CHAPTER XXVI
A GOOD NIGHT’S WORK
In record time the little machine drew up before a substantial building located in one of the residential sections of town.
Alighting, the three men proceeded at once to awaken the government agent. But it was ten minutes before they succeeded in gaining entrance into the building and were ushered into the beautiful library by Mr. Southwick himself.
As chief of the local division of the Department of Justice—that great department at Washington which fought the agents and spies that Germany had placed in America—Mr. Southwick had distinguished himself during the war in his own state, and indeed his name was a familiar one throughout the whole Southwest.
A large man physically, he towered well over six feet as he stood before his three nocturnal visitors, clad in a dressing-gown of variegated pattern. A glance at the man revealed the secret of his success. Strength and determination were written in every feature of his massive leonine countenance. His piercing gray eyes were set deeply in his head, which was crowned with a shaggy mane of iron-gray hair. It was plain to the beholder that this man was to be respected as a friend, to be feared as a foe. Obviously, he was one of those mortals who seemed destined to be a power in any field in which he chose to turn his abilities.
When America was finally drawn into the Great War, it was he who was appointed by the government to fight the enemy’s propaganda in the border states. The appointment was in itself a high tribute to the man, for on every side his post was recognized as one of the most difficult that the country afforded. His name had become a terror to the few enemy sympathizers who were left in the state, and his reputation sufficed to keep these few from any overt acts of destruction.
Motioning Danny and O’Hara to a seat, he turned to the policeman and went at once to the heart of the matter:
“I suppose something extremely important must have induced this midnight call. I am ready to hear you.”