"You didn't use it?"
"You heard what I said," came testily from within the taxicab. "It's up to you to hurry. Get out to the shack and tell those men to work night and day to finish up their job!"
A muffled conversation of an instant more, then the taxis parted. An hour later, as Harrison Grant again danced with Dixie Mason and Von Lertz seethed over the frustration of his scheme, a man hurried into a ramshackle old building on Staten Island, near Fort Wadsworth, aroused the slumbering figures there and pushed them toward a great thing of polished steel, nickel and brass that lay nine-tenths finished before them.
"Get to work!" he ordered. "Is this the way Imperial Germany is to conquer the earth—by sleeping?"
Grumbling the men obeyed. The spy looked about him.
"Where's Schmidt?"
"Here," came a voice from a corner where a man was unrolling himself from a dirty blanket.
"How's that wireless controller?"
"I'm having trouble with it."
"And yet you sleep?" The spy was raging now. "You get up here and find out what's wrong and remedy it. That wireless controller must be in absolute working order—understand? It can't fail! And what's more, it's night and day work for every one of you men from now on. This thing must be ready to launch the minute the fleet weighs anchor. The Ansonia plot's failed. Everything depends on us now!"