royed at twelve o'clock on September
fifth."

"Wild talk," said the Chief, "but today is the fourth. The Commander
of the _Maryland_ has been warned--approach by air or water will be
impossible. I want you men to patrol the shore and nail this man if he
shows up. Lord knows what he intends--bluffing probably--but he may
try some fool stunt. If he does--get him!"

* * * * *

Eleven-thirty by the watch on Robert Delamater's wrist found him
seated in the bow of a speed-boat the following morning. They
patrolled slowly up and down the shore. There were fellow operatives,
he knew, scores of them, posted at all points of vantage along the
docks.

Eleven forty-five--and the roar of seaplanes came from above where air
patrols were-guarding the skies. Small boats drove back and forth on
set courses; no curious sight-seeing craft could approach the
_Maryland_ that day. On board the battleship, too, there was activity
apparent. A bugle sounded, and the warning of bellowing Klaxons echoed
across the water. Here, in the peace and safety of the big port, the
great man-of-war was sounding general quarters, and a scurry of
running men showed for an instant on her decks. Anti-aircraft guns
swung silently upon imaginary targets--

The watcher smiled at the absurdity of it all--this preparation to
repel the attack of a wild-eyed writer of insane threats. And yet--and
yet-- He knew, too, there was apprehension in his frequent glances at
his watch.

One minute to go! Delamater should have watched the shore. And,
instead, he could not keep his eyes from the big fighting-ship
silhouetted so clearly less than a mile away, motionless and
waiting--waiting--for what? He saw the great turreted guns, useless
against this puny, invisible opponent. Above them the fighting tops
were gleaming. And above them--

Delamater shaded his eyes with a quick, tense hand: the tip of the
mast was sparkling. There was a blue flash that glinted along the
steel. It was gone to reappear on the fighting top itself--then lower.

* * * * *

What was it? the watching man was asking himself. What did it bring to
mind? A street-car? A defective trolley? The zipping flash of a
contact made and broken? That last!

Like the touch of a invisible wire, tremendously charged, a wire that
touched and retreated, that made and lost its contact, the flashing
arc was working toward the deck. It felt its way to