Front matter (continued 5)

"You, you," he gasped.

"Yes," she answered without emotion. "Eight years have I served Madam Stephan as personal maid on guard against the moment which has now arrived. She gave information to Harrison Grant at the Criminology Club, and I have come to remind you of your duty."

The heart of Heinric von Lertz became cold with fear. So this was the way Germany trusted her most confidential workers. He wondered of his own valet, of his housekeeper, of everyone whose respect he had thought he held. Mechanically he put on his coat and hat. He talked aimlessly as they rode toward Madam Stephan's apartment, wondering, thinking of the relentless grip Germany held upon her spies.

At the door to Madam's apartment the maid pushed something into his hand. He shuddered as he felt it to be a revolver.

"It is her own," said the maid in a cold lifeless voice, "so it makes no difference which one of you use it. You will find her in the library."

As she was speaking she had slipped her latch key into the lock and had entered. Von Lertz followed in a semi-daze, and walked alone into the library.

"Madam Stephan, I have come to claim the debt you owe Imperial Germany," he said in a voice which he hardly recognized as his own. Mechanically he thrust the revolver toward her.

Madam Stephan started to her feet from the easy chair in which she had been reclining. One look at the pallid, set face of Von Lertz convinced her of the desperateness of her position. Life had become very sweet to her after her intimate talk with Harrison Grant. She made a sudden lunge at Von Lertz.

She had just reached him when there came the muffled report of a revolver shot smothered in clothing. Von Lertz had reversed the weapon and pulled the trigger. Madam Stephan staggered back and then fell full length on the floor, her life blood oozing out through a wound which had penetrated her heart.

As Von Lertz stood aghast gazing at the result of his handiwork the maid entered. She took the revolver from his nerveless hand and stooping by the body of her former mistress twisted the fingers of the right hand, already cooling in death, about the handle and the trigger. Then she walked to the table and picking up a book, opened it, and began marking a passage.

"This will be absolute proof of her suicide," she remarked calmly. "It occurred to me this afternoon. You know she had been reading Dickens, expecting to be ordered to England any day for work."

Von Lertz dully took the book which was extended to him. He recognized it as the copy of "A Tale of Two Cities," which he had examined but a few days previously. He saw the sentence which the maid had underlined:

"It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done, it is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known."

He stood motionless as the maid took the book from him and placed it on the table where the message would be the first thing to catch the eye of an investigator.

Chapter XIV

THE MENACE OF THE I.W.W.

Since the attempt on the part of Imperial Germany to foment a strike of the 'longshoremen on the Atlantic and Pacific seacoasts as a means of preventing shipments of supplies and munitions to the Allies, the Secret Service had been continually on the alert against other attempts to cause trouble in various branches of organized labor. In this work the unions of America had given more than a hearty co-operation. Committees of members were appointed to confer with the Secret Service to learn the best means of detecting efforts of German agents to interfere with any industry by agitation among the workers. American labor proved itself loyal to the core.

Germany had made numerous attempts to create havoc in the American manufacturing plants by using various methods to entice workingmen away from their daily tasks. In many instances, the old method of agitation against conditions was tried. Subtler attacks were employed elsewhere. Tempting offers of employment at their trade in distant cities, with transportation paid, were made on condition that a sufficient number of workmen would join the migrating colony. Cunningly worded stories of fictitious dangers which confronted workers in various occupations were inserted in printed matter which was designed to reach wives, mothers and sweethearts, but every effort failed, because of the intense loyalty of the unions.

"Report anything which may cause two or more workingmen to leave the place where they are employed now," was the request made by the Secret Service. Members of the special committees, by ever watchful vigilance, detected the efforts of Germany at their inception.

Complaints against conditions were usually proved groundless by the Secret Service. In cases where the workingmen were not receiving fair treatment, a word to the owner was usually sufficient to correct the trouble, for the manufacturers had combined with the workers in preventing Germany from being successful in its plotting. The ideal positions which existed at distant points were proved to be phantoms. The Hun-inspired stories of dangers existing through the handling of various substances were denied by authoritative sources which could leave no doubt in the mind of the families of the workers. This was the work which the Secret Service had been doing in conjunction with labor since the attempt to foment the longshoremen's strike had been baffled.

Harrison Grant, president of the Criminology Club, and Dixie Mason, the pretty little Secret Service operative, had often discussed reports of these activities of German agents. Von Bernstorff, and his aides, had followed the traditional course in each effort, using members of the Kaiser's spy army in America to do the actual work of enticement or intimidation. Then this department of activity against America by the Huns suddenly stopped. Agents of the Kaiser no longer sought membership in unions, control of labor papers was relinquished by Dr. Heinrich Albert, the paymaster of the spy army, and it seemed that Germany had admitted defeat through the loyalty of American workingmen.

But neither Grant nor Dixie were deceived. Through the wireless in the Criminology Club, and through phonographic attachments at other stations confidential messages between the Wilhelmstrasse and the Imperial German Embassy in Washington were picked out of the air and later the secrets of the coded messages were deciphered. Through these Grant and Dixie knew that Germany's demands for successful demoralization of American labor had become more and more insistent as efforts of the spy army met with failure after failure. Then the demands suddenly ceased without any apparent reason and the president of the Criminology Club and the young Secret Service operative, through their intimate knowledge of Hun methods, felt that Von Bernstorff had sent a written report to Berlin of some plot which promised success if time were given for its prosecution and fulfillment.

So no vigilance was relaxed. The labor committees were warned against falling into a false feeling of security because of the apparent inactivity of Imperial Germany. Many months of watchful waiting followed, and then came the first rumbling of a storm which threatened the whole existence of labor, a storm which actually accomplished the destruction of millions of dollars worth of wheat and other cereal supplies.

