None of the four came near or touched the pile behind which he stood; but, here and there about the room, they pulled this one and that one out from various stacks.

In scarcely more than a moment, the room was completely transformed.

It was no longer a storeroom for surplus stock, for the storage of bulky and empty packing cases! From the cases the men had picked out, like a touch of magic, appeared a veritable printing plant, an elaborate engraver's outfit--a highly efficient foot-power press, rapidly being assembled by Whitie Burns; an electric dryer, inks, a pile of white, silk-threaded bank-note paper, a cutter, and a score of other appurtenances.
"Yes," said Jimmie Dale very gently to himself.

"Yes, quite so--but the plate?
Ah!" Malone was taking it out from the middle of a bundle of old newspapers, loosely tied together, that he had lifted from one of the cases.
Jimmie Dale's eyes fastened on it--and from that instant never left it.
A minute passed, two, three of them--the four men were silently busy about the room--Malone was carefully cleaning the plate.
"They will raid to-night.

Look out for Kline, he is the sharpest man in the United State secret service"-- the warning in her letter was running through Jimmie Dale's mind.