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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75562-0.txt b/75562-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53892d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/75562-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6571 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75562 *** + + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: Italics are enclosed in _underscores_. Additional +notes will be found near the end of this ebook. + + + + +The Assassination Bureau, Ltd. + + + + + Jack + London + + _Completed by Robert L. Fish from notes by Jack London_ + + The + Assassination + Bureau, + Ltd. + + + McGraw-Hill Book Company, Inc. + New York Toronto London + + + + + The Assassination Bureau, Ltd. + + Copyright © 1963 by Irving Shepard + All Rights Reserved. Printed in the + United States of America. This book or parts + thereof may not be reproduced in any form + without written permission of the publishers. + + Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 63-20448 + + First Edition + + 38655 + + + + +The Assassination Bureau, Ltd. + + + + +_Chapter I_ + + +He was a handsome man, with large liquid-black eyes, an olive +complexion that was laid upon a skin clear, clean, and of surpassing +smoothness of texture, and with a mop of curly black hair that invited +fondling--in short, the kind of a man that women like to look upon, +and also, the kind of a man who is quite thoroughly aware of this +insinuative quality of his looks. He was lean-waisted, muscular, and +broad-shouldered, and about him was a certain bold, masculine swagger +that was belied by the apprehensiveness in the glance he cast around +the room and at the retreating servant who had shown him in. The fellow +was a deaf mute--this he would have guessed, had he not been already +aware of the fact, thanks to Lanigan’s description of an earlier visit +to this same apartment. + +Once the door had closed on the servant’s back, the visitor could +scarcely refrain from shivering. Yet there was nothing in the place +itself to excite such a feeling. It was a quiet, dignified room, lined +with crowded bookshelves, with here and there an etching, and, in one +place, a map-rack. Also against the wall was a big rack filled with +railway timetables and steamship folders. Between the windows was a +large, flattop desk, on which stood a telephone, and from which, on an +extension, swung a typewriter. Everything was in scrupulous order and +advertised a presiding genius that was the soul of system. + +The books attracted the waiting man, and he ranged along the shelves, +with a practiced eye skimming titles by whole rows at a time. Nor was +there anything shivery in these solid-backed books. He noted especially +Ibsen’s Prose Dramas and Shaw’s various plays and novels; editions de +luxe of Wilde, Smollett, Fielding, Sterne, and the _Arabian Nights_; +La Fargue’s _Evolution of Property_, _The Students’ Marx_, _Fabian +Essays_, Brooks’ _Economic Supremacy_, Dawson’s _Bismarck and State +Socialism_, Engels’ _Origin of the Family_, Conant’s _The United States +in the Orient_, and John Mitchell’s _Organized Labor_. Apart, and in +the original Russian, were the works of Tolstoy, Gorky, Turgenev, +Andreyev, Goncharov, and Dostoyevski. + +The man strayed on to a library table, heaped with orderly piles of +the current reviews and quarterlies, where, at one corner, were a +dozen of the late novels. He pulled up an easy chair, stretched out +his legs, lighted a cigarette, and glanced over these books. One, a +slender, red-bound volume, caught his eyes. On the front cover a gaudy +female rioted. He selected it, and read the title: _Four Weeks: A Loud +Book_. As he opened it, a slight but sharp explosion occurred within +its papers, accompanied by a flash of light and a puff of smoke. On +the instant he was convulsed with terror. He fell back in the chair +and sank down, arms and legs in the air, the book flying from his +hands in about the same fashion a man would dispense with a snake he +had unwittingly picked up. The visitor was badly shaken. His beautiful +olive skin had turned a ghastly green, while his liquid-black eyes +bulged with horror. + +Then it was that the door to an inner apartment opened, and the +presiding genius entered. A cold mirth was frosted on his countenance +as he surveyed the abject fright of the other. Stooping, he picked up +the book, spread it open, and exposed the toy-work mechanism that had +exploded the paper cap. + +“No wonder creatures like you are compelled to come to me,” he sneered. +“You terrorists are always a puzzle to me. Why is it that you are most +fascinated by the very thing of which you are most afraid?” He was +now gravely scornful. “Powder--that’s it. If you had exploded that +toy-pistol cap on your naked tongue it would have caused no more than a +temporary inconvenience to your facilities of speaking and eating. Whom +do you want to kill now?” + +The speaker was a striking contrast to his visitor. So blond was he +that it might well be described as washed-out blond. His eyes, veiled +by the finest and most silken of lashes that were almost like an +albino’s, were the palest of pale blue. His head, partly bald, was +thinly covered by a similar growth of fine and silky hair, almost +snow-white so fairly white it was, yet untinctured by time. The mouth +was firm and considerative, though not harsh, and the dome of forehead, +broad and lofty, spoke eloquently of the brain behind. His English was +painfully correct, the total and colorless absence of any accent almost +constituting an accent in itself. Despite the crude practical joke +he had just perpetrated, there was little humor in him. A grave and +somber dignity, that hinted of scholarship, characterized him; while he +emanated an atmosphere of complacency of power and seemed to suggest an +altitude of philosophic calm far beyond fake books and toy-pistol caps. +So elusive was his personality, his colorless coloring, and his almost +lineless face, that there was no clew to his age, which might have been +anywhere between thirty and fifty--or sixty. One felt that he was older +than he looked. + +“You are Ivan Dragomiloff?” the visitor asked. + +“That is the name I am known by. It serves as well as any other--as +well as Will Hausmann serves you. That is the name you were admitted +under. I know you. You are secretary of the Caroline Warfield group. I +have had dealings with it before. Lanigan represented you, I believe.” + +He paused, placed a black skullcap on his thin-thatched head, and sat +down. + +“No complaints, I hope,” he added coldly. + +“Oh, no, not at all,” Hausmann hastened to assure him. “That other +affair was entirely satisfactory. The only reason we had not been to +you again was that we could not afford it. But now we want McDuffy, +chief of police--” + +“Yes, I know him,” the other interrupted. + +“He has been a brute, a beast,” Hausmann hurried on with raising +indignation. “He has martyred our cause again and again, deflowered +our group of its choicest spirits. Despite the warnings we gave him, +he deported Tawney, Cicerole, and Gluck. He has broken up our meetings +repeatedly. His officers have clubbed and beaten us like cattle. It +is due to him that four of our martyred brothers and sisters are now +languishing in prison cells.” + +While he went on with the recital of grievances, Dragomiloff nodded his +head gravely, as if keeping a running account. + +“There is old Sanger, as pure and lofty a soul as ever breathed the +polluted air of civilization, seventy-two years old, a patriarch, +broken in health, dying inch by inch and serving out his ten years in +Sing Sing in this land of the free. And for what?” he cried excitedly. +Then his voice sank to hopeless emptiness as he feebly answered his own +question. “For nothing.” + +“These hounds of the law must be taught the red lesson again. They +cannot continue always to ill-treat us with impunity. McDuffy’s +officers gave perjured testimony on the witness stand. This we know. +He has lived too long. The time has come. And he should have been dead +long ere this, only we could not raise the money. But when we decided +that assassination was cheaper than lawyer fees, we left our poor +comrades to go unattended to their prison cells and accumulated the +fund more quickly.” + +“You know it is our rule never to fill an order until we are satisfied +that it is socially justifiable,” Dragomiloff observed quietly. + +“Surely.” Hausmann attempted indignantly to interrupt. + +“But in this case,” Dragomiloff went on calmly and judicially, “there +is little doubt but what your cause is just. The death of McDuffy would +appear socially expedient and right. I know him and his deeds. I can +assure you that on investigation I believe we are practically certain +so to conclude. And now, the money.” + +“But if you do not find the death of McDuffy socially right?” + +“The money will be returned to you, less ten percent to cover the cost +of investigation. It is our custom.” + +Hausmann pulled a fat wallet from his pocket, and then hesitated. + +“Is full payment necessary?” + +“Surely you know our terms.” There was mild reproof in Dragomiloff’s +voice. + +“But I thought, I hoped--you know yourself we anarchists are poor +people.” + +“And that is why I make you so cheap a rate. Ten thousand dollars is +not too much for the killing of the chief of police of a great city. +Believe me, it barely pays expenses. Private persons are charged much +more, and merely for private persons at that. Were you a millionaire, +instead of a poor struggling group, I should charge you fifty thousand +at the very least for McDuffy. Besides, I am not entirely in this for +my health.” + +“Heavens! What would you charge for a king!” the other cried. + +“That depends. A king, say of England, would cost half a million. +Little second- and third-rate kings come anywhere between seventy-five +and a hundred thousand dollars.” + +“I had no idea they came so high,” Hausmann muttered. + +“That is why so few are killed. Then, too, you forget the heavy +expenses of so perfect an organization as I have built up. Our mere +traveling expenses are far larger than you imagine. My agents are +numerous, and you don’t think for a moment that they take their lives +in their hands and kill for a song. And remember, these things we +accomplish without any peril whatsoever to our clients. If you feel +that Chief McDuffy’s life is dear at ten thousand, let me ask if you +rate your own at any less. Besides, you anarchists are poor operators. +Whenever you try your hand you bungle it or get caught. Furthermore, +you always insist on dynamite or infernal machines, which are extremely +hazardous--” + +“It is necessary that our executions be sensational and spectacular,” +Hausmann explained. + +The Chief of the Assassination Bureau nodded his head. + +“Yes, I understand. But that is not the point. It