And this is where this story really begins—with the episode of the man who asked for a light in the semi-darkened corridor of a Toronto hotel. The operative who had been sent to the Canadian city by Chief Wilkie happened to stop at the same hotel as the former Attaché of the Spanish Embassy. By a curious coincidence he happened to get a room directly adjoining the one occupied by Señor Carranza. And, moreover, he happened to see every one that came in or out of that room. Also, he overheard some of the conversation that went on in the apartment. Thus on the afternoon with which we are concerned he saw a man with a hang-dog look go into the room, and from time to time he caught fragments of conversation. One of the things he heard the Visitor say was “so I will write to the address you have given me in Montreal.” There was some further talk, which could only be heard indistinctly, but the listener managed to discover that the man who was doing the talking had a surprising knowledge of the conditions at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Presently the conversation came to an end and the visitor left the room. The listener left his room at the same moment, and he came into contact with the other man in the hallway. As they gained the head of the stairway he turned to the strange talker in the most casual manner and said: “I beg your pardon, but will you kindly favor me with a light for my cigarette?” The mysterious stranger halted and courteously complied with the request. And in those few seconds in that dim hallway, by the light of the burning match, the Secret Service operative obtained what he most desired—a view of the other man’s face. In that brief period of time the characteristics of the suspect were indelibly stamped upon his memory. The two men parted. The one who had been closeted with the former Naval Attaché of the Spanish Embassy went out into the street and proceeded to a remote part of the city. He went to an obscure hotel and registered and was given a room. The operative of the Secret Service followed him and at the first convenient opportunity he scrutinized the hotel register. The name he found inscribed thereon was “Alexander Cree.” His theory was that it was an assumed name. At all events he shadowed his man. He watched his every movement, and soon afterwards he sent a code telegram to John E. Wilkie, the Chief of the Secret Service at Washington. The scene now shifts to the National Capital. Mr. Wilkie was still in his office occupied with the duties which pressed heavily upon a man in charge of an important department, and whose force was scarcely large enough for the work they were called upon to do day by day at a most critical stage in the history of the nation. Shortly before midnight the telegram came from Toronto. It was given to the code man of the office and in a short time he had transcribed it. In plain English it read as follows: