Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 270, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 November 1916 — UNDER FIRE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

UNDER FIRE

A European War story based on the drama of ROI COOPER. MEGRUE

SYNOPSIS. —ll— «hlef characters are Ethel Willoughby. Henry Streetman and Cant. Lan-' Redm md. The minor characters are Sir George Wagstaff of the British admiralty and Charles Brown a New York newspaper correspondent. Ethel, a, .‘slrient of Sir George e household, secretly married to Streetman, a German spy, though she did not know hint as suck Captain Redmond, her old lover, returns to England after long absence From him she ’earns the truth about Streetman; furthermore, that he lias betrayed.her sTnpiy to learn naval secrets. l\e European WK breaks out. Ethel prepares to accompt ny Streeynan to Brussels os a German sp>\* n to get revenge and serve hnglan\ /Captain Redmond. Ethel and Charlie Brown turn up at a Belgian inn as the German army comes. She Is Madame He Lorde. She begins to work with a French spj. The Germans appear at the inn.

CHAPTER XlV.—Continued. “Here, please!” she said to the lieutenant. From the bosom of her gown she had drawn forth a small gold medal, which bung upon a ribbon about her neck.

He looked at it closely, for Lieutenant Baum was wo man to take unnecessary risks. Thoroughness was his middle name. “From the German secret service, the WilbeUnstrasse!” he exclaimed, when be had satisfied himself. “Your pardon, madame! I did not understand.” And he bowed deeply. She acknowledged his apology with the slightest of nods. And with an assumed calm that she was far from feeling, she said to him in a confidential manner: “I am here on a confidential mission, and one tiling at once I must know. Tell me, lieutenant, by which road do we march to attack the fortress at the frontier?”

“By the left fork, madame." he answered without hesitation. That token from the Wllhelmstrasse — obtained from Streetman —had quite disarmed his suspicions. - “Good! Good!” Ethel exclaimed. “I have studied the country hereabouts. That is the best way. . . . Good night!” “Madame shall not be disturbed further,” the lieutenant promised. “I will explain to the major when he returns.” “Thank you so much! You have been so very nice to me!” “Madame is welcome,” he said, with another low bow. Smiling happily, Ethel left him. She congratulated herself, both because she had escaped detection and because she had obtained the Information that was so vital to the French. As he watched her departure, the young German officer smiled likewise. It was good to have a few minutes’ talk with a lady of his own class, after the canaille with which he had been obliged to mingle since the great drive began. And, puffing out his chest to its largest dimensions, he stepped into the street In his complacency over work that he considered well done he had entirely forgotten that there still remained another suspect to question—the Innkeeper’s American gentleman.

CHAPTER XV. Mr. Brown Finds His War. Lieutenant Baum had been gone hut a short time when Sergeant Schmidt appeared, bringing Brown with him. The German “noncom” looked about in vain for his lieutenant, who had ordered him to fetch the American. But only two of his mates, Otto and Hans, remained in the room, standing guard at the street door. Sergeant Schmidt was nonplused. It was not like Lieutenant Baum to fall •one like that. And he gurgled a few throaty German words in his surprise. There seemed nothing to do then but assume' the task himself—the duty o 6» examining his prisoner, for so be regarded the interested Mr. Brown, who was already making mental notes of the which he intended to use for the embellishment of the stories he would send his paper later. Charlie had paused just inside the door through which he had entered the room. And now the sergeant beckoned to him violently. “Komm hier!” he commanded.

At that peremptory command Mr, Brown regarded him with’ mild surprise and a total lack of comprehension. But the sign language was plain enough. So Charlie drew near to that *~rformidable-looking automaton. “Was thust du hler?” Sergeant Schmidt demanded fiercely. Mr, Brown appeared to consider him a huge joke. At least he glanced past his frowning interrogator at Hans and Otto and laughed outright. “I don't get you. Why don’t you speak English?" he replied. But the sergeant stolidly repeated his Question. ~ “Oh, shut up!” Mr. Brown said impatiently. “D** hist ein Englaender,” Schmidt announced with a malevolent glare at his captive. “No, I’m an American,” he explained. “Amerikaner?” the sergeant repeated dubiously. “Yea, Americane!” Charlie mimicked him, congratulating himself that the German language offered fewer difficultleJ than the French. He even began to pride himself on being a natural linguist. And in order to convince this fellow beyond a possibility of doubt, ho reached a hand toward 1 his hip * ■ i-' '

pocket, where he carried his identification papers. Sergeant Schmidt’s eagle eye no sooner detected the move of hand toward hip than he thrust his revolver into Mr. Brown’s stomach. “Halt!” i That was something that Charlie understood without difficulty, too. He raised both hands above bls head as high as he could get them, while a look of Ineffable disgust suffused his face.