is such a stupid, +gross way of killing that it is, as I said, extremely hazardous for our +agents. Now, if your group will permit me to use, say, poison, I’ll +throw off ten percent; if an air-rifle, twenty-five percent.” + +“Impossible!” cried the anarchist. “It will not serve our end. Our +killings must be red.” + +“In which case I can grant you no reduction. You are an American, are +you not, Mr. Hausmann?” + +“Yes; and American born--over in St. Joseph, Michigan.” + +“Why don’t you kill McDuffy yourself and save your group the money?” + +The anarchist blanched. + +“No, no. Your service is too, too excellent, Mr. Dragomiloff. Also, I +have a--er--a temperamental diffidence about the taking of life or the +shedding of blood--that is, you know, personally. It is repulsive to +me. Theoretically I may know a killing to be just, but, actually, I +cannot bring myself to do it. I--I simply can’t, that is all. I can’t +help it. I could not with my own hand harm a fly.” + +“Yet you belong to a violent group.” + +“I know it. My reason compels me to belong. I could not be satisfied to +belong with the philosophic, non-resistant Tolstoians. I do not believe +in turning the other cheek, as do those in the Martha Brown group, for +instance. If I am struck, I must strike back--” + +“Even if by proxy,” Dragomiloff interrupted dryly. + +Hausmann bowed. + +“By proxy. If the flesh is weak, there is no other way. Here is the +money.” + +As Dragomiloff counted it, Hausmann made a final effort for a bargain. + +“Ten thousand dollars. You will find it correct. Take it, and remember +that it represents devotion and sacrifice on the parts of many scores +of comrades who could ill afford the heavy contributions we demand. +Couldn’t you--er--couldn’t you throw in Inspector Morgan for full +measure? He is another foul-hearted beast.” + +Dragomiloff shook his head. + +“No; it can’t be done. Your group already enjoys the biggest cut-rate +we have ever accorded.” + +“A bomb, you know,” the other urged. “You might get both of them with +the same bomb.” + +“Which we shall be very careful not to do. Of course, we shall have +to investigate Chief McDuffy. We demand a moral sanction for all our +transactions. If we find that his death is not socially justifiable--” + +“What becomes of the ten thousand?” Hausmann broke in anxiously. + +“It is returned to you less ten percent for running expenses.” + +“And if you fail to kill him?” + +“If, at the end of a year, we have failed, the money is returned to +you, plus five percent interest on the same.” + +Dragomiloff, indicating that the interview was at an end, pressed a +call-button and stood up. His example was followed by Hausmann, who +took advantage of the delay in the servant’s coming to ask him another +question. + +“But suppose you should die?--an accident, sickness, anything. I have +no receipt for the money. It would be lost.” + +“All that is arranged. The head of my Chicago branch would immediately +take charge, and would conduct everything until such time as the head +of the San Francisco branch could arrive. An instance of that occurred +only last year. You remember Burgess?” + +“Which Burgess?” + +“The railroad king. One of our men covered that, made the whole +transaction and received the payment in advance, as usual. Of course, +my sanction was obtained. And then two things happened. Burgess +was killed in a railroad accident, and our man died of pneumonia. +Nevertheless, the money was returned. I saw to it personally, though +it was not recoverable by law. Our long success shows our honorable +dealing with our clients. Believe me, operating as we do outside the +law, anything less than the strictest honesty would be fatal to us. Now +concerning McDuffy--” + +At this moment the servant entered, and Hausmann made a warning gesture +for silence. Dragomiloff smiled. + +“Can’t hear a word,” he said. + +“But you rang for him just now. And, by Jove, he answered my ring at +the door.” + +“A ring for him is a flash. Instead of a bell, an electric light is +turned on. He has never heard a sound in his life. As long as he does +not see your lips, he cannot understand what you say. And now, about +McDuffy. Have you thought well about removing him? Remember, with us, +an order once given is as good as accomplished. We cannot carry on our +business otherwise. We have our rules, you know. Once the order goes +forth it can never be withdrawn. Are you satisfied?” + +“Quite.” Hausmann paused at the door. “When may we hear news of--of +activity?” + +Dragomiloff considered a moment. + +“Within a week. The investigation, in this case, is only formal. The +operation itself is very simple. I have my men on the spot. Good day.” + + + + +_Chapter II_ + + +One afternoon, a week later, an electric cab waited in front of the +great Russian importing house of S. Constantine & Co. It was three +o’clock when Sergius Constantine himself emerged from the private +office and was accompanied to the cab by the manager, to whom he was +still giving instructions. Had Hausmann or Lanigan watched him enter +the cab they would have recognized him immediately, but not by the name +of Sergius Constantine. Had they been asked, and had they answered, +they would have named him Ivan Dragomiloff. + +For Ivan Dragomiloff it was who drove the cab south and crossed over +into the teeming East Side. He stopped, once, to buy a paper from a +gamin who was screaming “Extra!” Nor did he start again until he had +read the headlines and brief text announcing another anarchist outrage +in a neighboring city and the death of Chief McDuffy. As he laid the +paper beside him and started on, there was an expression of calm pride +on Constantine’s face. The organization which he had built up worked, +and worked with its customary smoothness. The investigation--in this +case almost perfunctory--had been made, the order sent forth, and +McDuffy was dead. He smiled slightly as he drew up before a modern +apartment house which was placed on the edge of one of the most noisome +East Side slums. The smile was at thought of the rejoicing there would +be in the Caroline Warfield group--the terrorists who had not the +courage to slay. + +An elevator took Constantine to the top floor, and a pushbutton caused +the door to be opened for him by a young woman who threw her arms +around his neck, kissed him, and showered him with Russian diminutives +of affection, and whom, in turn, he called Grunya. + +They were very comfortable rooms into which he was taken--and +remarkably comfortable and tasteful, even for a model apartment house +in the East Side. Chastely simple, culture and wealth spoke in the +furnishing and decoration. There were many shelves of books, a table +littered with magazines, while a parlor grand filled the far end of the +room. Grunya was a robust Russian blonde, but with all the color that +her caller’s blondness lacked. + +“You should have telephoned,” she chided, in English that was as +without accent as his own. “I might have been out. You are so irregular +I never know when to expect you.” + +Dropping the afternoon paper beside him, he lolled back among the +cushions of the capacious window-seat. + +“Now Grunya, dear, you mustn’t begin by scolding,” he said, looking +at her with beaming fondness. “I’m not one of your submerged-tenth +kindergarteners, nor am I going to let you order my actions, yea, even +to the extent of being told when to wash my face or blow my nose. I +came down on the chance of finding you in, but principally for the +purpose of trying out my new cab. Will you come for a little run +around?” + +She shook her head. + +“Not this afternoon. I expect a visitor at four.” + +“I’ll make a note of it.” He looked at his watch. “Also, I came to +learn if you would come home the end of the week. Edge Moor is lonely +without either of us.” + +“I was out three days ago,” she pouted. “Grosset said you hadn’t been +there for a month.” + +“Too busy. But I’m going to loaf for a week now and read up. By the +way, why was it necessary for Grosset to tell you I hadn’t been there +in a month, unless for the fact that you hadn’t been there?” + +“Busy, you inquisitor, busy, just like you.” She bubbled with laughter, +and, reaching over, caressed his hand. + +“Will you come?” + +“It’s only Monday, now,” she considered. “Yes; if--” She paused +roguishly. “If I can bring a friend for the week end. You’ll like him, +I know.” + +“Oh, ho; it’s a _him_, is it? One of your long-haired socialists, I +suppose.” + +“No; a short-haired one. But you ought to know better, Uncle, dear, +than to be repeating those comic-supplement jokes. I never saw a +long-haired socialist in my life. Did you?” + +“No; but I’ve seen them drink beer,” he announced with conviction. + +“Now you shall be punished.” She picked up a cushion and advanced upon +him menacingly. “As my kindergarteners say, ‘I’m going to knock your +block off.’--There! And there! And there!” + +“Grunya! I protest!” he grunted and panted between blows. “It is +unbecoming. It is disrespectful, to treat your mother’s brother in such +fashion. I’m getting old--” + +“Pouf!” the lively Grunya shut him off, discarding the cushion. She +picked up his hand and looked at the fingers. “To think I’ve seen those +fingers tear a pack of cards in two and bend silver coins.” + +“They are past all that now. They ... are quite feeble.” + +He let the members in question rest limply and flaccidly in her hand, +and aroused her indignation again. She placed her hand on his biceps. + +“Tense it,” she commanded. + +“I--I can’t,” he faltered. “--Oh! Ouch! There, that’s the best I can +do.” A very weak effort indeed he made of it. “I’ve gone soft, you +see--the breakdown of tissue due to advancing senility--” + +“Tense it!” she cried, this time with a stamp of her foot. + +Constantine surrendered and obeyed, and as the biceps swelled under her +hand, a glow of admiration appeared in her face. + +“Like iron,” she murmured, “only it is living iron. It is wonderful. +You are cruelly strong. I should die if you ever put the weight of your +strength on me.” + +“You will remember,” he answered, “and place it to my credit, that +when you were a little thing, even when you were very naughty, I never +spanked you.” + +“Ah, Uncle, but was not that because you had moral convictions against +spanking?” + +“True; but if ever those convictions were shaken, it was by you, and +often enough when you were anywhere between three and six. Grunya, +dear, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but truth compels me to say +that at that period you were a barbarian, a savage, a cave-child, a +jungle beast, a--a regular little devil, a she-wolf of a cub without +morality or manners, a--” + +But a cushion, raised and threatening, caused him to desist and to +throw up his arms in arches of protection to his head. + +“’Ware!” he cried. “By your present actions the only difference I can +note is that you are a full-grown cub. Twenty-two, eh? And