 CHAPTER XI of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum, read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. A font of type. Mary Louise went into Josie O'Gorman's room and found the young girl bent over a table, on which were spread the disloyal circulars. "'You've been studying those things for nearly two weeks, Josie,' she said. "'Have you made any discoveries?' "'I know a lot more about circulars than I did,' answered Josie. "'For instance, there are nineteen printing offices in Dorfield, and only two of them have this kind of type.' "'Oh, that's something indeed,' cried Mary Louise. "'One of the two offices must have printed the circulars.' "'No. The curious fact is that neither print them,' returned Josie, regarding the circulars with a frown. "'How do you know?' "'It's an old style of type, not much in use at present,' explained the youthful detective. "'In one printing office the case that contains this type-face hasn't been used for months and months. I found all the compartments covered with the dust a quarter of an inch thick. There wasn't a trace of the type having been disturbed. I proved this by picking out a piece of type, which scattered the dust and brought to light the shining bodies of the other type in that compartment, so the circulars could never have been printed from that case of type.' "'But the other printing office?' "'Well, there they had a font of the same style of type, which is occasionally used in job printing, but it's a small font and has only twenty-four small As. I rummaged the whole shop and found none of the type standing out of the case. Another thing, they only had three capital Gs, and one of those was jammed and damaged. In the last circular issued no less than seven capital Gs appear. In the first one sent out I find fifty-eight small As. All this convinces me the circulars were issued from no regular printing office.' "'Then how did it get printed?' asked Mary Louise. "'That's what puzzles me,' confessed Josie. Three of the four big manufacturing concerns here have outfits and do their own printing, or part of it anyhow, and I don't mind saying I expected to find my clue in one of those places, rather than in a regular printing office. But I've made an exhaustive search, aided by the managers, and there's no type resembling that used in the circulars in any of the private print shops. In fact, I'm up a stump.' "'But why do you attach so much importance to this matter?' queried Mary Louise. "'It's the most direct route to the trader. Find who printed the circulars, and you've got your hand on the man who wrote and mailed them. But the printing baffles me, and so I've started another line of investigation.' "'What line is that, Josie?' The circular envelopes were addressed by hand, with pen and ink. The ink is a sort in common use. The envelopes are an ordinary commercial kind. The circulars are printed on half a sheet of letter-sized typewriting paper, sold in several stationary stores, in large quantities. No clue there. But the handwriting is interesting. It's disguised, of course, and the addressing was done by two different people. That's plain. "'You are wonderful, Josie. I'm stupid as a clam, Mary Louise. See here.' She went to a closet and brought out a large cardboard box, which she placed upon the table. It was filled to the brim with envelopes, addressed to many business firms in Dorfield, but all bearing the local postmark. "'Now I've been collecting these envelopes,' continued the girl, and I've studied them night after night. "'I'm something of a handwriting expert, you know, for that is one of the things that Daddy has carefully taught me. These envelopes came from all sorts of people—folks making inquiries, paying bills, ordering goods, and the like. I've had an idea from the first that some prominent person, no ordinary man, is responsible for the circulars. They're well-worded, grammatical, and the malicious insinuations are cleverly contrived to disconsert the loyal but weak brethren. However, these envelopes haven't helped me a bit. Neither of the two persons who addressed the envelopes of the circulars addressed any of these business envelopes. Of that I'm positive." "'Dear me!' said Mary Louise, surprised. "'I'd no idea you'd taken so much trouble, Josie.' "'Well, I've undertaken a rather puzzling case, my dear, and it will mean more trouble than you can guess before I've solved it. This pro-German scoundrel is clever. He suspected that he'd be investigated and has taken every precaution to prevent discovery. Nevertheless, the cleverest criminal always leaves some trace behind him, if one can manage to find it, so I'm not going to despair at this stage of the game.' "'Do you know?' said Mary Louise thoughtfully. "'I've had an idea that there's some connection between the explosion at the airplane works and the sender of these circulars.' "'Josie gave her a queer look.' "'What connection do you suspect?' she asked quickly. "'Why, the man who wrote those circulars would not stop at any crime to harass the government and interfere with the promotion of the war. Is that as far as you've gone?' "'Have you gone any farther, Josie?' "'A step, Mary Louise. It looks to me as if there is an organized band of traders in Dorfield. No one person is responsible for it all. Didn't I say two different people addressed the circulars in disguised handwriting? Now a bomb has to be constructed and placed and timed, and I don't credit any one person with handling such a job, and at the same time, being aware that the utmost damage to the war department's plans would be accomplished by blowing up the airplane works. That argues intelligent knowledge of national and local affairs. There may be two conspirators, and there may be more, but the more there are, the easier it will be for me to discover them.' "'Naturally,' agreed Mary Louise. "'But really, Josie, I don't see how you're going to locate a clue that will guide you. Have you attended the trial of those suspected of the bomb outrage?' "'I've seen all the testimony. There isn't a culprit in the whole bunch. The real criminal is not even suspected as yet,' declared Josie. "'The Federal officers know this, and are just taking things easy and making the trial string out to show their wide awake.' "'Also, I've met two secret servicemen here, Norman Addison and old Jim Chrissy. I know nearly all of the boys, but they haven't learned anything important either.' "'Are these men experienced detectives?' "'They've done some pretty good work, but nothing remarkable. In these times the government is forced to employ every man with any experience at all, and Chrissy and Addison are just ordinary boys, honest and hardworking but not especially talented. Daddy would have discovered something in twenty-four hours, but Daddy has been sent abroad for some reason, and there are many cases of espionage and sabotage fully as important as this, in this spy-infested land. That's why poor Josie O'Gorman is trying to help the government without assignment or authority. If I succeed, however, I'll feel that I've done my bit. "'Don't you get discouraged, dear, at times?' "'Never. Why, Mary Louise, discouragement would prove me a dub. I'm puzzled, though, just now, and feeling around blindly in the dark to grab a thread that may lead me to success. If I have luck I'll presently find it.' She put away the envelopes as she spoke, and resuming her seat drew out her tablets and examined the notes she had made thereon. Josie used strange characters in her memoranda, a sort of shorthand she had herself originated, and which could be deciphered only by her father or by herself. "'Here's a list of suspects,' she said. "'Not that they're necessarily connected with our case, but are known to indulge in disloyal sentiments. Hal Grober, the butcher, insists on selling meat on meatless days, and won't defer to the wishes of Mr. Hoover, whom he condemns as a born American but a naturalized Englishman. "'Here's another, Jake Kasker, he's another Jake Kasker, too noisy to be guilty of clever plotting.' "'They're both un-American,' exclaimed Mary Louise. "'There ought to be a law to silence such people, Josie.' "'Don't worry, my dear, they'll soon be silenced,' predicted her friend. "'Either better judgment will come to their aid, or the federal courts will get after them. We shouldn't allow anyone to throw stones at the government activities just at this crisis. They may think what they please, but must keep their mouth shut.' "'I'm sorry they can even think disloyalty,' said Mary Louise. "'Well, even that will be rummated in time,' was the cheerful response. "'No war more just and righteous was ever waged than this upon which our country has embarked, and gradually that fact will take possession of these minds, which, through prejudice, obstinacy or ignorance, have not yet grasped it. "'I'm mighty proud of my country, Mary Louise, and I believe this war is going to give us Americans a distinction that will set us up in our own opinion and in the eyes of the world. But always there is a willful objection on the part of some toward any good in noble action, and we must deal charitably with those deluded ones, and strive to win them over to an appreciation of the truth.' "'Isn't that carrying consideration too far?' asked Mary Louise. "'No, our ministers are after the unregenerence, not after the godly. The noblest act of humanity is to uplift a fellow creature. Even in our prisons we try to reform criminals, to make honest men of them rather than condemn them to a future of crime. It would be dreadful to say, You're all yellow, go to thunder.' "'Yes, I believe you're right,' approved the other girl. That is, your theory is correct, but the wicked sometimes refuse to reform.' "'Usually the fault of the reformers, my dear. But suppose we redeem a few of them. Isn't it worthwhile?' "'Now let me see. Here's a washwoman who says the Kaiser is a gentleman, and a street car driver who says it's a rich man's war. No use bothering with such people in our present state of blind groping. And here's the list that you yourself gave to me. One Silas Herring, a wholesale grocer. I'm going to see him. He's a big, successful man, and being opposed to the administration is dangerous. Everything is worth investigating, and with him is associated Professor John Dyer, superintendent of schools. "'Oh, Professor Dyer is all right,' said Mary Louise Hastily. It was he who helped bring Mr. Herring to time, and afterward he took Grandpa Jim's place on the bond committee and solicited subscriptions.' "'Did he get any?' "'Any what?' "'Subscriptions.' "'I believe so. Really I don't know.' "'Well, I know,' said Josie, for I've inspected the records. Your professor, who by the way is only a professor by courtesy and a politician by profession, worked four days on the bond sale and didn't turn in a single subscription. He had a lot of wealthy men on his list, and approached them in such a manner that they all positively declined to buy bonds. Dyer's activities kept these men from investing in bonds when, had they been properly approached, they would doubtless have responded freely.' "'Good gracious. Are you sure, Josie?' "'I'm positive. I've got a cross-opposite the name of Professor John Dyer, and I'm going to know more about him presently. His bosom chum is the honourable Andrew Duncan, a man with an honest Scotch name, but only a thirty-second or so of Scotch blood in his veins. His mother was a German, and his grandmother Irish, and his great-grandmother a Spanish gypsy. "'How did you learn all that, Josie?' By making inquiries. Duncan was born in Dorfield, and his father was born in the county. He's a typical American, a product of the great national melting-pot, but no patriot, because he has no sympathy for any of the European nations at war, or even with the war-claims of his native land. He's a selfish, scheming, unprincipled politician, an office-holder ever since he could vote, a man who would sacrifice all America to further his own personal ends. "'Then you think Mr. Duncan may—might be—is—' "'No,' said Josie, I don't. The man might instigate a crime and encourage it in a subtle and elusive way, but he's too shrewd to perpetrate a crime himself. I wouldn't be surprised if Duncan could name the man, or the band of traitors we're looking for, if he chose to, but you may rest assured he has not involved his own personality in any scheme to bulk the government. "'I can't understand that sort of person,' said Mary Louise, plaintively. "'It's because you haven't studied the professional politician. He has been given too much leeway here to fore, but his days I firmly believed are now numbered,' Josie answered. "'Now here's my excuse for investigating Silas Herring and his two cronies, Dyer and Duncan. All three of them happen to be political bosses in this section. It is pretty generally known that they are not in sympathy with President Wilson and the administration. They are shrewd enough to know that the popularity of the war and the President's eloquent messages have carried the country by storm. So they cannot come right out into the open with their feelings. At the same time, they can feel themselves losing control of the situation. In fact, the Herring gang is fearful that at the coming elections they will be swept aside and replaced with out-and-out loyal supporters of the President. So they're going to try to arouse sentiment against the administration and against the war in order to head off the threatening landslide. Dyer hoped to block the sale of the liberty-bonds, blinding folks to his intent by subscribing for them himself. But you girls foiled that scheme by your enthusiastic drive. What the other conspirators have done I don't know, but I imagine their engines will not be squelched by one small defeat. I don't expect to land any of the three in jail, but