But already the message of warning to the sugar ships far out on the ocean had been flashed from Sayville. The gigantic efforts of the German spies to stop the messages had been to no purpose. Harrison Grant upon finding the report of the bombs placed in the hold of the sugar ships had stopped first to order the warning sent through Sayville, and then calling Cavanaugh, Sisson and Stewart, had hurried with them to the dock to warn the crew of the _Cragside_ of the bomb in her hold, and prevent, if possible, a catastrophe. But as they approached the dock the black clouds of smoke darkening the clear sky told them they were too late. The _Cragside_ was a mass of flames and the dock an inferno of smoke through which the wet rubber coats of firemen gleamed. Huge streams of water played on the ill-fated vessel, and the shouts and yells of excited dock hands mingled with the roar of flames and water and the weird sirens of newly arriving fire engines. There was little they could do there. Grant, sickened at the appalling waste and the heartlessness of the crime, which they had been too late to prevent, turned his footsteps slowly back toward the Club. Was there no end to fiendishness which could concoct such acts as this? Would the eyes of the people never be opened to the danger that stalked abroad among them in the guise of friendship? Would this country, too, be drawn into the war that was sapping the strength of the nations and causing a depth of misery such as the world had never before experienced? Grant wondered at it all, wishing that things were not as they were, marveling that others would not see that peace could never exist with a government which fawned and smiled and offered the hand of friendship even as it planned acts too treacherous for an honorable nation to conceive of. He had stretched his weary limbs in the deep softness of the leather couch in the lounging room of the Club. Doubtless he heard the sound of a car drawn up to the curb before the Club. If he did he was too tired to care who it was. Dixie Mason still in her mannish auto togs signalled to Pat Hennessy at the door of the Club. "Tell Mr. Grant to come at once and bring his best men with him, I think I can crowd three in here. Hurry, please!" Hennessy was used to strange happenings. His affiliations with the Criminology Club had accustomed him to the need of quick action and now quick action seemed to be the desired thing. He disappeared into the Club to re-appear in a moment with Grant and Cavanaugh and Stewart. Grant peered into the machine at the slim figure of the driver. "Who are you?" he asked sharply. Dixie flashed her Secret Service commission, concealing the name. "What else?" The secret sign of the service was given him as Dixie raised her gauntletted hand. Without further questions he stepped in, followed by Stewart. Cavanaugh clung to the running board.