feeling your +strength--beginning to take it out on me. But it is not too late. The +next time you attempt to trounce me, I _will_ give you a spanking, +even if you are a young lady, a fat young lady.” + +“Oh, you brute! I’m not!” She thrust out her arm. “Look at that. Feel +it. That’s muscle. I weigh one hundred and twenty-eight. Will you take +it back?” + +Again the cushion rose and fell upon him, and it was in the midst +of struggling to defend himself, laughing and grunting, dodging and +guarding with his arms, that a maid entered with a samovar and Grunya +desisted in order to serve tea. + +“One of your kindergarteners?” he queried, as the maid left the room. + +Grunya nodded. + +“She looks quite respectable,” he commented. “Her face is actually +clean.” + +“I refuse to let you make me excited over my settlement work,” she +answered, with a smile and caress, as she passed him his tea. “I have +been working out my individual evolution, that is all. You don’t +believe now what you did at twenty.” + +Constantine shook his head. + +“Perhaps I am only a dreamer,” he added wistfully. + +“You have read and studied, and yet you have done nothing for social +betterment. You have never raised your hand.” + +“I have never raised my hand,” he echoed sadly, and, at the same +moment, his glance falling on the headlines of the newspaper announcing +McDuffy’s death, he found himself forced to suppress the grin that +writhed at his lips. + +“It’s the Russian character,” Grunya cried. “--Study, microscopic +inspection and introspection, everything but deeds and action. But I--” +Her young voice lifted triumphantly. “I am of the new generation, the +first American generation--” + +“You were Russian born,” he interpolated dryly. + +“But American bred. I was only a babe. I have known no other land but +this land of action. And yet, Uncle Sergius, you could have been such a +power, if you’d only let business alone.” + +“Look at all that you do down here,” he answered. “Don’t forget, it +is my business that enables you to perform your works. You see, I do +good by....” He hesitated, and remembered Hausmann, the gentle-spirited +terrorist. “I do good by proxy. That’s it. You are my proxy.” + +“I know it, and it’s horrid of me to say such things,” she cried +generously. “You’ve spoiled me. I never knew my father, so it is no +treason for me to say I’m glad it was you that took my father’s place. +My father--no father--could have been so--so colossally kind.” + +And, instead of cushions, it was kisses this time she lavished on the +colorless, thin-thatched blond gentleman with iron muscles who lolled +on the window-seat. + +“What is becoming of your anarchism?” he queried slyly, chiefly for the +purpose of covering up the modest confusion and happiness her words had +caused. “It looked for a while, several years ago, as if you were going +to become a full-fledged Red, breathing death and destruction to all +upholders of the social order.” + +“I--I did have leanings that way,” she confessed reluctantly. + +“Leanings!” he shouted. “You worried the life out of me trying to +persuade me to give up my business and devote myself to the cause +of humanity. And you spelled ‘cause’ all in capitals, if you will +remember. Then you came down to this slum work--making terms with +the enemy, in fact--patching up the poor wrecks of the system you +despised--” + +She raised a hand in protest. + +“What else would you call it?” he demanded. “Your boys’ clubs, your +girls’ clubs, your little mothers’ clubs. Why, that day nursery you +established for women workers! It only meant, by taking care of the +children during work hours, that you more thoroughly enabled the +employers to sweat the mothers.” + +“But I’ve outgrown the day-nursery scheme, Uncle; you know that.” + +Constantine nodded his head. + +“And a few other things. You’re getting real conservative--er, sort of +socialistic. Not of such stuff are revolutionists made.” + +“I’m not so revolutionary, Uncle, dear. I’m growing up. Social +development is slow and painful. There are no short cuts. Every step +must be worked out. Oh, I’m still a philosophic anarchist. Every +intelligent socialist is. But it seems more clear to me every day that +the ideal freedom of a state of anarchy can only be obtained by going +through the intervening stage of socialism.” + +“What is his name?” Constantine asked abruptly. + +“Who?--What?” A warm flush of maiden blood rose in her cheeks. + +Constantine quietly sipped his tea and waited. + +Grunya recovered herself and looked at him earnestly for a moment. + +“I’ll tell you,” she said, “on Saturday night, at Edge Moor. He--he is +the short-haired one.” + +“The guest you are to bring?” + +She nodded. + +“I’ll tell you no more till then.” + +“Do you...?” he asked. + +“I ... I think so,” she faltered. + +“Has he spoken?” + +“Yes ... and no. He has such a way of taking things for granted. You +wait until you meet him. You’ll love him, Uncle Sergius, I know you +will. And you’ll respect his mind, too. He’s ... he’s my visitor at +four. Wait and meet him now. There’s a dear, do, please.” + +But Uncle Sergius Constantine, alias Ivan Dragomiloff, looked at his +watch and quickly stood up. + +“No; bring him to Edge Moor Saturday, Grunya, and I’ll do my best to +like him. And I’ll have more opportunity then than now. I’m going to +loaf for a week. If it is as serious as it seems, have him stop the +week.” + +“He’s so busy,” was her answer. “It was all I could do to persuade him +for the week end.” + +“Business?” + +“In a way. But not real business. He’s not in business. He’s rich, you +know. Social-betterment business would best describe what keeps him +busy. But you’ll admire his mind, Uncle, and respect it, too.” + +“I hope so ... for your sake, dear,” were Constantine’s last words, as +they parted in an embrace at the door. + + + + +_Chapter III_ + + +It was a very demure young woman who received Winter Hall a few minutes +after her uncle’s departure. Grunya was intensely serious as she served +him tea and chatted with him--if chat it can be called, when the +subject matter ranged from Gorky’s last book and the latest news of the +Russian Revolution to Hull House and the shirtwaist-makers’ strike. + +Winter Hall shook his head forbiddingly at her reconstructed +ameliorative plans. + +“Take Hull House,” he said. “It was a point of illumination in the slum +wilderness of Chicago. It is still a point of illumination and no more. +The slum wilderness has grown, vastly grown. There is a far greater +totality of vice and misery and degradation in Chicago today than was +there when Hull House was founded. Then Hull House has failed, as have +all the other ameliorative devices. You can’t save a leaky boat with a +bailer that throws out less water than rushes in.” + +“I know, I know,” Grunya murmured sadly. + +“Take the matter of inside rooms,” Hall went on. “In New York City, at +the close of the Civil War, there were sixty thousand inside rooms. +Since then inside rooms have been continually crusaded against. +Men, many of them, have devoted their lives to that very fight. +Public-spirited citizens by thousands and tens of thousands have +contributed their money and their approval. Whole blocks have been +torn down and replaced by parks and playgrounds. It has been a great +and terrible fight. And what is the result? Today, in the year 1911, +there are over three hundred thousand inside rooms in New York City.” + +He shrugged his shoulders and sipped his tea. + +“More and more do you make me see two things,” Grunya confessed. +“First, that liberty, unrestricted by man-made law, cannot be gained +except by evolution through a stage of excessive man-made law that +will well-nigh reduce us all to automatons--the socialistic stage, +of course. But I, for one, would never care to live in the socialist +state. It would be maddening.” + +“You prefer the splendid, wild, cruel beauty of our present commercial +individualism?” he asked quietly. + +“Almost I do. Almost I do. But the socialist state must come. I know +that, because of the second thing I so clearly see, and that is the +failure of amelioration to ameliorate.” She broke off abruptly, favored +him with a dazzling, cheerful smile, and announced, “But why should we +be serious with the hot weather coming on? Why don’t you leave town for +a breath of air?” + +“Why don’t you?” he countered. + +“Too busy.” + +“Same here.” He paused, and his face seemed suddenly to become harsh +and grim, as if reflecting some stern inner thought. “In fact, I have +never been busier in my life, and never so near accomplishing something +big.” + +“But you will run up for the week end and meet my uncle?” she demanded +impulsively. “He was here just a few minutes ago. He wants to make it +a--a sort of house party, just the three of us, and suggests the week.” + +He shook his head reluctantly. + +“I’d like to, and I’ll run up, but I can’t stay a whole week. This +affair of mine is most important. I have learned only today what I have +been months in seeking.” + +And while he talked, she studied his face as only a woman in love can +study a man’s face. She knew every minutest detail of Winter Hall’s +face, from the inverted arch of the joined eyebrows to the pictured +corners of the lips, from the firm unclefted chin to the last least +crinkle of the ear. Being a man, even if he were in love, not so did +Hall know Grunya’s face. He loved her, but love did not open his eyes +to microscopic details. Had he been called upon suddenly to describe +her out of the registered impressions of his consciousness, he could +have done so only in general terms, such as vivacious, plastic, +delicate coloring, low forehead, hair always becoming, eyes that smiled +and glowed even as her cheeks did, a sympathetic and adorable mouth, +and a voice the viols of which were wonderful and indescribable. He had +also impressions of cleanness and wholesomeness, noble seriousness, +facile wit, and brilliant intellect. + +What Grunya saw was a well-built man of thirty-two, with the brow of a +thinker and all the facial insignia of a doer. He, too, was blue-eyed +and blond, in the bronzed American way of those that live much in the +sun. He smiled much, and, when he laughed, laughed heartily. Yet often, +in repose, a certain sternness, almost brutal, was manifest in his +face. Grunya, who loved strength and who was appalled by brutality, was +sometimes troubled by fluttering divinations of this other side of his +character. + +Winter Hall was a rather unusual product of the times. In spite of +the easy ways of wealth in which he had spent his childhood, and of +the comfortable fortune inherited from his father and added to by two +spinster aunts, he had early devoted himself to the cause of humanity. +At college he had specialized in economics and sociology, and had been +looked upon as somewhat of a crank by his less serious fellow students. +Out of college, he had backed Riis, both with money