I think they all ought to be behind bars, and if I shadow them successfully, one or the other may lead me to their tools or confederates. The ones directly guilty of issuing the disloyal circulars, and perhaps a placing the bomb that damaged the airplane works and murdered some of its employees. Mary Louise was pale with horror when Josie finished her earnest and convincing statement. She regarded her friend's talent with profound admiration. Nevertheless, the whole matter was becoming so deep, so involved, that she could only think of it with a shudder. I'm almost sorry, said the girl regretfully, that I ever mixed up in this dreadful thing. I'm not sorry, returned Josie. Chasing traders isn't the pleasantest thing in the world, even for a regular detective. But it's a duty I owe my country, and I'm sufficiently interested to probe the affair to the extent of my ability. If I fail, nothing is lost, and if I win, I'll have done something worthwhile. Here's another name on the list of suspects you gave me, Annie Boyle, the hotelkeeper's daughter. Don't bother about Annie for goodness sake, exclaimed Mary Louise. She hasn't the brains or an opportunity to do any harm, so you'd better class her with Casper and the Butcher. But Josie shook her head. There's a cross opposite her name, said she. I don't intend to shuffle Annie Boyle into the discard until I know more about her. CHAPTER XII of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Josie buys a desk. The Liberty Girls' shock was proving a veritable mint. Expenses were practically nothing, so all the money received could be considered clear profit. It was amusing to observe the people who frequented the shop, critically examining the jumble of wares displayed, wondering who had donated this or that, and meantime searching for something that could be secured at a bargain. Most of the shrewd women had an idea that these young girls would be quite ignorant of values, and might mark the articles at prices far below their worth, but the values of such goods could only be conjectural, and therefore the judgment of the older women was no more reliable than that of the girls. They might think they were getting bargains, and perhaps were, but that was problematic. The one outstanding fact was that people were buying a lot of things they had no use for, merely because they felt they were getting them cheaply, and that their money would be devoted to a good cause. Mrs. Brown, who had given the shop a lot of discarded articles, purchased several discarded articles donated by Mrs. Smith, her neighbor, while Mrs. Smith eagerly bought the cast-off wares of Mrs. Brown. Either would have sneered at the bare idea of taking truck, which the other had abandoned, had the medium of exchange not been the popular Liberty Girls shop. For it was a popular shop. The best families patronized it. Society women met there to chat and exchange gossip. It was considered a mark of distinction, and highly patriotic to say, oh, yes, I've given the dear girls many really valuable things to sell. After doing such noble work, you know. Even the eminent Mrs. Charleworth, premier aristocrat of Dorfield, condescended to visit the shop, not once but many times. She would sit in one of the chairs in the rear of the long room and hold open court, while her sycophants grouped around her, hanging on her words. For Mrs. Charleworth's status was that of social leader. She was a middle-aged widow, very handsome, wore wonderful creations in dress, was of charming personality, was exceedingly wealthy, and much traveled. When she visited New York, the Metropolitan journals took care to relate the interesting fact. Mrs. Charleworth was quite at home in London, Paris, Berlin, and Vienna. She was visiting friends in Dresden when the European War began, and by advice of Herr Zimmermann, of the German Foreign Office, who was in some way a relative, had come straight home to avoid embarrassment. This much was generally known. It had been a matter of public information in the little town for a generation that Dick Charleworth had met the lady in Paris when she was at the height of her social glory, and had won the hand of the beautiful girl and brought her to Dorfield as his wife. But the wealthy young manufacturer did not long survive his marriage. On his death his widow inherited his fortune and continued to reside in the handsome residence he had built, although until the war disrupted European society, she passed much time abroad. The slight taint of German blood in Mrs. Charleworth's veins was not regarded seriously in Dorfield. Her mother had been a Russian court-beauty. She spoke several languages fluently. She was discreet in speech and negative in sympathy concerning the merits of the war. This lasted, however, only while the United States preserved neutrality. As soon as we cast our fortunes with the allies, Mrs. Charleworth organized the Daughters of Helpfulness, an organization designed to aid our national aims, but a society cult as well. Under its auspices two private theatrical entertainments had been given at the Opera House, and the proceeds turned over to the Red Cross. A grand charity ball had been announced for a future date. It may easily be understood that when Mrs. Charleworth became a patroness of the Liberty Girls' Shop and was known to have made sundry purchases there, the high standing of that unique enterprise was assured. Some folks perhaps frequented the place to obtain a glimpse of the great Mrs. Charleworth herself, but of course these were without the pale of her aristocratic circle. Their social triumph, however, was but one reason for the girls' success. The youngsters were enticing in themselves, and they proved to be clever in making sales. The first stock soon melted away and was replaced by new contributions, which the girls took turns in soliciting. The best residences in Dorfield were first Canvassed, then those of people in moderate circumstances. The merchants were not overlooked, and Mary Louise took the regular stores personally in charge. Anything you have that you can't sell, we will take, was her slogan, and most of the merchants found such articles and good-naturedly contributed them to the shop. Sooner or later we shall come to the end of our resources, to the Laura-Jones. We've ransacked about every house in town for contributions. Let's make a second canvas, then, suggested Lucille, and especially let us make a second appeal to those who did not give us anything on our first round. Our scheme wasn't thoroughly understood at first, you know, but now folks regarded an honour to contribute to our stock. Yes, said Jane Donovan, I had to laugh when Mrs. Charleworth asked Mrs. Dyer yesterday what she had given us, and Mrs. Dyer stammered and flushed, and said that when we called on her the dyers were only renting the house and furniture, which belonged to the Dudley Markums, who were in South America. But Mrs. Dyer added they have now bought the place, old furniture and all, and perhaps she would yet find some items she could spare. Very good, said Edna Barlow. The dyers are in my district, and I'll call upon them at once. Have the dyers really bought the Dudley Markum place? asked Mary Louise. So it seems, replied Jane, but it must have cost a lot of money. Isn't the Professor Rich, inquired Josie O'Gorman, who was present and had listened quietly to the conversation? I don't know, answered Mary Louise, and the other girls for bore to answer more definitively. That evening, however, Josie approached the subject when she and Mary Louise were sitting quietly at home, and the conversation more confidential. The dyers, explained her friend, were not very prosperous until the Professor got the appointment as Superintendent of Schools. He was a teacher in a boy's school for years, on a small salary, and everyone was surprised when he secured the appointment. How did it happen? asked Josie. Mary Louise looked across at her grandfather. How did it happen, Grandpa Jim? she repeated. The old colonel lowered his book. We haven't been residents of Dorfield many years, said he, so I am not well acquainted with the town's former history. But I remembered to have heard that the herring political ring, which elected our Board of Education, proposed John Dyer for the position of school superintendent, and the Board promptly gave him the appointment. Was he properly qualified? Josie asked. I think so. A superintendent is a sort of business manager. He doesn't teach, you know, but I understand the Professor received his education abroad at Heidelberg, and is well versed in modern educational methods. Our schools seem to be conducted very well. Josie was thoughtful for a time, and after the colonel had resumed his book, she asked Mary Louise, who was Mrs. Dyer before her marriage? That is ancient history, as far as I am concerned, but I heard the girls talking about her just the other day. Her family, it seems, was respectable but unimportant. Yet Mrs. Dyer is very well liked. She's not brilliant but kindly. When we first came here, the Dyers lived in a little cottage on Juniper Street, and it is only lately that they moved to the big house they've just bought. Mrs. Dyer is now trying hard for social recognition, but seems to meet with little encouragement. Mrs. Charlworth speaks to her, you know, but doesn't invite Mrs. Dyer to her affairs. Next day Edna Barlow, after a morning's quest of contribution, returned to the shop in triumph. There's almost a truckload of stuff outside to be unloaded, she announced, and a good half of it is for Mrs. Dyer, a lot of the old Dudley Markham Rubbish, you know. It has class to it, girls, and when it has been freshened up, we're sure to get good prizes for the lot. I'm surprised that Mrs. Dyer was so liberal, said Mary Louise. Well at first she said that the professor had gone to Chicago on business, and so she couldn't do anything for us, replied Edna. But I insisted that we needed goods right now, so she finally said we could go up in the attic and rummage around and take whatever we could find. My! What a lot of useless stuff there was! That attic has more smashed and battered and broken-legged furniture in it than would furnish six houses, provided it was in shape, the accumulation of ages. But a lot of it is antique, girls, and worth fixing up. I've made the best haul of our career, I verily believe. Then Laura Hilton, who had accompanied Edna, added, When Mrs. Dyer saw our men carrying all that stuff down, she looked as if she regretted her act and would like to stop us. But she didn't, was a shame to, probably, so we lugged it off. Never having been used to antique furniture, the poor woman couldn't realize the value of it. This seems to me almost like robbery, remarked Lucille doubtfully. Do you think it right for us to take advantage of the woman's ignorance? Remember the cause for which we fight, admonished Irene, from her chair. If the things people are not using and do not want can provide comforts for our soldier boys, we ought to secure them, if we have to take them by force. The attic of the old house had really turned out a number of interesting articles. There were tables, stands, satis, chairs, and a quaint old desk, set on a square pedestal with a base of carved lion's feet. This last interested Josie as soon as it was carried into the shop. The top part was somewhat dilapidated, the cover of the desk being broken off and some of the pigeon-hole compartments smashed. But there was an odd lot of tiny drawers, located in every conceivable place, all pretty well preserved, and the square pedestal and the base were in excellent condition. Josie opened drawer after drawer and looked at the old cabinet desk over thoroughly, quite unobserved because the others in the shop were admiring a Chippendale chair or waiting upon their customers. Finally Josie approached Mary Louise and asked, What will you take for the pedestal desk, just as it stands? Why, I'll let Irene put a price on it, was the reply. She knows values better than the rest of us. If it's fixed up, it will be worth twenty dollars, said Irene, after wheeling her chair to the desk for a critical examination of it. Well, what will it cost to fix it up? demanded Josie. Perhaps five dollars. Then I'll give you fifteen for it, just as it stands, proposed Josie. You! What could you do with the clumsy thing? Ship it home to Washington, was the prompt reply. It would tickle Daddy immensely to own such an unusual article, so I want to make him a present of it on his birthday. Hand over the fifteen dollars, please, decided Irene. Josie paid the money. She caught the Dreyman who had unloaded the furniture and hired him to take the desk at once to the Hathaway residence. She even rode with the man on the truck and saw the battered piece of furniture placed in her own room. Leaving it there, she locked her door and went back to the shop. The girls were much amused when they learned they had made so important a sale to one of themselves. If we had asked Mrs. Dyer to give us fifteen dollars cold cash, remarked Laura, she would have snubbed us properly, but the first article from her attic which we sold has netted us that sum, and I really believe we will get from fifty to seventy-five dollars more out of the rest of the stuff. Mrs. Charleworth dropped in during the afternoon and immediately became interested in the Dudley Markham furniture. The family to whom it had formally belonged, she knew, had been one of the very oldest and most important indoor field. The Dudley Markhams had large interest in Argentina and would make their future home there, but here were the possessions of their grandmothers and great-grandmothers, rescued from their ancient dust, and Mrs. Charleworth was a person who loved antiques, and knew their sentimental and intrinsic values. The dyers were foolish to part with these things, she