But even as Harrison Grant gave the order, Heinric von Lertz was laying his plans for the first blow, as he talked to a furtive eyed spy in the back room of a Hoboken saloon.
"Here's the number of the lighter," he was saying. "I just got it from one of Paul Koenig's men. It will leave the Jersey side about 10 o'clock in the morning."
"Got the number of the freight cars?"
"The ones that contain the autos? Yes."
"Better give them to me. I can trace the stuff better that way. That lighter might make another load with something else. Don't guess it makes much difference though—just so we sink some stuff."
"Except," said Heinric von Lertz, "if we can strike a double blow, it's all the more to our advantage. A hundred and fifty auto ambulances laying at the bottom of the river won't do France any good, you know. So sink these cars if you possibly can."
Von Rintelen also was busy in his scheme of destruction. Far down in the lower end of New York, the arch-plotter, his hand covering his face as he talked, to prevent recognition by any possible roving Secret Service man or detective, his eyes moving constantly, his whole, hunted being nerved and ready for instant escape, had sought out the German foreman of one of the largest docks in New York and was giving him orders in the name of Imperial Germany.
"First of all," he was asking, "who am I—in case you are caught?"
"Gates is the only name I know."
"You don't know any address?"