ANTHONY TRENT rode into Kennebago by the corduroy road from Rangely. It took longer but it seemed a less likely way of being seen than if he had taken the train to Kennebago. It had been his intention before Kaufmann had come across his horizon to make the call upon Mr. Westward his first action. As he stood at the window of the big dining room he could see the genial angler, and John his guide, rowing over to the edge of a favorite pool. There he sat in the stern, rod in hand, no doubt thinking of the chapter he was writing on the “Psychology of Trout.”

For years Anthony Trent had looked forward to days like this in his new home. But the thrill of it was gone. He had hoped to look over the lake to the purple hills beyond with a serenity of mind that might now never be his. How much did Kaufmann know? Would he lodge information with the police? Dare he? Probably he would not dare to call. But anonymous information of so important a character would speedily bring detectives on his trail. Beyond a question he should have bought a camp on some far Canadian lake under another name, and reached it by devious ways.

He had betrayed much ingenuity in bringing himself, Mrs. Kinney and their baggage, to Kennebago as it was. Successions of taxis from hotel to station, and from station to hotel, crossing his own tracks a half dozen times would make pursuit difficult. He had no way of estimating Kaufmann’s skill at following a clue. But the man had impressed him, Anthony Trent, who had foiled so many.

Next morning he determined to fish and was attending to his rods with the loving care of the conscientious angler when a knock came at the door. It opened on to the big screened piazza.

“Come in,” he shouted, thinking Mrs. Kinney wished to consult him.

Instead there entered Mr. Westward who greeted him heartily. It was indeed an honor, for the piscatorial expert called upon few.

“Glad to see you, my dear fellow,” said Westward, shaking him by the hand. “I happened to meet a friend of yours who was coming to see you and lost his way so I’ve brought him along.”

Kaufmann also wrung his hand. He seemed no less delighted to see Trent than had been Mr. Westward.

“What a charming retreat you have here,” he exclaimed cordially.

There followed a conversation concerning trout and salmon which under normal conditions would have been delightful to Trent. Kaufmann was affable, genial, and talked of the finny spoils of his native lakes. It was only when Westward’s erect form had disappeared down the path that his manner became forbidding.

“Why did you leave New York?” he snapped.

“Because I chose to,” said the other.

“What a fool! what a fool!” cried Kaufmann, “and how fortunate that I am good tempered.”

“Why?” Trent demanded.

“Because I might have had you investigated by the police. Instead I followed you here—not without difficulty I admit—and renew my offer.” He looked about the luxurious house that was miscalled a “camp.” It was not the kind of home a man would lose willingly. “I ask very little. I only want a certain package of letters which a man who lands to-morrow in New York has in his possession. One so skilled as you can get it easily. You have presence, education, ready wit. I confess it is difficult for me to believe you have sunk so low.”

Anthony Trent flushed angrily.

“There are lower depths yet,” he exclaimed.

“Yes?” the other returned, “as for instance?”

“Your sort of work!” he cried. “Do you suppose I imagine you to be a Swiss silk merchant of Bahnhof street?”

Kaufmann threw back his head and laughed.

“My passport recently vised by your State Department is made out to Adolf Kaufmann of Zurich. I have Swiss friends in New York and Chicago who will identify me.”

“Naturally,” said Trent, “simple precautions of that sort would have to be taken. That’s elementary.”

“Let us get back to business,” said the other, “I want those papers. Will you get them for me? Think it over well. You may say you will not. You may say you prefer to remain here in this delightful place and catch trout. Let us suppose that you say you defy me. What happens? You lose all chance to look at trout for ten, fifteen, twenty years accordingly as the judge regards your offenses. I have mentioned only two crimes to you. Of these I have data and am certain. There are two others in which I can interest myself if necessary. I do not wish to bother myself with you after you do as I command. Get me the papers and you may remain here till you have grand-children of marriageable age. Is it worth defying me, Mr. Trent?”

The younger man groaned as he thought it over. The fabric he had made so carefully was ready to fall apart. Kaufmann went on talking.

