"So soon?" he asked. "Albert"—he turned to his privy counselor—"please be sure to remain. And you—" he addressed the servant again—"watch for the signal. I think the gentlemen is bringing me my passports."
And the Ambassador was right. Five minutes later, as Bernstorff stretched forth his hand to receive the passports that meant his expulsion from the United States, he apparently accidentally dropped a handkerchief. And as the white cambric fluttered to the floor, the servant, who had been waiting at the door, turned and hurried away.
On the way out, however, he paused, with displeasure written in every line of his wrinkled face.
"It is absolutely impossible for the Ambassador to see anyone," he said somewhat gruffly to the woman who had halted him, "he is extremely busy."
"The Ambassador will see me—or I will know the reason why," came the cool answer of the woman. "Tell him that Mrs. Blank is awaiting him."
"I cannot take him the message now. You must wait!"
"Very well." She walked to a couch in the ante-room. The servant sped on with the news of his message—the news that was to flash to every interned liner and gathering place of German spies in America. Diplomatic relations had been broken! The Ambassador had been handed his passports.
So it was that dots, dots, nothing but dots began to flash forth from a private wireless—and continued to flash for eight long hours. Speedily those dots found their way to concealed wireless receiving stations on every interned ship in American ports, to cause a rush of destruction as mallets, sedges—even bombs—were used upon the engines and machinery of the great ships.
Meanwhile following the visit of the representative of the Secretary of State, Bernstorff stared at his passports, and then turned with asperity toward his privy counselor.
"So you have caused it at last, eh?" he asked.