It was the outbreak of the Industrial Workers of the World, an organization which is more readily recognized by its initials—I.W.W., formed originally by a cracked-brain, illogical theorist to agitate the doctrine that a worker is entitled to the gross proceeds of his labor and it attracted to its membership radicals from all over the world. It always proceeded on the lines of anarchism—destruction to anything which impeded its progress. The cry of higher and better wages attracted a great many workingmen when it was first introduced into this country, but they soon dropped away. The utter absurdity of a theory that a laborer could increase his earnings by insisting that he receive everything that he produced without any thought of the workingmen who had produced the tools and the material with which he worked, soon stopped the growth of the membership and then a sudden slump in the number of supporters until only professional agitators could be found in the organization. Even these soon deserted for they agitated only for the money that there was to be acquired and the treasury of the I.W.W. was depleted to a point where it was no longer a shining target for the greed of the professional trouble maker who found more profitable organizations elsewhere.

Then the I.W.W. suddenly acquired apparently unlimited money from some source. Agitators from everywhere flocked to its standards which was the surest sign that the treasury was well filled. There were indications also that some sane person had planned out a definite campaign for the organization to follow under the guise of agitating only the theory for which it stood. Groups of I.W.W. workers appeared in industrial centers in every part of the country. They harangued against the conscription of British and French labor as they afterward argued for the resistance of the draft in America. They pleaded for general strikes everywhere, ostensibly as a means of getting for the worker all the wealth he produced. In every way they played the part which Imperial Germany had attempted but had failed because of the inability of the members of the spy army to inspire the confidence of the American workers.

The I.W.W. was different in method from the individual Hun spies. It held open its ranks to workers. It exhibited a well filled treasury and offered good pay. Many of the lazier and reckless members of the unions were induced to enroll, but in the main the American workingman recognized it for its worthlessness and left it alone. But the I.W.W. was prepared for this attitude on the part of the workers and took measures to coerce them.

Harrison Grant and Dixie Mason were in the vanguard of the forces which were detailed to resist the revitalized I.W.W. Both had a well definited theory as to where the unexpected wealth had come from, and knew that in meeting the agitation of the I.W.W. they were in reality working against another German plot in America. Raid after raid was made on local headquarters of the I.W.W. and many prisoners were made and hauled into court on charges of almost every felony on the docket, from murder down. Yet the organization continued to flourish. Outbreaks occurred all over America, some serious, others quelled almost before they were started.

Grant and Dixie devoted their time to investigation and very seldom were engaged on a particular case when the time for raiding came. They discovered the plotters, an outline of the object toward which they were working, then turned the clearly defined trail over to other less skilled workers to pursue, while they gave attention to other fields which indicated a plot was brewing. Masses of documents teaching sabotage, destruction of all sorts, the making and firing of bombs, sedition and many other things detrimental to the industrial health and strength of a nation were the natural accompaniment of every raid. Sabotage was the most dangerous of all and it was to this branch of the I.W.W. activity to which Grant and Dixie devoted most of their time.

Machinery in various plants suddenly broke down, despite the reliability of its manufacturers. Grant and Dixie discovered that emery powder had been mixed with lubricating oil, and as a result locks were placed on lubricating cups, and trusted men attended to the duties of oiling, using only oil that had been strained and inspected and kept under lock and key. There were epidemics of typhoid in colonies of workers and after their first investigation Grant and Dixie made a report which put every health officer in the country on guard against diverted sewage.

Then came the fires in the wheatfields of the country. Grant and Dixie were already on their way to Minnesota when the announcement was made that their fields burst into flames under their own eyes, without another person being in sight. But Grant and Dixie did not accept this explanation. They knew that almost anything was possible where there was money to be obtained and they knew that Germany was supplying funds recklessly.

Convinced that the fires were of incendiary origin, despite the testimony of the farmers, Grant and Dixie went directly to one of the devastated fields. There was nothing to be seen except acre after acre of charred soil where a few days earlier had stood bushels and bushels of wheat ready for harvest. The farmer pointed out to them the spot where the fire had started. Grant began an examination of the ground, while Dixie looked over the surrounding country. A railroad ran about a quarter of a mile distant.

"It couldn't have been a spark from an engine?" she asked the farmer.

"Not a chance," he responded. "Every engine has a sieve in its stack, and anyway there hadn't been a train pass within two hours of the time this fire started."

"Will meet you at the hotel tonight," Dixie called to Grant, and started across the field toward the tracks.

"Loan me your handkerchief, will you?"

It was a call from Grant, and it caused the farmer to turn from watching the pleasing, trim figure of Dixie Mason making her way across the field. He saw that Grant had already filled his own handkerchief with soil dug out of the field. Grant took the spacious piece of cloth which the farmer handed him wonderingly, and walking nearly a hundred feet from where he had taken his original sample of the soil, he knelt down and with his pocket knife dug up another generous clod and put that in the farmer's handkerchief. Then picking up both handkerchiefs, he turned to the farmer:

"Can you drive me right into town? I have some work to do."

"Sure," answered the farmer, impressed by Grant's manner, and then his curiosity prompted the question, "Have you found gold or oil?"

"Maybe something more valuable than either to the wheat farmer," answered Grant. "I think I have found the cause of the fires in the wheat fields, but will know for a certainty by tonight."

The farmer asked no more questions but hurried away, soon to re-appear on the road near the field at the wheel of a speedy little roadster. On the way into town several more fields which had been shorn of their yield by fire were passed and Grant stopped at each one of them. He walked over their blackened lengths carefully until evidently the thing for which he searched was discovered. Then as before he took a sample of the soil and a second sample many yards distant from the first position. By the time the little roadster drove up in front of the one hotel in the nearest city the pockets of both men were filled with Minnesota soil.

They had already made a stop at a drug store where Grant taxed the stock of the proprietor with the demands he made. He succeeded in getting everything that he wanted, acids, salts and other things of which the farmer had never heard. Once in Grant's room at the hotel, the president of the Criminology Club spread out a large piece of white paper on the floor. On it he marked several circles in parallel rows.

"Empty your right hand pockets on this side, and put the soil from your left hand pockets on this side," he ordered briefly, and then in response to the mute request on the face of the farmer he added, "Yes, stay if you want to," and began emptying his own pockets.

