But time was short. Two days later, the great, sleek Lusitania glided out of New York harbor and started upon the first phase of its journey across the seas, carrying with it 1,250 passengers, more than a hundred of whom were Americans, the pride of America's theatrical, editorial and financial worlds; American aristocracy and American common people, but all Americans, all equal in their standing in the light of the Liberty statue, supposedly safe from warring nations, innocents, traveling toward a deliberate German murder.
Too short a time for Harrison Grant and his men to gain their knowledge of what was going on in the Hohenzollern Club. Only that morning, Cavanaugh had reported progress—the assurance that the dictograph would be in the Hohenzollern Club by the end of the next week. Too short a time for Dixie Mason to obtain the confidence of Heinric von Lertz and learn from him the details of the plot against America. Too short a time! The Lusitania was doomed!
The very moment of her sailing, a furtive-eyed spy had rushed to a cable office, to send the following cablegram to Europe:
"L.H. Guerz—Amsterdam, Holland.
"Lucy has entered last phase of illness. Doctors say progress until Thursday normal. After that, difficult to diagnose. Therbold."
Already the message was traveling under the sea, while the spy reported to Von Lertz, and while another spy in Amsterdam anxiously awaited its arrival. And when he received it, his code-educated eyes read an entirely different message from that of a mere announcement of an illness, a message which thrilled his craven soul with the information:
"Lusitania has sailed. Course until Thursday normal. After that, unknown."
A hurried ten minutes in which the spy turned to a specially installed telephone, sent the message to Nauen and thereby to Cuxhaven and to every other U-boat base of Germany, where waited the scavengers of the sea, Germany's submarines and their commanders. More, from Nauen the message flashed to hundreds of men on the Irish coast, apparently fishermen, who arranged to speed forth as far as possible into the ocean, and to wait day and night for the sight of the vessel, that they might spy it to its doom. Expensive—of course! But all battles are expensive, and Germany was planning the death of women and children in what it would call one of the greatest "victories of the war." Were not the medals that would be issued to commemorate the "victory" already being struck off? And had not even the date been placed thereon in characteristic German "efficiency?" Germany had named May fifth. And May fifth they would be distributed. For where was there a chance for the Lusitania to escape?
This medal, designed to commemorate the sinking of the Lusitania, was distributed in Germany two days before the vessel was torpedoed