and personal +effort, in the New York crusade. Much time and labor spent in a social +settlement had left him dissatisfied. He was always in search of the +thing behind the thing, of the cause that was really the cause. Thus, +he had studied politics, and, later, pursued graft from New York City +to Albany and back again, and studied it, too, in the capital of his +country. + +After several years, apparently futile, he spent a few months in a +university settlement that was in reality a hotbed of radicalism, and +resolved to begin his studies from the very bottom. A year he spent as +a casual laborer wandering over the country, and for another year he +wandered as a vagabond, the companion of tramps and yegg men. For two +years, in Chicago, he was a professional charity worker, toiling long +hours and drawing down a salary of fifty dollars a month. And out of it +all, he had developed into a socialist--a “millionaire socialist,” as +he was labeled by the press. + +He traveled much, and investigated always, studying affairs at first +hand. There was never a strike of importance that did not see him among +the first on the ground. He attended all the national and international +conventions of organized labor, and spent a year in Russia during the +impending crisis of the 1905 Revolution. Many articles of his had +appeared in the heavier magazines, and he was the author of several +books, all well written, deep, thoughtful, and, for a socialist, +conservative. + +And this was the man with whom Grunya Constantine chatted and drank tea +in the window-seat of her East Side apartment. + +“But it is not necessary for you to keep yourself mewed up all the time +in this wretched, stifling city,” she was saying. “In your case I +can’t imagine what imperatively compels you--” + +But she did not finish the sentence, for at that moment she discovered +that Hall was no longer listening to her. His glance had chanced to +rest on the afternoon paper lying on the seat. Entirely oblivious of +her existence, he had picked up the paper and begun to read. + +Grunya sulked prettily, but he took no notice of her. + +“It’s very nice of you, I ... I must say,” she broke out, finally +attracting his attention. “Reading a newspaper while I am talking to +you.” + +He turned the sheet so that she could see the headline of McDuffy’s +assassination. She looked up at him with incomprehension. + +“I beg your pardon, Grunya, but when I saw that, I forgot everything.” +He tapped his forefinger on the headline. “That is why I am so busy. +That is why I remain in New York. That is why I can allow myself no +more than a week end with you, and you know how dearly I would love to +have the whole week.” + +“But I do not understand,” she faltered. “Because the anarchists +have blown up a chief of police in another city ... I ... I don’t +understand.” + +“I’ll tell you. For two years I had my suspicions, then they became +a certainty, and for months now I have steadily devoted myself to +running down what I believe to be the most terrible organization +for assassination that has ever flourished in the United States, or +anywhere else. In fact, I am almost certain that the organization is +international. + +“Do you remember when John Mossman committed suicide by leaping from +the seventh story of the Fidelity Building? He was my friend, as well +as my father’s friend before me. There was no reason for him to kill +himself. The Fidelity Trust Corporation was flourishing. So were all +his other interests. His home life was unusually happy. His health was +prodigiously good. There was nothing on his mind. Yet the stupid police +called it suicide. There was some talk about its being tri-facial +neuralgia--incurable, unescapable, unendurable. When men get that they +do commit suicide. But he did not have it. We lunched together the +day of his death. I know he did not have it, and I made a point of +verifying the fact by interviewing his physician. It was theory only, +and it was poppycock. He never killed himself, never leaped from the +seventh story of the Fidelity Building. Then who killed him? And why? +Somebody threw him from the seventh story. Who? Why? + +“It is likely that the affair would have been dismissed from my mind +as an insoluble mystery, had not Governor Northampton been killed by +an air-rifle just three days later. You remember?--on a city street, +from any one of a thousand windows. They never got a clue. I wondered +casually about these two murders, and from then on, grew keenly alive +to anything unusual in the daily list of homicides in the whole country. + +“Oh, I shall not give you the whole list, but just a few. There was +Borff, the organized labor grafter of Sannington. He had controlled +that city for years. Graft prosecution after graft prosecution failed +to reach him. When they settled his estate they found him possessed +of half a dozen millions. They settled his estate just after he had +reached out and laid hands on the whole political machinery of the +state. It was just at the height of his power and his corruption when +he was struck down. + +“And there were others--Chief of Police Little; Welchorst, the big +promoter; Blankhurst, the Cotton King; Inspector Satcherly, found +floating in the East River, and so on, and so on. The perpetrators were +never discovered. Then there were the society murders--Charley Atwater, +killed on that last hunting trip of his; Mrs. Langthorne-Haywards; Mrs. +Hastings-Reynolds; old Van Auston--oh, a long list indeed. + +“All of which convinced me that a strong organization of some sort was +at work. That it was no mere Black Hand affair, I was certain. The +murders were not confined to any nationality nor to any stratum of +society. My first thought was of the anarchists. Forgive me, Grunya--” +His hand flashed out to hers and retained it warmly. “I had heard much +talk of you, and that you were in close touch with the violent groups. +I knew that you spent much money, and I was suspicious. And at any +rate, you could put me in closer touch with the anarchists. I came +suspecting you, and I remained to love you. I found you the gentlest +of anarchists and a very half-hearted one at that. You were already +started in your settlement work down here--” + +“And you remained to dissatisfy me with that, too,” she laughed, at the +same time lifting the hand that held hers and resting her cheek against +it. “But go on. I’m all excited.” + +“I did get in close with the anarchists, and the more I studied them +the more confident I became that they were incapable. They were so +unpractical. They dreamed dreams and spun theories and raged against +police persecution, and that was all. They never got anywhere. They +never did anything but get themselves in trouble--I am speaking of the +violent groups, of course. As for the Tolstoians and the Kropotkinians, +they were no more than mild academic philosophers. They couldn’t harm a +fly, and their violent cousins couldn’t. + +“You see, the assassinations have been of all sorts. Had they been +political alone, or social, they might have been due to some hopelessly +secret society. But they were commercial and society as well. +Therefore, I concluded, the world must in some way have access to this +organization. But how? I assumed the hypothesis that there was some +man I wanted killed. And there I stuck. I did not have the address of +the firm that would perform that task for me. Here was the flaw in my +reasoning, namely, the hypothesis itself. I really did not want to kill +any man. + +“But this flaw dawned on me afterwards, when Coburn, at the Federal +Club, told half a dozen of us of an adventure he had just had this +afternoon. To him it was merely a curious incident, but I caught at +once the gleam of light in it. He was crossing Fifth Avenue, downtown, +on foot, when a man, dressed like a mechanician, dismounted alongside +of him from a motorcycle and spoke to him. In a few words, the fellow +told him that if there were anyone he wanted put out of the world it +could be attended to with safety and dispatch. About that time Coburn +threatened to punch the fellow’s head, and he promptly jumped on his +motorcycle and made off. + +“Now here’s the point. Coburn was in deep trouble. He had recently been +double-crossed (if you know what that means) by Mattison, his partner, +to the tune of a tremendous sum. In addition, Mattison had cleared out +for Europe with Coburn’s wife. Do you see? First, Coburn did have, or +might be supposed to have, or ought to have, a desire for vengeance +against Mattison. And secondly, thanks to the newspapers, the affair +was public property.” + +“I see!” Grunya cried, with glowing eyes. “There was the flaw in your +hypothesis. Since you could not make public your hypothetical desire +to kill a man, the organization, naturally, could make no overtures to +you about it.” + +“Correct. But I was no forwarder. Or yet, in a way, I was. I saw now +how the world got access to the organization and its service. From +then on I studied the mysterious and prominent murders with this in +mind, and I found, so far as the society ones were concerned, that they +were practically always preceded by sensational public exploitation +of scandal. The commercial murders--well, the shady and unfair +transactions of a fair proportion of the big businessmen are always +leaking out, even though they do not get into print. When Hawthorn +was found mysteriously dead on his yacht, the gossip of his underhand +dealings in the fight against the Combine had been in the clubs for +weeks. You may not remember them, but in their day the Atwater-Jones +scandal and the Langthorne-Haywards scandal were most sensationally +featured by the newspapers. + +“So I became certain that this murder organization must approach +persons high in political, business, and social life. And I was also +certain that its overtures were not always rebuffed as in the case of +Coburn. I looked about me and wondered what ones of the very men I met +in the clubs or at directors’ meetings had patronized this firm of +men-killers. That I must be acquainted with such men I had no doubt, +but which ones were they? And imagine my asking them to give me the +address of the firm which they had employed to wipe out their enemies. + +“But at last, and only now, have I got the direct clue. I kept close +eye on all my friends who were high in the world. When any one of them +was afflicted by a great trouble, I attached myself to him. For a time +this was fruitless, though there was one who must have availed himself +of the services of the organization, for, within six months, the man +who had been the cause of his trouble was dead. Suicide, the police +said. + +“And then my chance came. You know of the furor of a few years ago +caused by the marriage of Gladys Van Martin with Baron Portos de +Moigne. It was one of those unfortunate international marriages. He was +a brute. He has robbed her and divorced her. The