"I don't want you to make any trouble," he insisted. "Remember you're not a scientific youth and might do something ridiculous. If I'm going to perform this operation you must take orders and obey them."
That settled it; Irving acquiesced. When he recovered consciousness he found himself in a hospital bed with his left arm bandaged and feeling a good deal like a limb of a tree, or anything else with a like degree of life. He remained in bed until the next morning, when his arm was put in a sling and he was permitted to move about as he pleased, although directed to remain in the hospital. Two days later he was allowed to leave the institution, but was instructed to return daily for examination and redressing of the graft.
He returned at once to the intelligence office and reported the success of the operation. The chief surgeon had informed him that his arm might be taken out of the sling in about a week.
During this period Irving was in the office much of the time, although he was able to be of little service with the use of only one arm. Still, he found it possible to add a good deal to his knowledge of the system of which the government was planning to make him an important agent, and this was, on the whole, quite satisfactory to him.
The youthful spy's plans for carrying out his mission for the British government had been developing rapidly since he became a member of the staff in the German intelligence office. And not a little of this development had been quite unforeseen by him. His original plans, therefore, underwent considerable change as time and experience advanced.
For instance, he decided not to attempt to make a list of names of leading enemy agents in the United States and Canada to take back with him. This had been his original purpose. He now regarded it as unwise, unsafe. He would depend on his memory to retain a store of information of this kind. So he watched and examined and probed and memorized, going over the information he had accumulated many times in his leisure hours in order to keep it fixed and unmistakable in his mind.
"I think I could go back to school and memorize history dates as I never did before," he told himself one evening about a week after the skin-grafting operation. "Gee! I never realized I had such a memory. I can run off a string of dope as long as the tune the old cow died on, just like saying the ABC's."
Irving had forgotten the "tune the old cow died on," but the expression stuck in his mind as a relic of nursery days.
One of the divisions of service in the intelligence department that interested the spy particularly was the telegraphic division. It came as an intermediate grade in his course of instruction, and he was required to learn to read the ticking of the telegraph instrument. Fortunately, a few years before, he had learned the alphabet while amusing himself with an amateur wireless outfit, and it now required comparatively little time for him to develop a fair degree of proficiency as a key-listener.
"You can never tell when it'll be greatly to your advantage to be able to read the telegraph instrument," Mr. Herrmann explained. "In fact, that may be one of your most important occupations in America--tapping wires, for instance."
Indeed, the spy caught a number of messages of incalculable importance while pursuing his studies in this division and made careful note of them in his mental repository.
About a week later he had a novel "telegraphic" experience, which, in turn, was to have an important bearing on his fortunes as a spy in the enemy's country. The affair took place in the rooming house where he was living. While he endeavored to get out in the evening, as a rule, and mingle with citizens of all sorts and descriptions, in order to absorb as much general information as possible, still he retired almost every night in good season, and not infrequently went early to his room to study, rehearse, memorize and plan. In this manner he endeavored to improve every opportunity to make his excursion a success.
He had just finished one of these solitary sessions in which several leading newspapers and magazines played an important part, and was about to lay them aside and prepare for bed, when his attention was attracted by a faint tapping sound. At first he gave little heed to it, presuming, in a semi-conscious way, that it was occasioned by a continuous breath of air and a tiny, loose pendant of some sort in the exterior construction work of the house. But it continued in a strangely familiar way and seemed to grow a little louder very gradually.
Suddenly, Irving sat up straight and listened rigidly. Anyone observing him in this attitude could not have failed to be impressed with the feeling that an alarm of some character was thrilling his every nerve center.
"My goodness!" was the exclamation that smothered itself within him. "What in the world can that mean? Yes, no, yes--somebody is trying to communicate with me. He's using the telegraphic signal. He's asking me to answer, to indicate in some way that I am getting his message. He says he's a friend. He knows I'm a British spy. But maybe it's a trap to catch me. What shall I do? If he's a friend he surely ought to know better than to expect me to make such an admission. But he says he has important information. What--what in the world shall I do? I may be in very great danger. Here is certainly the test of my life."