"If Schmidt only gets here with that controller," seethed the spy from the Hohenzollern Club as he watched the fleet in the distance through his binoculars, "If he only gets here!"
"How long will it take to attach it?" Another plotter was staring toward the distance.
"Ten seconds. We've got plenty of time in that way—if he only gets here with it!"
A sound from the tunnel. It was Schmidt, lugging the controller forward. The spy from the Hohenzollern Club turned with a quick order.
"You get back there and guard the shack," he ordered of the third plotter. "We'll attend to things down here."
The German retreated into the sewer. Schmidt began the placing of the wireless controller in its position. The spy from the Hohenzollern Club looked again through his binoculars.
"We'll launch the torpedo just as the flagship rounds the point there. Understand?"
"Perfectly!" Schmidt was testing his connections.
They looked at each other then—and laughed. America was at their mercy, they thought! For they did not know that as they gloated over the coming fate of the flagship, Harrison Grant and his men were forcing their way through the doorway of the shack above them!
But only emptiness greeted the members of the Criminology Club as the door crashed open. Harrison Grant glanced about him quickly.