The three stood in the office of a small railroad station in a suburb of New York, firing cross-questions at the worried, frightened station agent. For hours, they had been questioning him, at first without result, but at last to see the gradual breaking down of his defense. One by one he had been forced to admissions—first that he had known the man they had shadowed to the station, Heinric von Lertz; secondly, that he had given this man a ticket for another city, just in time to allow him to catch the fast mail that had stopped there for orders, and third, that he had received orders from Heinric von Lertz just before he had boarded the train.
"What were those orders?" Harrison Grant had asked the question fifty times. Forty-nine times the station agent had refused to answer. But now:
"To go ahead with the plans that we had made."
"Plans for what?"
"Wiretapping."
"Where?"
"On the Pennsylvania system. Myself and several others had figured out a system whereby we could tap the wires leading from the dispatcher's offices, mix up the orders and cause wrecks all over the system. The Pennsylvania is a big system. It undoubtedly will carry many soldiers after war has been declared—and we wanted to injure it as much as possible."
"To say nothing of causing the deaths of hundreds of American citizens—non-combatants," said Grant angrily. Then he turned to the telegraph key. "Read me the notes you have taken, Dixie," he ordered, as he began to call the Criminology Club in New York, "I must send the information into the Club and see that the other men in this conspiracy are put under arrest."
A half hour of telegraphing, then Grant and Dixie turned again to their prisoner.
"What other orders did Von Lertz give you before he left?"
"None."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Absolutely."
"Didn't he even leave an address where you could reach him?"
"Oh, yes—he did that."
"Where?"
"On board the interned steamerLiebenfelsin Charleston Harbor."
Grant sent a quick glance into the eyes of Dixie Mason. She returned the gaze. Then the president of the Criminology Club called to Sisson, his operative, standing just outside the door.
"Take this fellow into New York and put him in the Tombs," he ordered. "I will not return to the club. My address for the next few days will be Charleston, S.C."
And so it was that Dixie Mason and Harrison Grant rushed to Charleston, to learn, if possible, the motive of Heinric von Lertz, and to seek to forestall the impossible. And while they hurried on—
"The representative of the Secretary of State is waiting, sir," said Bernstorff's servant. The arch-spy of Imperial Germany raised his eyebrows.
"So soon?" he asked. "Albert"—he turned to his privy counselor—"please be sure to remain. And you—" he addressed the servant again—"watch for the signal. I think the gentlemen is bringing me my passports."
And the Ambassador was right. Five minutes later, as Bernstorff stretched forth his hand to receive the passports that meant his expulsion from the United States, he apparently accidentally dropped a handkerchief. And as the white cambric fluttered to the floor, the servant, who had been waiting at the door, turned and hurried away.
On the way out, however, he paused, with displeasure written in every line of his wrinkled face.
"It is absolutely impossible for the Ambassador to see anyone," he said somewhat gruffly to the woman who had halted him, "he is extremely busy."
"The Ambassador will see me—or I will know the reason why," came the cool answer of the woman. "Tell him that Mrs. Blank is awaiting him."
"I cannot take him the message now. You must wait!"
"Very well." She walked to a couch in the ante-room. The servant sped on with the news of his message—the news that was to flash to every interned liner and gathering place of German spies in America. Diplomatic relations had been broken! The Ambassador had been handed his passports.
So it was that dots, dots, nothing but dots began to flash forth from a private wireless—and continued to flash for eight long hours. Speedily those dots found their way to concealed wireless receiving stations on every interned ship in American ports, to cause a rush of destruction as mallets, sedges—even bombs—were used upon the engines and machinery of the great ships.
Meanwhile following the visit of the representative of the Secretary of State, Bernstorff stared at his passports, and then turned with asperity toward his privy counselor.
"So you have caused it at last, eh?" he asked.
"I?" Dr. Albert stared. "And what did I have to do with it?"
"Everything!" he snarled. "America would have known nothing of our plans if it had not been for you. It was you who gave them the lead to everything. You lost your portfolio. They found in there, the papers that gave the Secret Service the main clue to all our activities. It was easy for them to follow the other plans and plots after that. And so, why should they not accuse us of wrong-doing? Oh, Albert, why were you so foolish? Why did you allow that information to be lost?"
"And I suppose," answered Albert somewhat caustically "you have never given any information? I——"
"I? Certainly not!"
"Be careful, Count!"
It was a woman's voice. Von Bernstorff whirled as though struck by a bullet to look into the smiling face of Mrs. Evelyn Blank. The broker's wife came forward.
"I really had to come to Dr. Albert's assistance," she cooed. "Really you are not giving yourself proper credit. So I felt impelled to come forth and say in your own behalf that undoubtedly you have given up more information than he ever had."