asserted. Of course Mary Dyer isn't supposed to know antiques, but the professor has lived abroad and is well educated. The professor wasn't at home, explained Edna. Perhaps that was lucky for us. He is in Chicago, and we pleaded so hard that Mrs. Dyer let us go into the attic and help ourselves. Well, that proves she has a generous heart, said the grandlady, with a peculiar, sphinx-like smile. I will buy these two chairs at your price when you are ready to sell them. We will hold them for you, replied Edna, there to be re-varnished and properly restored, you know, and we have a man in our employ who knows just how to do it. When Mary Louise told Colonel Hathaway jokingly at dinner, that evening, of Josie's extravagant purchase, her girlfriend accepted the chafing, composedly, and even with a twinkle in her baby blue eyes. She made no comment, and led Mary Louise to discourse on other subjects. That night Josie sat up late, locked in her own room, with only the pedestal desk for company. First, she dropped to her knees, pushed up a panel in the square base, and disclosed the fact that, in this inappropriate place, were several cleverly constructed secret compartments, two of which were well filled with papers. The papers were not those of the Dudley Markham's. They were not yellowed with age. They were quite fresh. There, whispered the girl triumphantly, the traitor is in my toils. Is it just luck, I wonder, or has fate taken a hand in the game? How the Kaiser would frown if he knew what I am doing tonight, and how Daddy would laugh. But let's see, perhaps this is just a wedge, and I'll need a sledgehammer to crack open the whole conspiracy. The reason Josie stayed up so late was because she carefully examined every paper and copied most of those she had found. But toward morning she finished her self-imposed task, replaced the papers, slid the secret panel into place, and then dragged the rather heavy piece of furniture into the far end of the deep closet that opened off her bedroom. Before the desk she hung several dresses, quite masking it from observation. Then she went to bed, and was asleep in two minutes. CHAPTER XIII of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Joe Langley, soldier. Strange as it may seem, Mary Louise and her Liberty Girls were regarded with envy by many of the earnest women of Dorfield, who were themselves working along different lines to promote the interests of the government in the Great War. Every good woman was anxious to do her duty in this national emergency, but every good woman loves to have her efforts appreciated, and since the advent of the bevy of pretty young girls in the ranks of female patriotism, they easily became the favorites in public comment and appreciation. Young men and old cheerfully backed the Liberty Girls in every activity they undertook. The Dorfield Red Cross was a branch of the wonderful national organization. The Hoover Conservation Club was also national in its scope. The Navy Knitting Knot sent its work to Washington headquarters. All were respectfully admired and financially assisted on occasion. But the Liberty Girls of Dorfield were distinctly local, and a credit to the city. Their pretty uniforms were gloriously emblematic. Their fresh young faces glowed with enthusiasm. Their specialty of helping our soldier boys appealed directly to the hearts of the people. Many a man, cold and unemotional here to fore in his attitude toward the war, was one to a recognition of its menace, its necessities, and his personal duty to his country by the arguments and example of the Liberty Girls. If there was a spark of manhood in him, he would not allow a young girl to outdo him in patriotism. Mary Louise gradually added to her ranks as girl after girl begged to be enrolled in the organization. After consulting the others, it was decided to admit all desirable girls between the ages of 14 and 18, and six companies were formed during the following weeks, each company consisting of twenty girls. The captains were the original six, Alora, Laura, Edna, Lucille, Jane, and Mary Louise. Irene McFarlane was made a jute and quartermaster because she was unable to participate actively in the regimental drills. Mary Louise wanted Josie to be their general, but Josie declined. She even resigned temporarily from membership, saying she had other duties to attend that would require all her time. Then the girls wanted Mary Louise to be general of the Dorfield Liberty Girls, but she would not consent. We will just have the six companies in no general at all, she said, nor do we need a colonel or any officers other than our captains. Each and every girl in our ranks is just as important and worthy of honor as every other girl, so the fewer officers the better. About this time Joe Langley came back from France with one arm gone. He was Sergeant Joe Langley now, and wore a decoration for bravery that excited boundless admiration and pride throughout all Dorfield. Joe had driven a milk-wagon before he left home and went to Canada to join the first contingent sent abroad, but no one remembered his former humble occupation. A hero has no past beyond his heroism. The young man's empty sleeve and his decoration admitted him to intercourse with the best society of Dorfield, which promptly placed him on a pedestal. You know, said Joe, rather shamelessly deprecating the desire to lionize him, there wasn't much credit in what I did. I'm even sorry I did it, for my foolishness sent me to the hospital and put me out of the war. But there was Tom McChesney, lying out there in no man's land, with a bullet in his chest and moaning for water. Tom was a good chum of mine, and I was mad when I saw him fall, just as the boaches was driving us back to our trenches. I know'd the poor cuss was in misery, and I know'd what I'd expect to chum of mine to do if I was in Tom's place. So out I goes, with my captain yelling at me to stop, and I got to Tom and give him a good honest swig. The bullets pinged around us, although I saw a German officer, a decent young fellow, try to keep his men from shooting. But he couldn't hold him, so I hoisted Tom on my back and started for our trenches. Got there, too, you know, just as a machine-gun over to the right started spouting. It didn't matter my dropping Tom in the trench and tumbling after him. The boys buried him decent while the saw-bones was cutting what was left of my arm away, and putting me to sleep with dope. It was a fool trick, after all, though God knows I'll never forget the look in Tom's eyes as he swallowed that swig of cool water. That's all, folks. I'm out of the game, and I suppose the general just pinned this thing on my coat, so I wouldn't take my discharge too much to heart. That was Joe Langley. Do you wonder they forgot he was once a milkman, or that every resident of Dorfield swelled with pride at the very side of him? Just one of our soldier boys, just one of the boys the Liberty Girls were trying to assist. They're all alike, said Mary Louise. I believe every American soldier would be a Joe Langley if he had the chance. Joe took a mighty interest in the Liberty Girls. He volunteered to drill and make soldiers of them, and so well that he performed this task, perhaps because they admired him and were proud of their drillmaster, that when the last big lot of selected draftmen marched away, the entire six companies of Liberty Girls marched with them to the train, bands playing and banners flying, and it was conceded to be one of the greatest days Dorfield had ever known, because every one cheered until horse. CHAPTER XIV of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. The Professor is annoyed. Josie O'Gorman, after resigning from the Liberty Girls, became, so she calmly stated, a loafer. She wandered around the streets of Dorfield in a seemingly aimless manner, shopped at the stores without buying, visited the houses of all sorts of people, on all sorts of gossipy errands, interviewed lawyers, bankers, and others in an inconsequential way that amused some and annoyed others, and conducted herself so singularly that even Mary Louise was puzzled by her actions. But Josie said to Mary Louise, My, what a lot I'm learning! There's nothing more interesting or more startling, or sometimes more repulsive, than human nature. Have you learned anything about the German spy plot? questioned Mary Louise eagerly. Not yet. My quest resembles a cartwheel. I'd go all around the outer rim first, and mark the spokes when I come to them. Then I follow each spoke toward the center. They'll all converge to the hub, you know, and when I've reached the hub with all my spokes of knowledge radiating from it, I'm in perfect control of the whole situation. Oh! How far are you from the hub, Josie? I'm still marking the spokes, Mary Louise. Are there many of them? More than I suspected. Well, I realize, dear, that you'll tell me nothing until you're ready to confide in me, but please remember, Josie, how impatient I am, and how I long to bring the traders to justice. I won't forget, Mary Louise. You're partners in this case, and perhaps I shall ask for your help before long. Some of my spokes may be blinds, and until I know something positive, there's no use in worrying you with confidences which are merely surmises. Soon after this conversation, Mary Louise found herself, as head of the Liberty Girls, in an embarrassing position. Professor Dyer returned from Chicago on an evening train, and early next morning was at the shop even before its doors were opened, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Mary Louise. There has been a mistake, he said to her hastily, as she smilingly greeted him. In my absence Mrs. Dyer has thoughtlessly given you some old furniture, which I value highly. It was my wife's blunder, of course, but I want back two of the articles, and I'm willing to pay your shop as much for them as you could get elsewhere. Oh! I'm awfully sorry, Professor," said the girl, really distressed, as she unlocked the shop door. Come in, please. Mrs. Dyer told our girls to go into the attic and help themselves to anything they wanted. We've done splendidly with the old furniture and fenders and brassware, but I hope the two articles you prize are still unsold. If so, you shall not pay us for them, but we will deliver them to your house immediately. He did not reply, for already he was searching through the accumulation of odds and ends with which the store-room was stocked. Perhaps I can help you," suggested Mary Louise. He turned to her, seeming to hesitate. One was a chair, a chair with spindle legs and a high back, richly carved. It is made of black oak, I believe. Oh! I remember that well, said the girl. Mrs. Charleworth bought it from us. Mrs. Charleworth—well, perhaps she will return it to me. I know the lady slightly and will explain that I did not wish to part with it. Still his eyes were roving round the room, and his interest in the chair seemed somewhat perfunctory. The other piece of furniture was a sort of esquitois, set on a square pedestal that had a carved base of lion's feet. His voice had grown eager now, although he strove to render it calm, and there was a ring of anxiety in his words. Mary Louise felt relieved, as she said assuringly. That, at least, I can promise you will be returned. My friend Josie O'Gorman brought it, and had it sent to our house where she is visiting. As soon as some of the girls come here to relieve me, I'll take you home with me, and to have Uncle Eben carry the desk to your house in our motor-car. It isn't so very big, and Uncle Eben can manage it easily. The tense look on the man's face relaxed. It was evident that Professor Dyer was greatly relieved. Thank you, he said. I'd like to get it back as soon as possible. But when, half an hour later, they arrived at the Hathaway residence, and met Josie just preparing to go out, the latter said, with a bewildered look in her blue eyes—the old desk! Why, I sent that home to Washington days ago! You did! Mary Louise was quite surprised. Why, you said nothing to me about that, Josie. I didn't mention it, because I'd had no idea you were interested. Daddy loves old things, and I sent it home, so he would have it on his return. By freight! You were away at the shop all day, you know, so I asked Uncle Eben to get me a big box, which he brought to my room. The desk fitted it nicely. I nailed on the cover myself, and Uncle Eben took it to the freight office for me. See, here's the receipt in my pocket-book. She unfolded a paper and held it out to Professor Dyer, who read it with a queer look on his face. It was, indeed, a freight receipt for one piece of furniture boxed, to be shipped to John O'Gorman, Washington, D.C. The sender was described as Miss J. O'Gorman, Dorfield. There was no questioning Josie's ferocity, but she called the black servants to substantiate her story. Yes, Miss Josie, said Uncle Eben. I then took the box to the freight office, and got the receipt, like you told me. Tuesday. It were last Tuesday. Professor Dyer was thoughtful. You say your father is away from home at present, he asked. Yes, he's abroad. Do you suppose the freight office in Washington would deliver the box to me on your order? I'm afraid not, said Josie. It's consigned to John O'Gorman, and only John O'Gorman can sign for its receipt. Again, the professor reflected. He seemed considerably disturbed. What is the business of John O'Gorman, your father, he presently inquired? He's a member of the government's secret service, Josie replied, watching his face. The professor's eyes widened. He stood a moment as if turned to stone. Then he gave a little forced laugh and said, I'm obliged to make a trip to Washington on business, and I thought perhaps I'd pick up the box there and ship it to Dorfield. The old desk isn't valuable, except that it's antique and unusual. I'd like to get