details of his conduct +have only just come out, and they are incredibly horrible. He has even +beaten her so badly that the physicians despaired of her life, for a +time, and, later, of her reason. And by French law he has possessed +himself of their children--two boys. + +“Her brother, Percy Van Martin, and I were classmates at college. I +promptly made it a point to get in close with him. We’ve seen a good +deal of each other the last several weeks. Only the other day the thing +I was waiting for happened, and he told me of it. The organization +had approached him. Unlike Coburn, he did not drive the man away, +but heard him out. If Van Martin cared to go further in the matter, +he was to insert the single word MESOPOTAMIA in the personal column +of the _Herald_. I quickly persuaded him to let me take hold of the +affair. I inserted MESOPOTAMIA, as directed, and, acting as Van +Martin’s representative, I have seen and talked with one of the men +of the organization. He was only an underling, however. They are very +suspicious and careful. But tonight I shall meet the principal. It is +all arranged. And then....” + +“Yes, yes,” Grunya cried eagerly. “And then?” + +“I don’t know. I have no plans.” + +“But the danger!” + +Hall smiled reassuringly. + +“I don’t imagine there will be any risk. I am coming merely to transact +some business with the firm, namely, the assassination of Percy Van +Martin’s ex-brother-in-law. Firms do not make a practice of killing +their clients.” + +“But when they find out you are not a client?” she protested. + +“I won’t be there at that time. And when they do find out, it will be +too late for them to do me any harm.” + + * * * * * + +“Be careful, do be careful,” Grunya urged as they parted at the door +half an hour later. “And you will come up for the week end?” + +“Surely.” + +“I’ll meet you at the station myself.” + +“And I’ll meet your redoubtable uncle a few minutes afterwards, I +suppose.” He made a mock shiver. “He’s not a regular ogre, I hope.” + +“You’ll love him,” she proclaimed proudly. “He is finer and better than +a dozen fathers. He never denies me anything. Not even--” + +“Me?” Hall interrupted. + +Grunya tried to meet him with an equal audaciousness, but blushed and +dropped her eyes, and the next moment was encircled by his arms. + + + + +_Chapter IV_ + + +“So you are Ivan Dragomiloff?” + +Winter Hall paused a moment to glance curiously around at the +book-lined walls and back again to the colorless blond in the black +skullcap, who had not risen to greet him. + +“I must say access to you is made sufficiently difficult. It leads one +to believe that the--er--work of your Bureau is performed discreetly as +well as capably.” + +Dragomiloff smiled the ghost of a pleased smile. + +“Sit down,” he said, indicating a chair that faced him and that threw +the visitor’s face into the light. + +Again Hall glanced around the room and back at the man before him. + +“I am surprised,” was Hall’s comment. + +“You expected low-browed ruffians and lurid melodrama, I suppose?” +Dragomiloff queried pleasantly. + +“No, not that. I knew too keen a mind was required to direct the +operations of your--er--institution.” + +“They have been uniformly successful.” + +“How long have you been in business?--if I may ask.” + +“Eleven years, actively--though there was preparation and elaboration +of the plan prior to that.” + +“You don’t mind talking with me about it?” was Hall’s next query. + +“Certainly not,” came the answer. “As a client, you are in the same +boat with me. Our interests are identical. And, since we never +blackmail our clients after the transaction is completed, our interests +remain identical. A little important information can do no harm, and I +don’t mind saying that I am rather proud of this organization. It is, +as you say, and if I immodestly say so myself, capably directed.” + +“But I can’t understand,” Hall exclaimed. “You are the last person +in the world I should conceive of as being at the head of a band of +murderers.” + +“And you are the last person in the world I should expect to find +here seeking the professional services of such a person,” was the +dry counter. “I like your looks. You are strong, honest, unafraid, +and, in your eyes is that undefinable yet unmistakable tiredness of +the scholar. You read a great deal, and study. You are as remarkably +different from my regular run of clients as I am, obviously, from the +person you expected to meet at the head of a band of murderers. Though +executioners is the better and truer description.” + +“Never mind the name,” Hall answered. “It does not reduce my surprise +that you should be conducting this--er--enterprise.” + +“Ah, but you scarcely know how we conduct it.” Dragomiloff laced and +interlaced his strong, lean fingers and meditated for further answer. +“I might explain that we conduct our trade with a greater measure of +ethics than our clients bring to us.” + +“Ethics!” Hall burst into laughter. + +“Yes, precisely; and I’ll admit it sounds funny in connection with an +Assassination Bureau.” + +“Is that what you call it?” + +“One name is as good as another,” the head of the Bureau went on +imperturbably. “But you will find, in patronizing us, a keener, a more +rigid standard of right-dealing than in the business world. I saw the +need of that at the start. It was imperative. Organized as we were, +outside the law, and in the very teeth of the law, success was only +to be gained by doing right. We have to be right with one another, +with our patrons, with everybody, and everything. You have no idea the +amount of business we turn away.” + +“What!” Hall cried. “And why?” + +“Because it would not be right to transact it. Don’t laugh, please. +In fact, we of the Bureau are all rather fanatical when it comes to +ethics. We have the sanction of right in all that we do. We must have +that sanction. Without it we could not last very long. Believe me, this +is so. And now to business. You have come here through the accredited +channels. You can have but one errand. Whom do you want executed?” + +“You don’t know?” Hall asked in wonderment. + +“Certainly not. That is not my branch. I spend no time drumming up +trade.” + +“Perhaps, when I give you the man’s name, you will not find that +sanction of right. It seems you are judge as well as executioner.” + +“Not executioner. I never execute. It is not my branch. I am the head. +I judge--locally, that is--and other members carry out the orders.” + +“But suppose these others should prove weak vessels?” Dragomiloff +looked very pleased. + +“Ah, that was the rub. I studied it a long time. Almost as conclusively +as anything else, it was that very thing that made me see that our +operations could be conducted only on an ethical basis. We have our own +code of right, and our own law. Only men of the highest ethical nature, +combined with the requisite physical and nervous stamina, are admitted +to our ranks. As a result, almost fanatically are our oaths observed. +There have been weak vessels--several of them.” He paused and seemed +to ponder sadly. “They paid the penalty. It was a splendid object +lesson to the rest.” + +“You mean--?” + +“Yes; they were executed. It had to be. But it is very rarely necessary +with us.” + +“How do you manage it?” + +“When we have selected a desperate, intelligent, and reasonable +man--this selecting, by the way, is done by the members themselves, +who, rubbing shoulders everywhere with all sorts of men, have better +opportunity than I for meeting and estimating strong characters. +When such a man is selected, he is tried out. His life is the pledge +he gives for his faithfulness and loyalty. I know of these men, and +have the reports on them. I rarely see them, unless they rise in the +organization, and by the same token very few of them ever see me. + +“One of the first things done is to give a candidate an unimportant and +unremunerative murder--say, a brutal mate of some ship, or a bullying +foreman, a usurer, or a petty grafting politician. It is good for the +world to have such individuals out of it, you know. But to return. +Every step of the candidate in this, his first killing, is so marked +by us that a mass of testimony is gathered sufficient to convict him +before any court in this land. And the affair is so conducted that +this testimony proceeds from outside persons. We would not have to +appear. For that matter, we have never found it necessary to invoke the +country’s law for the castigation of a member. + +“Well, when this initial task has been performed, the man is one of us, +tied to us body and soul. After that he is thoroughly educated in our +methods--” + +“Does ethics enter into the curriculum?” Hall interrupted to ask. + +“It does, it does,” was the enthusiastic response. “It is the most +important thing we teach our members. Nothing that is not founded on +right can endure.” + +“You are an anarchist?” the visitor asked with sharp irrelevance. + +The Chief of the Assassination Bureau shook his head. + +“No; I am a philosopher.” + +“It is the same thing.” + +“With a difference. For instance, the anarchists mean well; but I +do well. Of what use is philosophy that cannot be applied? Take the +old-country anarchists. They decide on an assassination. They plan +and conspire night and day, at last strike the blow, and are almost +invariably captured by the police. Usually the person or personage they +try to kill gets off unscathed. Not so with us.” + +“Don’t you ever fail?” + +“We strive to make failure impossible. Any member who fails, because of +weakness or fear, is punished with death.” Dragomiloff paused solemnly, +his pale blue eyes shining with an exultant light. “We have never had a +failure. Or course, we give a man a year in which to perform his task. +Also, if it be a big affair, he is given assistants. And I repeat, we +have never had a failure. The organization is as near perfect as the +mind of man can make it. Even if I should drop out of it, die suddenly, +the organization would run on just the same.” + +“Do you draw any line at accepting commissions?” Winter Hall asked. + +“No; from emperor and king down to the humblest peasant--we accept them +all, if--and it is a big _if_--if their execution is decided to be +socially justifiable. And, once we have accepted payment, which is in +advance, you know, and have decided it to be right to make a certain +killing, that killing takes place. It is one of our rules.” + +As Winter Hall listened, a wild idea flashed into his mind. So +whimsical was it, so almost lunatic, that he felt immeasurably +fascinated by it. + +“You are very ethical, I must say,” he began, “a--what I might +call--ethical enthusiast.” + +“Or monstrosity,” Dragomiloff added pleasantly. “Yes, I have quite a +penchant that way.” + +“Anything you conceive to be right, that thing you will do.” + +Dragomiloff nodded affirmation, and a silence fell, which he was the +first to break. + +“You have some one in mind