Part of the significance of Von Papen’s dispatch is his reference to the Bridgeport Projectile Company. Other documents in the possession of the United States Government demonstrate completely the ownership of this corporation by the Teutonic Allies. Hans Tauscher, the agent of Krupps and other German munition factories in this country, was in the habit of reporting direct to the War Ministry in Berlin as if he were its representative in this country--as indeed he was though not ostensibly so. Among other papers in the hands of the Government is a letter from the President of the Bridgeport Projectile Company, informing him that the company is being reorganized and that hereafter Mr. Tauscher will hold as trustee _only 60 per cent._ of the capital stock. Naturally Tauscher was not acting as trustee for anybody but his employers. Another document, of little importance, is a letter Von Papen wrote to his wife and sent by Archibald. But two parts of it are interesting. After speaking again of the _World_, exposure he, says: The answer of Albert I am sending you herewith so you can see how we defend ourselves. The document we drew up together yesterday. But the bright spot for the Americans whose hospitality he was abusing lies in this: How splendid in the East! I always say to these idiotic Yankees that they should shut their mouths and better still be full of admiration for all that heroism. My friends from the Army are in this respect quite different. Papen’s “friends from the Army” have, with a good many of “these idiotic Yankees,” organized an army and are looking for Captain Franz again, this time over the top in France, with the determination to settle the question with his government on the battlefield. CHAPTER VI A TALE TOLD IN TELEGRAMS One day in October, 1915, a good-looking young fellow wandered into the office of the United States Attorney at Detroit and inquired if the office was making any investigations into dynamite cases. His inquiry was odd enough of itself, but coupled with his personal appearance and his entirely unexpected arrival on the scene, it was doubly mysterious. Lewis J. Smith, as his name turned out to be, looked like a handsome, big, farmer’s boy who had come to town and made a little money. He was well dressed in what he considered the style, and in conversation developed a winning smile and a very engaging and convincing personality. There was the fresh wholesomeness of country breeding about him that comported strangely with his guarded and mysterious talk of dynamite. The United States Attorney thought he must be a “little off,” but referred him to the local agent of the Department of Justice.