it back, and I'll return you the money you paid for it and the freight charges. If you'll write a note to the railway company, saying the box was wrongly addressed, and asking that it be delivered to my order, I think I can get it. Josie agreed to this at once. She wrote the note, and also gave Professor Dyer the freight receipt, but she refused to take his money. There might be some hitch, she explained. If you get the box, and it reaches Dorfield safely, then I'll accept the return of my money. But railroads are unreliable affairs and have queer rules, so let's wait and see what happens. The professor assured her, however, that there was no doubt of his getting the box, but he would wait to pay her if she preferred to let them at a rest. When he had gone away, seeming far more cheerful than when he came, Mary Louise said to Josie, This is a very unfortunate and embarrassing affair all around. I'm sorry we took that furniture from Mrs. Dyer before her husband came home, and gave his consent. It is very embarrassing. I'm glad for my part, was the reply. Josie's blue eyes were shining innocently, and her smile was very sweet. Mary Louise regarded her suspiciously. What is it, Josie? She demanded. Was that all desk to do with—with—the German spy plot? Just wait and see, Mary Louise. You won't tell me? Not now, dear. But why did you ship the thing to Washington, if it is likely to prove a valuable clue? Why ask questions that I can't answer? See here, Mary Louise, it isn't wise or even safe for me to tell you anything just yet. What I know frightens me, even me. Can't you wait and—trust me? Oh, of course, responded Mary Louise in a disappointed tone. But I failed to understand what Professor Dyer's old desk and possibly have to do with our quest. Josie laughed. It used to belong to the Dudley Markums. The Dudley Markums—great heavens, but—see here, they left Dorfield long before this war started, and so— I'm going out, was Josie's inconsequent remark. Do you think those are rain-clouds, Mary Louise? I hate to drag around an umbrella if it's not needed. End of Chapter 14. Read by Cibella Denton. For more free audiobooks or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 15 of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum. Read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Suspenders for Sale. The two girls parted at the Liberty Shop. Mary Louise went in to attend to business, while Josie O'Gorman strolled up the street and paused thoughtfully before the window of Casker's clothing emporium. At first she didn't notice that it was Casker's. She looked in the windows at the array of menswear, just so she could think quietly, without attracting attention, for she was undecided as to her next move. But presently, realizing this was Casker's place, she gave a little laugh and said to herself, This is the fellow poor little Mary Louise suspected of being the arch-trader. I wonder if he knows anything at all, or if I could pump it out of him if he does. Guess I'll interview old Jake, if only to satisfy myself that he's the harmless fool I take him to be. With this in mind she walked into the store. A clerk met her. Other clerks were attending to a few scattered customers. Is Mr. Casker in, she asked the young man. In his office miss, to the right, half-way down. He left her to greet another who entered, and Josie walked down the aisle as directed. The office was raised a step above the main floor and was railed in, with a small swinging gate to allow entrance. This was not the main business office, but the proprietor's special den, and his desk was placed so he could overlook the entire establishment with one glance. Just at present Casker was engaged in writing, or figuring, for his bushy head was bent low. Josie opened the gate, walked in, and took a chair that stood beside the desk. Good morning, Mr. Casker, she said sweetly. He looked up, swept her with a glance, and replied, What's the matter? Can't one of the clerks attend to you? I'm busy. I'll wait, was Josie's quiet reply. I'd rather deal with you than a clerk. He hesitated, laid down his pen, and turned his chair toward her. I knew the man by sight, but if he had ever seen the girl he did not recall the fact. His tone was now direct and business-like. Very well, Miss. Tell me what I can do for you. It had taken her an instant to formulate her speech. I'm interested in the poor children of Dorfield, she began, having been sent here as the agent of an organization devoted to clothing our needy little ones. I find, since I have been soliciting subscriptions in Dorfield and investigating the requirements of the poor, that there are a lot of boys, especially in this city, who are in rags, and I want to purchase for them as many outfits as my money will allow. But on account of the war and its demands on people formerly charitably inclined, I realize my subscription money is altogether too little to do what I wish. That's too bad, but it's true. Everywhere they talk war, war, war in its hardships. The war demands money for taxes, bonds, mess funds, the Red Cross, and all sorts of things, and, in consequence, our poor are being sadly neglected. He nodded somewhat absently but said nothing. Josie felt her clever bait had not been taken, as she had expected, so she resolved to be more audacious in her remarks. It seems a shame, she said, with assumed indignation, that the poor of the country must starve and be in want, while the money is all devoted to raising an army for the Germans to shoot and kill. He saw the point and answered with a broad smile. Is that the alternative, young lady? Must one or the other happen? Well, yes, the soldiers must be killed, God help them. But himmel, we don't let our kitties freeze for lack of clothes, do we? See here, they're taking everything away from us merchants. Our profits, our goods, everything, but the little we got left the kitties can have. The war is a robber. It destroys. It puts its hand in an odd and span's pocket without asking its consent. All wars do that. The men who make wars have no souls, no mercy, but they make wars. Wars are desperate things and require desperate methods. There is always the price to pay, and the people always pay it. The autocrats of war do not say, please, to us. They say, hold up your hands. And so what is there to do but hold up our hands? Josie was delighted. She was exultant. Jake Casker was falling into her trap very swiftly. But the little ones, he continued, suddenly checking himself in his tirade, must not be made to suffer like the grown-up folks. They at least are innocent of it all. Young lady, I'd do more for the kids than I'd do for the war, and I'd do it willingly of my own accord. Tell me, then, how much money you've got, and I'll give you the boys' suits at cost price. I'll do more. For every five suits you buy from me at cost, I'll throw an extra one in free. Jake Casker's own contribution. This offer startled and somewhat dismayed Josie. She had not expected the interview to take such a turn, and Casker's generosity seriously involved her, while at the same time it proved to her, without a doubt, that the man was a man. He was loud-mouthed and foolish, but that was all. While she gathered her wits to escape from an unpleasant situation, a quick step sounded in the aisle, and a man brusquely entered the office and exclaimed, Hello, Jake. I'm here again. How's the suspender's stock? Casker gave him a surly look. You come pretty often, Abe Kaufman, he muttered, suspenders. Bah! I only buy them once a year, and you come around every month or so. I don't think it pays you to keep pestering merchants. Abe Kaufman laughed, a big laugh, and sat down in a chair. One time you buy, Jake, and other times I come to Dorfield somebody else buys. How do I know you don't get a run on suspenders sometime? But if I don't visit all my customers, whether they buy or not, they think I neglect them. Who's this, Jake, your daughter? He turned his bland smile on Josie. He was a short, thick-set man with a German cast of countenance. He spoke with a stronger German accent than did Casker. Though his face persistently smiled, his eyes were half closed and shrewd. When he looked at her, Josie gave a little shudder and slightly drew back. Ah! That's a wrong guess, said Mr. Kaufman quickly. I must beg your pardon, my girl, but I meant to compliment to you both. Accept my card, please, and he drew it from his pocket and handed it to her with a bow. Josie glanced at it. Kaufman's suspender company, Chicago. Abe Kaufman, president. My business does not interest ladies, he went on in a light tone meant to be jovial. But with the men, ah! With the men it's a hold-up game. Ha, ha, he! One of our trade jokes. It's an elastic business. Kaufman's suspenders keep their wares in suspense. Ha, ha! Pretty good, eh? Do you ever sell any? Asked Josie curiously. Do I? Do I? Jake. Ha, ha! But not so many now. The war has ruined the suspender business like everything else. Casker can tell you that, Miss. Casker won't, though, asserted Jake in a surly tone. The girl, however, was now on another scent. Don't you like the war, then? Josie asked the salesman. Like it! the eyes half-opened with a flash. Who likes war, then? Does humanity which bears the burden? For me, myself, I'll say war is a good thing. But I won't tell you why or how I profit by it. I'll only say war is a curse to humanity. And if I had the power, I'd stop it tomorrow, today, this very hour. And at that I'd lose by it. His voice shook with a passion almost uncontrollable. He half-brozed from his chair with clenched fists. But suddenly remembering himself, or reading the expression on the girl's face, he sank back again, passed his hand over his face, and forced another bland, unmerthful smile. I'd hate to be the man who commits his country to war, he said in mild, regretful tones. But here Casker, who had been frowning darkly on the suspender man, broke in. See here, Abe, I don't allow that kind of talk in my store, he growled. You! You're like me! You hate the war, Jake! I did once, Abe, but I don't now. I ain't got time to hate it. It's here and I can't help it. We're in the war and we're going ahead to win it, because there ain't no hope in backing down. Stop it! Why, man, we can't stop it. It's like a man who has pushed off a high bank into a river. He's got to swim to a landing on the other side, or else sink. We Americans ain't going to sink, Abe Kaufman. We'll swim over and land safe. It's got to be, so it will be. All right. I said, didn't I, that it won't hurt my pocket. But it hurts my heart. Jack Josie was amazed that he claimed a heart. But it's funny to hear you talk for the war, Jake, when you always hated it. Well, I've quit kicking till we're out of the woods. I'm American, Abe, and the American flag is flying in France. If our boys can't hold it in the face of the enemy, Jake Casker will go do it himself. Kaufman stood up, casting a glance of scorn on his customer. You talk like a fool, Jake. You talk like you was talking for the papers. Not honest, but as if somebody had scared you. Yes, it's the fellows like you that scare me, retorted the clothing merchant. Every time you curse the war, you're keeping us from winning the war as quick as we ought to. You're tripping the soldiers, the government, the president, the whole machine. I'll admit I don't like the war, but I'm for it just the same. Can you figure that out, Abe Kaufman? Once I had no more sense than you have, but now I got a better way of thinking. It ain't for me to say whether the war's right or not. My country's honours at stake, so I'll back my country to the last ditch." Kaufman turned away. I guess you don't need any suspenders, he said, and walked out of this door. Casker gave a sigh of relief and sat down again. Now, young lady, he began, we'll talk about— Excuse me, said Josie Hastily. I'm going now, but I'll be back. I want to see you again, Mr. Casker. She ran down the aisle to the door, looked up and down the street, and saw the thick-set form of the suspender salesman just disappearing around the corner to the south. Instantly she stepped out. Josie was an expert in the art of shadowing. CHAPTER XVI of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. Mrs. Charleworth. When Mary Louise reached home that evening, she was surprised to find a note from Josie which said, I've decided to change my boarding place for a week or so, although I shall miss Aunt Sally's cooking and a lot of other comforts. But this is business. If you meet me in the street, don't recognize me unless I'm quite alone. We've quarreled if anyone asks you. Pretty soon we'll make up again and be friends. Of course you'll realize I'm working on our case which grows interesting, so keep mum and behave. I wish I knew where she's gone, was Mary Louise's anxious comment, as she showed the note to Grandpa Jim. Don't worry, my dear, advised the Colonel. Josie possesses the rare faculty of being able to take care of herself under all circumstances. Had she not been so peculiarly trained by her detective father, I would feel it a duty to search for her, but she is not like other girls and wouldn't thank us for interfering, I'm sure. I can't see the necessity of her being so mysterious about it, declared the girl. Josie ought to know I'm worthy of her confidence. And she said, just the other day, that we're partners. You must be the silent partner, then, said her grandfather, smiling at her vexed expression. Josie is also worthy of confidence. She may blunder, but if so she'll blunder cleverly. I advise you to be patient with her. Well, I'll try, Grandpa. When we see her again she will probably know something important," said Mary Louise, resignedly. As for little, red-headed Josie O'Gorman, she walked into the office of the mansion-house that afternoon, lugging a battered suitcase borrowed from Aunt