eve you'd go yourself if you were a few
years younger."

"I certainly would," announced her husband enthusiastically.

"Jane tells me she is writing a novel," Mrs. Strong continued, "and
that's why she stays in her room so much. I hope she won't turn out to
be literary."

"Don't worry," advised Mr. Strong. "With all the men off to war you'll
find young women doing all kinds of funny things to work off their
energy. If a girl can't be husband-hunting, she's got to be doing
something to keep busy. There are worse things than trying to write
novels. Jane is all right. Let her alone."

So, even though her mother's suspicions had been aroused, the girl in
the next few days managed to spend many hours with her ears glued to the
receiver of the dictograph without being discovered. In the Hoffs'
apartment Dean had succeeded in locating it over the dining-room table,
concealed in the chandelier, and in Jane's room the other end rested in
the back of a dresser drawer that she always carefully locked
when absent.

The novelty of listening for bits of her neighbors' conversation
quickly wore off. To sit almost motionless for hours listening,
listening intently for every sound, hearing occasional words spoken
either in too low tones or too far distant to make them understandable,
to record bits of conversation that sounded harmless, yet might have
some sinister meaning, became a most laborious task. Yet persistently
Jane stuck at it. The greater knowledge she gained of the plottings of
the German agents, the more important and vital she realized it was for
every clue to be diligently followed in the hope that the trail might at
last reach the master-spy, whose manifold activities were
menacing America.

In general she was disappointed with the results of her listening. To be
sure they had furnished indisputable evidence of something they already
had ascertained--that old Hoff, despite being a naturalized American,
still was a devoted adherent of the ruler of Germany. Nightly as he and
his nephew sat down to dinner she could hear his gruff, unpleasant voice
ceremoniously proposing always the same toast:

"Der Kaiser!"

Even when the younger Hoff was dining out, as he sometimes did, Jane
could hear the old man giving the toast, presumably with only the old
servant for an auditor. That the woman, too, was a spy, as well as
servant, Jane had known since the day on the roof, but so far neither
she nor Dean had been able to mak