She looked around the dining-room. The doors of the yellow oak
sideboard were open, but no book was there among the plated knives
and forks and the cheap dishes.

Cassidy came back with the garments he had been looking for--an
overcoat, coat and vest--and he carried them into the kitchenette,
whither presently Vaux followed him.

Cassidy had just unlocked the handcuffs from the powerful wrists of
a dark, stocky, sullen man who stood in his shirt-sleeves near a
small deal table.

"Lauffer?" inquired Vaux, dryly.

"It sure is, ain't it, Herman?" replied Cassidy facetiously. "Now,
then, me Dutch bucko, climb into your jeans, if YOU please--there's
a good little Boche!"

Vaux gazed curiously at the spy, who returned his inspection coolly
enough while he wrinkled his nose at him, and his beady eyes roamed
over him.

When the prisoner had buttoned his vest and coat, Cassidy snapped on
the bracelets again, whistling cheerily under his breath.

As they started to leave the kitchenette, Vaux, who brought up the
rear, caught sight of a large, thick book lying on the pantry shelf.
It was labelled "Perfect Cook-Book," but he picked it up, shoved it
into his overcoat pocket en passant, and followed Cassidy and his