No, Dixie could not see--all she could know was that something was on Heinric von Lertz's mind, that he acted tonight like he had acted the night of the Naval Ball and that she was sure that before morning she would have some clue--some means of knowing what was engaging his attention: And while they rode to the Ten Mile House, the rendezvous of fast society, the sporting element and habitues of the lavender life, two members of the Criminology Club suddenly straightened and listened harder than ever at the dictograph connecting them with the Hohenzollern Club. Dick Stewart turned. "It sounds like Boy-Ed and Von Papen," he announced. "But they're not talking about anything in particular. They're settled down to a game of cards--and they're acting like they're waiting for someone. Maybe we'll get a tip on who it is." Four hours later, the tip had come. "Boy-Ed and Von Papen are in there waiting for Von Lertz," announced Stewart as Grant, somewhat sleep-eyed, hurried into the room, following a hasty summons. "They've been in there ever since a little after midnight, playing cards and drinking. Then about an hour ago they began to get nervous. After that, they began to watch the clock and to talk about Von Lertz. I didn't think there was any necessity for waking you up. Then one of them said something about the fleet, and I got nervous--" "The fleet?" Grant stared. Dick Stewart nodded his head. "That's all I could catch. Seems Von Lertz is attending to something about the fleet--but neither one of them has mentioned what it is. Wait a minute--" The operative leaned forward to the dictograph again. "They're sending a man to see why Von Lertz hasn't reported." Grant went quickly forward. He took the receiver from Stewart's head and beckoned to Cavanaugh. "Take Stewart's place," he ordered. "Stewart, you cover that man. See where he goes. Report to me at the club." A quick movement and Stewart was gone. Five minutes later, Harrison Grant, lingering in the doorway of the building adjacent to the Hohenzollern Club saw the dim figures of two men walking far down the street in the grey light of dawn. One of them was the man who had been sent forth by Von Papen and Boy-Ed. The other was Dick Stewart, member of the Criminology Club, beginning the chase that was to end--where? Harrison Grant wished that he could know! Nor did Grant know that an ally was working in his behalf, an animated, smiling little ally who stood in the entrance to her apartment, saying goodby to Heinric von Lertz. That person was laughing somewhat thickly--his glass had been filled many times during the night. Dixie Mason extended a hand, but the German plotter waved it aside. "And you only shake hands with me?" he asked. "Isn't that enough?" "Not if you could know how madly I love you, how I adore you, how you fashinate--" "Fascinate, you mean, don't you?" "Yesh--yes--of course. What did I say?" "Oh, nothing--oh, Mr. Von Lertz, _please_!"