With the soil samples from various fields arranged in neat piles on the white paper Grant set to work on matters which were, for the most part, mysterious to the farmer. A Bunsen burner was connected with the chandelier in the room. Small portions of the soil from each pile were placed in separate test tubes. Then each was heated, mixed with small portions of the matter from the various bottles and packages which had been gotten at the drug store. Each test tube was treated in identically the same way and as he finished with each one Grant entered figures in his note book. He was working on the last tube when a knock came on the door, and in response to Grant's "Come" the door opened and Dixie Mason entered. The little Secret Service operative remained silent while Grant finished the test tube. He jotted some figures in his note book, then snapped it shut, and turned toward her smiling.

"You have discovered something?" Dixie asked.

"I think so," answered Grant. "But first let us hear what you have discovered, to see if it fits in with my find."

"It isn't an awful lot," answered Dixie. "In the first place every fire has started in the portion of the field nearest to the road or a railroad, and almost invariably there has been water near the place where the fire started. The only strangers which have been observed in the vicinity were a couple of traveling geologists, who did most of their traveling on foot and carried the samples they had collected in little cloth bags. That is about all."

"It is enough," said Grant. "The point of origin of the fire in the first field I examined attracted my attention because it had been burned with a more intense heat than burning grain would make. I took a sample there and then for purposes of comparison took another sample of the soil some distance away. It was easy to determine the place of the origin of the fires in the other fields, for in each place I found a spot where there had been intense heat. The samples from these spots which I have analyzed show a large percentage of phosphorus oxide, while the other samples are free from it. Phosphorus oxide is formed by the burning of phosphorus."

"Which makes it very clear as to how the fires started," commented Dixie.

"It may be to you," interjected the farmer, "but I can't see what started the phosphorus burning even if some was placed in the field."

"Phosphorus has a peculiar property," explained Grant. "When it is in a certain degree of solution it unites readily with the oxygen in the air, which is merely another way of saying that it burns. The burning of the wheat fields is an example of the methods of the I.W.W. prompted by Imperial Germany's desire to keep supplies of food from reaching the Allies. These bogus geologists had small bags filled with dry phosphorus. To accomplish their design it was merely necessary to give the bag a soaking with water and throw it into a field. Several hours afterward when the sun had dried the phosphorus to the degree of solution where it unites with the air it would burst into flame and ignite the wheat."

As a convincing demonstration to the farmer Grant procured a small piece of phosphorus and showed him how it would start burning by merely dropping it into water.

"You see it floats when placed on water," said Grant as the farmer watched the little blue flame with changing expressions. "The underpart is too thoroughly saturated while the top part is dry. Between there is a section which is at the proper percentage of solution and hence the burning."

"Let me assure you," said the farmer finally with a set jaw, "that the wheat lands are going to be a mighty unhealthy place from now on, for I.W.W.'s, German spies or anyone else carrying little sacks of anything."

"I can give you the assurance," said Grant, "that from now on it will be a very risky thing for a person to try to purchase phosphorus anywhere in the country unless he can prove a legitimate use for it."

Dixie and Grant started back for New York that night, for every moment which they could spare was devoted to Von Bernstorff, Dr. Albert and Heinric von Lertz in an effort to gain the evidence which they knew existed that Germany was supplying the I.W.W. with the funds by which the agitators were spreading havoc throughout the country. But they were destined not to reach there, at least not until several weeks later. A telegram forwarded from the Criminology Club was handed to Grant on the train while it was speeding through Ohio.

"Will you see me at your earliest convenience."

That was the wording of the message and the fact that it was signed by Mrs. Blank, the wife of an unscrupulous broker who had virtually sold her to Von Bernstorff in return for tips which he might receive which would be profitable on the stock market in case Germany's plots were successful, caused Grant to alight at the next station and call her on the long distance telephone.

"Von Bernstorff was here," came the voice of Mrs. Blank over the wire, "raging about the part I took in the arrest of Baroness Verbecht. He tried to find out if I was allied with the Secret Service and offered me any amount of money to assure my allegiance to him and Germany. In making the offer he drew his wallet from his pocket and banged it down on the table scattering papers right and left. He gathered them up hastily but I saw one, a telegram from Von Lertz, at Old Forge, Pennsylvania. It read simply 'Progress favorable.'"

"Old Forge is a place where they had an exciting time with the I.W.W. several weeks ago," commented Grant, after he had hung up the receiver, to Dixie who had gotten off the train with him prepared to take her part in any emergency that might arise. "After threatening the mayor of the town, the homes of several miners were dynamited because they refused to join the organization. Then the Pennsylvania State Constabulary interfered and since then everything has been quiet."

"But the I.W.W. headquarters have never been abandoned there," said Dixie, "and with Heinric von Lertz there, I think it will be well if we stop over."

They arrived in Old Forge as quickly as a train could carry them, Grant in the guise of a professional agitator with the name of Guiseppe Fantona, and Dixie as a minature edition of Gurley Flynn. In Old Forge they found that the usual form of I.W.W. organization had been maintained, headquarters for the men members and headquarters for a woman's auxiliary, the duty of the members of which was to spread propaganda to the wives, mothers and sweethearts of the miners. Grant was welcomed at the men's headquarters which he found were in charge of Frank Little, later lynched at Butte, Montana for his activities; Stanley Dembriki, secretary of the I.W.W.; Joseph Graber, an unnaturalized German, and Angelo Faggi, a fugitive from Italian and French justice, then and now hiding from an American warrant. Dixie Mason excited no suspicion when she registered at the headquarters of the auxiliary.

A few days later came the first news of trouble. Dixie Mason hurrying from the women's auxiliary, sped forward to catch Harrison Grant, just as he was leaving the headquarters of the I.W.W.

"There's some trouble going on at the mines," she announced. "We've just gotten orders to hurry there and cause a demonstration."

Grant nodded.

"I just got the same sort of a tip. I think it's a blind. I heard orders given to the man just ahead to report as soon as the constabulary was fully engaged there. Come on, we must shadow him."

They started forward. A moment later, from the direction of the mines, came a great sound of crashing timbers, of screams, and the rising of coal dust. Men and women appeared, running forward from every direction. The clattering of hoofs and the constabulary thundered past. Grant leaped to the center of the street.

