Albert stared at Von Rintelen fiercely. The thoughts which struggled for words but were suppressed showed in his face at the nipping in the bud of this well-planned plot. He took refuge in a hard-fought silence, for Franz von Rintelen, special emissary and arch-plotter, owed no recognition to Dr. Heinrich Albert. Von Rintelen had come to America with a fund of fifty millions of dollars at his disposal and was accountable to only one for the success or failures which followed the use of the money for death and destruction and that man was--the Kaiser. Von Rintelen picked up the beard which had disguised his features and crossing to a low hung French mirror, carefully adjusted it. Picking up his hat and cane and gloves, he turned to Albert. "Sorry," he said. "Mistakes will occur, you know. Till we meet again," he bowed jauntily and in a moment the panelled doors closed behind him and the great iron barred doors of the front entrance clanged, marking his exit to Fifth Avenue. He was quickly lost in the hurrying crowds outside. Albert walked to the fireplace and stared gloomily into its fast dying embers. "A happy day for Germany when he returns home," he muttered moodily. "Mistakes, mistakes, nothing but mistakes." The past twelve hours had been filled with puzzling anxiety for Dixie Mason. Since the moment she had read the scribbled page from the note-book of Heinric von Lertz in the dressing room of the Ten Mile Mouse, her efforts had been spent on solving the mystery of its meaning, for all it said, though Dixie was not at all misled by its briefness into confusing brevity with innocence, was this: Report for Von Lertz. Fire bombs manufactured 400 Fire bombs delivered to agents for coming use 72 ---- Balance 328 That was all. Where the bombs had been placed, when they would explode, where it was intended others should be placed could not be told. It had been with difficulty that Dixie in her preoccupation had retained Von Lertz's attention on the ride home from the Ten Mile House the night before. Her mind had been a seething mass of conjectures and forebodings. And with them had been linked her knowledge of the necessity for occupying Von Lertz's attention so that he would not discover the loss of the report book. In this she had been successful, and when he at last deposited her at the door of her apartment, it was with a feeling of relief that she bid him good night. Dixie in the quiet of her room chided herself for not being able to make more of this report. She told herself that she had no right to be one of the Secret Service if she could do no better than this, but the information was meager--there was nothing to work on. Her smooth forehead was furrowed by a frown of anxiety. For the fiftieth time she read the report and then she shook her head.