"Not if everything's all right at the shack," answered Boy-Ed. "That's up to Von Lertz. I instructed him to examine the torpedo and to be sure that the men had everything in working shape. Then he was to report to us." "Wait just a minute--" It was the somewhat plotting, methodical Dr. Albert who had interrupted. "Let me understand this thing clearly: The torpedo is to be fired when the Fleet is going through the Narrows. Is that right? Then what happens?" "A great deal," laughed Karl Boy-Ed. "The principal thing of which is that the Great Atlantic Fleet will be forced to remain in New York harbor and the United States of America will be taught just how foolish it would appear in a war with a real country like Germany." Albert bobbed his head. "I simply wanted to be sure that I understood. Personally, I shall watch the fleet sail with a great deal of interest." "No doubt." Von Papen turned with a growling laugh, "I will watch it stop with more interest. Now, Boy-Ed, where is Von Lertz to report?" "At the Hohenzollern Club." "Then we'd better be strolling over. It's after midnight now. Good night, Albert." "Good night. Good luck--for Imperial Germany!" Meanwhile, Dixie Mason was looking into the eyes of Heinric von Lertz as they hesitated in front of the Midnight Frolic. "If you don't mind, I'd rather take a trip out in the country somewhere--to the October Farm or something like that." Heinric von Lertz rubbed his chin in thought. "I'll tell you a better place," was his announcement. "There's the Ten Mile House. Quite racy, it's true, but very entertaining. What do you say?" Dixie Mason smiled most engagingly. "Why should I worry--as long as I am sheltered by the protecting arm of Heinric von Lertz? Besides--" and she allowed a bit of unsophistication to creep into her voice, "I'm afraid my education in roadhouses has been too much neglected. It's--it's all right for me to go, isn't it?" "Oh, of course," Heinric von Lertz drew himself up pompously, "I'll look after you." A moment later, Dixie settled back in a corner of Heinric von Lertz's machine and smiled in the darkness. She was to have her chance after all--the chance to learn what had been on Heinric von Lertz's mind all evening, why he had been so preoccupied, so nervous, so agitated. Dixie could not see the pictures in the camera of Heinric von Lertz's brain, she could not see mirrored there-- A rambling shack on Staten Island near Fort Wadsworth. The figures of men as they hurried about the tool-strewn room, one of them working on an intricate wireless controller, the other polishing and fitting the last necessities of a great, shining torpedo, which rested in place to be swung to a manhole connecting with a tunnel below, which in turn ran to a wharf facing almost the Narrows of New York Harbor.