"Operative 324," he slipped out the card and stared at it in irritation. The card bore no name, no address, no photograph, no thumbprints, no identification, simply the legend: "Operative 324--Name and identification withheld for good of service." Grant frowned, and then philosophically slipped the card back into its place and stepped toward the button to summon his operatives. In a moment Stewart, Cavanaugh and Sisson joined him. "Boys, there is a chance of heavy work for the Criminology Club very soon. We will have to summon every member possible who can leave his other duties. They must eat here, sleep here, wait here, until certain word comes to us." Grant glanced down at the message which he still held. "Stewart!" "Yes, sir." "Will you see what arrangements can be made for a special train to take a hundred men to Exeter, Vermont, if necessary? Keep it quiet, of course. Sisson!" Grant looked at the two other men. "And you, Cavanaugh, round up the other members. And if any telegrams come to the club signed Randolph Bruce, find me at once!" After Grant had issued his orders the Criminology Club became the scene of action as its members gathered, eager for the service they held themselves in readiness at all times to tender. Hours after Grant had received the message from Operative 324, a train which had left New York at promptly 10:20 that morning, thundered into the station at Exeter. A dirty faced boy in rough clothes jumped from the steps of the day coach and stood at a respectful distance watching those more fortunate ones being assisted with servile obsequiousness from the parlor car. When Heinric von Lertz alighted, followed closely by Madam Stephan, an expression of relief flitted across the face of the boy. He watched them curiously as a tall, cadaverous individual stepped up to greet them. Across the dusty road from the station an undertaking shop held sway. That its proprietor was J.B. Dollings was signified by the ornate gold lettering across the window, and that the cadaverous individual who greeted Von Lertz and Madam Stephan was none other than J.B. Dollings, was a conclusion not hard to arrive at as the boy watched him conduct his visitors across the road and into the shop. From his vantage point on the platform the boy awaited developments. In a short while Von Lertz and Madam Stephan and their tall host emerged from the shop and entered the car that stood at the curb. The boy watched the car whirl away amid clouds of midsummer dust down the long road that seemed to lead out of the city to the mountains that towered in the distance. The dirty faced boy slipped down from the truck on which he had been sitting and gazed after them ruminatively.