Sally, and asked the clerk at the desk for weekly rates for room and board. The clerk spoke to Mr. Boyle, the proprietor, who examined the girl critically. Where are you from? he asked. New York! answered Josie. I'm a newspaper woman, but the war cost me my job, because the papers are all obliged to cut down their forces. So I came here to get work. The war affects Dorfield, too, and we have only two newspapers, said the man. But your business isn't my business in any event. I suppose you can pay in advance. For a week anyhow, she returned, perhaps two weeks. If the papers can't use me I'll try for some other works. Know anybody here? I know Colonel Hathaway, but I'm not on good terms with his granddaughter, Mary Louise. We had a fight over the war. Give me a quiet room, not too high up. This place looks like a fire-trap. As she spoke she signed her name on the register and opened her purse. Boyle looked over his keyboard. Give me forty-seven if you can, said Josie carelessly. She had swiftly run her eye over the hotel register. Forty-seven is always my lucky number. It's taken, said the clerk. While forty-three is the next best, asserted Josie. I made forty-three dollars the last week I was in New York. Is forty-three taken also? No, said Boyle, but I can do better by you. Forty-three is a small room and only has one window. That's the thing, declared Josie. I hate big rooms. He assigned her to room forty-three, and after she had paid a week in advance a bell-boy showed her to the tiny apartment and carried her suitcase. Number forty-five will be vacant in a day or two, remarked the boy, as he unlocked the door. Kaufman has it now, but he won't stay long. He's a suspender-drummer, and he comes about every month, sometimes oftener, and always has forty-five. When he goes I'll let you know so you can speak for it. Forty-five is one of our best rooms. Thank you," said Josie, and tipped him a quarter. As she opened her suitcase and settled herself in the room, she reflected on the meeting in Casker's store, which had led her to make this queer move. A fool for luck, they say, she muttered. I wonder what intuition induced me to interview Jake Casker. The clothing merchant isn't a bad fellow, she continued to herself, looking over the notes she had made on her tablets. He didn't make a single disloyal speech. Hates the war, and I can't blame him for that, but wants to fight it to the finish. Now the other man, Kaufman, hates the war, too, but he did not make any remark that was especially objectionable, but that man's face betrayed more than his words, and some of his words puzzled me. Kaufman said at two different times that the war would make him money. There's only one way a man like him can make money out of the war, and that is by serving the Kaiser. I suppose he thought we wouldn't catch that idea, or he'd been more careful what he said. All criminals are reckless in little ways. That's how they betray themselves, and give us a chance to catch them. However, I haven't caught this fellow yet, and he's tricky enough to give me a long chase unless I act boldly and get my evidence before he suspects I'm on his trail. That must be my program, to act quickly and lose no time. Kaufman saw her when she entered the hotel dining-room for dinner that evening, and he walked straight over to her table and sat down opposite her. "'Met again,' he said with his broad smile, "'you selling something?' "'Brains,' returned Josie, composedly. "'Good. Did Jake Kasker buy any of you?' "'I've all my stock on hand, sir. I'm a newspaper woman, special writer or advertising expert. Quit New York last week and came on here.' "'Wasn't New York good enough for you?' he asked, after ordering his dinner of the waitress. "'I'm too independent to suit the Metropolitan journals. I couldn't endorse their gumshoe policies. For instance, they wanted me to eulogize President Wilson and his cabinet, rave over the beauties of the war and denounce any congressman or private individual who dares think for himself,' explained Josie, eating her soup. "'So I'm looking for another job.'" Kaufman maintained silence, studying the bill of fair. When he was served he busied himself eating, but between the slits of his half-closed eyes he regarded the girl furtively from time to time. His talkative mood had curiously evaporated. He was thoughtful. Only when Josie was preparing to leave the table did he resume the conversation. "'What did you think of Jake Kasker's kind of patriotism?' he asked. "'Oh, the clothing man?' "'I didn't pay much attention. Never met Kasker before, you know. Isn't he like most of the rabble, thinking what he's told to think and saying what he's told to say?' She waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. Even this clever lead did not get a rise out of Abe Kaufman. Indeed he seemed to suspect a trap, for when she rose and walked out of the dining-room she noticed that his smile had grown ironical. On reaching her room through the dimly-lighted passage Josie refrained from turning on her own lights, but she threw open her one little window and leaned out. The window faced a narrow, unlighted alley at the rear of the hotel. One window of Room 45, next to her, opened on an iron fire-scape that reached within a few feet of the ground. Josie smiled, withdrew her head, and sat in the dark corner of her room for hours, with a patience possible only through long training. At ten o'clock Kaufman entered his room. She could distinctly hear him moving about. A little later he went away, walking boldly down the quarter to the elevator. Josie rose and slipped on her hat and coat. Leaving the hotel, Kaufman made his way down the street to Broadway, Dorfield's main thoroughfare. He wore a soft hat and carried a cane. The few people he passed paid no attention to him. Steadily proceeding he left the business district and after a little while turned abruptly to the right. This was one of the principal residence sections of the city. Kaufman turned the various corners with a confidence that denoted his perfect acquaintance with the route. But presently his pace slowed, and he came to a halt opposite an imposing mansion set far back in ample rounds, beautifully cared for and filled with rare shrubbery. Only for a moment, however, did the man hesitate, just long enough to cast a glance up and down the deserted street, which was fairly well lighted. No one being in sight he stepped from the sidewalk to the lawn, and keeping the grass under his feet, noiselessly made his way through the shrubbery to the south side of the residence. Here a conservatory formed a wing which jetted into the grounds. The Germans softly approached, mounted the three steps leading to a glass door, and wrapped upon the sash in a peculiar manner. Almost immediately the door was opened by a woman who beckoned him in. The conservatory was unlighted, saved by a mellow drift that filtered through the plants from a doorway beyond, leading to the main house. From behind the concealment of a thick bush Josie O'Gorman had noted the woman's form but was unable to see her face. The girl happened to know the house, however. It was the residence of Dorfield's social leader, Mrs. Charlworth. Josie squatted behind that bush for nearly half an hour. Then the glass door opened and Kaufman stepped out. By the way, he said in a low voice, it's just as well we didn't take Kasker in with us. He's a loud-mouthed fool. I've tested him, and find he blats out everything he knows. We do not need him, since I've decided to finance the affair, returned the woman, and Josie recognized her voice. It was the great Mrs. Charlworth herself. Mrs. Charlworth, in secret confidence with Abe Kaufman, the suspender salesman. Then Josie experienced another surprise. A second man stepped through the shadowy doorway, joining Kaufman on the steps. "'It seems to me,' said this last person, that there is danger in numbers. Of course, that's your affair, Kaufman, and none of my business. But if I'm to help you pull it off, I'd rather there wouldn't be to any of us. It's a ticklish thing at the best, and—'Shut up!' growled Kaufman, suspiciously peering about him into the darkness. The less we talk in the open, the better. "'That is true. Good night,' said the woman, and went in, closing the door behind her. "'I think I will light a cigar,' said Kaufman. "'Wait until you're in the street,' cautioned the other. They walked on the grass, avoiding the paths and keeping in the darkest places. Finally they emerged upon the sidewalk, and finding the coast clear, traveled on side by side. At times they conversed in low tones, so low that the little red-headed girl, dodging through the parkings in their wake, could not overhear the words they spoke. But as they approached the more frequented part of the town they separated, Kaufman turning into Broadway and the other continuing along a side street. Josio Gorman followed the latter person. He was tall and thin and stooped to trifle. She had been unable so far to see his face. He seemed, from the turnings he made, to be skirting the business section rather than passing directly through it. So the girl took a chance, darted down one street and around the corner of another, and then slipped into a dim doorway near which hung an electric street light. She listened eagerly and soon was rewarded by a sound of footsteps. The man she was shadowing leisurely approached, passed under the light and continued on his way, failing to note the motionless form of the girl in the doorway. Josie gave a little laugh. You're a puzzling proposition, Professor, she whispered, and you came near fooling me very properly, for I imagined you were on your way to Washington, and here you've mixed up with another important job. When Josie reached the hotel it was nearly midnight. Half the lights in the office had been extinguished, and behind the desk, reading a novel, the night-clerks brawled in an easy chair. She hadn't seen the night-clerk before. He was a sallow-faced boy, scarcely twenty years old, attired in a very striking suit of clothes and wearing a gorgeous, jeweled scarf pin in his cravat. As he read he smoked a cigarette. Hello! said this brilliant individual, as Josie leaned over the counter and regarded him with a faint smile. Your number forty-three, I guess, and its lucky old boy will ain't here to read you a lecture, or to turn you out. He won't stand for unmarried lady-guests being out till this hour, and you may as well know it first as last. He's quite right, was Josie's calm reply. I'll not do it again. My key, please? He rose reluctantly and gave her the key. Do you sit up all night? She asked sweetly. I'm supposed to, he answered in a tone less gruff, but towards morning I snooze a little, only way to pass the time, with nothing to do and nobody to talk to. It's a beastly job at the best, and I'm going to quit it. Why don't you start a hotel of your own? She suggested. You think you're kidding me, don't you? But I might even do that, if I wanted to, he asserted, glaring at her as if he challenged contradiction. It ain't money that stops me, but hotel keepens a dog's life. I've made a bid for a cigar-store down the street, and if they take me up somebody can have this job. I see you're ambitious, said Josie. Well, I hope you get the cigar-store. Good night, Mr.— My name's Tom Linnett. I won't tell the old boy you was out late, so long. The elevator had stopped running, so Josie climbed the stairs and went thoughtfully to her room. Kaufman had preceded her. She heard him drop his shoes heavily upon the floor as he undressed. She turned on the light and made some notes on her tablets, using the same queer characters that she always employed. The last note read, Tom Linnett, night-clerk at the mansion-house, new clothes, new jewelry, has money. Only acquired, for no one with money would be a night-clerk. Wants to quit his job and buy a cigar-store. Query. Who's staked Tom and why? As she crawled into bed, Josie reflected, Mary Louise would be astonished if she knew what I have learned to-night. But then I'm astonished myself. I feel like the boy who went fishing for sun-fish and caught a whale. Next morning she was up early, alert to continue her investigations. When she heard Mr. Kaufman go down to breakfast, she took a bunch of past keys from her bag, went boldly through the hall to the door of forty-five, unlocked it with ease, and walked in. A hurried glance showed her a large suitcase lying open upon a table. She examined its contents. One side was filled with samples of suspenders, the other with miscellaneous articles of male apparel. Josie was not satisfied. She peered under the bed, softly opened all the drawers in the dresser, and finally entered the closet. Here on the rear shelf a newspaper was placed in such a manner as to hide from observation anything behind it. To an ordinary person, glancing toward it, the newspaper meant nothing. To Josie's practiced eye it was plainly a shield. Being of short stature the girl had to drag in a chair in order to reach the high shelf. She removed the newspaper, took down a black hand satchel, it was dreadfully heavy and she almost dropped it, and then replaced the paper as it had been before. Josie was jubilant. She removed the chair, again closed the closet door, and leaving the room practically as she had found it, stole back to her own apartment, the heavy satchel concealed in the folds of her frock. But no one saw her, the hall being vacant, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she locked her own door against possible intruders. Then she placed the black satchel on a stand and bent over it. The lock was an unusual one. She tried all the slender keys upon her bunch without effect. They were either too large or did not fit the keyhole. Next she took a thin hairpin, bent and twisted it this way and that way, and tried to pry the