"Someone has released the brakes from a dump train," he announced, "It crashed back into the shaft of the mine. Miners have been injured. The trouble's on. Keep that man in front in view—don't lose him!"

They hurried on, still watching the form of the hurrying spy before them. They saw him rush to a corner where he might watch the mine dump, then stand there, his eyes roving in every direction. A fight had started at the dump, between legitimate laborers and the I.W.W. agitators who seemed to have sprung from nowhere. Men fought, while women screamed. Agitators were running here, there, everywhere, blaming the dumping of the cars upon the mine owners and demanding that everyone join the I.W.W. that these men might be paid back for the damage they had caused. Again a troop of constabulary passed—then another and finally, Dixie and Grant saw the spy on the corner, suddenly turn and run.

"After him—quick!" ordered the president of the Criminology Club—"he's the one who will point out the real danger!"

Down the street the spy ran, Dixie and Grant following him closely. Into tortuous alleys, across lots—finally to approach a great, warehouse-like building, where one or two other men could be seen entering. The two detectives skirted the building, approached it cautiously and examined it for some loophole, through which they might enter. But there seemed to be none. Here and there were great doors, from which shipping had emanated in other days—but each was carefully locked and bolted now. Grant pressed his ear against one of these—and heard the jabbering and shouting of great numbers of men. He turned, and seeking a foothold, raised himself that he might peer through a corner of a window imperfectly covered from within.

"Dixie," he whispered.

"Yes," the girl was close beside him. "Do you see anything in there?"

"Yes. Practically every I.W.W. in town is here. Someone is on the platform, talking to them. I——"

"Can you make out who's there?"

"Dembriki's one. Faggi's another. And Heinric von Lertz!"

"Von Lertz! Then it means——"

"They're bringing out parcels of something. Laying them on the platform so that they can easily be reached. Hurry——" Grant turned, his face white. "Get the constabulary—quick! It's dynamite!"

In a flash Dixie Mason was pressing every muscle to the utmost as she ran through the lots and back toward the mines that she might summon the members of the mounted police. Grant remained a minute longer at the window, then suddenly dropped to the ground and again began to skirt the building.

Here, there, everywhere, he searched, at last finding a back room to the building, that was separated from the main hall. He pressed against the door. The lock sagged—but did not open. Carefully he brought forth his skeleton keys, and tried them, one after another. At last, a rusty creaking of the lock, a slight snap, and the door opened. Grant hesitated a moment, listening for some sign that he had been overheard from within. But none came. Then he entered.

Within the back room, he stopped again to listen. From the other side of the door that separated him from the main room of the meeting hall, he could hear the thick, heavy voice of Heinric von Lertz, apparently giving the last of a long series of orders:

"Imperial Germany expects every man of you to do his duty and to see that Union Labor is driven from Old Forge," he was saying. "We have here enough dynamite to blow up every miner's house and every coal mine in the district—and I want to see every bit of it used. As soon as we receive the word that everything is all right we will proceed——"

"Here I am sir!" At the sound of the voice, Grant opened the door ever so slightly, to see the form of the spy he had trailed, hurrying up the aisle. "The constabulary is all at the coal dumps, and they have their hands full. If we work quickly——"

"All right. Line up, everybody. You will pass the platform, one at a time and receive your dynamite. Then, each man will cause one explosion—and the result will be that the whole city will be wrecked! Hurry there, line up, line up!"

Grant hurried back to the door for one look up the street. If Dixie were only on the way with the constabulary. If he could only catch sight of her, leading the plunging mass of horsemen on their way to the hall! But Harrison Grant looked in vain. There was no sight of the girl he loved, no sight of the hurrying horsemen that would mean safety for the town of Old Forge. Grant's heart sank within him. Beyond him in the hall were more than two hundred desperate men and hundreds of pounds of explosives. And they must not be permitted to start forth on their journey of destruction!

Grant hesitated only a second. Then as the line of destroyers within the main meeting hall started to receive their dynamite——

A hurtling form crashed through the door from the back room. Leaping toward Stanley Dembriki, in charge of the dynamite, he felled him with a crashing blow from his fist. Heinric von Lertz took one look and ran through the door that had been left open by the entrance of Harrison Grant. But the I.W.W. members could only see this one form and could only know that Grant had interfered with their schemes of destruction. A second of hesitation, then they rushed forward.

But Grant was ready for them. A heavy chair stood nearby. He seized it and taking his place near the dynamite, felled the first man who approached. The crackle of a revolver sounded, and a bullet splintered the wood just above his head. Then a shout——

"Stop that shooting! You're liable to explode the dynamite. No need for that—we'll get him!"

Grant whirled. Again he brought the chair crashing downward, and Faggi had been knocked from the platform. The members of the I.W.W. recoiled slightly. Grant, white faced and grim, scowled at them.

"I'd advise you not to try to touch this dynamite!" he ordered. "I'll use this chair on any one who comes near—and I'll swing to kill!"

A growl answered him, as a great, heavy shouldered German edged his way forward, and sprung toward the platform, Grant kept his word. A second later, the German wavered in his tracks, stumbled and fell, to lay quite still beside the other two men on the floor. Again a recoil—but Grant knew that it was only for a minute.

And in that minute, how his ears strained for the sound of galloping horses! How he waited and hoped!

Then a sudden rush of men. It seemed that by some common impulse, the whole great hall surged forward—climbing upon the platform, dodging and swirling, seeking to come under the defense that Harrison Grant kept up, ducking the blows of the heavy chair, surging back then coming forward again, striving to corner him, to beat him down——

High in the air went the chair to descend again—and to carry with it the form of a plotter. Again—and again—and again. Then Harrison Grant felt the chair wrested from his grasp and thrown far to one side. A screaming voice echoed in his ears——

"Now we've got him! Come on men!"

Grant had his back to the wall. Regardless of the danger of exploding the dynamite he brought forth his revolvers.

"Stand back there," he shouted. "The first man who comes at me gets a bullet! Understand? Stand back there!"

