On the night of the dance that Col. Lane gave in honor of his daughter, Bess, his quarters were thronged with a gay and brilliant assemblage. While the couples were treading the measure of a waltz on the polished ballroom floor, the Colonel and a few of his brother officers were deep in consultation in the library. Their heads were bent over a copy of the plans for the new coast fortifications of which the Colonel had charge. When they left the library to return to the ballroom the Colonel carefully locked the plans in the top drawer of the desk. In the conservatory Paul Greer, was pleading his love to Bess, who listened in cold silence. She had heard the same story from many men before, but the one she wanted most to speak had not declared himself. She turned to Greer and told him that there could be no love between them. After Greer left Bess remained in the conservatory thinking of Frank Barton, the man who would not speak. But a short hour later found the same Frank Barton pouring forth his tale of love to Bess in the conservatory. Bess was happy but Barton showed some contrition as he told her that he was engaged on a secret and dangerous mission and that he should not have allowed himself to speak until it was finished. While they sat talking, Greer was conferring with a stranger on the veranda in guarded tones. When the man left Greer looked cautiously about and returned to the ballroom. Another hour passed. The library was in darkness. Aman, his face covered by a mask, stepped in through the window. He moved swiftly and silently to the desk, forced the top-drawer with deadly assurance and sorted through the contents until he found the packet he was after. This he placed in his pocket and was about to return the way he came when another man stepped in through the window. It was Barton and he held a leveled revolver at the other's head. The masked intruder was not the one to give up so easily. He drew his own weapon and fired. Barton was unhurt and returned his fire. Then the two clinched, and struggled until the man with the mask struck Barton a glancing blow on the head with the butt of the revolver. Barton dropped to the floor. The other rushed to the window to escape, but saw no officer and his partner approaching on the run. He desperately made for the door but that way was also blocked for the entire house had been aroused. Just as the Colonel, Bess and several of the officers entered the room the masked man slipped behind the door. A moment later he removed the mask and joined the others in the room. The man was Paul Greer. Barton struggled to his feet, still dazed by the blow. The desk was rifled; the plans had disappeared, and Barton was the only one they found in the room upon entering. The Colonel accused him bitterly and searched him but no trace of the plans could be found. As Barton swayed on his feet. Bess supported him. The Colonel looked again at the desk and then gave a cry of discovery. The large inkwell had been shattered by a bullet and the top of the desk covered with ink. There in the center of the blotter was the imprint of an ink-stained hand, and Barton's hands were clean. Just then Barton revived sufficiently to understand what had happened. As he glanced about the crowded room he saw Greer slipping silently toward the open door. With a cry he pointed him out. Eager hands seized the spy and brought him to the Colonel. Greer's left hand was stained with ink. In his pocket were the plans for the coast defenses. Barton was cleared and as Bess joyfully embraced him, the Colonel realized the true state of affairs and gladly gave his consent to the match.