Mr. Fleck nodded. Evidently he was aware of it already.
“My brother, my only brother,” Jane continued, with a little catch in her throat, “is Over There—somewhere Over There—fighting for his government. If there is anything I can do to help the country he is fighting for, the country he may die for, I pledge you I will do it gladly with my heart, my soul, my body—everything.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Fleck softly, taking her hand. “I felt sure you were that sort of a girl. Now listen.” He moved his chair still closer to hers, and his voice became almost a whisper. “In the apartment next to you there live two men,—Otto Hoff and his nephew, Fred. They have an old German servant, but we can leave her out of it for the present. The old man is a lace importer. Apparently they are both above suspicion, yet—”
He stopped abruptly.
“You think they are spies—spies for Germany,” questioned Jane excitedly. “They’re Germans, of course?”
“Otto Hoff is German-born, but he has been here for twenty years. Several years ago he took out papers and became an American citizen.”
“And the young man?”
Jane’s tone was vibrant with interest. It must be the man she had seen from her window whom they suspected most.
“He professes to be American-born.”
“Oh,” said the girl, rather disappointedly.