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But then the whole situation was incredible; that a
peaceful and home-loving people, to all appearances, should suddenly
shed the sheep skin of years of dissimulation, and appear as the
wolves of the world.
One of his men had died on the Lusitania, a quiet little chap, with
a family in the suburbs and a mania for raising dahlias. He had
been in the habit of bringing in his best specimens, and putting
them in water on Clayton's desk. His pressed glass vase was still
there, empty.
Then his mind went back to Herman Klein. He had a daughter in the
mill. She was earning the livelihood for the family now, temporarily.
And the Germans were thrifty. If for no other reason he thought
Klein would not imperil either his daughter's safety or her salary.
There was a good bit of talk about German hate, but surely there was
no hate in Klein.
Something else Dunbar had said stuck in his mind.
"We've got to get wise, and soon. It's too big a job for the
regular departments to handle.


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