e is a great deal more
concerned about this wireless situation than he permits us to think.
The public is clamoring for protection for the troops and the Chief
simply cannot accomplish one-fourth of what is demanded of him. If we
uncover this gang for him, we shall do a very real service to America,
boys."

"We'll do it," cried Willie vehemently. "We'll do it. We'll get 'em
just as sure as we got the dynamiters."

"I believe we shall," smiled the captain. "And if that's the way you
all feel about it, I know we shall. We're closing in on them fast.
To-morrow we'll go out to that field Henry has marked and see what we
can find in the daylight."

So it happened that the succeeding forenoon found the five members of
the wireless patrol rolling rapidly toward the point of investigation,
in a motor-car furnished by the secret service and driven by one of its
agents. Henry sat beside the driver and pointed out the way, while the
others crowded into the rear of the car.

With his map on his knees Henry traced the way. Speedily they passed
through the built-up portion of Brooklyn and came shortly to the
sparsely settled district through which their road ran. Henry scanned
the way with curious interest. He had been over the road but he knew
nothing of what he had passed. Occasionally they whirled by a tree
close to the road that Henry thought he had glimpsed in the darkness.
So they flew forward until Henry, looking eagerly ahead, cried out,
"There are the lumber piles."

The driver slowed his car almost to a walk and they looked in the dust
for telltale marks. Few teams had passed since Henry's adventure, and
in the dust could still plainly be seen the marks of Henry's wheel as
he had turned sharply into the field, and the narrow tracks of the
vehicle that had almost run him down.

But Henry was more interested in marks of another sort. "There!" he
cried suddenly. "See those tracks? They're the marks of the spy's
roadster." And he pointed to parallel tread marks, one made by a chain
tread tire and one by a diamond tread.

They passed on. Not many hundred yards distant was an opening in the
fence. "That's the place he turned off," insisted Henry. "See that
light place where I shaved the post?"

But they did not turn into the field. Instead the motor-car continued
steadily on its way. A half mile up the highway was a road-house known
to the driver.

"It's about eleven o'clock now," said the secret s