But there wasn't any further struggle. Von Ewald--or whatever his real name was, for that was never decided--was alone and evidently realized that the odds were overwhelming. Meekly, almost placidly, he allowed the handcuffs to be slipped over his wrists and stood by as the Secret Service men searched the apartment. Not a line or record was found to implicate anyone else--but what they did discover was a box filled with bombs precisely like those picked up on the scene of the Black Tom explosion, proof sufficient to send the German to the penitentiary for ten years--for our laws, unfortunately, do not permit of the death penalty for spies unless caught red-handed by the military authorities. That he was the man for whom they were searching--the mysterious "No. 859"--was apparent from the fact that papers concealed in his desk contained full details as to the arrangement of the Nemours plant at Wilmington, Delaware, with a dozen red dots indicative of the best places to plant bombs. Of his associates and the manner in which he managed his organization there wasn't the slightest trace. But the Black Tom explosion, if you recall, was the last big catastrophe of its kind in America--and the capture of von Ewald was the reason that more of the German plots didn't succeed. The Treasury Department realized this fact when Mary McNilless, on the morning of the day she was to be married to Dick Walters, U. S. S. S., received a very handsome chest of silver, including a platter engraved, "To Miss Mary McNilless, whose cleverness and keen perception saved property valued at millions of dollars." No one ever found out who sent it, but it's a safe bet that the order came from Washington by way of Wilmington, where the Nemours plant still stands--thanks to the quickness of Mary's Irish eyes. V PHYLLIS DODGE, SMUGGLER EXTRAORDINARY Bill Quinn tossed aside his evening paper and, cocking his feet upon a convenient chair, remarked that, now that peace was finally signed, sealed, and delivered, there ought to be a big boom in the favorite pastime of the idle rich. "Meaning what?" I inquired. "Smuggling, of course," said Quinn, who only retired from Secret Service when an injury received in action forced him to do so. "Did you ever travel on a liner when four out of every five people on board didn't admit that they were trying to beat the customs officials one way or another--and the only reason the other one didn't follow suit was because he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. That's how Uncle Sam's detectives pick up a lot of clues. The amateur crook never realizes that silence is golden and that oftentimes speech leads to a heavy fine.