“The man you must follow is called Commander Godfrey Heathcote, of the British Navy. On his breast he wears the ribbons of the Victoria Cross—a blue one for the Navy—and the red ribbon, edged with blue, of the Distinguished Service Order. He is a man much of your build but has straw colored hair and light blue eyes. He walks with a limp owing to a wound received at the Zeebrugge affair. He is supposed to be over here to stay with relatives who have a place on the James River. He leaves for Washington soon where his business is with the Secretary of the Navy. The papers I want are in a pigskin cigarette case, old and worn. You’d better bring the case in its entirety.”

Kaufmann rattled off his instructions in a sure and certain manner. Evidently he had no fear of being denied.

“Isn’t it unusual for an English naval commander to carry trade secrets about with him?” Trent demanded.

“Why keep up the farce?” Kaufmann exclaimed. “You, too, are a man of the world. You realize you are in my power and must do as you are bid.”

“Must I?” Trent answered with a frown. “I am asked to play the traitor to my country and you expect me to accept without hesitation.”

“Why not?” Kaufmann returned. “Would you be the first that fear of exposure has led into such ways? If I were to tell you how we—” he paused a moment and then smiled—“how we silk merchants of Switzerland have used our knowledge of the black pages of men’s lives or the indiscretions of well known women, you would understand more readily how we obtain what we want.”

“I understand,” said Anthony Trent gloomily. He was a case in point.

“And you will save yourself?”

“I don’t know,” said Trent hesitating. But he knew that Kaufmann had made such threats as these to others and had gained his desires. “What’s in those papers?”

“Dye formulae,” smiled the elder man.

Anthony Trent looked at him angrily. His nerves were on edge. Plainly Kaufmann felt it unwise to stir the smouldering passion in him.

“England,” he informed the other, “has recently reorganized the mine fields outside Sheerness at the mouth of the Thames. Commander Heathcote, who is here ostensibly to recuperate from wounds, is chosen to carry the plans to the Navy Department. There you have all I know.”

“But that’s treachery!” Trent cried.

“What’s England to you,” Kaufmann answered, “or you to England? I’m not asking you to take American plans.”

“It’s the same thing now,” Trent persisted. “We’re allies and what’s treachery to one is treachery to the other.”

“Admirable!” Kaufmann sneered, “admirable! But I invite you to come down to mother earth. You are not concerned with the affairs of nations. You are concerned only with your own safety which is the nearer task. You get those plans or you go to prison. You realize my power. I need you. You may ask why I have gone to this trouble to take you, a stranger, more or less into my confidence. Very well. I shall tell you. My own men are working like slaves in your accursed internment camps and I am alone who had so many to command.”

“Alone,” said Anthony Trent in an altered voice and looked at him oddly.

Kaufmann observed the look and laughed.

“I am a mind reader,” he said cheerfully, “I will tell you what is passing through your brain. You are wondering whether if those strong hands of yours get a grip of my throat your own troubles, too, would not be at an end. No, my friend, I still have my Bayard with me. And why run the risk, if you should overpower me, of being tried for murder? What I ask of you is very little. Remember, also, that I have but to say the word and you land in prison.”

“You’d go with me,” Trent exclaimed.

“I think not,” smiled Kaufmann. “Jerome Dangerfield and others would vouch for me whereas I fear you would be friendless. And even if I were interned how would that help you? Be sensible and get ready to accompany me to New York on the five o’clock train. I have your reservations.”

It was not easy to explain things to Mrs. Kinney. Trent told her that his suspicions of Kaufmann’s German sympathies were wrong. He said he was compelled to get the dye formulae and would return within a few days.

“I shall come too,” Mrs. Kinney observed. “I left a lot of my things at the flat and I shall need them.”

It seemed to Trent that she was not deceived by his words; and while he would have preferred to leave her in Maine he could think of no reason for keeping her there if she wished to leave. All the way he was gloomy. To Kaufmann’s sallies he made morose answers. Presently the so-called Swiss left him alone. But Trent could not escape the feeling that his every action was watched. He was to all intents and purposes bond servant to an enemy of his country.

“Just a final word,” said Kaufmann as they neared the 125th street station.

“What else?” Trent said impatiently. He was filled with disgust with himself and of hatred for the German.

