"Have you heard that name before?" "Not I," said Cavanaugh, from the depths of the leather lounge. "Not guilty," said Stewart. "Well I have, but I can't remember now just where." Grant's reflections were interrupted by a knock on the door. "See who's there will you, Stewart?" The door was opened to admit a young man of business-like appearance. "Good evening, Mr. Grant. I'm the cashier of the ---- Bank." Grant motioned him to sit down but he declined. "No, I won't stay, my errand will just take a moment. If you will remember, some time ago you asked us to allow you to see any checks that Franz von Papen issued on our bank. Here is one that I think will interest you." He slipped a check from his pocket and handed it to Grant. "To J.S. Slakberg," Grant read. "Five thousand dollars!" "There's your Slakberg again," observed Cavanaugh. "Yes," said Grant, slowly studying the endorsement of the check. "Now I've got him. Or at least his writing. He's the same merry little forger we trailed all the way from Chicago to Berlin on the Weymouth case--and then they refused extradition. Call a taxi. I'm going to the A.T.R. plant." Work at the A.T.R. Munition plant was booming. Slakberg had cause for satisfaction as he stood in the doorway of one of the shell loading rooms watching the trucks loaded with shells rumbling past. And the room was filled with the rumble and roar of activity as men and women worked at high speed, pitiably ignorant that they were laboring in reality not for France but for scheming, conniving, treacherous Germany. As a rack of shells clattered past him, Slakberg's thin lips curled back in a smile of satisfaction. "Poor fools," he muttered, "they think they are working for France." He rubbed his hands and turned away. "But for Germany--and they don't know it." He crossed the factory yard to the power house and entered its semi-darkness, peering about. No one was in sight, but at his low whistle a figure emerged from behind a dim hulk of machinery and came toward him. It was the chief electrician. Slakberg bent toward him with a leer. "How's the safety contrivance working?" he asked. The electrician stared at him for a moment and then laughed. "Oh you meant the sparker--to blow up the plant?" "Careful," warned Slakberg, "and only if necessary, always remember that." "Certainly, I know that, only if necessary," the electrician repeated as though the words were part of a lesson he had been compelled to memorize. "As long as we can keep the plant running along the lines it is running now, everything is fine--that's right isn't it?" "Quite right, but if anything happens, any trouble blows up and Von Papen says the plant must go, we must be prepared."