Dr. Albert smiled with the corner of his mouth. Von Bernstorff gasped.
"Yes," continued Mrs. Blank, "Dr. Albert had one misfortune, but he never fell in love with the wife of some one else. That should never be done, and above all things you should never tell her State secrets, especially if they are secrets which concern the country she loves. For she might send the information to the Secret Service. I came in to say good-bye, Count, I understand you are going away."
And still smiling, she left him standing there, his mouth open, his eyes staring, his hands clutching. Dr. Albert appreciated even more than Mrs. Blank the exquisite revenge which the woman had gotten for the degradation she had undergone at the hands of her husband and the Imperial German Ambassador. He knew that it was not for him to jeer, that Von Bernstorff was still his master, and so he moved toward the portieres.
"I have matters which you know of to attend to in New York," he said, "and must be going."
"Yes, yes," said Von Bernstorff pulling himself together, "The matter of the little fireworks to accompany our departure. By all means go."
While Albert was on his way to New York to arrange for new mischief, Heinric von Lertz arrived in Charleston, closely followed by Grant and Dixie. The German spy found that he was too late, for diplomatic relations had been severed. He had come to get men for a railroad plot, but he was now on theLiebenfelsstriving to convince the captain that the big liner should be sunk immediately.
"Don't be foolish," he argued. "What are you afraid of? International law prevents any member of the Secret Service coming below decks."
"But what will happen when the ship sinks? We will have to go above then—and take to the small boats."
"What of it? It's our ship, isn't it?"
"Yes, but there are laws against the blocking of harbors."
"Chicken heart!" sneered Von Lertz, "help me with these sea cocks!"
"Captain—captain!" It was a voice outside the door. A second later, the frightened face of a mate showed at the opening. "There are a man and a woman on deck who say they're from the Secret Service. They've got harbor police with them and have arrested all the crew up there. They want to see you——"
The Captain whirled and started for the door. Von Lertz caught at him and failed. Then, as the door slammed, the German spy, cursing under his breath, turned again to the opening of the sea-cocks. The great water inlets slid open. The green water of the harbor spouted within. Von Lertz shouted in happiness—and started for the door. Then he gasped—the door was locked—battened from without where the fastenings had fallen into place as the Captain had run forth! The door was battened and from the sea-cocks the waters of Charleston Harbor were pouring into the ship in an ever increasing flow.
Upon the deck of theLiebenfels, Harrison Grant and Dixie Mason had arrested the crew and the captain of the liner. Already the boat had begun to list slightly, from the water pouring into the hold from the sea-cocks. And as the small boats went over the side and started toward the shore, carrying the men who were to be accused of attempting to block the harbor of Charleston, the one man who had caused the disaster, stood waist deep in water in the engine room, striving vainly to find some way of escape, dully chattering to himself in his fear. For Heinric von Lertz, German spy, was facing death through his own actions.
Gradually and steadily the water rose, while the spy clawed at the tightly fastened door which separated him from the companionways and from safety. Hurriedly he tried to force his way through the rapidly rising water, back to the sea cocks, that he might close them again. But impossible. The rush of water had become so great that there was no stemming it now. He screamed in terror as he fought against the water as though he would force it back with his bare hands. But still it rose.
Higher and higher, to his breast, to his shoulders, to his chin—while the henchman of Germany clawed and struggled and fought against his fate, like some maddened animal. Then, at last, a final, spasmodic struggle; the dim form of a weaving figure as it swayed in the water. Then bubbles. Heinric von Lertz, murderer, incendiary, thief, and spy for Imperial Germany, was dead.
Dead, while the arch-spies sought him in vain. Dead, while Bernstorff and Albert gathered for their last conference. Dead, while all America thrilled at the thought of war and while the agents of Germany made their final plans for the last concerted blow against America under their personal management.
They had come to New York from Washington, after bidding farewell there. At the pier, their baggage had been loaded aboard theFrederik VIII, ready for the trip to Germany, via Copenhagen, when Bernstorff looked at his watch, then turned to Albert.
"You are sure that every preparation has been made?" he asked.
"Quite sure. I was at the shop last night and was told that they would work all night to finish their supply of bombs."
"But you have received no report this morning?"
"No."
Bernstorff walked to the window.
"It is a grey, gloomy day," he said. "The red glow of fire would throw quite a reflection against those clouds."
"And it would also silhouette the Statue of Liberty quite nicely."
"Yes," laughed Bernstorff, "by the way, I wonder what His Highness will do with the Statue of Liberty when we invade America?"
"By the time our navy finishes bombarding New York, there will be little of it left," answered Albert tersely. "But you were talking about my bomb-makers."