“Remember that the cigarette case which holds my formulae is a long flat one holding twelve cigarettes. On it is stamped ‘G.H.’ He does not secrete it as you think but exposes it carelessly to view. I advise you to go straight to your apartment and await my letter. It is necessary for me to find out particulars which it might be unwise for you to do. I don’t want you to fall under suspicion.”

“You are very thoughtful,” sneered Trent. He knew well enough that he had a value in Kaufmann’s eyes which would be destroyed were he to come under police supervision. That this was the only case where he was to be used was unlikely. Having used him once he would be at their command again. But would he? Anthony Trent sat back in his chair deep lines on his drawn white face. This was the reward of the life he had led. And the way to break from Kaufmann’s grip was to run the risk of the long prison term, or—the taking of a life. And even were he to come to this Kaufmann might be only one of a gang whose other members might command his services.

“I shall send you a message by telephone if it is still in your flat. It is? Good. That simplifies matters. Wait until you receive it and then act immediately.”

Anthony Trent disregarded the outstretched hand and cordial smile, when a minute or so later, the train pulled into the Grand Central. He hailed a taxi and drove to his rooms utterly obsessed with his bitter thoughts. It was not until he pulled up the shades and glanced about the place that he remembered Mrs. Kinney. He had forgotten her. But he relied on her common sense. Sooner or later she would come. Meanwhile he must wait for Kaufmann’s telephone message.

The message arrived before the woman. “To-morrow,” said Kaufmann, “your friend leaves for Washington. He is staying at the Carlton and goes to his room after dinner. He will be pleased to see you. To-morrow night I shall call upon you soon after dark.”

The Carlton was the newest of the hotels, the most superbly decorated, the hotel that always disappointed the nouveau riche because so little goldleaf had been used in the process. Anthony Trent had spent a night or two in every big hotel the city boasted. In a little note book there were certain salient features carefully put down, hints which might be useful to him. Turning to the book he read it carefully. He was already acquainted with the general lay-out of the hotel which had been generously explained in the architectural papers.

The hotel detectives were men of whom he liked to learn as much as possible. The house detective, the head of them, was Francis Xavier Glynn who felt himself kin to Gaboriau because of his subtle methods. He would often come to the hotel desk and register talking in a loud tone about his Western business connections. He dressed in what he assumed was the Western manner. To his associates this seemed the height of cunning. As a matter of fact the high class crook who prefers the high class hotel knew of it and was amused. Clarke was Trent’s informant. The old editor had pointed him out to the younger man one day when they had met near enough to the hotel’s cafÉ entrance to go in and have a drink.

As a rule Trent made elaborate plans for the successful carrying out of his work. But here he was suddenly told to engage in a very difficult operation. Disguises must be good indeed to stand the glare of hotel corridors and dining rooms. He decided to go and trust to some plan suggesting itself when the moment arrived.

He registered as Conway Parker of York, Pennsylvania and the grip which the boy carried to his room had on it “C.P. York, Pa.” Trent had given a couple of dollars for it at a second hand store. It dulled suspicions which might have been aroused where the bag and initials glaringly new. It was part of Francis Xavier Glynn’s plan to have the hotel boys report hourly on any unusual happening.

As Trent had waited to register he noted the name he was looking for, Commander Heathcote, had a room on the 17th floor. Parker was assigned to one on the seventh. Directly the boy had left Anthony Trent started to work. He found just cause of offense so far as the location of his room went. It was an inside room and the heat of the day made it oppressive. Commander Heathcote, as he found by taking a trip to the seventeenth floor, had an outside room. A further investigation proved that immediately over the Commander’s room was an unoccupied suite. To effect the exchange was not easy. Trent could not very well dictate the location of the room or betray so exact a knowledge of hotel topography without incurring suspicion. But at last the thing was done. The gentleman from York wanted a sitting room, bedroom and bath and obtained it immediately over those of the naval officer.

