Dixie Mason smiled most engagingly.
"Why should I worry—as long as I am sheltered by the protecting arm of Heinric von Lertz? Besides—" and she allowed a bit of unsophistication to creep into her voice, "I'm afraid my education in roadhouses has been too much neglected. It's—it's all right for me to go, isn't it?"
"Oh, of course," Heinric von Lertz drew himself up pompously, "I'll look after you."
A moment later, Dixie settled back in a corner of Heinric von Lertz's machine and smiled in the darkness. She was to have her chance after all—the chance to learn what had been on Heinric von Lertz's mind all evening, why he had been so preoccupied, so nervous, so agitated. Dixie could not see the pictures in the camera of Heinric von Lertz's brain, she could not see mirrored there—
A rambling shack on Staten Island near Fort Wadsworth. The figures of men as they hurried about the tool-strewn room, one of them working on an intricate wireless controller, the other polishing and fitting the last necessities of a great, shining torpedo, which rested in place to be swung to a manhole connecting with a tunnel below, which in turn ran to a wharf facing almost the Narrows of New York Harbor.
No, Dixie could not see—all she could know was that something was on Heinric von Lertz's mind, that he acted tonight like he had acted the night of the Naval Ball and that she was sure that before morning she would have some clue—some means of knowing what was engaging his attention: And while they rode to the Ten Mile House, the rendezvous of fast society, the sporting element and habitues of the lavender life, two members of the Criminology Club suddenly straightened and listened harder than ever at the dictograph connecting them with the Hohenzollern Club. Dick Stewart turned.
"It sounds like Boy-Ed and Von Papen," he announced. "But they're not talking about anything in particular. They're settled down to a game of cards—and they're acting like they're waiting for someone. Maybe we'll get a tip on who it is."
Four hours later, the tip had come.
"Boy-Ed and Von Papen are in there waiting for Von Lertz," announced Stewart as Grant, somewhat sleep-eyed, hurried into the room, following a hasty summons. "They've been in there ever since a little after midnight, playing cards and drinking. Then about an hour ago they began to get nervous. After that, they began to watch the clock and to talk about Von Lertz. I didn't think there was any necessity for waking you up. Then one of them said something about the fleet, and I got nervous—"
"The fleet?" Grant stared.