"Yes." Bernstorff looked out again at the clouds. "As I said, the glow of fires and explosions will form a pretty sight against those clouds. It will be very nice for us to look at as we steam away. Therefore—" and he snapped open his watch—"I would suggest that you hurry out there for a final report and join me in the cabin of theFrederik VIII."
"Very well, your excellency."
Albert departed, but did not notice that an automobile followed him as he hurried away from the hotel.
An hour later, Dr. Albert stood in a ramshackle building at the outskirts of town, giving his final instructions.
"Remember, that as soon as Ambassador Bernstorff and myself are safely on board theFrederik VIII, you are to start a bomb campaign in the harbor of New York that will eclipse anything ever attempted before," he said. "Do you understand?"
"Perfectly."
"This must be greater even than the Black Tom explosion." Dr. Albert was insistent upon his point. "There are munitions ships on the Jersey shore. See that each one of them receives a bomb. Their explosion alone should wreck many of the skyscrapers in the business district of New York and cause a panic there. And America must be made to realize that she is fighting a stubborn enemy—one that will stop at nothing. And you—" he pointed a finger at the captain of the bomb-throwers—"you must be the first to demonstrate the iron will and steel fighting spirit that will enable Imperial Germany to conquer the World!"
"It shall be done."
"Very well. The Ambassador and myself will watch for the explosions as theFrederik VIIIstarts on its journey across the Atlantic."
"You shall not be disappointed."
Dr. Albert bowed. Then, smiling and happy, he departed, not knowing that from the shelter of a doorway, the keen eyes of Dixie Mason had watched his every movement. Instead he felt quite safe, and satisfied as his limousine rolled back toward town. He was leaving America. Leaving after years of intrigue, of dastardly connivance against a country that had striven to be friendly. Leaving—and in departing, taking with him the assurance that his devilish ideas of murder and devastation would be carried forth to the utmost, even after he no longer took an active part.
Leaving America! The thought was in Bernstorff's mind as he stood in his stateroom of theFrederick VIII. All about him were flowers and wreaths, the gifts of pro-Germans and of misguided Americans who had refused to believe the revelations that had been brought forth against Germany. Crowds were about the Ambassador, who stood shaking hands with the men and women he had met during the years of his stay in America as Germany's Ambassador and plotter. A few crocodile tears were in his eyes.
"No one can ever know how it grieves me to leave America!" he was saying. "No one can ever know the aching that is in my heart that this unpleasantness has arisen between two great countries. It was my dream that we should have remained friends—and it shall always be my desire never to see war come between America and Germany. Ah, America—how I hate to leave you!" And in a large measure, Ambassador Bernstorff was telling the truth. For had not America furnished him a most amusing sequence of entertainment? Had not one "performance" after another been staged for him by his hard working spies, ranging from the killing of women and children to the mere destruction of factories, shipping and warehouses, filled with bandages and surcease of pain for the wounded—the stores of the Red Cross? Had he not gained amusement every day in his statements of neutrality and friendliness, as he met the correspondents in the Embassy? Yes, it was more than painful for him to leave America. There would be no mass of spy code messages for him to read each morning. There would be no morning copy of the newspaper to gloat over—as its columns told of the destruction wrought by the bomb-planters of the German spy system.
"Ah, America," he whined again, "how it grieves me to say goodby!"
Then he turned at the sight of Albert.
"Well?" he asked.
"Everything is arranged, your Excellency."
"Good!" Then Bernstorff turned and masked his smile with a blinking of his crocodile-tear smeared eyes, as a new shower of flowers was tossed at him from pro-Germans on every side. Suddenly he stared. Harrison Grant of the Criminology Club was facing him, and holding forth a small package.
"Since everyone is making presents, Your Excellency," said the detective with the slightest tinge of sarcasm, "I thought it only right that I should make one also."
He handed the package to the Ambassador. Wonderingly, Bernstorff unfastened the string, and took the paper from the package. Then he stared.
"Checkers!" he said wryly.
"Yes, Your Excellency," answered the president of the Criminology Club, with a laugh, "it's your move, you know."
And before the Ambassador could reply, Harrison Grant was gone, to reach the deck of the ship and make his way to the dock. There he saw the hurrying form of Dixie Mason—and rushed to her.
"What's wrong?"
"A great deal. There's a plot against the harbor. Where are your men?"
"Scattered about the dock. I can gather them all up in five minutes."
"Hurry! There is no time to lose!"
A rush by Harrison Grant. A hasty summoning of members of the Criminology Club.
