CHAPTER II
THE SECRET SERVICE AT WORK
The following morning Bob was in the trolley car on his way to school. The car was full, and every one was eagerly scanning a newspaper or discussing the war with his neighbor. Words of praise for the President were to be heard on all sides, and enthusiasm was everywhere in evidence. Old men wished they were young enough to enlist.
All at once Bob heard voices raised in dispute. The trouble was at the opposite end of the car, but he could hear plainly what was said.
"It is wrong, all wrong," exclaimed a florid-faced man with a light mustache, who plainly was of German blood. "What has Germany done to this country?"
"They've sunk our ships when they had no right to, and they've murdered our peaceful citizens," said the man next to him. "Isn't that enough?"
"They were forced to do it," the German insisted.
"Oh, no, they weren't," said his neighbor calmly. "Any one can play the game according to the rules if he wants to; there is never any excuse for dirty work."
"Germany wants peace with the United States," said the German loudly.
"Well, if they do, they take a strange method of showing it," replied the other man with a grim smile. "Personally it's my opinion that we've been patient with Germany far too long. Now they've forced war upon us and for my part I'm ready to go out and fight for my country."
Every one in the car was now listening to the discussion, and perhaps the most interested listener of all was young Robert Cook.
"Well, I won't fight for the United States!" exclaimed the big German, rising to his feet. "I won't fight for Germany either, but I'll fight all right." He started toward the door of the car, while Bob pondered over his last remark and wondered what it could mean.
As the German approached the door, a man dressed in a neat black suit and soft hat got up out of his seat. Bob was watching the German and also noticed this man, though not particularly; he did see that he had a square jaw and a determined look in his gray eyes.
The German started to crowd past the stranger who stood squarely in the aisle. "Don't be in such a hurry," said the man quietly. "You stay here."
"I want to get off this car," shouted the German angrily. "Get out of my way."
"I want you to come with me," said the man still in the same quiet tone.
As the German started to protest once more he drew back his coat slightly
and Bob saw the gleam of a badge on his coat. "Sit down," he said to the
German, who obeyed without further question.
There was a mild flurry of excitement in the car, and there were smiles of amusement on the faces of many of the passengers as they glanced at the German sitting meekly in the corner of the seat. He seemed entirely cowed now, and kept his eyes fixed upon the floor, save for an occasional look he stole at the secret service man standing in front of him. The latter seemed entirely at his ease and acted as if not a thing out of the ordinary had taken place.
Bob was greatly impressed, and looked with marked respect at the quiet-mannered detective standing near him. He wondered what it was all about, and his father's words of the evening before concerning plotters and spies came again to his mind. He wondered if he could join the secret service and help his country in that way. Then he remembered that he was only seventeen and sighed to think that there was probably less chance of that than there was of being taken into the army.
What was the detective going to do with the German, wondered Bob. The car was approaching the high school, and he would have to get off soon and he did not want to miss any of the drama. Suddenly he remembered the police station on the block adjoining the school building and decided that that must be the detective's destination. Bob decided to stay on the car long enough to see anyway.
They passed the high school, and sure enough, as they came to the next corner, the secret service agent motioned to the German to follow him out. Bob decided to go along. They got off the trolley car and entered the police station. Behind the desk sat the sergeant, a man named Riley, well known to Bob. The detective led his prisoner up to the rail.
"I want you to take care of this man for me, Sergeant," he said, at the same time displaying his badge.
"Certainly," said Sergeant Riley quickly. "Here, Donovan," he called to a policeman standing near by. "Take this man and lock him up."
Officer Donovan beckoned to the German who was standing sullenly by the side of the policeman; his face was white and his eyes gleamed wickedly while he opened and closed his hands nervously. He even started to protest, but before he could say anything Sergeant Riley quickly silenced him. Without further ado he joined the policeman, and together they disappeared through the door leading out to the room where the cells were located.
Satisfied that his prisoner was taken in charge, the secret service agent turned and without further ado left the building.
Bob was much excited and interested. "Who was that secret service man?" he inquired of the sergeant.
