It was the day of Fay's second visit to Von Papen's office. Pat Hennessy, doorman at the Criminology Club, had just announced a visitor and shown him into Harrison Grant's office. Grant surveyed his visitor quizzically. "My name is Wettig, C.L. Wettig. I am a dealer in explosives," he announced simply. Grant nodded and motioned him to a chair. "I have something which I think will be of interest to you. I have been asked to procure for certain parties a quantity of T.N.T. You are of course acquainted with the nature of this explosive and the use it is commonly put to?" A gleam of interest shone in Grant's eyes. "Trinitrate of Toluol? Yes." Wettig wasted no time in words. He told his story briefly. "I have, in fact, been approached by several people recently, all of whom seemed particularly interested in obtaining some of it. I thought it best to go ahead with the deal in an effort to gain all the information possible concerning the persons who wanted it. Now, however, something has happened which brings me to the need of advice. Today I was told to deliver the T.N.T. as soon as I could get it to a garage in Weehawken. Shortly after I was told that the purchaser had changed his address. I'm afraid he has slipped through my hands." He surveyed Grant somewhat anxiously but appeared reassured by Grant's decision. "No, I think he is probably playing safe. You will undoubtedly hear from him in a day or so. Let me know when you do." Wettig picked up his hat. "We'll let it stand that way then. As soon as I hear anything I will communicate with you." A week sped by without further information regarding the personnel of those who wished the T.N.T. Harrison Grant had put the week to good use. A casual acquaintance formed in the past with Madam Augusta Stephan, chief of Germany's women spies in America, had been cultivated with care and subtle intent on his part. Madam Stephan, somewhat blindly, renewed the acquaintanceship with the feeling that it was a heaven-sent opportunity which would enable her to gain information for the interests she served. At her invitation Grant was spending a most enjoyable evening in her apartment. Madam Stephan was clever. Too clever, he mused as she left the room with a promise to return with "one of those American cocktails," which she professed to be an adept at mixing. His glance strayed to a little writing desk near the couch upon which he lounged. He could hear the clink of glass in the little kitchenette. With a quick move he slipped the desk top down and noiselessly ran over a pile of letters that lay in full sight. The clink of glasses on a tray grew louder. Madam Stephan was returning. He thrust the top letter into his pocket and closed the desk.