whom you wish removed. Who is it?” + +“I am so curious,” was the reply, “and so interested, that I should +like to approach it tentatively ... you know, in arranging the terms +of the bargain. You surely must have a scale of prices, determined, of +course, by the position and influence of ... of the victim.” + +Dragomiloff nodded. + +“Suppose it were a king I wished removed?” Hall queried. + +“There are kings and kings. The price varies. Is your man a king?” + +“No; he is not a king. He is a strong man, but not of noble title.” + +“He is not a president?” Dragomiloff asked quickly. + +“No; he holds no official position whatever. In fact, he is a man in +private life. For what sum will you guarantee the removal of a man in +private life?” + +“For such a man it would be less difficult and hazardous. He would come +cheaper.” + +“Not so,” Hall urged. “I can afford to be generous in this. It is a +very difficult and hazardous commission I am giving you. He is a man of +powerful mind, of infinite wit and recourse.” + +“A millionaire?” + +“I do not know.” + +“I would suggest forty thousand dollars as the price,” the head of the +Bureau concluded. “Of course, on learning his identity, I may have to +increase that sum. On the other hand, I may decrease it.” + +Hall drew bills of large denomination from his pocketbook, counted +them, and handed them to the other. + +“I imagined you did business on a currency basis,” he said, “and so +I came prepared. And, now, as I understand it, you will guarantee to +kill--” + +“I do no killing,” Dragomiloff interrupted. + +“You will guarantee to have killed any man I name.” + +“That is correct, with the proviso, of course, that an investigation +shows his execution to be justifiable.” + +“Good. I understand perfectly. Any man I name, even if he should be my +father, or yours?” + +“Yes; though as it happens I have neither father nor son.” + +“Suppose I named myself?” + +“It would be done. The order would go forth. We have no concern with +the whims of our clients.” + +“But suppose, say tomorrow or next week, I should change my mind?” + +“It would be too late.” Dragomiloff spoke with decision. “Once an order +goes forth it can never be recalled. That is one of the most necessary +of our rules.” + +“Very good. However, I am not the man.” + +“Then who is he?” + +“The name men know him by is Ivan Dragomiloff.” + +Hall said it quietly enough, and just as quietly was it received. + +“I want better identification,” Dragomiloff suggested. + +“He is a native of Russia, I believe. I know he is a resident of New +York City. He is blond, remarkably blond, and of just about your size, +height, weight, and age.” + +Dragomiloff’s pale-blue eyes looked long and steadily at his visitor. +At last he spoke. + +“I was born in the province of Valenko. Where was your man born?” + +“In the province of Valenko.” + +Again Dragomiloff scrutinized the other with unwavering eyes. + +“I am compelled to believe that you mean me.” + +Hall nodded unequivocally. + +“It is, believe me, unprecedented,” Dragomiloff went on. “I am puzzled. +Frankly, I cannot understand why you want my life. I have never seen +you before. We do not know each other. I cannot guess at the remotest +motive. At any rate, you forget that I must have a sanction of right +before I order this execution.” + +“I am prepared to furnish it,” was Hall’s answer. + +“But you must convince me.” + +“I am prepared to do that. It was because I divined you to be what +you called yourself, an ethical monstrosity, that I conceived this +proposition and made it to you. I believe, if I can prove to you the +justification of your death, that you will carry it out. Am I right?” + +“You are right.” Dragomiloff paused, and then his face lighted up with +a smile. “Of course, that would be suicide, and you know that this is +an Assassination Bureau.” + +“You would give the order to one of your members. As I understand, +under pledge of his own life he would be compelled to carry out the +order.” + +Dragomiloff looked even pleased. + +“Very true. It goes to show how perfect is the machine I have created. +It is fitted to every contingency, even to this most unexpected one +developed by you. Come. You interest me. You are original. You have +imagination, fantasy. Pray show me the ethical sanction for my own +removal from this world.” + +“Thou shalt not kill,” Hall began. + +“Pardon me,” came the interruption. “We must get a basis for this +discussion, which I fear will quickly become academic. The point is, +you must prove to me that I have done such wrong that my death is +right. And I am to be judge. What wrong have I done? What person, not +a wrong-doer, have I ordered executed? In what way have I violated my +own sanctions of right conduct, or even have done wrong blunderingly or +unwittingly?” + +“I understand, and I change my discourse accordingly. First, let me ask +if you were responsible for the death of John Mossman?” + +Dragomiloff nodded. + +“He was a friend of mine. I had known him all my life. There was no +evil in him. He harmed no one.” + +Hall was speaking warmly, but the other’s raised hand and amused smile +made him pause. + +“It was something like seven years ago that John Mossman built the +Fidelity Building. Where did he get the money? It was at that time that +he, who had all his life been a banker in a small, conservative way, +suddenly branched out in a number of large enterprises. You remember +the fortune he left. Where did he get it?” + +Hall was about to speak, but Dragomiloff signified that he had not +finished. + +“Not long before the building of the Fidelity, you will remember, the +Combine attacked Carolina Steel, bankrupted it, and then absorbed +the wreckage for a song. The president of Carolina Steel committed +suicide--” + +“To escape the penitentiary,” Hall interpolated. + +“He was tricked into doing what he did.” + +Hall nodded and said, “I recollect. It was one of the agents of the +Combine.” + +“That agent was John Mossman.” + +Hall remained incredulously silent, while the other continued. + +“I assure you I can prove it, and I will. But do me the courtesy of +accepting for a moment whatever statements I make. They will be proved, +and to your satisfaction.” + +“Very well then. You killed Stolypin.” + +“No; not guilty. The Russian Terrorists did that.” + +“I have your word?” + +“You have my word.” + +Hall ranged over in his mind all the assassinations he had tabulated, +and made another departure. + +“James and Hardman, president and secretary of the Southwestern +Federation of Miners--” + +“We killed them,” Dragomiloff broke in. “And what was wrong about +it--mind you, wrong to me?” + +“You are a humanist. The cause of labor, as that of the people, must +be dear to you. It was a great loss to organized labor, the deaths of +these two leaders.” + +“On the contrary,” Dragomiloff replied. “They were killed in 1904. +For six years prior to that, the Federation had won not one victory, +while it had been decisively beaten in three disastrous strikes. In the +first six months after the two leaders were removed, the Federation won +the big strike of 1905, and from then to now has never ceased making +substantial gains.” + +“You mean?” Hall demanded. + +“I mean that the Mine Owners League did not bring about the +assassination. I mean that James and Hardman were secretly in the pay, +and in big pay, of the Mine Owners League. I mean that it was a group +of the miners themselves that laid the facts of their leaders’ treason +before us and paid the price we demanded for the service. We did it for +twenty-five thousand dollars.” + +Winter Hall’s bafflement plainly showed, and he debated a long minute +before speaking. + +“I believe you, Mr. Dragomiloff. Tomorrow or next day I should like +to go over the proofs with you. But that will be merely for formal +correctness. In the meantime I must find some other way to convince +you. This list of assassinations is a long one.” + +“Longer than you think.” + +“And I do not doubt but what you have found similar justification for +all of them. Mind you, not that I believe any one of these killings to +be right, but that I believe they have been right to you. Your fear +that the discussion would become academic was well founded. It is only +in that way that I can hope to get you. Suppose we defer it until +tomorrow. Will you lunch with me? Or where would you prefer us to meet?” + +“Right here, I think, after lunch.” Dragomiloff waved his hand around +at his book-covered walls. “There are plenty of authorities, you see, +and we can always send out to the branch Carnegie Library around the +corner for more.” + +He pressed the call button, and both arose as the servant entered. + +“Believe me, I am going to get you,” was Hall’s parting assurance. + +Dragomiloff smiled whimsically. + +“I trust not,” he said. “But if you do it will be unique.” + + + + +_Chapter V_ + + +For long days and nights the discussion between Hall and Dragomiloff +was waged. At first confined to ethics, it quickly grew wider and +deeper. Ethics being the capstone of all the sciences, they found +themselves compelled to seek down through those sciences to the +original foundations. Dragomiloff demanded of Hall’s _Thou shalt not +kill_ a more rigid philosophic sanction than religion had given it. +While, in order to be intelligible, and to reason intelligently, they +found it necessary to thresh out and ascertain each other’s most +ultimate beliefs and telic ideals. + +It was the struggle of two scholars, and practical scholars at that; +yet more often than not the final result sought was lost in the +excitement and clash of ideas. And Hall did his antagonist the justice +of realizing that on his part it was purely a pursuit of truth. That +his life was the forfeit if he lost had no influence on Dragomiloff’s +reasoning. The question at issue was whether or not his Assassination +Bureau was a right institution. + +Hall’s one thesis, which he never abandoned, to which he forced all +roads of argument to lead, was that the time had come in the evolution +of society when society, as a whole, must work out its own salvation. +The time was past, he contended, for the man on horseback, or for +small groups of men on horseback, to manage the destinies of society. +Dragomiloff, he insisted, was such a man, and his Assassination Bureau +was the steed he bestrode, by virtue of which he judged and punished, +and, within narrow limits it was true, herded and trampled society in +the direction he wanted it to go. + +Dragomiloff, on the other hand, did not deny that he played the part +of the man on horseback, who thought for society, decided for society, +and drove society; but he did deny, and emphatically, that society +as a whole was able to manage itself, and that, despite blunders and +mistakes, social progress lay in such management of the whole by +itself. And this was the crux of the question, to settle which they +ransacked history and traced the social