Over There with the Canadians at Vimy Ridge

  "Yes, they're a bunch of gossips around here," Irving replied with adeprecating smile. "And you know what magnified stories gossips turn outwhen their tongues get busy."

  Strauss smiled mysteriously and said:

  "Oh, for that matter we are all gossips, even the quietest of ussometimes. All you have to do is to get us off on the subjects that weare well informed about and you'll soon find out how our tongues can wagat both ends."

  "It's pretty hard for me to imagine your tongue wagging at both ends,"Irving returned with more meaning in his mind than he expressed in histone of voice.

  "Why?"

  "Because you seem to enjoy listening more than talking."

  "I am engaged in a secret business," Strauss explained, lifting hisshaggy brows slightly and darting a sharp glance at the other.

  "Yes, so am I," Irving returned quickly. "But I like to talk."

  "So I observe," said Strauss with veiled significance, which the boy didnot try to penetrate.

  "Just to be sociable," the spy added by way of explanation and toprevent the conversation from lagging.

  But Strauss did not appear to be so talkatively eager. They were in thelocker and wash room during most of this exchange of words, and nothingfurther was said between them until they were outside the building. Thecatalog expert then spoke first.

  "Where do you eat?" he asked.

  "Oh, any place," Irving replied. "I've been in two or three restaurantsaround here. There's a good one down in the next block."

  "That suits me," said Strauss.

  They walked along in silence half a square, and then the boy'smysterious companion put to him the most inquisitive query that the spyhad listened to from this man since he became acquainted with him:

  "When do you expect to go back to America?"

  "Good!" Irving said to himself. "Sounds as if he's going to open up.Maybe I'll get something out of him after all."

  He little dreamed how much that something was going to be.

  "I don't know," he answered aloud. "I haven't received any orders yet."

  "You'd better begin to find out then," was the expert's advice utteredin tones of startling sharpness. "I suppose you know it's up to you todecide that matter yourself."

  "Oh, yes, I suppose so," Irving replied with a matter-of-factness ofmanner, which was anything but expressive of what was going on in hismind. The fact is, he was a little disturbed by the last remark of hiscompanion.

  "I'll have to undergo a surgical operation before I start back," headded.

  "What's that?" inquired Strauss. "Were you wounded?"

  "No," Irving replied. "But I must get rid of a mark of identificationand go back as another person."

  Strauss nodded a stoical sign of interest. They were now at the entranceof the restaurant for which they were headed, and the conversationceased until they were seated at a table in one corner of the room andwell removed from other lunchers. After they had been served theyresumed their discussion of Irving's proposed operation in subduedtones.

  "It must be a curious growth on your body that you should have to removeit in order to avoid identification," Strauss remarked as he spread a"knife-end" of war-time "butter" on a piece of black bread.

  "No, it isn't a growth," Irving replied. "It's that cubist art pictureon my arm."

  "Oh, I see," Strauss grunted. "But," he added, "I don't just see how anoperation there is going to do you much good. What are you going tohave done--have your arm cut off?"

  "No--have the skin peeled off."

  "Ach," grunted the card-catalog expert. "That will leave a scar."

  "Not if I have some other skin grafted in its place."

  "Quite an idea. Where do you expect to get the other skin to graftthere?"

  "From some part of my body," Irving replied.

  "Ja wo-ohl," said the other slowly, with a suggestion of doubt in hisvoice not contained in the phrase. "But that would leave a scar on yourbody, and if some sharp fellow tried to identify you as the person whobrought that tattooed message ever here the scar might help him toexplain the disappearance of the picture on your arm."

  "Yes, that's true," Irving agreed. "But the chance of anything of thatsort is small. Anyway, I'd have to find somebody who would give me asection of his skin four inches by two."

  "There are thousands of patriotic Germans who are willing to give theirlives for their country," reasoned the expert. "It ought not to be hardto find somebody who would give a few inches of skin."

  "You are very logical," the spy observed. "Perhaps there's somebody inour office who would make such a sacrifice for his country."

  "I'll do it myself," declared Strauss quickly.

  In view of the fact that the latter appeared a few weeks previously tohave regarded him with very grave suspicion, Irving had to admit tohimself after this offer that the spy-cataloger was more of a mysterythan ever.

  *CHAPTER XXXIV*

  *SKIN GRAFTING*

  "Your offer is very kind," Irving said with emphasis intended to expresswarmth of feeling.

  "No--patriotic," Strauss declared.

  "No doubt of that," the spy admitted; "but a man can be patriotic andkind at the same time, can he not?"

  "Yes, but this is all patriotism."

  "Very well, I'll accept your offer," Irving announced. "But I doubt ifMr. Herrmann will allow it. You are a very valuable man in the office,and the operation would surely make it necessary for you to lay off afew days. He'll probably insist that an office boy or clerk orstenographer make the patriotic sacrifice in your stead."

  "That'll suit me--just so there is no delay in finding someone who'swilling," Strauss replied.