He passed Heathcote in the dining room, and looked at him keenly. The two men were of a height. Heathcote was broader. Trent instantly knew him for that fighting type characterized by the short, straight nose, cleft chin and light blue eyes. It was a man to beware of in an encounter. He limped a little and walked with a cane. And while he waited for his hors d’oeuvres he took out a long pigskin cigarette case. It was within ten feet of the man who had come to steal it. For a wild moment he wondered whether it were possible to lunge for it and make his escape. A moment later he was annoyed that such a puerile thought had visited him. It meant that his nerves were not under their usual control.

After dinner two or three men spoke to the Commander as he limped toward the elevator. One, a British colonel, shook hands heartily and congratulated him on the V.C. Another, a stranger evidently, tried to get him into conversation. Trent noted that the Commander, although courteous to a degree, was not minded to make hotel acquaintances. He declined a drink and refused a cigar by taking out his cigarette case. The stranger looked at it curiously.

“Seen some service, hasn’t it?” the affable stranger remarked and took it from the owner’s hand.

“A very old pal,” said the naval man. Trent had observed the slight hesitation before he had permitted it to leave his hand. “I wouldn’t lose it for a lot.”

Trent stood ready. It might be that this thick skinned stranger was after the same loot as he. But he handed it back and strolled off to the cafÉ where he joined a group of perfectly respectable business men from Columbus, O.

As most travelers in first class hotels know, the eighteenth story of the Carlton looks across a block of fashionable private houses on its north side. There is on that account no possibility of any prying stranger gazing into its rooms from across the way. Towering above these lesser habitations the Carlton looms inaccessible, austere, remote.

In the grip which had once belonged to the unknown “C. P. of York, Pa.” Anthony Trent had put the kit necessary for a short stay. There was also certain equipment without which certain nervous travelers rarely stray from home. For example there was a small axe. In a collision at sea many are drowned who might escape did not the impact have the effect of jamming the doors of their state rooms. The axe in the hands of the thoughtful voyager could be used to hack through thin planking to freedom. There was also a small coil of high grade rope, tested to three hundred pounds. In case of fire the careful traveler might slide to earth. Not, of course, from an eighteenth floor.

At half past one that night it was very dark and cloudy. A light rain dropped on dusty streets and there was silence. Tying his line to the firm anchorage of a pipe in the bath room Anthony Trent began his work. He was dressed in a dark blue suit. He wore no collar and on his hands were dark gray gloves. Below him was the green and white striped awning that protected Commander Heathcote’s windows. It was almost certain that an Englishman would sleep with windows open.

It was not difficult for a gymnast to slide down the rope head foremost. When Trent could touch the top of the Heathcote awning he took a safety razor blade from his lips and cut a slit across it sufficiently wide to admit his head and shoulders.

It was not a descent which caused much trouble. There was the chance that the rope might break. He wondered through how many awnings he would plunge before consciousness left him.

Heathcote was asleep. By a table near the bed was an ash tray, matches, Conrad’s “Youth” and the cigarette case. And lying near was the stout cane which the man who was wounded in that splendid attack on Zeebrugge used to aid himself in his halting walk.

Trent, with the case in his pocket, walked to the door. It was not his intention to make the more hazardous climb up to his room when so easy a way of getting there presented itself. It was locked and barred.

In his room he sat and looked at what he had taken. It represented, so Kaufmann said, his freedom from arrest. It contained plans of vital importance to the allies. They could only be used by the enemy to bring destruction to those who fought for right. And what punishment would be given the wounded hero for losing what was entrusted to him? For an hour Trent sat there looking at the pigskin case. And gradually what had seemed an impossible sacrifice to make, came to be something desirable and splendid. Anthony Trent had never been able to regard his career as one justified by circumstances. There burned in his breast the spark of patriotism more strongly than he knew. He had fought his fight and won. His eyes were moist as he thought of his father, that old civil war soldier who had been wounded on Gettysburg’s bloody field and walked always with a limp like the English sailor beneath.

When he opened the door Heathcote was still slumbering. He replaced the case as nearly in the position he found as he could. In that moment Anthony Trent felt he could look any man in the face.

He was still slumbering when Commander Heathcote awoke. Presently the officer saw that the door was unbarred and as investigation proved, unlocked.

“I’d have sworn,” muttered the Commander, “that I locked and barred it.”