"Dunno," said Riley. "I never saw him before."
"He didn't even make a charge against the man," said Bob.
"I know it," said Riley. "He don't have to."
"I thought you couldn't lock up a man unless there was some charge against him," exclaimed Bob.
"We have orders to lock up every man them fellers bring in here," said Sergeant Riley. "We keep 'em here until we get word to do something else with 'em. It's not for us to ask questions, you know."
"Have you got any more here?" demanded Bob.
"That's the first; we have accommodations for seventy-five though."
"Whew," exclaimed Bob. "Do you think there'll be much trouble with the
Germans here in High Ridge?"
"Can't say. Some of them are a crazy lot. At any rate we're ready for 'em. And what are you doing here at this time o' day anyhow? You'll be late for school; your visiting hour here is usually in the afternoon."
"I saw that fellow on the trolley," Bob explained. "I wanted to see what happened to him."
"Well, you better run along," advised the sergeant. "Come in and see me later."
Bob hurried out and ran down the block toward the high school. His mind was not on his lessons, however. War was uppermost in his thoughts, and he still pondered over what his father had said the evening before, and the recent arrest of the German in the trolley car. Probably after all there was something in this scare about spies and plotters.
He arrived at school fifteen minutes late, but nothing was said to him. School discipline was greatly relaxed that morning and instead of recitations the first period, the principal gave a talk on patriotism and what the declaration of war would mean. He especially warned the pupils against acting differently toward any of their number who might be of German blood.
"They may be just as good and loyal citizens as we are," he said. "At any rate we must act as though they were until they convince us otherwise."
Bob considered this good advice, but he still thought of his father's words and his experience of that morning. "Suppose anything should happen to father's steel works," he thought. They were making shells for the Government and could afford to run no risks. "I'll see if I can be of any help in protecting them," he told himself.
He tried to concentrate his mind on his tasks, but it seemed hopeless. The words of the German in the trolley came back to him continually—"I won't fight for Germany. I won't fight for the United States either, but I'll fight all right." What could he have meant? Did he mean that he wouldn't try to enlist in either the German or American armies, but that he'd do his fighting on his own account? How could that be? Bob wondered if the fighting he would do would be for this country or Germany. If for this country, it seemed queer that the secret service officer should have arrested him. The thought of bombs returned insistently to Bob's mind.
Recess came at last and he sought out Hugh Reith, his best friend. Hugh was a boy of Bob's own age, almost exactly his size, and as they both liked to do the same things they were bosom companions. Bob was light and Hugh was dark, his hair was almost raven black, and his eyes a deep brown. He had large hands and several crooked fingers owing to the fact that he had broken them playing base ball. He was stronger than Bob, though not so agile or quick on his feet, and while he could defeat his light-haired friend in tests of strength he was not a match for him when it came to speed.
"What do you think of this war, Hugh?" Bob asked eagerly.
"I wish I could enlist," said Hugh.
"So do I, but I guess we can't."
"We're too young, I suppose. Isn't there anything we can do to help?"
"My father thinks we may have trouble with the Germans here in town. If anything starts you can be sure I'm going to get in it if possible."
"Say," exclaimed Hugh, "did you see young Frank Wernberg this morning when the principal was making his speech about patriotism?"
"No, what was he doing?"
"Oh, he was snickering and making side remarks to Jim Scott, and making himself generally objectionable."
"If I'd been Jim I'd have told him to keep quiet," said Bob warmly.
"That's just what he did do finally."
"Did he stop?"
"Oh, for a little while," said Hugh. "He was awful, I thought."
"You know," said Bob, "my father says that Mr. Wernberg is about the most rabid German in High Ridge. He's crazy on the subject."
"Who, your father?"
"No, Mr. Wernberg. He's crazy on the subject of Germany. He thinks it is the greatest country in the world and that every one in the United States is a fool or something."
"Why doesn't he go back to Germany then?" demanded Hugh angrily.
"That's what I—"
"Sh," hissed Hugh. "Here comes Frank Wernberg now."