  Irving proved to be correct in his prophecy of the probable attitude ofthe superintendent toward the proposition. Mr. Herrmann objectedstrenuously for the reason suggested by the spy and he took it onhimself to find a person who would supply the skin to be grafted. Twodays later he reported success and preparations for the operation werebegun.

  But everybody connected with these preliminaries had an important lessonto learn regarding the proper method for a layman to approach a matterof science. None of them, of course, knew anything, except in a verygeneral way, about skin grafting. Irving had assumed that it was asimple process, and, as a matter of fact, it is, if we accept theprinciple of the simplicity of all things. But what startled him mostwas the simplicity of the error he had fallen into.

  Mr. Herrmann gave Irving a note to the superintendent of one of the cityhospitals and directed him to go there and make arrangements for theoperation. He was authorized to state that a young soldier who had lostone of his legs in the first battle of the Marne had promised to furnishthe needed four-by-two inches of skin to replace the tattooed integumenton his arm.

  The spy did as instructed and was turned over to a member of thesurgical staff. The latter listened to the boy's story and hissuggestions and then inquired:

  "At what college of physicians and surgeons did you get your degree?"

  Irving no doubt flushed like a schoolboy. He realized that the memberof the hospital staff was laughing at him, and this confused him morethan a veiled suspicion that he was a Canadian spy would have done.

  "The college I graduated from was that of mother's home remedies," hereplied.

  "I thought so," nodded the surgeon with a smile. "Let me see--you arein the intelligence department, are you not?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Doing important work, aren't you?'

  "I believe so."

  "Work that requires sharp wit?"

  "Supposedly."

  "Well, sharp wits never assume anything without some information to backthem up. Your ideas of skin grafting are a good deal like a child's. Inthe first place we shan't need anybody to supply any skin. Sorry todisappoint the young patriot with really commendable spirit of loyalty."

  Irving looked his surprise.

  "You'll supply
all the skin we need," the surgeon continued.

  "But it is important that there be no scars," Irving insisted.

  "There won't be any, or so slight that they'll be hardly noticeable,"was the surgeon's reassuring reply. "Let me explain the process to anunscientific keen wit of the government's intelligence department."

  The surgeon lifted the spy's bared arm with his left hand and began hisexplanation, indicating with one finger now and then the various movesnecessary as he described the process.

  "With a razor," he said, "we will cut an outline around this hideous artof yours. Then we'll peel off the atrocity and cremate it over analcohol flame. Next we'll peel a strip of the same length andthree-fourths of an inch wide just below here, leaving the upper end ofthe strip attached and twisting it around so that it will lie midwaybetween the edges of the raw space where the tattooing was. Then we'llcut under the skin along both sides to loosen it an inch or more backand draw the loosened skin to the piece in the center and make a hairsuture. The reason we must run a strip of skin over the middle of theraw area is because this area will be too wide for stretching the skinat the sides over it. Skin that is stretched too tight will die. Thenarrow raw place produced by the peeling of the strip down over thewrist can be covered by pulling together the edges of the skin on bothsides after running the razor back under it a short distance. Quitedifferent from the process you imagined, isn't it?"

  "Yes, it is," Irving admitted.

  "I bet you thought all that was necessary was to peel off a piece ofskin and lay it on the raw place after this cubist art picture had beenremoved. Isn't that true?"

  "Maybe--something of the kind. I hadn't thought it out in detail,"Irving replied.

  "Of course, you hadn't. You'd have been too scientific for a secretservice operative, wouldn't you?"

  "Can't secret service people be scientific?" Irving inquired.

  "What do you think about it?" asked the surgeon. "You ought to knowmore about it than I do. But I'll tell you what my frank andunscientific opinion in the matter is."

  "What is it?"

  "That government secret service is 1 per cent information and 99 percent bluff."

  "That's a little strong on the side of the bluff," said the spy,smiling.

  "But there's something to it?"

  "Yes."

  "Now you need this much science to prevent your bluff from getting youinto trouble. When you attempt to bluff a scientific man be sure not tobluff along the line of his knowledge and the line of your ignorance.By the way, when do you want that operation performed?

  "The sooner the better," Irving replied.

  "How about now?"

  This almost took the boy's breath away, but after a few minutes heanswered:

  "That's all right, I suppose, but I'd better call up my office first andtell the boss what's doing."

  "Very well; here's a telephone. Call him up."

  Irving did so and in a few minutes had authority to "go ahead and haveit over as soon as possible."

  *CHAPTER XXXV*

  *THE TAPPING ON THE WINDOW*

  Irving slept under an anaesthetic during the operation. He objected atfirst to the administration of ether, but the surgeon insisted.

  "I don't want you to make any trouble," he insisted. "Remember you'renot a scientific youth and might do something ridiculous. If I'm goingto perform this operation you must take orders and obey them."

  That settled it; Irving acquiesced. When he recovered consciousness hefound himself in a hospital bed with his left arm bandaged and feeling agood deal like a limb of a tree, or anything else with a like degree oflife. He remained in bed until the next morning, when his arm was putin a sling and he was permitted to move about as he pleased, althoughdirected to remain in the hospital. Two days later he was allowed toleave the institution, but was instructed to return daily forexamination and redressing of the graft.