evolution of man up from the +minutest known details of primitive groupings to highest civilization. + +In fact, so practical-minded were the two scholars, so unmetaphysical, +that they accepted social expediency as the determining factor and +agreed that it was in the highest way ethical. And in the end, measured +by this particular yardstick, Winter Hall won. Dragomiloff acknowledged +his own defeat, and, in his gratification and excitement, Hall’s +hand went impulsively out to him. Firmly, and despite his surprise, +Dragomiloff returned the grip. + +“I see, now,” he said, “that I failed to lay sufficient stress on the +social factors. The assassinations have not been so much intrinsically +wrong as socially wrong. I even take part of that back. As between +individuals, they have not been wrong at all. But individuals are not +individuals alone. They are parts of complexes of individuals. There +was where I erred. It is dimly clear to me. I was not justified. And +now--” He broke off and looked at his watch. “It is two o’clock. We +have sat late. And now I am prepared to pay the penalty. Of course you +will give me time to settle my affairs before I give the order to my +agents?” + +Hall, who in the height of debate had forgotten the terms of the +debate, was startled. + +“I am not prepared for that,” he said. “And to tell the truth, it had +quite slipped my mind. Perhaps it is not necessary. You are yourself +convinced of the wrong of assassination. Suppose you disband the +organization. That will be sufficient.” + +But Dragomiloff shook his head. + +“An agreement is an agreement. I have accepted a commission from +you. Right is right, and this is where, I maintain, the doctrine of +social expediency does not apply. The individual, per se, has some +prerogatives left, and one of these is the keeping of one’s word. This +I must do. The commission shall be carried out. I am afraid it will be +the last handled by the Bureau. This is Saturday morning. Suppose you +give me until tomorrow night before issuing the order?” + +“Tommyrot!” Hall exclaimed. + +“That is not argument,” was the grave reproof. “Besides, all argument +is finished. I decline to hear any more. One thing, though, in +fairness: considering how difficult a person I shall be to assassinate, +I would suggest a further charge of at least ten thousand dollars.” He +held up his hand in token that he had more to say. “Oh, believe me, I +am modest. I shall make it so difficult for my agents that it will be +worth all of fifty thousand and more--” + +“If you will only break up the organization--” + +But Dragomiloff silenced him. + +“The discussion is ended. This is now my affair. The organization will +be broken up in any event, but I warn you, according to our rules of +long standing, I may escape. As you will recollect, I promised you, +at the time the bargain was made, that if, at the end of a year, the +commission had not been fulfilled, the fee would be returned to you +plus five percent. If I escape I shall hand it to you myself.” + +But Winter Hall waved his hand impatiently. + +“Listen,” he said. “I insist on one statement. You and I are agreed +on the foundation of ethics. Social expedience being the basis of all +ethics--” + +“Pardon me--” came the interruption “--of social ethics only. The +individual, in certain aspects, is still an individual.” + +“Neither you nor I,” Hall continued, “accepts the old Judaic code of +an eye for an eye. We do not believe in punishment for crime. The +killings of your Bureau, while justified by crimes committed by the +victims, were not regarded by you as punishments. You looked upon your +victims as social ills, the extirpation of which would benefit society. +You removed them from the social organism on the same principle that +surgeons remove cancers. I caught that point of view of yours from the +beginning of the discussion. + +“But to return. Not accepting the punishment theory, you and I regard +crime as a mere anti-social tendency, and as such, expediently and +arbitrarily, we classify it. Thus, crime is a social abnormality, +partaking of the nature of sickness. It _is_ sickness. The criminal, +the wrong-doer, is a sick man, and he should be treated accordingly, so +that he may be cured of his sickness. + +“Now I come to you and to my point. Your Assassination Bureau was +anti-social. You believed in it. Therefore you were sick. Your belief +in assassination constituted your sickness. But now you no longer +believe. You are cured. Your tendency is no longer anti-social. There +is now no need for your death, which would be nothing else than +punishment for an illness of which you had already been cured. Disband +the organization and go out of business. That is all you have to do.” + +“Are you done--quite done?” Dragomiloff queried suavely. + +“Yes.” + +“Then let me answer and end the argument. I conceived my Bureau in +righteousness, and I operated it in righteousness. Also, I created +it, made it the perfect thing that it is. Its foundation was certain +right principles. In all its history, not one of these principles was +violated. A particular one of these principles was that portion of +the contracts with our clients wherein we guaranteed to carry out any +commission we accepted. I accepted a commission from you. I received +forty thousand dollars. The agreement was that I should order my own +execution if you proved to my satisfaction that the assassinations +achieved by the Bureau were wrong. You have proved it. Nothing remains +but to live up to the agreement. + +“I am proud of this institution. Nor shall I, with a last act, stultify +its basic principles, break the rules under which it operated. This +I hold is my right as an individual, and in no way does it conflict +with social expediency. I do not want to die. If I escape death for a +year, the commission I accepted from you, as you know, automatically +terminates. I shall do my best to escape. And now, not another word. I +am resolved. Concerning breaking up the Bureau, what would you suggest?” + +“Give me the names and all details of all members. I shall then serve +notice on them to disband--” + +“Not until after my death or until the year has expired,” Dragomiloff +objected. + +“All right, after your death, or the expiration of the year, I shall +serve this notice, backed by the threat of going to the police with my +information.” + +“They may kill you,” was the warning. + +“Yes; they may. I shall have to take that chance.” + +“You can avoid it. When you serve notice, inform them that all +information is placed in escrow in half a dozen different cities, +and that in event of your being killed it goes into the hands of the +police.” + +It was three in the morning before the details for disbanding the +organization were arranged. It was at this time that a long silence +fell, broken at last by Dragomiloff. + +“Do you know, Hall, I like you. You are an ethical enthusiast yourself. +You might almost have created the Bureau, than which I know no higher +compliment, because it is my belief that the Bureau is a remarkable +achievement. At any rate, not only do I like you, but I know I can +trust you. You would keep your word as I keep mine. Now, I have a +daughter. Her mother is dead and in the event of my death she would +be without kith or kin in the world. I should like to put her in your +charge. Are you willing to accept the responsibility?” + +Hall nodded his acquiescence. + +“She is a grown woman, so there is no need for guardianship papers. +But she is unmarried, and I shall leave her a great deal of money, the +investment of which you will have to see to. I am running out to see +her this afternoon. Will you come along? It is not far, only at Edge +Moor on the Hudson.” + +“Why, I’m making a week-end visit to Edge Moor myself!” Hall exclaimed. + +“Good. Whereabouts in Edge Moor?” + +“I don’t know. I’ve never been there.” + +“Never mind. It is not a large place. You can spare a couple of hours +Sunday morning. I’ll run over for you in a machine. Telephone me where +and when to come. Suburban 245 is my number.” + +Hall jotted the number down and rose to go. + +Dragomiloff yawned as they shook hands. + +“I wish you would reconsider,” the other urged. + +But Dragomiloff yawned again, shook his head, and showed his visitor +out. + + + + +_Chapter VI_ + + +Grunya ran the machine that carried Winter Hall from the station at +Edge Moor. + +“Uncle is really eager to meet you,” she assured him. “He doesn’t know +who you are, yet. I teased him by not telling him. Perhaps it is the +teasing that accounts for his eagerness, for he certainly is eager.” + +“Have you told him?” Hall asked significantly. + +Grunya became suddenly absorbed in operating the car. + +“What?” she asked. + +For reply, Hall laid his hand on hers upon the steering wheel. She +ventured one glance at him, looking into his eyes with audacious +steadiness for a moment. Then the telltale flush betrayed her, the +steady gaze wavered, and with dropped eyes she returned to the steering. + +“That might account for his eagerness,” Hall remarked quietly. + +“I--I never thought of it.” + +Her eyes were turned from him, but he could see the rosy warmth in her +cheek. After a minute he made another remark. + +“It is a pity to shame so splendid a sunset with unveraciousness.” + +“Coward,” she cried; but her enunciation made the epithet a love note. + +And then she looked at him again, and laughed, and he laughed with +her, and both felt that the sunset was unsmirched and that the world +was very fair. + +It was when they entered the driveway to the bungalow that he asked her +in what direction lay the Dragomiloff place. + +“Never heard of it,” was her response. “Dragomiloff? No such person +lives in Edge Moor, I am sure. Why?” + +“They may be recent comers,” he suggested. + +“Perhaps so. And here we are. Grosset, take Mr. Hall’s suitcase. +Where’s Uncle?” + +“In the library, writing, miss. He said not to disturb him till dinner.” + +“Then at dinner you’ll meet,” she said to Hall. “And you’ll only just +have time. Show Mr. Hall his room, Grosset.” + +Fifteen minutes later, Winter Hall, in the absence of Grunya, entered +the living room and found himself face to face with the man he had +parted from at three that morning. + +“What the devil are you doing here?” Hall blurted out. + +But the other’s composure was unshaken. + +“Waiting to be introduced, I suppose,” he said, holding out his hand. +“I am Sergius Constantine. Grunya has certainly surprised both of us.” + +“And you are also Ivan Dragomiloff?” + +“Yes; but not in this house.” + +“But I do not understand. You spoke of a daughter.” + +“Grunya is my daughter, though she believes herself my niece. It is a +long story, which I shall make short, after dinner, when we get rid +of Grunya. But let me tell you now, that the situation is beautiful, +gratifyingly beautiful. You, whom I selected to watch over my Grunya, I +find are already--if I am right--her