lock open. Failure. However, she was beginning to understand the mechanism of the lock by this time. From that all-containing handbag which was her inseparable companion she drew out a file, and taking one of the master keys began to file it to fit the lock of the black satchel. This operation consumed more time than she was aware, so interesting was the intricate work. She was presently startled by a sound in the corridor. Mr. Kaufman was coming back to his room, whistling an aria from DiValkyrie. Josie paused, motionless. Her heart almost stopped beating. The man unlocked his door and entered still whistling. Sometimes the whistle was soft and low. Again it was louder and more cheerful. Josie listened in suspense. As long as the whistling continued she realized the theft of the black satchel remained undiscovered. Kaufman remained in his room but a few moments. When he departed, carefully locking his door after him, he was still whistling. Josie ran to her own door, and when he had passed it, opened it just to crack, to enable her to gaze after him. Underneath his arm he carried a bundle of the sample suspenders. Good! she whispered softly, retreating to bend over the satchel again. Mr. Abe Kaufman will sell suspenders this morning as a blind to his more important industries, so I needn't hurry. Sooner than she expected, the lock clicked and sprang open. Her eyes at first fell upon some crumpled, soiled shirts, but these she hurriedly removed. The remainder of the satchel contained something enclosed in a green flannel bag. It was heavy, as she found when she tried to lift it out, and a sudden suspicion led her to handle the thing very gingerly. She put it on the table beside the satchel and cautiously untied the drawstring at the mouth of the bag. A moment later she had uncovered a round ball of polished blue steel, to which was attached a tube covered with woven white cotton. Josie fell back on a chair, fairly gasping, and stared with big eyes at the ball. In her desire to investigate the possessions of the suspender salesman she had scarcely expected to find anything like this. The most she had hoped to discover were incriminating papers. It's a bomb, she stammered, regarding the thing fearfully. A real, honest for true bomb. And it is meant to carry death and destruction to loyal supporters of our government. There's no doubt of that, but the thoughts that followed so amazing an assertion were too bewildering to be readily classified. They involved a long string of conjectures, implicating in their wide ramifications several persons of important standing in the community. The mere suggestion of what she had uncovered sufficed to fill Josie's heart and brain with terror. Here, I mustn't try to think it out just yet, she told herself, trying with a little shiver of repulsion for the thing to collect her wits. One idea at a time, Josie, my girl, or you'll go nutty and spoil everything. Now here's a bomb, a live, death-dealing bomb, and that's the first and only thing to be considered at present. Controlling her aversion in fear, the girl turned the bomb over and over, giving it a thorough examination. She had never seen such a thing before, but they had often been explained to her, and she had an inkling as to the general method of their construction. This one before her was a beautiful workmanship. Its surface carefully turned and polished as if it had been intended for public exhibition. Grooves had been cut in the outer surface, and within these grooves lay the coils of the time fuse, which was marked with black ink into regular sections. The first section from the end of the fuse was marked six. The next section five, and so on down to the section nearest the bomb, which was divided by the marks one, one-half, one-quarter. I see, said Josie, knotting her head with intelligent perception. Each section, when lighted, will burn for one hour, running along its groove, but harmless, until the end of the fuse is reached. If the entire fuse is lighted, it will require just six hours to explode the bomb. While if it is cut off to the last mark and then lighted, the bomb will explode in fifteen minutes. The operator can set it to suit himself as circumstances require. The manner in which the fuse was attached to the bomb was simple. The hole made in the bomb was exactly the size of the fuse inserted into it. There were two little knobs, one on each side of the hole. After pushing the fuse into the hole, a fine wire was wound around it and attached to the tiny knobs, thus holding it firmly in place. Josie took a pair of small pincers, unwound the wire and cautiously withdrew the fuse from the hole. Examining the end of the fuse, she saw it was filled with a powdery substance which, when ignited, would explode the bomb. She had recourse to her hairpin again and carefully picked the powder out of the fuse for the distance of the entire first section. This proved difficult and painstaking work, but when completed not a grain of the powder remained in the woven cotton casing for the distance of six inches from the end. Having accomplished that much, Josie sat looking at the thing in a speculative way. She could not have told you at the moment why her first act had been to render the bomb impotent in so queer a manner when she could have simply destroyed the entire fuse. But of course no one would try to use the fiendish contrivance unless it was supplied with a fuse. After a period of thought the girl decided what to do next. She removed the bomb, fuse, green bag, even the satchel, to the big lower drawer of her bureau and turned the lock. No one is likely to come in but the chambermaid, and she will be too busy to disturb anything. Josie decided, and then she locked her room door and went down stairs to breakfast. CHAPTER XVIII of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. A hint from Annie Boyle. Josie was late. In the breakfast room she found but one guest besides herself, an old lady with a putty face. But there was also a young girl seated at a nearby table who was grumbling and complaining to the maid who waited upon her. It ain't my fault, Miss Annie, protested the maid. The cook says you ordered your breakfast half an hour ago and then went away. We tried to keep it hot for you, and if it's cold it's your own fault. I was talking with Mr. Kaufman, pounded the girl, who seemed a mere child. I have a good notion to order another breakfast. If you do, cook will tell your father. This threat seemed effective. The girl with a sour face began eating, and the maid came over to take Josie's order. The tables were near enough for conversation, so when the maid had gone to the kitchen, Josie said sweetly, That Mr. Kaufman's a nice man, isn't he? I don't wonder you forgot your breakfast. Isn't this Miss Annie Boyle? Yes, was the answer. Do you know Abe Kaufman? I've met him, said Josie. He and Pa used to be good friends, said Annie Boyle, who did not seem at all shy in conversing with strangers, but Pa soured on him lately. I don't know why. Perhaps because Abe is a German and everybody's trying to fling mud at the Germans. But Abe says the German Americans are the backbone of this country, and as good citizens as any. He don't seem to like the war, though, remarked Josie carelessly. Well, do you know why? Abe's had two brothers and five cousins in the German army, and all of them's been killed. That's why he soar on the war. Because his brothers deserved what they got for not coming to America and being American citizens like Abe is. But I know he's dreadful sorry about their being killed just the same. German folks seem to think a good deal of their families, and so just to mention the war makes Abe rave and swear. That's foolish, said Josie. He'll get himself into trouble. Abe's no fool. He knows how far he can go and when to stop talking. He'll cuss the war, but you'll never hear him cuss in the United States. He told me just a while ago that the world make him rich, because he's smart enough to use it for his own good. But he said I mustn't talk about that, she added, with a sudden realization that Josie was regarding her curiously. Abe and me's chums, and what he says is between us. Perhaps he was only joking about getting rich. Abe's a great talker anyhow. That this was a rather lame retraction was apparent even to Annie Boyle. She gave Josie a suspicious look, but Josie's face was absolutely expressionless. The maid was placing her order before her and she calmly began her breakfast. A moment later the old lady rose and tottered out of the room. Gee, I wish I had her money, remarked Annie Boyle looking after her. She's got a wad of stalks and just has to cut coupons off them. Lives here easy and don't worry. If I had her dough, I'd—she stopped suddenly. Money's a good thing to have, said Josie. There's Tom Linnett now. He's going to buy a cigar store. How'd you know? asked Annie quickly. Why—he told me. Oh! Are you and Tom friends? We're not enemies. Tom's in luck to have so much money. Well, said Annie, he's the fool to flash it all of a sudden. Pa took him for night-clerk when he didn't have a scent and it wasn't so long ago, either. He gets his board in five dollars a week. Folks are going to wonder where he got all his fine clothes and them diamonds and how he can afford to buy Barker's cigar store. I asked Abe about it and Abe says he guesses Tom got the money from an aunt that just died. Perhaps he did. Well, where'd he get the aunt? Tom's got two brothers that are peddlers and a father who's a track-walker and he's got a mother what takes in washing. If there's an aunt, she's some relation to the rest of the family, so why didn't she leave them some money as well as Tom? I don't know, but I'm glad Tom is so well-fixed, answered Josie, rather absently, for her eye had fallen on the menu card beside her plate, and the menu card had somehow conveyed a new thought to her mind. She picked it up and examined it critically. Part of it was printed in a queer, open-faced type, all capitals, while the balance of the list of dishes had been written in with pen and ink. These printed bills would do for a good many breakfasts, for they mentioned only the staples, while the supplementary dishes were day by day added in writing. I wonder who prints your bills affair, she said to Annie Boyle. Why do you wonder that? demanded Annie. I like the type, and I want to get some cards printed from it. We print our own bills, said the child. There's a press and type and the fixings in a room in the basement, and Tom Linnett used to print a new card every day for all the three meals. He did it at night, you know, between two and six o'clock, when nobody's ever around the hotel. They was swell bills affair, but Tom complained he couldn't do so much printing, although that's part of the night clerk's duty, and Paul thought it used up too much good cardboard at wartime prices. So now we just get out a new bill once a week, and write the extra dishes on it. That does very well, said Josie. Does Tom still do the printing? Yes. Paul hired him as night clerk, because he used to work in a printing office and could do printing. But since Tom got rich he don't like to work, and the bills ain't printed so good as they used to be. This looks pretty good to me, said Josie, eyeing it approvingly. I guess, if Tom wasn't going to leave, Paul would fire him, asserted Annie, rising from the table. Good morning, Miss. I'll see you again, if you're stopping here. After she had gone, Josie finished her breakfast thoughtfully. Three distinct facts she had cleaned from Annie Boyle's careless remarks. First, Tom Linnett had acquired sudden riches. Second, the type used on the hotel menu cards was identically the same that the disloyal circulars had been printed from. Third, between the hours of two and five in the mornings, the night clerk's duties permitted him to be absent from the hotel office. Josie decided that Annie Boyle had not been admitted to the inner confidence of the conspirators, and that Tom Linnett was their tool and had been richly paid for whatever services he had performed. She was now gathering clues so fast that it made her head swim. That chance meeting with Kauffman at Casper's, she told herself, led me directly into the nest of traitors. I'm in luck. Not that I'm especially clever, but because they're so astonishingly reckless. That's usually the way with criminals. They close every loophole, but the easiest one to peep through, and then they imagine they're safe from discovery. CHAPTER XIX of Mary Louise and the Liberty Girls by L. Frank Baum read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. The printing office. After breakfast Josie sallied out upon the street and found a hardware store. There, after some exploration, she purchased an asbestos table mat. With this she returned to her room and locked herself in. The chambermaid had been and gone, but Josie's drawer was still locked and its precious contents intact. The girls scraped the surface of the table mat with her pen-knife until she had secured enough loose fiber to serve her purpose, and then she proceeded to restuff the fuse with the asbestos fiber, the entire length of the section from which she had removed the powder. Then she pushed the end of the fuse into the hole in the bomb, wired it as before, and replaced the long fuse in its grooves. Now, said Josie, surveying her work with satisfaction, if they like that fuse and expect it to explode the bomb in an hour or more they'll be badly fooled. Also, I shall have prevented another catastrophe like the explosion at the airplane factory. She replaced the bomb in its bag, placed the bag in the black satchel, tucked in the soiled shirts to cover it, and with her improvised key managed to relock the satchel. Watching for a time when the corridor was vacant, she went to forty-five, entered the room, and replaced