"See that it's timed for 12.20," he ordered. "That is the time agreed upon. All the German contingent will be at the ball tonight to divert suspicion. When things are moving their best, we will slip in and plant the bomb under the main stairway. That will give it more breadth for destruction when the explosion comes. But be sure--" and he wagged a bony finger--"that it is set for not earlier than 12.20. Our people must have time to leave the ball and be well away before the explosion comes." "Don't worry," answered the assistant quietly. "I've set bombs before." But when the Naval Ball started that night, it had more than a hundred guests who had been furnished tickets at the last moment. More than that, every person of German appearance in the great ball room was within the vision of The Eagle's Eye, the United States secret service, while outside-- Up Broadway, in platoons and in columns, came hurrying squads of police, to divide suddenly, to take their positions at the doorways, at the hallways, beside the elevator shafts--even on the roofs. Everywhere was Harrison Grant, directing activities. "Keep your eyes open, men," he announced. "Allow no one in this building who carries any kind of satchel or parcel. Cavanaugh!" he called to his operative, just passing, "how about the cloakrooms?" "They've all been searched." "Found nothing?" "Nothing." "Good. Take four of these men and put two on each cloak room. Have you attended to searching any new employees who might have taken employment here lately?" "Yes. All done. The management furnished me a list of everyone they weren't sure of. I looked them all over. Everything's safe there--they're all loyal!" "Thank goodness for that. They may help us." "That's been attended to. They all have instructions from Mr. McBowman, the general manager." Grant smiled. "You've been on the job, I see," he said. Then he glanced at Cavanaugh's immaculate evening clothes. "Looking the way you do, Billy, I don't think it would be a bad idea for you to see if you can't pick out a nice little German girl to dance with. It might cause her escort some worry." Cavanaugh winked and stepped away. Grant turned once more to a group of policemen whom Stewart was hiding in the palms at the head of the stairway. "Take no excuse," he ordered quietly. "If necessary, shoot to kill. And in any event, if anything looks suspicious, arrest first, investigate afterward." Grant turned at a touch on his arm. It was Turner, his operative, assigned to the roof. "I've placed men all around up there," the operative said. "There were two or three places--at the head of the dumbwaiter and that sort of thing, that would have made good hiding places. So I took no chances." "Correct. Now pick out a German and trail him." "Yes sir. And you--?" "I'll do the same--as well as every other member of the Criminology Club. I want to know every move they are making."