They hesitated just a second. Then the rush came again. The crackle of Grant's revolver sounded—to be echoed by a groan as a man fell. Then the sheer weight of men bore him down, crushing his revolver from his grasp, pinioning his wrists, while fists beat upon his breast and his face.

From far away came a slight clattering sound—the sound of hoof beats. It sent new life into Harrison Grant. He broke from his assailants and with tremendous crashing blows, again cleared a space before him. But only for a moment—then his opponents closed in again.

But above the shouting, above the racking pain, above everything, could be heard the clattering of those hoofs—coming closer, closer, closer——

Sudden shouts came from the crowd that surged on the platform. The crashing of great blows against the doors. A new milling of the assailants, as they left the platform and sought to guard the doors of the great warehouse. But impossible. One after another, the dazed, wavering form of Harrison Grant saw the doors surge and splinter, as the trained horses of the constabulary sent thundering kicks against them. Panic stricken now, the members of the I.W.W. sought escape through those doors and through the windows of the great room. But that was impossible also. Beneath every window waited a member of the constabulary. And at the doors—

One after another they yielded, to allow the entrance of the mounted men of the constabulary, riding straight into the meeting hall, their horses vaulting chairs and obstructions as they circled about the big room, rounding up the criminals. Resistance had disappeared. Like sheep they were herded to one end of the hall, the men who but a few minutes before had been obsessed with a mania for destruction. A smile came to Grant's lips as he watched. Then, the whole hall went suddenly black before his eyes, and he fell to the platform unconscious from his hurts.

When he became aware of the world again, it was to feel the tender touch of a woman's hand and to hear a soft voice of sympathy. His eyes opened, to look into those of Dixie Mason, bending over him, smoothing the hair from his discolored temples, seeking to assuage his wounds and bruises. He smiled in spite of the pain of his injuries.

"It is worth being hurt just to have you nurse me," he said, then with a sudden remembrance he attempted to rise to his feet. "The Constabulary?" he asked. "Did they arrest——"

"Everyone who was in the hall except you," came the answer of Dixie Mason. "But I am afraid that Heinie von Lertz must have run as soon as he saw you. He wasn't found."

"Couldn't help it," responded Grant cheerfully. "I had my hands full."

"It doesn't matter much, I think you will be forgiven," laughed Dixie with him. "We will soon have Heinie where he can't cause any more trouble. And anyway he has the cheerful news to take to the Embassy that another fine little plot has gone wrong and failed."

Chapter XV.

THE GREAT DECISION

The Kaiser's note reached America and its stinging insults fanned into flame the coals of wrath which had been burning in the breasts of Americans since the revelations made by the discovery of the contents of Dr. Heinrich Albert's portfolio, the recall of Captains Von Papen and Boy-Ed, and the arrest in practically every community in the country of one or more German plotters. Harrison Grant received a copy of the note from the wireless room of the Criminology Club as it was sent to the Department of State, and he was probably the first person in the United States to voice the opinion which became universal after the note was made public.

"This means war," he commented to his trusted aide Cavanaugh who had brought him the message.

"This means war," said Count Von Bernstorff, the Imperial German Ambassador, when with blanched face he had finished reading the note, couched in the insolent terms which he knew only the Great One of Germany, himself, would be permitted to use in diplomatic intercourse. Von Bernstorff turned pale at the thought of war with the United States for he, alone, of all the trusted advisers of the Kaiser knew and appreciated the powers of America.

"This means war," was the verdict reached by every American as he read the note in the newspapers, a verdict prompted by the fearless patriotic pride which beat in every breast. Then the individual American waited, reading each new development in the diplomatic engagement which followed with bated breath, waited for the decision which they felt was inevitable.

But there was no period of waiting for Harrison Grant, nor the members of the Criminology Club. Dixie Mason and the other members of the Secret Service had no time to wait for the decision. Every other investigating branch of the government worked at high tension, for everyone who had been engaged in the secret warfare with German Agents knew that once war became inevitable the Kaiser's spy army would throw caution to the four winds and make the mightiest efforts to bring wanton destruction in every manner possible.

Grant felt that there could be no doubt in the mind of Bernstorff that war would result from the note and the conditions proposed to place upon American commerce. The night it was received he called a special meeting of the Criminology Club, and it was attended by Dixie Mason.

"Men, the supreme test of the worth of our organization has come," said Grant addressing the meeting. "The next few weeks will see the German spy army in the United States striving by every desperate means at their command to kill and destroy everything American. We must not fail in this supreme test. Beginning tonight we must shadow every member of the spy army in the country. His every action must be investigated, every person to whom he speaks must be regarded as a suspicious character. That is all. You will find your assignments in your letter boxes."

Harrison Grant had selected Heinric von Lertz as the spy for whose activities he would be responsible, and Dixie Mason had accepted the post of keeping watch over Baroness Verbecht, who had succeeded in gaining her liberty from the Tombs under bail, after the discovery of the invisible ink messages on her body by Grant and Mrs. Blank. Before either of the spies they were watching had made a suspicious move, reports were received from other operatives that the judgment of Grant that Germany was preparing for a break was correct. Any number of the lesser spies of the Kaiser in America had received orders direct from Washington which took them to the interned ships of Austria and Germany in all the harbors of the United States.

"Not one of these ships must be useful to the United States in the event of war," was the order delivered to each interned boat. "Where it is possible engines must be destroyed, otherwise the boat must be sunk. Make plans now and when the wireless lanes are filled with dots, just dots, then let the work commence."

Nothing could be done to prevent the consummation of this plan for the holds of interned vessels were forbidden property to the Secret Service under international law. So, despite the fact that it was known from many sources that these were the orders which had been sent forth to every Austrian and German commander who had a boat in an American port, the best that could be done was to station operatives near every interned boat to rush aboard the minute war was declared.

For several days Grant and Dixie had little to do except stay near the New York offices of Heinric von Lertz. Each morning he would go there and spend the entire day until evening then go to the Hohenzollern Club. Apparently he had no part in any of the affairs which were engaging the other members of the Kaiser's spy army in America. He saw no one and received none but the most ordinary messages.