“You d n fool.” he exclaimed, “I’m not reaching for a gun. These are my passports. Look! Papers!” With a shake and a twist he managed to throw his coat back from his right hip. And Sergeant Schmidt then proceeded to relieve him of the bulky packet that projected from the pocket, lie looked at them with a scowl. “Ah. you are Franzoeslsch!” he declared. still in his native tongue, for he knew no other. “I’m what?” Charlie inquired. “Franzoeslsch! You are no Amerlkaner.” Charlie grasped only the last word. “Yes, that's right—Americane, right from the corner of Forty-second street and Broadway: and, believe me, I wish I was right back there right now.” “What do you say?” the sergeant asked him. •

“None of your d n business. . . . You bonehead.” . . r Mr. Brown was quite enjoying hlnaself, abusing that walking arsenal with impunity. “Have a cigarette?” he asked, holding out his case. x Sergeant Schmidt was not above accepting one, even from the enemy. And he thanked Charlie in a voice as gentle as a bass drum. “Gee, I’d like to give you one good wallop on the nose just for luck,” the American remarked longingly. Then Schmidt suddenly snatched off Mr. Brown’s hat. “Nix on the Herrmann stuff—what are you doing?” Charlie demanded. He began to feel as if he were taking part in a slapstick vaudeville skit. The sergeant had his face buried inside the hat. He was looking for clues. “Englisch!” he sputtered the next moment. “Of course it’s English!” Charlie retorted. “It cost me two-and-slx,” he added, regarding the rough handling of his straw with indignation. Sergeant Schmidt leaned over, and, seizing Charlie’s coat by the collar, he pulled It back from his neck while he examined the label.

“English also. Spion! Thou art an English spy!” His trusty henchmen, Hans and Otto, together with their corporal, brought their guns up to their sides; and, hissing “Spion!” in the most sinister manner imaginable, they all three approached Charlie threateningly. Mr. Brown suddenly changed his mind about the vaudeville. It seemed to him that possibly he had been unwittingly cast for a tragedy. • “Spion—spion!” he repeated. “Good grief, you don’t mean spy?” “Spy, spy—ja wohl,” said Schmidt. “Komm hier!” He took hold of Charlie’s arm and faced him about so that he confronted

the trio of formidable soldiers. And then the isergeant ordered them to load. Charlie observed the operation with Increasing alarm. “Good God, you’re not going to shoot me!" he cried, ‘tl’m not English. I’m ndt a spy.” And remembering all at once that the girl whom he had first met at the house of .Sir George Wagstaff in London could speak German, he yelled' at the top of his voice, “Madame ds Lorde! Madame de Lorde!” The two privates were aiming at him now. And be faced them indignantly. His anger was already beginning to get the better of his fear. “Sav—if you -hoot me there are a

hundred million people back there wbo’re going to be sore as hell!” he snarled. “They’ll come over here and blow you off the face of the earth.” At an order from the sergeant th* corpora! and one of the privates then grasped their victim and hustled him across the room. “Say—what are you going to do with me?” Charlie asked. “Let me alone!” And again he called loudly for Ethel Willoughby. To bis Immense relief, at that moment she appeared. “What are you doing?” she asked the sergeant. “It is not your affair,” be retorted gruffly. She showed her medal to him —the medal from the Wilbelmstrasse. “Do you know that?” she inquired. He did. And immediately he cried “Halt” to Charlie’s captors. They released him at once. “Gosh, I’m glad you’re not deaf,” Mr. Brown told Ethel with immense relief, as he crossed the room to where she stood.

“He is an English spy,” the sergeant protested to the girl. “No, no, no—you are mistaken,” she said. “He is an American.” “They’re going to shoot me!” Charlie told her. He did not yet feel safely out of the woods. “For heaven’s sake, t«»ll them I'm not a spy!” “I have just told them,” she assured him. “I know. Make sure! Tell ’em again!” he urged her. “Ask if there isn’t someone who speaks English.” Questioned as to whether there were not some officer -who understood English, the servant informed Ethel that Major von Brenig knew the hateful language. ...

“For the love of Mike, get him here!” Charlie besought her, when she explained to him. While Sergeant Schmidt betook himself away in order to summon the major, Charlie Brown turned to Ethel with an air of great relief. “Well, I was looking for a war, and I certainly picked out the right spot, didn’t I?” he asked. “I suppose mistakes like this are bound to happen. But haven’t you papers to prove your identity?” she inquired. “Oh, yes—yes! French passports, and an English hat and English clothes! All I needed to realljt finish me was a Russian blouse,” he said with a grin. “Seriously though,” he went on, “I do w r ant to thank you.” He offered her his hand. “It was nothing,” she said, as she shook hands with him. Before the major arrived Ethel left him, after promising that she would not go so far away that he might not call her in case he needed her assistance again.

