“Good morning, Thomas,” said the boy, a little doubtfully, as if not quite sure that it was he.

Dean gasped in astonishment.  The boy’s voice was the voice of Jane.  Laughing merrily at his amazement and discomfiture, she climbed into the seat beside him, asking: 

“How do you like my disguise?”

“It’s great,” he cried.  “You fooled me completely, and I was expecting you.”

“When Chief Fleck said I ought to disguise myself for fear that the Hoffs already suspected me, I happened to remember these clothes.  I had them once for a play we gave in school.”

“But you don’t even walk like a girl.”

Jane laughed again.

“I practised that walk for days and days.  When I first put on this suit my brother hooted at the way I walked.  He said no girl ever could learn to walk like a boy.  I made up my mind I’d show him.”

“But your hair,” protested Dean, almost anxiously.  Even if he was just now assuming the humble role of chauffeur he still was an ardent admirer of such hair as Jane’s, long, black and luxurious.

“Tucked up under my cap,” laughed the girl, “and for fear it might tumble down, I brought this along.  It’s what the sailor boys call a ‘beanie,’ isn’t it?”

As she spoke she adjusted over her head a visorlike woolen cap that left only her face showing.

“But your mother—­didn’t she wonder about your wearing those clothes?”

“She was in bed when I left.  All she caught was just a glimpse of me in Dad’s dust coat, and that came to my ankles.  I wore it until I was a block away from the house.  Will I do?”

“You can’t change your eyes,” said Dean boldly, that is boldly for a chauffeur, but he knew that Jane knew he wasn’t a chauffeur except by choice, so that made it all right.

“I couldn’t well leave them behind.  I understood that I was to have a lot of use for my eyes to-day.”

“Yes, indeed, you very likely will.”

“Do you know I hardly recognized you at first and was almost afraid to speak?  I had expected to find you in a car.  What was the idea of the motorcycle?”

“It was Chief Fleck’s suggestion.  The Hoffs will be motoring.  People in a car seldom pay any attention to motorcyclists.  If we were to follow them in a motor they’d surely notice it.  Last week they managed to dodge the people the Chief assigned to trail them.  Maybe as two dusty motorcyclists we’ll have better luck.”

“I hope so.  Where do you intend waiting to pick them up?”

“Getty Square in Yonkers is the best place.  Everybody going north goes that way.  I can be tinkering with the machine while you keep watch for them.  They will not be apt to suspect a pair of Yonkers motorcyclists.  There’s no danger of missing them.”

“Did you tell the Chief about seeing Mr. Hoff in that uniform?”

“Of course.  He did not seem even surprised.  Some one had reported to him already that there was a German going about in British uniform.”