Then he suddenly became active. One evening just before he left his office he sent a long code message to Washington. The next morning before the message had been deciphered for Grant, Von Lertz received a summons and went to Washington. Then he returned and started by automobile on a trip in which he employed every dodge he could think of, but Grant, Dixie and Sisson kept him in sight and at last found a real clue to his plans.

The three stood in the office of a small railroad station in a suburb of New York, firing cross-questions at the worried, frightened station agent. For hours, they had been questioning him, at first without result, but at last to see the gradual breaking down of his defense. One by one he had been forced to admissions—first that he had known the man they had shadowed to the station, Heinric von Lertz; secondly, that he had given this man a ticket for another city, just in time to allow him to catch the fast mail that had stopped there for orders, and third, that he had received orders from Heinric von Lertz just before he had boarded the train.

"What were those orders?" Harrison Grant had asked the question fifty times. Forty-nine times the station agent had refused to answer. But now:

"To go ahead with the plans that we had made."

"Plans for what?"

"Wiretapping."

"Where?"

"On the Pennsylvania system. Myself and several others had figured out a system whereby we could tap the wires leading from the dispatcher's offices, mix up the orders and cause wrecks all over the system. The Pennsylvania is a big system. It undoubtedly will carry many soldiers after war has been declared—and we wanted to injure it as much as possible."

"To say nothing of causing the deaths of hundreds of American citizens—non-combatants," said Grant angrily. Then he turned to the telegraph key. "Read me the notes you have taken, Dixie," he ordered, as he began to call the Criminology Club in New York, "I must send the information into the Club and see that the other men in this conspiracy are put under arrest."

A half hour of telegraphing, then Grant and Dixie turned again to their prisoner.

"What other orders did Von Lertz give you before he left?"

"None."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Didn't he even leave an address where you could reach him?"

"Oh, yes—he did that."

"Where?"

"On board the interned steamer Liebenfels in Charleston Harbor."

Grant sent a quick glance into the eyes of Dixie Mason. She returned the gaze. Then the president of the Criminology Club called to Sisson, his operative, standing just outside the door.

"Take this fellow into New York and put him in the Tombs," he ordered. "I will not return to the club. My address for the next few days will be Charleston, S.C."

And so it was that Dixie Mason and Harrison Grant rushed to Charleston, to learn, if possible, the motive of Heinric von Lertz, and to seek to forestall the impossible. And while they hurried on—

"The representative of the Secretary of State is waiting, sir," said Bernstorff's servant. The arch-spy of Imperial Germany raised his eyebrows.

"So soon?" he asked. "Albert"—he turned to his privy counselor—"please be sure to remain. And you—" he addressed the servant again—"watch for the signal. I think the gentlemen is bringing me my passports."

And the Ambassador was right. Five minutes later, as Bernstorff stretched forth his hand to receive the passports that meant his expulsion from the United States, he apparently accidentally dropped a handkerchief. And as the white cambric fluttered to the floor, the servant, who had been waiting at the door, turned and hurried away.

On the way out, however, he paused, with displeasure written in every line of his wrinkled face.

"It is absolutely impossible for the Ambassador to see anyone," he said somewhat gruffly to the woman who had halted him, "he is extremely busy."

"The Ambassador will see me—or I will know the reason why," came the cool answer of the woman. "Tell him that Mrs. Blank is awaiting him."

"I cannot take him the message now. You must wait!"

"Very well." She walked to a couch in the ante-room. The servant sped on with the news of his message—the news that was to flash to every interned liner and gathering place of German spies in America. Diplomatic relations had been broken! The Ambassador had been handed his passports.

So it was that dots, dots, nothing but dots began to flash forth from a private wireless—and continued to flash for eight long hours. Speedily those dots found their way to concealed wireless receiving stations on every interned ship in American ports, to cause a rush of destruction as mallets, sedges—even bombs—were used upon the engines and machinery of the great ships.

Meanwhile following the visit of the representative of the Secretary of State, Bernstorff stared at his passports, and then turned with asperity toward his privy counselor.

"So you have caused it at last, eh?" he asked.

"I?" Dr. Albert stared. "And what did I have to do with it?"

"Everything!" he snarled. "America would have known nothing of our plans if it had not been for you. It was you who gave them the lead to everything. You lost your portfolio. They found in there, the papers that gave the Secret Service the main clue to all our activities. It was easy for them to follow the other plans and plots after that. And so, why should they not accuse us of wrong-doing? Oh, Albert, why were you so foolish? Why did you allow that information to be lost?"

"And I suppose," answered Albert somewhat caustically "you have never given any information? I——"

"I? Certainly not!"

"Be careful, Count!"

It was a woman's voice. Von Bernstorff whirled as though struck by a bullet to look into the smiling face of Mrs. Evelyn Blank. The broker's wife came forward.

"I really had to come to Dr. Albert's assistance," she cooed. "Really you are not giving yourself proper credit. So I felt impelled to come forth and say in your own behalf that undoubtedly you have given up more information than he ever had."

Dr. Albert smiled with the corner of his mouth. Von Bernstorff gasped.

"Yes," continued Mrs. Blank, "Dr. Albert had one misfortune, but he never fell in love with the wife of some one else. That should never be done, and above all things you should never tell her State secrets, especially if they are secrets which concern the country she loves. For she might send the information to the Secret Service. I came in to say good-bye, Count, I understand you are going away."

And still smiling, she left him standing there, his mouth open, his eyes staring, his hands clutching. Dr. Albert appreciated even more than Mrs. Blank the exquisite revenge which the woman had gotten for the degradation she had undergone at the hands of her husband and the Imperial German Ambassador. He knew that it was not for him to jeer, that Von Bernstorff was still his master, and so he moved toward the portieres.

"I have matters which you know of to attend to in New York," he said, "and must be going."

"Yes, yes," said Von Bernstorff pulling himself together, "The matter of the little fireworks to accompany our departure. By all means go."

