idence in that tin dispatch box of Von Minden's, Mr. Werner, almost to
persuade Congress to declare war on your super-fatherland. There's
enough evidence in that box to make headlines in every American paper
for a month. What it would do to pro-German sentiment in this country is
a caution."

Werner's sunburned face went purple. "Gott im Himmel!" he roared. "Did
the fool keep my letters?"

"No, but he copied them into his journal, with all sorts of other data
of vital interest to the American public. We had a very pleasant morning
reading his journal. My great regret is that I've so neglected that
document box."

With surprising quickness for a stout man, Werner pulled a revolver from
his hip pocket, and pointed it at Roger.

"I want that box, Moore!" he roared.

Quick as a cat, Ernest crossed the room, and with a twist of Werner's
wrist disarmed him.

"None of that!" he said.

"Keep your shirt on, Mr. Werner!" said Roger. "You're going to need it,
take my word for that!"

Werner bit his nails for a moment. "Very well, sir. Give me back the box
and I'll turn back the contract."

"Not on your life! You turn back the contract and I'll give you a week
to get out of the country before I turn the box over to the Department
of Justice. Just one week, mind you, no more!"

"Look here, Rog, you can't do that! It would be a dirty trick! Why, it's
blackmail!" Ernest dropped the revolver on the table with a thud.

"Good God, Ernest! Blackmail! Toward a man who is a spy--a man who plots
against the physical and moral fiber of your country! Blackmail! Come
out of your trance. There are some things that can't be done, Ern!
Life's full of forbidden trails. My temper was one of them and poor old
Dick's drinking was another. And the one most impossible of all for a
real man to take is the one you're headed toward--a real man can't be
renegade to his country."

Werner, chewing nervously at his thumb knuckle, eyed Roger blackly. Then
he turned abruptly to Ernest.

"And you!" he roared. "A fine German you are, you milk sop! A beautiful
muddle you've made of this. Von Minden's letters here for months and
what use have they come to? There'd have been an Iron Cross in this for
you, had you shown sense."

Ernest gave a sudden short laugh. "An Iron Cross would have been a
wonderful reward for breaking up a man's life friendship. An Iron Cross!
My word! Where's your sense of humor, Werner?"

"Come, Werner, the contract!" urged