the satchel on its shelf, taking care to arrange the newspaper before it as a mask. She had taken the chair from the closet and was about to leave the room when she heard footsteps coming down the hallway, accompanied by a whistle which she promptly recognized. Caught, she exclaimed, and gave a hurried glance around her. Who hide within the room was impossible, but the window was open and the iron fire escaped with an easy reach. In an instant she had mounted it, and seizing the rounds of the iron ladder climbed upward until she had nearly reached the next window directly above, on the third floor. Then she paused, clinging to get her breath. Kaufman was annoyed to find the door of his room unlocked. He paused a moment in the middle of the room and looked around him, confound that chambermaid, Josie heard him mutter, and then he opened the closet and looked in. Apparently reassured he approached the open window, stuck his head out, and looked down the fire escape. Josie's heart gave a bound, but Kaufman didn't look upward. He drew in his head, resumed his whistling, and busied himself repacking the sample suspenders in his suitcase. Josie hoped he would soon go out again, but he seemed to have no intention of doing so. So she climbed her ladder until she could look into the window above, which was also open. The old lady she had seen at breakfast was lying upon the bed, her eyes closed. Josie wondered if she was asleep. The door leading from the room to the hallway also stood open. The weather was warm, and the old lady evidently wanted plenty of air. While Josie hesitated what to do a boy came up the alley, noticed her on the fire escape, and paused to look at her astonishment. The girl couldn't blame him for being interested, for her attitude was certainly extraordinary. Others were likely to discover her too, and might suspect her of burglary and raise a hue and cry. So she deliberately entered the room, tipped toad across to the hall, and escaped without arousing the old lady. But it was a desperate chance, and she breathed easier when she had found the stairs and descended to her own floor. Safe in her own room she gave a little laugh at her recent predicament, and then sat down to note her latest discoveries on her tablet. Josie O'Gorman was very particular in this regard. This seemingly of trifling moment but which may prove important are likely to escape one's memory. Her habit was to note every point of progress in a case, and often review every point from the beginning, fitting them into their proper places, and giving each its due importance. A digest of such information enabled her to proceed to the next logical step in her investigation. These items all dovetail very nicely, she decided, with a satisfied nod at the quaint characters on the tablets, which all the world might read and be no wiser. I must, however, satisfy myself that Tom Linnett actually printed those circulars. The evidence at hand indicates that he did, but I want positive proof. Also, I'd like to know which one of the gang employed him, and paid him so liberally. However, that suggestion opens up a new line of conjecture. I don't believe Tom Linnett got all his wealth merely for printing a few circulars, helping to address them and keeping his mouth shut. But what else has he been paid for? She brooded on this for a while and then determined to take one thing at a time and follow it to a conclusion. So she once more quitted her room and descended by the elevator, openly this time, to the office. It was now noon, and the hotel office was filled with guests, and the clerks and bellboys were all busily occupied. Josie wandered carelessly around until she found the stairway leading to the basement. Watching her opportunity, she slipped down the stairs. The basement was not as barren as she expected to find it. There was an open, central space, on one side of which were rooms for the barbershop, baths, and a pool room, all more or less occupied by guests and attendants. On the opposite side, at the rear, were baggage and storerooms. Just beside her she noted a boot-black stand, where a colored boy listlessly waited for customers. "'Shine, Miss,' he inquired. "'No,' said Josie in a business-like tone. "'I'm looking for the printing office.' "'Andor, Miss,' indicating it with a gesture, "'but there ain't nobody there.' The rooms mostly kept locked. "'I know,' said Josie, and advancing to the door drew out her keys. Her very boldness disarmed suspicion. The boy was not sufficiently interested to watch her, for a man came out of the barbershop and seated himself in the boot-black's chair. This sort of lock didn't faze Josie at all. At the second trial she opened the door, walked in, and closed the door behind her. It was a small room, dimly lighted and very disorderly. Scraps of paper were strewn around the floor. Dust had settled on the ink rollers of the foot-press. A single case of type stood on a rack, and the form of a bill of fare, partly pied, was on a marble slab which formed the top of a small table. On an upturned soap-box was a pile of unprinted menu-cards. Josie noted a few cans of ink, a bottle of benzene, and a few printing-tools lying carelessly about, but the room contained nothing more. Having sized up Tom Linnet's printing-room with one swift glance, the girl stooped down and began searching among the scraps that littered the floor. They were mostly torn bits of cardboard or crumpled papers on which trial impressions had been made. Josie expected momentarily to be interrupted, so she conducted her search as rapidly as was consistent with thoroughness. She paid no attention to the card-scraps, but all papers she smoothed out, one by one. Finally, with a little cry of triumph, she thrust one of these into her handbag. She made this discovery just back of the press, and glancing up, she noted a hook that had formerly been hidden from her view, on which were impaled a number of papers, the chef's copy from which various bills had been printed. Running through these papers she suddenly paused, pulled one away from the hook, and tucked it into her bag. She was fairly satisfied now, but still continued her search amongst the litter. It was not easy to decipher writing or printing in that dim light, but her eyes were good, and the longer she remained in the room the more distinctly she saw. There was an electric globe suspended over the press, but she dared not turn on the light for fear of attracting attention. Several scraps on which writing appeared she secured without trying to read them, but presently she decided she had made as thorough an examination of the places was necessary. She left the room, locked the door again, and boldly mounted the stairs to the office, meeting and passing several men who scarcely noticed her. Then she took the elevator to a room and washed her grimy hands and prepared for luncheon. At the table she slipped another of the printed bills into her bag, to use for comparison, and afterward ate her lunches calmly as if she were not inwardly elated at the success of her morning's work. Lucy felt, indeed, that she had secured the proof necessary to confound the traitors and bring them to the Bar of Justice. But there might be other interesting developments. Her trap was still set. There's no hurry, she told herself. Let's see this thing through to the end. Indeed on reflection she realized that several threads of evidence had not yet been followed to their source. Some points of mystification still remain to be cleared up. Her facts were mingled with theories, and she had been taught that theories are mighty uncertain things. On leaving the dining room, Josie got on her hat and jacket, went out to the street, and caught an Oak Avenue car. Oh, Josie! cried a well-known voice, and there sat Mary Louise on her way home from the shop. Josie gave her a haughty look, walked straight to the far end of the car, and sat down in a vacant seat. The car was half filled with passengers. Mary Louise pushed forward and sat beside her friend. Josie stared straight ahead stolidly. No one here knows you, whispered Mary Louise. Won't you speak to me, Josie? No reply. Where are you stopping? What are you doing? How are you getting along on the case? pleaded Mary Louise so softly that no one else could overhear. Josie maintained silence. Her features were expressionless. I know you told me, in case we met, not to recognize you, continued Mary Louise, but I'm so anxious for news, dear. Can't you come home to-night and have a good talk with me? You owe me that much consideration, Josie. The car stopped at an intersection. Josie stood up. Not to-night, she replied, and alighted from the car just as it started to move again. Father Mary Louise, she muttered, she has made me walk three whole blocks. Mary Louise was human, and she was provoked. There was really no need for Josie O'Gorman to be so absurdly mysterious. Had she not known her so well, Mary Louise would have felt that Josie had deliberately insulted her. As it was, she blamed her friend for inexcusable affectation. I'm not sure, she reflected, that a girl can be a detective, a regular detective, without spoiling her disposition, or losing to some extent her maidenly modesty. Of course Josie has been brought up in an atmosphere of mystery and can't be blamed for her peculiarities. But I'm glad I'm not a detective's daughter. Josie, however, wasn't worrying over any resentment her friend might feel at the necessary snub. She was on a keen scent, and had already forgotten her meeting with Mary Louise. Three blocks farther on she turned into the walk leading to an old but picturesque residence, at one time a show-place of door-field, and the pride of the Dudley Markums, but now overshadowed by modern and more imposing mansions. Josie rang the doorbell, and presently the door was opened by a young and rather untidy maid. I'd like to see Professor Dyer, said Josie. He's gone to Washington, was the reply. Indeed, are you quite sure? Yes, said the maid, and then Mrs. Dyer's head appeared in the opening, and she gave Josie a curious, if comprehensive examination. Then, if you're from one of the schools, I'm sorry to tell you that Professor Dyer went to Washington by the early train this morning. I don't know how soon he will be back. Professor Harrington of the High School is in charge. But perhaps it is something I can do? No, thank you. I can wait, said Josie, and went away. So, she said to herself, as she made her way back to town in a streetcar, if Dyer has really gone to Washington he hopes to get possession of the old desk and its hidden papers. Pretty important to him, those papers are, and I wouldn't blame him for chasing them up. But has he really gone? Mrs. Dyer thinks so, but all evidence points to the fact that she's not in her husband's confidence. Now, if Dyer is on his way to Washington, what did last night's secret meeting mean? His absence will complicate matters, I fear. Anyhow, I must revise my conclusions a bit. As she entered the hotel Josie encountered Joe Langley, the one armed soldier back from the war. She had taken a great interest in this young fellow and admired his simple manly nature, having had several interesting conversations with him at the Liberty Girl's shop and at the drills. Josie felt she needed an ally at this juncture, and here was one who could be trusted. Joe, she said earnestly, drawing him aside, are you going to be busy this evening? Yes, Miss O'Gorman, I'm busy every evening now, he replied. I've taken a job, you know, and my loafing days and social stunts are over. There wasn't any bread and butter in telling the society dames about my war experiences, so I had to go to work. I'm night watchman at the steelworks, and go on duty at seven o'clock. Josie was disappointed. Looking at him musingly, she asked, are they making munitions now at the steelworks? Of course, it's practically under government control, they say, but is still operated by the old company. They make shells for the big guns, you know, and they've ten car loads on hand just now ready to be shipped to-morrow. Josie drew a long breath. This was real news, and her active mind jumped to a quick conclusion. Are the shells loaded, Joe? She inquired. All ready for war, replied the soldier. You see, a night watchman in such a place has an important position. I guard those shells by night, and another man does nothing but guard them by day. Where are they stored? Was Josie's next question. In the room just back of Mr. Colton's office, the big main building. So Mr. Colton is still the head of the company? He's Vice President and General Manager, and he knows the steel and ammunition business from A to Z, asserted Joe Langley. Mr. Colton represents the government as well as the steelworks. The President is Mr. Jazzwell, the banker, but he doesn't do anything but attend the board meetings. Joe, said Josie impressively, you know who I am, don't you? Why, you're one of the Liberty Girls, I guess. I'm from Washington, she said. My father, John O'Gorman, is one of the government's secret service officers. I'm working on a case here in the interest of our government, and I may want you to help me foil a German spy plot. Count on me, said Sergeant Joe emphatically, and then he added, I'd like to make sure, though, that you're really what you claim to be. Josie opened her handbag, and from a side pocket drew a silver badge engraved U.S. Secret Service, number L-201. That was her father's number and a complimentary badge, but Joe was satisfied. He had to glance inside the handbag to see it, for the girl dared not exhibit it more openly. If you want to know more about me, asked Colonel Hathaway, continued Josie. No, said Joe, I believe you're on the square, but I'd never have suspected it of you. Tell me what I'm to do. Nothing at present, but should a crisis arrive, stand by me and obey my