Then, as theFrederik VIIImoved down the harbor of New York, Harrison Grant, Sisson, Cavanaugh, Stewart, Dixie Mason and other members of the Secret Service, leaped into automobiles, to be rushed far into the outskirts of town.
In the mangy room of the bomb-maker, the captain was giving his final instructions.
"Has everyone a bomb?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Remember what Dr. Albert told us—this explosion must be greater even than the Black Tom. We must see that each bomb accomplishes more than its object—it must be placed in such a way that it will either start fires following the explosion or cause other detonations as a result of its own. For instance, the munitions ships. The explosion of the bomb will cause an explosion in the hold of the ship where guncotton, nitro-glycerin and T.N.T. are stored. Then there are the powder factories on the Jersey side, to say nothing of the chemical works. See that they are all destroyed. Remember always, that America soon is to be at war with Germany, and we must work while there are still no provisions made for the safety of the industries. America must be crippled even before it has a chance to enter this war. So not one of you must fail! Now, go!"
The men crowded forth. They hurried down the stairway—into the apparently empty hall beneath. And then——
From doorways, from beneath the stairs, from outside, from everywhere came members of the Secret Service, to leap upon the bomb carriers, to take them by surprise, to carry them off their feet by the suddenness and severity of their attack. One by one they were downed. Then, three men were sent up the stairway by Harrison Grant to capture the old bomb-maker himself and the remainder of his supplies.
Here and there about the hall, the fight surged. Harrison Grant suddenly swerved from his attack upon a bomb-planter, as another leaped upon him from the rear, and, clutching his hands tight about the detective's throat, sought to choke the life from him. Grant gagged; his eyes bulged. He struggled to stiffen the cords of his neck against the clutching hands from the rear. But in vain. The world began to grow dark. He wavered—he stumbled—then suddenly felt the hands loosen their grip as there came the cracking sound of a blow. Two arms closed about him. Harrison Grant opened his eyes—to look into those of Dixie Mason.
"I got him," was her simple announcement. "Hit him on the head with the butt of my revolver. I was afraid to shoot—you both were so close together."
"Good little Dixie!" Grant pressed her hand, then hurried to the fight again.
But the fight was over. The bomb-planters had been subdued. Outside there sounded the clanging of a patrol wagon. That afternoon, on the deck of theFrederik VIII, Bernstorff and Albert watched in vain for the sight of explosion or of fire. Germany's last great destructive plot against America had failed.
Weeks later, Harrison Grant and Dixie Mason stood on the balcony of the Criminology Club, looking down into the street below. Here, there, everywhere, newsboys were shouting the news of the declaration of war. From far away, came the sound of a military band. Then, marching down the street, their files straight and clean, their arms shining brightly in the sun, their strong, sturdy forms showing the sleek-muscled strength that only American fighters possess, marched the crack Seventh Regiment of New York on its spring parade. Harrison Grant watched, his eyes gleaming happily.
"Dixie," he said at last, "I never saw anything to give me so much happiness—and yet, so much sorrow."
"And why the sorrow?" She looked at him quickly.
"Because, now that we have finished our work for the safety of America at home, we must part. I received this morning my Commission as a captain in the Army Intelligency. My work will be abroad."
"And mine will be abroad also," said Dixie quietly.
"Abroad? You——?"
"In the Red Cross."
Harrison Grant laughed happily. They had stepped into the club-rooms now, the heavy curtains of the windows falling behind them. Grant took the hands of the girl he loved into his—and held them tight.
"Do you know——" and there was a strange little halting in his voice, "I believe that I could make a record for myself if I only knew that—"
"What, Harry?"
"That—well, that there was a Mrs. Harrison Grant watching my progress and——"
"Well?" Dixie was smiling. Grant slowly drew her toward him. "Well?" she asked again.
Harrison Grant stammered.
"And—and, oh, you know what I mean!" Then, his words failing, he looked quickly over his shoulder, saw that no one was watching, drew the little Secret Service girl tight into his embrace—and kissed her.
The End.
The story of "The Eagle's Eye" has been produced inmotion pictures by the Wharton Releasing Corporation.See The Film
The story of "The Eagle's Eye" has been produced inmotion pictures by the Wharton Releasing Corporation.See The Film
The story of "The Eagle's Eye" has been produced inmotion pictures by the Wharton Releasing Corporation.
See The Film
Transcribers note:Original spelling has been retained.I have used von when the character's full name is given e.g. Heinric von Lertz and Von when only his family name is used, with or without a title e.g. Von Lertz, Ambassador Von Bernstorff.
Transcribers note:
Original spelling has been retained.
I have used von when the character's full name is given e.g. Heinric von Lertz and Von when only his family name is used, with or without a title e.g. Von Lertz, Ambassador Von Bernstorff.