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."