The sight of the fatherly appearing major, whose bearded face soon showed in the doorway, went far to restore Charlie’s equanimity. “The spy—where is the spy?” Major von Brenig asked the sergeant, who followed close at his heels. Charlie Brown did not wait for the “noncom” to answer. He stepped forward expectantly. “Are you Major von Brenig—and do you speak English?” he inquired. “I am, and I do,” the officer said. Mr. Brown smiled at him winningly. “Fitzsimmons there has my passports,” he announced, pointing to the lanky sergeant. Major von Brenig'- took the papers from the sergeant ana looked them over. - “They seem to be in good order,” he said—“vised by the American consul in Paris.” “And here’s a letter from the paper I work for,” Charlie added, handing the major an envelope. The German officer merely looked at the imprint in one corner. He did not even take the letter from the American. *

“It’s a good newspaper. I’ve often read it,” he remarked. And he returned the passport to its owner. “Now what is the trouble?" he asked. “These guys were just going to shoot me as an English spy,” Charlie informed him, with an indignant glance at the soldiers. The major laughed in his face. “You English?” he cried. “No one but an American ever said ‘guy’!” He appeared greatly amused. “I am glad my men did not make the mistake of killing you,” he said pleasantly. “You’ve nothing on me” Charlie told him.

CHAPTER XVI. Interviewing the Major. ‘ The sergeant saluted, clicked his spurs together, moved majestically to a position in front of the cigar case, and clicked his heels again. Judging by his movements, one might almost have Supposed him to be some great mechanical doll. But Charlie Brown was quite certain that he, for one, had no desire to play with him. “I feel much better now,” he told the major. “I can imagine,” the other said. “You speak very good English,” the American remarked generously. “Why not?” the officer asked. “I soent three years at Columbia-”

Mr. Brown's newspaper Instincts crowded to the front again. , "By Jove! You're a German! You're In the army—you speak English! . . . It’s too gopd a chance to miss! Say, can I interview you?” Major von Brenig regarded t>lm curiously for a moment. He seemed to consider that the American would be a satisfactory person to talk to, for he said presently: “Yes—for I should like America to understasd, to realize what Germany is fighting for.” “Fine!” Charlie exulted. “Can Germany win?” he demanded, looking up at Major von Brenig in bls most professional manner. “It Is Inevitable —there is no chance to fail,” the officer replied. “And what Is Germany going to gain Jrom the war—if she wins?’* “When she wins, you mean,” the major corrected him stiffly. “Well, when she wins,” Charlie conceded. “She will be the greatest power In the world!” “Except the United States!” Charlie Interposed. “Do not let us discuss your country. sir! You are my guest.” Charlie rose and bowed to the German. “I get you!” he said. “Oh, just a minute!” be added, since the major

appeared to consider the interview at an end. “And what about England?” he asked, dropping into the chair once more. That question was one that the German officer was only too ready to take up. “What army has England?” And straightway he gave_ the answer: “None! In only one thing is England our superior—in lies and Intrigues! There she has always been our master; but she will not fight. That is for France and Russia to do. But if the war lasts they will grow weary of being the catspaw. . . . England is a fine example of your happy American phrase, ‘Let George do it!’ ” “And the French?” Charlie persisted. “The French! For forty years thej have been thinking of what some day they would do to Germany; and white they thought, we have planned, we have worked —and now today we are ready—and they are not!” “You seem very confident,” Charlie told him. “Why not? . . . For forty years our men of brains have been planning a system—the most marvelous system in the world!” “What a pity it isn’t devoted to peace instead of war,” the American said somewhat pensively. .All the while, as they talked, the boom of field guns in the distance punctuated their sentences.

“In the end It will be for peace,” Major von Brenlg said gravely, “the peace of the world. For this is a just war—and justice must triumph.” “But what of these poor people—these noncombatants —who streamed through here a little while ago?” “It is the habit of an invaded country to proclaim the Invaders as barbarians,” the Teuton replied warmly. “But we Germans are not barbarians. We are a simple people fighting only for our fatherland.” “And the ruined towns—destroyed homes —and civilians shot?” But Major von Brenlg had always an answer ready. He was an 'honest man; and he was convinced of the justice of the German cause. “If we are fighting soldiers we treat them as soldiers,” he pointed out. “But if men or women lurk behind closed shutters or on housetops to shoot our men we shall burn tlje house they live in and if there is resistance we shall kill all those who resist. It is regrettable, but we must stop guerrilla warfare. We must fight under the laws of civilization.” Another roar as of distant thunder interrupted Charlie Brown’s next question. “And you call that civilization?” he demanded, while the windows of the Lion d’Or rattled under the shock of the distant cannonading. “I do!” “I am your guest,” Charlie said. So far as he was concerned, he had, heard enough. In fact, he had heard almost too much for his own peace of mind. “I think we’d better not continue this discussion or we might get Into an argument—and that wouldn’t be diplo matte.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“From the German Secret Service, the Wilhelmstrasse!” He Exclaimed.

“They’re Going to Shoot Me!”