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"I'll find you a chauffeur," said Carter decisively.
"You mean"--Jane hesitated--"a detective?"
Carter grinned.
"An agent like you and me. K-27 is an expert chauffeur and mechanic with fine references. His last job was with the British High Commission, and they gave him good testimonials."
"What do you want him to do?"
"Driving the Strong car makes a good excuse for him to be around without exciting suspicion. He might even come up-stairs once in a while to get orders or do little repair jobs around the apartment. Some day, supposing the people next door were all out, he might even succeed in planting a dictograph so that you could sit there in your room and hear all that was going on and what the Hoffs talked about. That would help a lot. If ever he was caught prowling about the hall, the fact that he was your chauffeur would provide him with an alibi. Do you think you can fix it up with your father?"
"I'm sure of it. When can he come?"
"The sooner the better--to-night--to-morrow."
"I'll tell Dad at dinner to-night that I've learned of a good chauffeur and have asked him to come in at eight this evening."
"Fine," said Carter. "He'll be there. And don't forget to report once a day to the Chief."
"I won't."
"And if anything unexpected turns up," said Carter, "and you need help, take a good look at that nurse that is passing."
Jane turned curiously to inspect a buxom girl in a drab nurse's costume who was wheeling a baby carriage along the sidewalk near-by. Seeing herself observed the girl stopped, and at a sign from Carter wheeled her charge up to where they were standing.
"K-22," said Carter, "I want to introduce you to K-19."
Gravely the two girls, nodding, inspected each other.
"She always wears a blue bow at her neck," Carter added, "so you can recognize her by that."
The girl smilingly nodded again and wheeled the carriage on up the Drive.
"Who is she?" Jane asked eagerly, turning to Carter.
"Just K-22," said the agent, "and all she knows about you is that you are K-19. That's the way we work in the service mostly. The less one operative knows about another the better, for what you don't know you can't talk about."
"Doesn't she even know my name?" persisted Jane.