
to perfect their scheme.

His passport! What on earth could they want of that! In the German
way they had used a steam hammer to crack a hickory nut. No one in
1914 had an inkling of what service American passports were to be to
the Kaiser's Government. The world was soon to rub its eyes over
Germany's treacherous, fiendish, employment of chemicals both on
documents and on humans. Lackadaisical mankind did not then dream of
the thoroughness and elaboration with which Deutschland was
preparing her many deep and diabolical designs.

Toward dawn Gard, pretty well winded and in a bath of perspiration,
trudged along more slowly while his thoughts streamed precipitately
ahead under the pressure of the stupefying developments. He now knew
who the little German was. He was that rigid, whiskered, military
person in the train from Eisenach! The same flat, wide-lobed nose.
He had not guessed it before because the face, clear of a beard, had
really suggested in Aix (he now realized) that of the typical shaven
Teuton waiter. But why had the spy traveled in such a stiff and
mysterious fashion? Likely to lo