Slowly and carefully, Fleck, with his lights on full, had steered the automobile down the narrow roadway through the woods. He had just turned the car safely into the main road, and stopped to look back to see how closely the other cars were following. Suddenly from the wayside a dozen men in uniform sprang up, the glint of their guns made visible by the automobile lights.
“Halt,” cried a voice of authority.
The one glimpse he had caught of the uniform had conveyed to Fleck the welcome fact that the party surrounding him were Americans—cavalry troopers.
“Chief Fleck,” he announced, by way of identification. “Who are you?”
A tall figure in officer’s clothes sprang up on the running board and peered into Fleck’s face.
“Thank God, Chief,” he said, “that it’s you.”
“Colonel Brook-White,” cried Fleck in amazement, recognizing the voice as that of one of the officers in charge of the British Government’s Intelligence Service in America. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to round up some bally German spies,” explained Brook-White.
“I’ve beaten you to it,” cried Fleck, with a note of triumph in his tone. “I’ve got them all here in shackles.”
“Good,” said Brook-White delightedly. “I was fearful I’d be too late. There was delay in getting a message to me. As soon as I had it, I tried to reach you and couldn’t. I dared not wait but dashed up here in my car. I knew there were some American troopers camped near here, and I persuaded the commander to detail some of his men to help me. Did you really capture the Hoff chap, old Otto?”