"This must be greater even than the Black Tom explosion." Dr. Albert was insistent upon his point. "There are munitions ships on the Jersey shore. See that each one of them receives a bomb. Their explosion alone should wreck many of the skyscrapers in the business district of New York and cause a panic there. And America must be made to realize that she is fighting a stubborn enemy—one that will stop at nothing. And you—" he pointed a finger at the captain of the bomb-throwers—"you must be the first to demonstrate the iron will and steel fighting spirit that will enable Imperial Germany to conquer the World!"
"It shall be done."
"Very well. The Ambassador and myself will watch for the explosions as the Frederik VIII starts on its journey across the Atlantic."
"You shall not be disappointed."
Dr. Albert bowed. Then, smiling and happy, he departed, not knowing that from the shelter of a doorway, the keen eyes of Dixie Mason had watched his every movement. Instead he felt quite safe, and satisfied as his limousine rolled back toward town. He was leaving America. Leaving after years of intrigue, of dastardly connivance against a country that had striven to be friendly. Leaving—and in departing, taking with him the assurance that his devilish ideas of murder and devastation would be carried forth to the utmost, even after he no longer took an active part.
Leaving America! The thought was in Bernstorff's mind as he stood in his stateroom of the Frederick VIII. All about him were flowers and wreaths, the gifts of pro-Germans and of misguided Americans who had refused to believe the revelations that had been brought forth against Germany. Crowds were about the Ambassador, who stood shaking hands with the men and women he had met during the years of his stay in America as Germany's Ambassador and plotter. A few crocodile tears were in his eyes.
"No one can ever know how it grieves me to leave America!" he was saying. "No one can ever know the aching that is in my heart that this unpleasantness has arisen between two great countries. It was my dream that we should have remained friends—and it shall always be my desire never to see war come between America and Germany. Ah, America—how I hate to leave you!" And in a large measure, Ambassador Bernstorff was telling the truth. For had not America furnished him a most amusing sequence of entertainment? Had not one "performance" after another been staged for him by his hard working spies, ranging from the killing of women and children to the mere destruction of factories, shipping and warehouses, filled with bandages and surcease of pain for the wounded—the stores of the Red Cross? Had he not gained amusement every day in his statements of neutrality and friendliness, as he met the correspondents in the Embassy? Yes, it was more than painful for him to leave America. There would be no mass of spy code messages for him to read each morning. There would be no morning copy of the newspaper to gloat over—as its columns told of the destruction wrought by the bomb-planters of the German spy system.
"Ah, America," he whined again, "how it grieves me to say goodby!"
Then he turned at the sight of Albert.
"Well?" he asked.