While Dixie Mason sped over the dark and tortuous passes of the road to town; while the electrician she was seeking to outwit was being carried to the fulfillment of his evil intent by the freight train to which he clung, Harrison Grant and the president of the munitions works were listening to Slakberg's confession, wrung at last from him by a series of cleverly tendered questions. As in the past he had entrapped others, so the spy was being entrapped. His very simple plan, worked out so carefully and seemingly flawless, had rebounded to trip him up. He had worked out every detail, had forged perfectly, had overlooked nothing as he had thought, to be at last betrayed by the innocent appearing watermark of the parchment. He was breaking down under the strain of the cross examination. Reluctantly the details had been wrung from him. "We wanted munitions. We didn't care how we got them. If we could make America our unwilling ally, we were more than glad to do it. We knew that if we could get these shells to the Western front they would be saved for the French drive. And we knew that just as surely as that drive came, it would fail and our soldiers would rush through the French lines without danger from barrage to find the shells waiting for them--to open the way to Paris!" He stopped with a gasp. They waited but he did not resume his talk. "Is that all?" Grant interrogated. Slakberg's gaze shifted. "Yes, that is all," he lied painfully. Grant turned to the president of the A.T.R. "Mr. Marquis, is your car downstairs?" Marquis nodded. "Good. We must get to the factory at once. The extent of this plot must be investigated. The shipment of shells must be stopped. America shall not be made party to such a crime as this!" The freight train was bearing the electrician to his destination. It had reached the munition factory, and in the darkness he dropped from it and hurried to the power house. Near the doorway on a table lay a pile of electric light bulbs. He picked up a handful and sauntered across the yard and into the main loading room on an errand conspicuously innocent in appearance. But in his pocket was the tiny sparker which when affixed meant destruction of lives and property, the death or injury of the hundreds of women who worked about him innocent of the danger that hung over them. He removed a globe from a socket and slipped in another. Several globes were replaced. At last he unscrewed a globe and in its place slipped the little sparker. His actions were unobtrusive. He glanced hastily around. No one noticed him or guessed at his errand, for the shell loaders were all intent on their work and the filling of the great order which had just come. Picking up the remaining globes he passed down the length of the room and out into the cool night air, toward the power house.