  He returned at once to the intelligence office and reported the successof the operation. The chief surgeon had informed him that his arm mightbe taken out of the sling in about a week.

  During this period Irving was in the office much of the time, althoughhe was able to be of little service with the use of only one arm.Still, he found it possible to add a good deal to his knowledge of thesystem of which the government was planning to make him an importantagent, and this was, on the whole, quite satisfactory to him.

  The youthful spy's plans for carrying out his mission for the Britishgovernment had been developing rapidly since he became a member of thestaff in the German intelligence office. And not a little of thisdevelopment had been quite unforeseen by him. His original plans,therefore, underwent considerable change as time and experienceadvanced.

  For instance, he decided not to attempt to make a list of names ofleading enemy agents in the United States and Canada to take back withhim. This had been his original purpose. He now regarded it as unwise,unsafe. He would depend on his memory to retain a store of informationof this kind. So he watched and examined and probed and memorized,going over the information he had accumulated many times in his leisurehours in order to keep it fixed and unmistakable in his mind.

  "I think I could go back to school and memorize history dates as I neverdid before," he told himself one evening about a week after theskin-grafting operation. "Gee! I never realized I had such a memory.I can run off a string of dope as long as the tune the old cow died on,just like saying the ABC's."

  Irving had forgotten the "tune the old cow died on," but the expressionstuck in his mind as a relic of nursery days.

  One of the divisions of service in the intelligence department thatinterested the spy particularly was the telegraphic division. It cameas an intermediate grade in his course of instruction, and he wasrequired to learn to read the ticking of the telegraph instrument.Fortunately, a few years before, he had learned the alphabet whileamusing himself with an amateur wireless outfit, and it now requiredcomparatively little time for him to develop a fair degree ofproficiency as a key-listener.

  "You can never tell when it'll be greatly to your advantage to be ableto read the telegraph instrument," Mr. Herrmann explained. "In fact,that may be one of your most important occupations in America--tappingwires, for instance."

  Indeed, the spy caught a number of messages of incalculable importancewhile pursuing his studies in this division and made careful note ofthem in his mental repository.

  About a week later he had a novel "telegraphic" experience, which, inturn, was to have an important bearing on his fortunes as a spy in theenemy's country. The affair took place in the rooming house where hewas living. While he endeavored to get out in the evening, as a rule,and mingle with citizens of all sorts and descriptions, in order toabsorb as much general information as possible, still he retired almostevery night in good season, and not infrequently went early to his roomto study, rehearse, memorize and plan. In this manner he endeavored toimprove every opportunity to make his excursion a success.

  He had just finished one of these solitary sessions in which severalleading newspapers and magazines played an important part, and was aboutto lay them aside and prepare for bed, when his attention was attractedby a faint tapping sound. At first he gave little heed to it,presuming, in a semi-conscious way, that it was occasioned by acontinuous breath of air and a tiny, loose pendant of some sort in theexterior construction work of the house. But it continued in astrangely familiar way and seemed to grow a little louder verygradually.

  Suddenly, Irving sat up straight and listened rigidly. Anyone observinghim in this attitude could not have failed to be impressed with thefeeling that an alarm of some character was thrilling his every nervecenter.

  "My goodness!" was the exclamation that smothered itself within him."What in the world can that mean? Yes, no, yes--somebody is trying tocommunicate with me. He's using the telegraphic signal. He's asking meto answer, to indicate in some way that I am getting his mess
age. Hesays he's a friend. He knows I'm a British spy. But maybe it's a trapto catch me. What shall I do? If he's a friend he surely ought to knowbetter than to expect me to make such an admission. But he says he hasimportant information. What--what in the world shall I do? I may be invery great danger. Here is certainly the test of my life."

  *CHAPTER XXXVI*

  *A REVELATION*

  "I have an important message for you. I am a French spy. I must getthis message to you. Answer me in some way. Heave a big yawn or clearyour throat and I'll know you hear me and get what I'm saying. I merelywant to make sure you are what I think you are. I don't dare revealmyself to you for fear that I may be mistaken and you'd turn me over tothe government."

  These words were tapped off, alphabetically, with a small instrument,probably a pencil, on the window overlooking a court inclosed by thebuilding on three sides. After a pause of half a minute, following theappeal just recorded, the dot-and-dash tapping continued thus:

  "I am looking through the shade of your window and can see that you arelistening attentively; so you need not reply. Just continue to listen,and I shall know everything is all right.

  "When you leave for America you will be supplied with a message incipher, prepared by me, for a certain agent of the kaiser. That messagewill bear the appearance of having been written by a friend of yours toyou, but it will contain information in invisible ink for your benefitas a loyal agent of the Allies. This information will be of great valueto the Allies, supplying them with material for undermining the Teutonicspy system in England, France, and America, which recently declared war.