One by one the essential papers of Biedermacher are photographed, page by page, and then returned to the files exactly—and that means _exactly_—in the place from which each was taken. The drawers and doors are locked again. Search has been made _without a search warrant_. The serving of a search warrant would have “queered” the whole case and would not have got the evidence. The camera film has it safe. “Pretty wife and kids the fellow has,” says the agent of the building, turning over the photographs which the simple and kindly Biedermacher, respected Board of Trade broker, we will say, has in his desk. He turns them back again to exactly—_exactly_—the same position. “Good night, John,” he yawns to the janitor, when they meet him on the floor below. “Pretty late, isn’t it?” The three men pass out to the street and go home. Each of them in joining the League has sworn to break any social engagement to obey a call from the League headquarters at any hour of the day or night. Perhaps such engagements have been broken to-night by some or all of these three men. But no one has “broken and entered” Biedermacher’s office. In Central office some data are added to a card, cross-indexed by name and number also, and under a general guide. Some photostats, as these pictures are called, are put in the “case’s” envelope. Nothing happens just yet. Biedermacher still is watched. Then, one morning, an officer of the Department of Justice finds Mr. Biedermacher in his office. He takes from his pocket a folded paper and says, “In the name of the United States, I demand possession of a letter dated the 12th of last month, which you wrote to von Bernstorff in New York. I want a letter of the 15th of this month which you wrote to von Papen in Berlin. I want your list of the names of the United Sängerbund and German Brotherhood in America which you brought home from the last meeting. I want the papers showing the sums you have received from New York and Washington for your propaganda work here in this city. I want the letter received by you from seven Lutheran ministers in Wisconsin telling of their future addresses to the faithful.” “But, my God!” says Biedermacher, “what do you mean? I have no such letters here or anywhere else. I am innocent! I am as good an American as you are. I have bought a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of Liberty bonds, some of each issue. My wife is in the Red Cross. I have a daughter in Y. W. C. A. I give to all the war charities. I am an American citizen. What do you mean by insulting me, sir?” “John,” says the officer to his drayman, “go to that desk. Take out all the papers in it. Here’s the U. S. warrant, Mr. Biedermacher. Rope ’em up, John.”