lived with a man who had been proved to be a spy. He
surreptitiously associated with American naval officers. The dictograph
told her that nightly his uncle and he in the seclusion of their home
toasted America's arch enemy, the German Kaiser. More than likely, too,
her reason told her, he was a murderer. She ought to hate, to loathe, to
despise him, and yet she didn't. She liked him. Whenever he approached
she could feel her heart beating faster. She looked forward after each
meeting with him to the time when she would see him again. What, she
wondered, could be the matter with her? Assuredly she was a good
patriotic American girl. Why couldn't she hate Frederic Hoff as she knew
he ought to be hated?

She was still puzzling over her unruly heart when they reached Getty
Square, and Dean brought the motorcycle to a stop in one of the side
streets overlooking Broadway. Dismounting, he looked at his watch and
made a pretense of tinkering with the engine, while Jane kept a sharp
lookout on the main thoroughfare, by which they expected the Hoffs to
approach. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, more than half an hour they
waited, anxiously scanning each car as it passed.

"I can't understand it," said Dean. "They should have been here at least
twenty minutes ago. I am going to 'phone Carter. He will know what time
they started."

He had hardly entered an adjacent shop before Jane, still keeping watch,
saw the Hoffs' car flash by, going rapidly north. Quickly she sprang out
and ran into the store. Dean saw her coming and left the telephone
booth, his finger on his lips in a warning gesture.

"Don't bother to 'phone," cried the girl, misunderstanding his
meaning--and thinking only that he was trying to prevent her naming the
Hoffs. "Come, let's get started."

Without speaking he hurried from the store and got the motorcycle under
way.

"Have they passed?" he whispered then.

"Just a moment ago."

Silently he gathered up speed, racing in the direction the Hoffs' car
had gone, not addressing her again until perhaps two miles from Getty
Square they caught up with it close enough to identify the occupants,
whereupon he slowed down and followed at a more discreet interval.

"Be careful about speaking to me when there's any one about," he warned
Jane, almost crossly. "Those clothes make you look like a boy, and your
walk is all right, but your voice gives you away. Did you see that clerk
in the store look at you when you spoke t