Willie pried open the lid and peeped into the can. Then he gave a cry, and reaching into the can, drew out a roll of beautiful hand-made lace. Two other cans proved to be light in weight, and to contain lace. When the smuggled material had all been drawn forth and unrolled, it was found that there were yards and yards of it. “I congratulate you,” said the agent, smiling. “Let’s examine that bag,” was Willie’s reply. The agent chuckled. “You’re keen as a hound on a hot scent,” he said. A great empty box was brought, at Mr. Easterly’s command, that would hold the contents of the bag. Another box was placed beside it, and the bag lifted to this box. Then the customs agent carefully ripped an opening in the mouth of the bag. In a solid stream the contents poured from the bag into the waiting box. “Wheat!” cried Willie, so excited that he could hardly stand still. “Wheat it is,” said Mr. Easterly. “We shall soon see whether you have uncovered something more or whether you merely had a pipe dream.” Steadily the wheat poured out of the small opening in the bag. For some moments the flow continued uninterrupted. Then it suddenly stopped. The two watchers glanced at each other. “What stopped it?” asked Willie. “We’ll soon find out,” said Mr. Easterly. With his knife he enlarged the opening. Again the wheat poured forth, but in a second the flow became a trickle. Then something white began to project through the opening. “It looks as though we had found something,” remarked Mr. Easterly. He thrust his hand into the bag and drew forth a great roll of something white. Carefully he undid the wrappings, then opened what was inside. “Lace handkerchiefs!” cried Willie. The agent ran his fingers through the roll with practiced skill. “Fifty dozens of them,” he said after a moment. “Again I congratulate you, Willie.” “What are you going to do about Marrash Roukas?” demanded Willie, his acute mind leaping ahead. “We’ll have a little talk with him,” said the agent, with a smile, “and maybe Uncle Sam will get in a little cash as a result. But before we let him know we are on to his game, it might be well to take a look at his place. Come on. We’ll slip down to the Armenian quarter and look him up.” After giving directions about the packages they had opened, they hustled off to the Armenian district. “Did you notice where his place was, when you were looking about here?” inquired Mr. Easterly. “It’s queer,” said Willie. “I can’t seem to remember seeing that name at all.” “We’ll look him up in a directory or a telephone book. He’ll be in one or the other, for he’s been in New York for some years, according to the records you looked up.” They stepped into a drug store and Mr. Easterly consulted a telephone book. “He doesn’t have a ’phone,” he said. Then he turned to the directory. There was no one listed in the directory under the name Marrash Roukas.