While Albert was on his way to New York to arrange for new mischief, Heinric von Lertz arrived in Charleston, closely followed by Grant and Dixie. The German spy found that he was too late, for diplomatic relations had been severed. He had come to get men for a railroad plot, but he was now on the Liebenfels striving to convince the captain that the big liner should be sunk immediately.

"Don't be foolish," he argued. "What are you afraid of? International law prevents any member of the Secret Service coming below decks."

"But what will happen when the ship sinks? We will have to go above then—and take to the small boats."

"What of it? It's our ship, isn't it?"

"Yes, but there are laws against the blocking of harbors."

"Chicken heart!" sneered Von Lertz, "help me with these sea cocks!"

"Captain—captain!" It was a voice outside the door. A second later, the frightened face of a mate showed at the opening. "There are a man and a woman on deck who say they're from the Secret Service. They've got harbor police with them and have arrested all the crew up there. They want to see you——"

The Captain whirled and started for the door. Von Lertz caught at him and failed. Then, as the door slammed, the German spy, cursing under his breath, turned again to the opening of the sea-cocks. The great water inlets slid open. The green water of the harbor spouted within. Von Lertz shouted in happiness—and started for the door. Then he gasped—the door was locked—battened from without where the fastenings had fallen into place as the Captain had run forth! The door was battened and from the sea-cocks the waters of Charleston Harbor were pouring into the ship in an ever increasing flow.

Upon the deck of the Liebenfels, Harrison Grant and Dixie Mason had arrested the crew and the captain of the liner. Already the boat had begun to list slightly, from the water pouring into the hold from the sea-cocks. And as the small boats went over the side and started toward the shore, carrying the men who were to be accused of attempting to block the harbor of Charleston, the one man who had caused the disaster, stood waist deep in water in the engine room, striving vainly to find some way of escape, dully chattering to himself in his fear. For Heinric von Lertz, German spy, was facing death through his own actions.

Gradually and steadily the water rose, while the spy clawed at the tightly fastened door which separated him from the companionways and from safety. Hurriedly he tried to force his way through the rapidly rising water, back to the sea cocks, that he might close them again. But impossible. The rush of water had become so great that there was no stemming it now. He screamed in terror as he fought against the water as though he would force it back with his bare hands. But still it rose.

Higher and higher, to his breast, to his shoulders, to his chin—while the henchman of Germany clawed and struggled and fought against his fate, like some maddened animal. Then, at last, a final, spasmodic struggle; the dim form of a weaving figure as it swayed in the water. Then bubbles. Heinric von Lertz, murderer, incendiary, thief, and spy for Imperial Germany, was dead.

Dead, while the arch-spies sought him in vain. Dead, while Bernstorff and Albert gathered for their last conference. Dead, while all America thrilled at the thought of war and while the agents of Germany made their final plans for the last concerted blow against America under their personal management.

They had come to New York from Washington, after bidding farewell there. At the pier, their baggage had been loaded aboard the Frederik VIII, ready for the trip to Germany, via Copenhagen, when Bernstorff looked at his watch, then turned to Albert.

"You are sure that every preparation has been made?" he asked.

"Quite sure. I was at the shop last night and was told that they would work all night to finish their supply of bombs."

"But you have received no report this morning?"

"No."

Bernstorff walked to the window.

"It is a grey, gloomy day," he said. "The red glow of fire would throw quite a reflection against those clouds."

"And it would also silhouette the Statue of Liberty quite nicely."

"Yes," laughed Bernstorff, "by the way, I wonder what His Highness will do with the Statue of Liberty when we invade America?"

"By the time our navy finishes bombarding New York, there will be little of it left," answered Albert tersely. "But you were talking about my bomb-makers."

"Yes." Bernstorff looked out again at the clouds. "As I said, the glow of fires and explosions will form a pretty sight against those clouds. It will be very nice for us to look at as we steam away. Therefore—" and he snapped open his watch—"I would suggest that you hurry out there for a final report and join me in the cabin of the Frederik VIII."

"Very well, your excellency."

Albert departed, but did not notice that an automobile followed him as he hurried away from the hotel.

An hour later, Dr. Albert stood in a ramshackle building at the outskirts of town, giving his final instructions.

"Remember, that as soon as Ambassador Bernstorff and myself are safely on board the Frederik VIII, you are to start a bomb campaign in the harbor of New York that will eclipse anything ever attempted before," he said. "Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"This must be greater even than the Black Tom explosion." Dr. Albert was insistent upon his point. "There are munitions ships on the Jersey shore. See that each one of them receives a bomb. Their explosion alone should wreck many of the skyscrapers in the business district of New York and cause a panic there. And America must be made to realize that she is fighting a stubborn enemy—one that will stop at nothing. And you—" he pointed a finger at the captain of the bomb-throwers—"you must be the first to demonstrate the iron will and steel fighting spirit that will enable Imperial Germany to conquer the World!"

"It shall be done."

"Very well. The Ambassador and myself will watch for the explosions as the Frederik VIII starts on its journey across the Atlantic."

"You shall not be disappointed."

Dr. Albert bowed. Then, smiling and happy, he departed, not knowing that from the shelter of a doorway, the keen eyes of Dixie Mason had watched his every movement. Instead he felt quite safe, and satisfied as his limousine rolled back toward town. He was leaving America. Leaving after years of intrigue, of dastardly connivance against a country that had striven to be friendly. Leaving—and in departing, taking with him the assurance that his devilish ideas of murder and devastation would be carried forth to the utmost, even after he no longer took an active part.

Leaving America! The thought was in Bernstorff's mind as he stood in his stateroom of the Frederick VIII. All about him were flowers and wreaths, the gifts of pro-Germans and of misguided Americans who had refused to believe the revelations that had been brought forth against Germany. Crowds were about the Ambassador, who stood shaking hands with the men and women he had met during the years of his stay in America as Germany's Ambassador and plotter. A few crocodile tears were in his eyes.

"No one can ever know how it grieves me to leave America!" he was saying. "No one can ever know the aching that is in my heart that this unpleasantness has arisen between two great countries. It was my dream that we should have remained friends—and it shall always be my desire never to see war come between America and Germany. Ah, America—how I hate to leave you!" And in a large measure, Ambassador Bernstorff was telling the truth. For had not America furnished him a most amusing sequence of entertainment? Had not one "performance" after another been staged for him by his hard working spies, ranging from the killing of women and children to the mere destruction of factories, shipping and warehouses, filled with bandages and surcease of pain for the wounded—the stores of the Red Cross? Had he not gained amusement every day in his statements of neutrality and friendliness, as he met the correspondents in the Embassy? Yes, it was more than painful for him to leave America. There would be no mass of spy code messages for him to read each morning. There would be no morning copy of the newspaper to gloat over—as its columns told of the destruction wrought by the bomb-planters of the German spy system.

"Ah, America," he whined again, "how it grieves me to say goodby!"

Then he turned at the sight of Albert.

"Well?" he asked.

"Everything is arranged, your Excellency."

"Good!" Then Bernstorff turned and masked his smile with a blinking of his crocodile-tear smeared eyes, as a new shower of flowers was tossed at him from pro-Germans on every side. Suddenly he stared. Harrison Grant of the Criminology Club was facing him, and holding forth a small package.

"Since everyone is making presents, Your Excellency," said the detective with the slightest tinge of sarcasm, "I thought it only right that I should make one also."

He handed the package to the Ambassador. Wonderingly, Bernstorff unfastened the string, and took the paper from the package. Then he stared.

"Checkers!" he said wryly.

"Yes, Your Excellency," answered the president of the Criminology Club, with a laugh, "it's your move, you know."

And before the Ambassador could reply, Harrison Grant was gone, to reach the deck of the ship and make his way to the dock. There he saw the hurrying form of Dixie Mason—and rushed to her.

"What's wrong?"

"A great deal. There's a plot against the harbor. Where are your men?"

"Scattered about the dock. I can gather them all up in five minutes."

"Hurry! There is no time to lose!"

A rush by Harrison Grant. A hasty summoning of members of the Criminology Club.

Then, as the Frederik VIII moved down the harbor of New York, Harrison Grant, Sisson, Cavanaugh, Stewart, Dixie Mason and other members of the Secret Service, leaped into automobiles, to be rushed far into the outskirts of town.

In the mangy room of the bomb-maker, the captain was giving his final instructions.

"Has everyone a bomb?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Remember what Dr. Albert told us—this explosion must be greater even than the Black Tom. We must see that each bomb accomplishes more than its object—it must be placed in such a way that it will either start fires following the explosion or cause other detonations as a result of its own. For instance, the munitions ships. The explosion of the bomb will cause an explosion in the hold of the ship where guncotton, nitro-glycerin and T.N.T. are stored. Then there are the powder factories on the Jersey side, to say nothing of the chemical works. See that they are all destroyed. Remember always, that America soon is to be at war with Germany, and we must work while there are still no provisions made for the safety of the industries. America must be crippled even before it has a chance to enter this war. So not one of you must fail! Now, go!"

The men crowded forth. They hurried down the stairway—into the apparently empty hall beneath. And then——

From doorways, from beneath the stairs, from outside, from everywhere came members of the Secret Service, to leap upon the bomb carriers, to take them by surprise, to carry them off their feet by the suddenness and severity of their attack. One by one they were downed. Then, three men were sent up the stairway by Harrison Grant to capture the old bomb-maker himself and the remainder of his supplies.

Here and there about the hall, the fight surged. Harrison Grant suddenly swerved from his attack upon a bomb-planter, as another leaped upon him from the rear, and, clutching his hands tight about the detective's throat, sought to choke the life from him. Grant gagged; his eyes bulged. He struggled to stiffen the cords of his neck against the clutching hands from the rear. But in vain. The world began to grow dark. He wavered—he stumbled—then suddenly felt the hands loosen their grip as there came the cracking sound of a blow. Two arms closed about him. Harrison Grant opened his eyes—to look into those of Dixie Mason.

"I got him," was her simple announcement. "Hit him on the head with the butt of my revolver. I was afraid to shoot—you both were so close together."

"Good little Dixie!" Grant pressed her hand, then hurried to the fight again.

But the fight was over. The bomb-planters had been subdued. Outside there sounded the clanging of a patrol wagon. That afternoon, on the deck of the Frederik VIII, Bernstorff and Albert watched in vain for the sight of explosion or of fire. Germany's last great destructive plot against America had failed.

Weeks later, Harrison Grant and Dixie Mason stood on the balcony of the Criminology Club, looking down into the street below. Here, there, everywhere, newsboys were shouting the news of the declaration of war. From far away, came the sound of a military band. Then, marching down the street, their files straight and clean, their arms shining brightly in the sun, their strong, sturdy forms showing the sleek-muscled strength that only American fighters possess, marched the crack Seventh Regiment of New York on its spring parade. Harrison Grant watched, his eyes gleaming happily.

"Dixie," he said at last, "I never saw anything to give me so much happiness—and yet, so much sorrow."

"And why the sorrow?" She looked at him quickly.

"Because, now that we have finished our work for the safety of America at home, we must part. I received this morning my Commission as a captain in the Army Intelligency. My work will be abroad."

"And mine will be abroad also," said Dixie quietly.

"Abroad? You——?"

"In the Red Cross."

Harrison Grant laughed happily. They had stepped into the club-rooms now, the heavy curtains of the windows falling behind them. Grant took the hands of the girl he loved into his—and held them tight.

"Do you know——" and there was a strange little halting in his voice, "I believe that I could make a record for myself if I only knew that—"

"What, Harry?"

"That—well, that there was a Mrs. Harrison Grant watching my progress and——"

"Well?" Dixie was smiling. Grant slowly drew her toward him. "Well?" she asked again.

Harrison Grant stammered.

"And—and, oh, you know what I mean!" Then, his words failing, he looked quickly over his shoulder, saw that no one was watching, drew the little Secret Service girl tight into his embrace—and kissed her.

The End.

The story of "The Eagle's Eye" has been produced in motion pictures by the Wharton Releasing Corporation. See The Film