instructions. I'll do that, promised the man. When the girl had regained her room in the hotel, she sat down with a business-like air and wrote upon a sheet of paper, in her peculiar cipher, the story of her discoveries and the conclusions they justified up to the present hour. This was to fix all facts firmly in her mind and to enable her to judge their merits. The story was concise enough, and perhaps Josie was quite unaware how much she had drawn upon her imagination. It read this way. Disloyal circulars had been issued from time to time in Dorfield, designed to interfere with sales of liberty bonds, to cause resentment and conscription, and to arouse antipathy for our stalwart allies, the English. These circulars were written by John Dyer, superintendent of schools, who poses as a patriot. The circulars were printed in the basement of the mansion house by Tom Linnett, a night clerk, who was well paid for his work. The circulars found secreted in an old desk from the attic of Dyer's house proved that Dyer is in the pay of German agents in this country, and has received fabulous sums for his services, said services not being specified in the documents. In addition to these payments, there were found in the desk notes of the Imperial German government for large amounts, such notes to be paid after the war. Dyer is clearly the head of the German spy plot in Dorfield, but the person who acts as medium between Dyer and the master spy is an alleged suspender salesman calling himself Abe Kaufman. This Kaufman makes frequent trips to Dorfield, giving orders to Dyer, and on one occasion Kaufman, who stops at the mansion house while in town, hired Tom Linnett to place a bomb in the airplane factory, causing an explosion which destroyed many government airplanes and killed several employees. The sum paid Linnett for this dastardly act has made him rich and he is bought or is about to buy a cigar store. Kaufman now has another bomb in his possession, doubtless brought here to be placed when opportunity arrives to do the most possible damage. Indications are that he may attempt to blow up the steel works, where a large amount of shells are now completed and ready for shipment tomorrow, meaning that the job must be done tonight if at all. Perhaps Linnett will place the bomb, perhaps Kaufman will do it himself. Dyer has lost his incriminating papers and notes and is on his way to Washington in an endeavor to recover them. Paid with Dyer in his horrible activities is Mrs. Augusta Charlworth, occupying a high social position but of German birth and therefore a German sympathizer. She is clever and her brains supplement those of Dyer, who seems more shrewd than initiative, being content to execute the orders of others. Dyer was educated at Heidelberg in Germany, which accounts perhaps for his being pro-German, although I suspect he has pro anything that will pay him money. Dyer and the honorable Andrew Duncan, while political pals, are not connected in this spy-plot, but I suspect that Peter Boyle, the proprietor of the mansion house, may be one of the gang. I have no evidence yet that implicates Boyle, but he harbors Kaufman as a guest and ought to know that his night-clerk is printing traitorous propaganda. So far the evidence incriminates Kaufman, Mrs. Charlworth, Dyer, and Tom Linnett. I believe Mrs. Dyer to be innocent of any knowledge of her husband's crimes, otherwise she would never have parted with that important desk, the desk that will prove his ruin and ought to cost him his life. My plan is this, concluded the notation, to catch Kaufman or Linnett in the act of placing the bomb to-night, make the arrest, round up the other guilty ones and jail them, and then turn the case over to the federal officers for prosecution. A telegraph to Washington will secure Professor Dyer's arrest on his arrival there. Josie read this through twice and knotted her red-head with intense satisfaction. All clear as crystal, she asserted gleefully, I have proof of every statement and the finale can't go very wrong with such knowledge in my possession. Tonight, unless all signs fail, will prove a warm night, warm enough to scorch these dreadful, murderous tools of the Kaiser. And now Josie skipped over to the police station and had a somewhat lengthy conference with Chief Farnham, who knew her father, and treated the girl detective with professional consideration. After this she hunted up the two government agents, old Jim Chrissy and young Norman Addison, who knew her well as John O'Gorman's clever kid, the pride of her doting daddy. They listened to her with interest and genuine respect for her talent, and not only promised their assistance whenever it might be needed, but congratulated her warmly on her good work. This concluded Josie's afternoon labors, and it was with a sense of triumphant elation that she returned to her hotel to rest and prepare for the expected crisis. As soon as the dining room opened, when she came out she met Abe Kaufman going in. He stopped and spoke to her. "'Selony brains yet?' In a jocular way. "'Not today,' she replied with her innocent, baby-like stare. "'Well, I didn't sell any suspenders, either. There are no suspenders for suspenders. Ha-ha-ha!' "'That doesn't seem to worry you much,' asserted Josie pointedly. He gave a shrug. "'Well, tomorrow morning I leave by the five-thirty train east, so if I don't see you any more, I hope the brains will find a market. Thank you.' She went on, glad to escape the man. He told me about leaving on the five-thirty, and is probably giving everyone else the same information, so he can't be connected with the explosion, she reflected. Clever, Mr. Kaufman, but not clever enough to realize he is near the end of his infamous career. Josie's plans, perfected during that afternoon, primarily involved the shadowing of Abe Kaufman every movement from now on. Abe Kaufman in his black satchel. For it grew dark early at this time of year, and already the brief twilight was fading. So the girl hastened to her room and exchanged her grey walking suit for a darker one that was inconspicuous and allowed free movement. Then she slipped her little pearl-mounted revolver, her father's gift, into her handbag, and decided she was ready for any emergency. Having extinguished the light in her room, she glanced from the window into the alley below, where the shadows were now gathering deeply. I think that Kaufman will go down the fire escape and drop into the alley, she mused, but he must first come to his room for the black satchel in any event, and from that instant I must never lose sight of him. Suddenly she discovered a form pacing slowly up and down the otherwise deserted alley. Fearful that other detectives were on the watch, and might disrupt her plans, she strained her eyes to discover this person's identity. There was but one light to relieve the gloom, and that was far down the alley, a spot the prowler for some time avoided. Finally, however, he came to a point where the light touched his face, and Josie instantly recognized Tom Linnett. He is waiting for someone, she decided, and Kaufman is still at dinner, killing time because it's yet too early to undertake his nefarious task. Tom Linnett may be the tool he has selected, and I ought to get in touch with the boy somehow, before he meets the arch-conspirator. Kaufman is the one I prefer to land. With this in mind, she hurried down, passed out at the front office doorway, and turned into a narrow drive at the south of the hotel, which led to the rear alley. A great business block, now dark and deserted, loomed on the other side of the driveway, which was used by the baggage and supply wagons in the day time. When the girl reached the corner of the alley she found herself in very deep shadow, so she ventured to protrude her head far enough to look after Tom Linnett. To her surprise, the party he had been waiting for had already joined him, for she discovered two dusky forms pacing the alley. It could not be Kaufman. While she hesitated whether to steal closer or maintain her position, the two advanced almost to her corner and paused there, in the blackest spot they could find. I tell you I won't do it, said Tom in a hard, dogged tone that was tensed with excitement. I'm through, and that's all there is to it. That's a mistaken notion, was the quiet reply. You're too deep in the plot to draw back, and the pay is well worth while. I don't want any more money, growled Tom. You'll get two thousand for this night's work, cash, and there's no risk you know that. Risk? God, man, can't you guess how I dream of those poor devils I sent to their death in the airplane job? I hate the money I got! I—I—see here, said the other voice impatiently. That was a mistake, and you know it. We didn't intend to murder, but the explosion was delayed. No one will get hurt to-night. Not through me, declared Tom. If you fail us, you'll come to grief. If I come to grief, so will you. Peach on me, and I'll blow the whole deal. There was a moment's silence. Would three thousand satisfy you? Demanded the temper. No, asserted Tom stoutly. I'm going to quit. What's done can't be undone, but I'm through with you. It—it's too blame-terrible, that's what it is. Leave me alone, and let me turn honest. Why don't you do the job yourself? I think I will, said the other calmly. If you intend to turn down a good thing, I'll do my own work and save the money. But remember, Lynette, silence is your only salvation. Don't talk at all. If you do, you're liable to say the wrong thing, and you can't afford to do that. I'm no fool, responded the night-clerk, a shade of relief in his tone. But don't come back to me again, Professor. I'm done with you. Professor! Josie felt a distinct shock. She had to flatten herself against the wall, too, and remain rigid, for the man abruptly turned the corner and marched down the driveway. Halfway to the brilliantly lighted street he dodged behind the building opposite the hotel, threading his way through narrow backyards. Josie followed, swift and silent. Finally they reached a place where the man was forced to pass beneath the rays of a lamp, and Josie was near enough to see his face. It was, in reality, Professor John Dyer. That assurance was all the girl wanted just now. She let him go his way and turned to regain the hotel. It was not quite eight o'clock, yet she felt it important to keep an eye on Kaufman and the bomb. The bomb especially, for until Dyer took possession of the infernal contrivance he could do no mischief. In the hotel lobby she entered a public telephone booth and called up Jim Chrissy. Then she went straight to her room. She could hear a low whistling in forty-five, which informed her that Kaufman had not yet gone out and that he was in a cheerful mood. I'm beginning to understand their method of work, Josie reflected. Kaufman prepares the bombs or brings them here under the guise of a suspender salesman. Dyer arranges for their being placed, having secured information as to where an explosion will do the most damage to the government, and Tom Linnett is used as the tool to do the actual work. Mrs. Charlworth probably assists Dyer in getting special information and advises the gang, but doesn't take an active part in the perpetration of the crimes. Her brains and position would naturally place her at the head of the conspirators in Dorfield, though I'm pretty sure Kaufman, as the agent of the master's spy, can dictate what they must do. Kaufman slammed his door and locked it. He was going out. Josie opened her own door crack to look after him. He was walking deliberately down the corridor, openly carrying in his left hand the black satchel. To Josie this seemed the essence of a frontery. He had no intention of using the fire escape after all. He trusted in bravado, as so many careless criminals do. As she stealthily followed him she observed the man stop in the office and exchange commonplaces with one or two guests whom he knew. In reality this was his safest plan. The black bag did not look suspicious. Presently the bomb would be turned over to Dyer and Kaufman's responsibilities would then end. His very boldness was calculated to prevent suspicion. During the hotel Kaufman walked leisurely up the lighted street. Only when he turned a corner did Josie momentarily lose sight of him. There were many pedestrians at this hour, and they masked the girl's form, and for a while enabled her to keep near the man she was shadowing. The only thing that puzzled Josie was the fact that Kaufman was proceeding in a direction exactly opposite to that taken by Dyer a short time before. Dyer went south, and Kaufman was going north. When the business section of Dorfield was passed the streets became more deserted. They were not well lighted, either, which favored Josie the more. Kaufman kept steadily on, and as the houses along the way thinned Josie decided he was headed directly for the steelworks. That upset her calculations a bit, for she knew he had not seen Dyer since the latter's interview with Tom Linnet, nor had he seen Linnet. Therefore he could not know that any arrangements he had previously made with them had fallen through. The Germans' present actions, however, indicated that he had decided to place the bomb himself, without the assistance of his fellow conspirators. Had he been warned of Linnet's defection? Had he means of communicating with Dyer unknown to Josie? Dyer was a mystery. Even his wife believed he was now on his way to Washington. Surprises in Josie's line of work were not uncommon, and this was no time to consider whys and wherefores. The one thing she was sure of was that the bomb was in the black satchel, and the black satchel in Kaufman's hand. No matter where the other conspirators might be, or how they were implicated in tonight's plot, as long as she kept her eye on the bomb she would be able to control the situation.