"Your report on the A.T.R. factory?" queried Von Bernstorff.
"Work has commenced at the A.T.R. Munitions works," Slakberg announced.
"Yes?" The little group unconsciously awaited the rest of his report in tense silence.
The silence of the room was now the silence of consternation.
Over Von Bernstorff's countenance a look of anger blotted out the expression of puzzlement that had followed Slakberg's announcement. Von Papen glared at the speaker.
"Himmel! For the French!"
The sinister smile which disfigured Slakberg's face did not waver.
"Yes. For the French. I am doing all in my power to see that the shells reach their purchasers as quickly as possible. Wait a minute——" He waved a deprecating hand as Boy-Ed pushed his chair back and sprang to his feet angrily. "I have done exactly as I planned to do. I have changed the plans of the shells. Employees of the A.T.R. Munitions works are now laboring night and day to produce shells that will be sold to the French Government—but the shells will fit only German guns!" He glanced around triumphantly. "Is my report approved?"
Smiles of satisfaction swept about the group. Von Bernstorff extended his hand.
"It is good work, Slakberg, and will mean great things."