e anything out of her handkerchief
code, though both were sure the messages related to the sailings of
transports.

Only once had she heard anything that she deemed really important. One
evening, as uncle and nephew dined, there had been an acrimonious
dispute.

"Have you it yet?" the uncle had asked in German.

"Not yet," Frederic had answered.

His seemingly simple reply for some reason appeared to have stirred the
elder man's wrath. He broke into a volley of curses and epithets,
reproaching his nephew for his delay. In the rapid medley of
oaths and expostulations Jane could distinguish only occasional
words--"afraid"--"haste"--"all-highest importance"--"American swine."
The younger Hoff had appeared to exercise marvelous self-control.

"There is yet time," he answered calmly.

"Donnerwetter," the old man had exclaimed. "There is yet time, you
say--and Emil the wonder-worker almost ready has. It must be done
at once."

The outburst over, old Hoff had subsided into inarticulate mutterings,
evidently busy with his food, leaving Jane to wonder futilely who Emil
might be, what he meant by the "wonder-worker," and what particular task
had been assigned to the nephew that must be performed immediately. She
had hastened to report this conversation in detail to Chief Fleck, but
if he understood what it was about he had taken neither Jane nor Thomas
Dean into his confidence.

Other things, too, Jane had learned and reported, which she knew the
chief appreciated even though he was sparing in his thanks and
compliments. She had learned through her almost constant listening that
Lieutenant Kramer was a regular visitor, coming to the Hoff apartment or
seeing Frederic Hoff somewhere every other day. Unfortunately he was
always conducted into one of the inner rooms, so that no more of the
conversation than the ordinary greetings and farewells ever reached
Jane's ears. The mere fact of his coming so regularly to the Hoffs
convicted him of treachery, in Jane's mind. What proper business could
an American naval officer have in the home of two German agents? The
excuse that Frederic Hoff was a delightful and entertaining friend was
entirely too flimsy and unsatisfactory.

Nothing that she had overheard--and within her heart she felt glad that
it was so--in any way as yet incriminated young Hoff. When she dared to
think about it, she found herself almost believing, certainly at least
wishing, that the nephew was not involved