"And that's not all," growled the spy on the sidewalk. "That's just the beginning. There are fifty secret service men scattered about the entrances and the areas. Bluer just signalled me by the electric light code that even the elevator shafts are full of them. I signalled him back to tell Von Lertz that everything is off. As for you—move away from here quick! There'll be twenty policemen on our shoulders in another minute!"
The taxicab turned swiftly. In another moment it had vanished down the street, while in the hotel—
Von Lertz still stood at the entrance of the cloakroom, arguing with Harrison Grant and Dixie Mason, a scant veneer of pleasantness covering his words.
"But I simply can't stay," he was repeating for the fiftieth time, "I tell you my head aches."
And certainly something was causing a pallor to spread over his features, and the cold sweat to break forth on his forehead. Harrison Grant knew what it was. From far away, the chimes of a church had sounded midnight and faded away into nothingness. Grant knew what Heinric von Lertz was thinking about—about that bomb and the fact that he was practically the only German left within the confines of the Ansonia Hotel. And so, that he might obtain a trifle of satisfaction against this cowardly plotter of Imperial Germany, he deliberately turned to Miss Mason and began the telling of an incident which could not be interrupted. And Grant knew how the passing of every second ate into the soul of Heinric von Lertz!
Then a movement. Someone passed—and in passing, slipped a bit of cardboard into the cupped hand of Heinric von Lertz. Hurriedly the German shifted his hand to the interior of his silk hat, and under its protection, read the message. Involuntarily, his hands clutched. For there, scrawled on the cardboard, were the words:
"Affair abandoned. Too dangerous."
Von Lertz coughed, and at the sound, Harrison Grant and Dixie Mason turned. The German forced a smile.
"I've changed my mind—er—that is, my headache's better," he announced. "We'll stay."
"Thank you," said Harrison Grant, with quietly suppressed meaning, "my hopes are raised on a veritable bomb of happiness. Miss Mason, may I have this dance?"