"Impossible!" Harrison Grant's face went white. "Impossible! Why, all the navigating officers of the fleet are to be there tonight--the whole brains of the Great Atlantic Squadron! It would cripple our whole Eastern system of defense!" "Then you'd better get word to them not to attend" came the cold answer of Stewart, "because the plans are made--to bomb that hotel tonight!" Harrison Grant's brow wrinkled. He looked hurriedly at his watch. "We can't get word to them now. Most of them are away from their ships at entertainments--leaving the ships with only skeleton crews. Besides, we can't empty that whole hotel and just let it lie there, a target for some German bomb! No, there must be some other way--but Stewart, are you certain about all this?" "Here are my notes," came the answer of the operative. "Von Lertz came into the club about a half hour ago. Some old German who seemed to have some decency in his heart, was reading the _Abendpost_ and repeating an editorial in it which said that the sinking of the Lusitania might cause war with Germany. He appeared to be worried about it and that such a thing would mean the death of all of Germany's ambitions. Von Lertz listened to him for a while and then began to sneer at him. He said that after tonight, it would be impossible for the United States to declare war on anyone. Then--" Stewart referred to his shorthand notes--"he used this sentence: "'There's the Ansonia, tonight, you know. And there's Kroner, who's finishing his masterpiece in the way of a bomb. And when Kroner makes a bomb it generally destroys what it's intended for. After he pays his little visit to the Ansonia tonight, there'll be no danger of America fighting anyone.'" "And there wouldn't," echoed Harrison Grant, "not with navy officers dead and no one to handle the navigation of her battleships." He turned to the telephone. A short conversation and he was facing Stewart and Cavanaugh again. "Every member of the Criminology Club will attend the Naval Ball tonight as guests," he ordered. "Chief Flynn is sending fifty men there. The police department will co-operate with a special guard. They'll watch the outside. It will be our duty to guard the interior. Come--we'll pick up the rest of the members of the Club." And as the three men hurried away, a queer appearing, raw-boned scientist hurried about a small workroom in a faraway part of New York. Before him was a heavy thing of steel and springs and clockwork and trinitrate of toluol, the most horrible explosive known. Almost lovingly he fingered it. Then he turned to his assistant.