lover. Am I right?” + +“I--I don’t know what to say,” Hall faltered, his wit for one time not +ready, his mind stunned by this most undreamed dénouement. + +“Am I right?” Dragomiloff repeated. + +“You are right,” came the answer, prompt at last. “I do love--her--I do +love Grunya. But does she know ... you?” + +“Only as her uncle, Sergius Constantine, head of the importing house +of that name--here she comes. As I was saying, I agree with you in +preferring Turgenev to Tolstoy. Of course, this without detracting from +the power of Tolstoy. It is Tolstoy’s philosophy that is repugnant to +one who believes--ah, here you are, Grunya.” + +“And already acquainted,” she pouted. “I had expected to be present +at such a momentous encounter.” She turned chidingly to Hall, while +Constantine’s arm encircled her waist. “Why didn’t you warn me you +could dress with such speed?” + +She held out her free hand to him. + +“Come,” she said, “let us go in to dinner.” + +And in this manner, Constantine’s arm around Grunya, and she lightly +leading Hall by the hand, the three passed into the dining room. + +At table Hall caught himself desiring to pinch himself in order to +disprove the reality of which he was a part. The situation was almost +too preposterously grotesque to be real--Grunya, whom he loved, +alternately tilting and smiling at her father whom she believed her +uncle, and whom she never dreamed was the originator and head of the +dread Assassination Bureau; he, Hall, whom Grunya loved in return, +joining in the badinage against the man to whom he had paid fifty +thousand dollars to order his own execution; and Dragomiloff himself, +unperturbed, complacent, unbending in the general mirth, until his +habitual frostiness thawed into actual geniality. + +Afterwards, Grunya played and sang, until Dragomiloff, under the +double plea of an expected visitor and a desire for a man-talk with +Hall, advised her, in mock phrases of paternal patronage, that it was +bedtime for a chit of her years. With a parting fling, she said good +night and left them, her laughter rippling back through the open door. +Dragomiloff got up, closed it, and returned to his seat. + +“Well?” Hall demanded. + +“My father was a contractor in the Russian-Turkish War,” was the reply. +“His name was--well, never mind his name. He made a fortune of sixty +million rubles, which I, as an only son, inherited. At university I +became inoculated with radical ideas and joined the Young Russians. +We were a pack of Utopianists and dreamers, and of course we got into +trouble. I was in prison several times. My wife died of smallpox at +the same time that her brother Sergius Constantine died of the same +disease. This took place on my last estate. Our latest conspiracy had +leaked, and this time it meant Siberia for me. My escape was simple. My +brother-in-law, a pronounced conservative, was buried under my name, +and I became Sergius Constantine. Grunya was a baby. I got out of the +country easily enough, though what was left of my fortune fell into +the hands of the officials. Here in New York, where Russian spies are +more prevalent than you imagine, I maintained the fiction of my name. +And there you have it. I have even returned once to Russia, as my +brother-in-law, of course, and sold out his possessions. Too long did I +maintain the fiction; Grunya knew me as her uncle, and her uncle I have +remained. That is all.” + +“But the Assassination Bureau?” Hall asked. + +“Believing it was right, and stung by the charge that we Russians were +thinkers, not doers, I organized it. And it has worked, successfully, +perfectly. It has been a financial success as well. I proved that I +could act, as well as dream dreams. Grunya, however, still calls me a +dreamer. But she does not know. One moment.” + +He went into the adjoining room and returned with a large envelope in +his hand. + +“And now to other things. My expected visitor is the man to whom I +shall give the order of execution. I intended to do so tomorrow, +but your opportune presence tonight expedites matters. Here are my +instructions to you.” He handed over the envelope. “Grunya, legally, +must sign all papers, deeds, and such things, but you must advise her. +My will is in my safe. You will have to handle my funds for me until +I die or return. If I telegraph for money, or anything, you will do +as instructed. In this envelope is the cipher I shall use, which is +likewise the cipher used by the organization. + +“There is a large emergency fund which I have handled for the Bureau. +This belongs to the members. I shall make you its custodian. The +members will draw upon it at need.” Dragomiloff shook his head with +simulated sadness and smiled. “I am afraid I shall prove very expensive +to them before they get me.” + +“Heavens, man!” Hall cried. “You are furnishing them the sinews of war. +What you should do is to prevent their access to the fund.” + +“That would not be fair, Hall. And I am so made that I must play +fairly. And I do you the honor to believe that in the matter you will +likewise play fairly and obey all my instructions. Am I right?” + +“But you are asking me to furnish aid to the men who are going to +kill you, the father of the girl I love. It is preposterous. It is +monstrous. Put a stop to the whole thing now. Disband the organization +and be done with it.” + +But Dragomiloff was adamant. + +“My mind is made up. You know that. I must do what I believe to be +right. You will obey my instructions?” + +“You are a monster! A stubborn, stiff-necked monster of absurd and +lunatic righteousness. You are a scholar’s mind degraded, you are +ethics gone mad, you are ... are....” + +But Winter Hall failed in his quest for further superlatives, and +stuttered, and ceased. Dragomiloff smiled patiently. + +“You will obey my instructions. Am I right?” + +“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll obey them,” Hall cried angrily. “It is patent that +you will have your way. There is no stopping you. But why tonight? +Won’t tomorrow be time enough to start on this madman’s adventure?” + +“No; I am eager to start. And you have hit the precise word. Adventure. +That is it. I have not had it since I was a boy, since I was a young +Bakuninite in Russia dreaming my boyish dreams of universal human +freedom. Since then, what have I done? I have been a thinking machine. +I have built up successful businesses. I have made a fortune. I have +invented the Assassination Bureau and run it. And that is all. I have +not lived. I have had no adventure. I have been a mere spider, a huge +brain thinking and planning in the midst of a web. But now I break the +web. I go forth on the adventure path. Why, do you know, I have never +killed a man in my life. Nor have I ever seen one killed. I was never +in a railroad accident. I know nothing of violence; I who possess the +vast strength of violence have never used that strength save in amity, +in boxing and wrestling and such exercises. Now I shall live, body and +brain, and play a new role. Strength!” + +He held out his lean white hand and looked at it angrily. + +“Grunya will tell you that I can bend a silver dollar between those +fingers. Was that all they were made for?--to bend dollars? Here, your +arm a moment.” + +Merely between fingertips and thumb, he caught Hall’s forearm midway +from wrist to elbow. He pressed, and Hall was startled by the fierce +pang of the bruise. It seemed as if fingers and thumb would meet +through the flesh and bone. The next moment the arm was flung aside, +and Dragomiloff was smiling grimly. + +“No damage,” he said, “though it will be black and blue for a week or +so. Now do you know why I want to get out of my web? I have vegetated +for a score of years. I have used those fingers to write my signature +and to turn the pages of books. From my web I have sent men out on the +adventure path. Now I shall play against those men, and I, too, shall +do. It will be a royal game. Mine was the master mind that made the +perfect machine. I created it. Never has it failed to destroy the man +appointed. I am now the man appointed. The question is: _is it greater +than I, its creator?_ Will it destroy its creator, or will its creator +outwit it?” + +He stopped abruptly, looked at his watch, and pressed a bell. + +“Have the car brought around,” he told the servant who responded, “put +into it the suitcase you will find in my bedroom.” + +He turned to Hall as the servant left the room. + +“And now my hegira begins. Haas should be here any moment.” + +“Who is Haas?” + +“Bar none and absolutely the most capable member we have. He has always +been given our most difficult and hazardous commissions. He is an +ethical fanatic, a Danite. No destroying angel was ever so terrible as +he. He is a flame. He is not a man at all, but a flame. You shall see +for yourself. There he is now.” + +A moment later the man was shown in. Hall was shocked by the first +view of his face--a wasted, ravaged face, hollow-cheeked and sunken, in +which burned a pair of eyes the like of which could be experienced only +in nightmares. Such was the fire of them that the whole face seemed +caught up in the conflagration. + +Hall acknowledged the introduction, and was surprised at the firm, +almost savagely firm, grip of the handshake. He noted the man’s +movements as he took a chair and seated himself. He seemed to move +cat-like, and Hall was confident that he was muscled like a tiger, +though all this was belied by the withered, blighted face, which gave +an impression that the rest of the body was a shrunken slender shell. +Slender the body was, but Hall could mark the bulge of the biceps and +shoulder muscles. + +“I have a commission for you, Mr. Haas,” Dragomiloff began. “Possibly +it may prove the most dangerous and difficult one you have ever +undertaken.” + +Hall could have sworn that the man’s eyes blazed even more fiercely at +the intimation. + +“This case has received my sanction,” Dragomiloff continued. “It is +right, essentially right. The man must die. The Bureau has received +fifty thousand dollars for his death. According to our custom, +one-third of this sum will go to you. But so difficult am I afraid it +will prove, that I have decided your share shall be one-half. Here are +five thousand for expenses--” + +“The amount is unusual,” Haas broke in, licking his lips as if they +were parched by the flame of his being. + +“The man you are to kill is unusual,” Dragomiloff retorted. “You will +need to call upon Schwartz and Harrison immediately to assist you. If, +after a time, the three of you have failed--” + +Haas snorted incredulously, and the fever that seemed consuming him +burned up with increasing heat in his lean and avid face. + +“If after a time, the three of you have failed, call upon the whole +organization.” + +“Who is the man?” Haas demanded, and he bit the words out almost in a +snarl. + +“One moment.” Dragomiloff turned to Hall. “What shall you tell Grunya?” + +Hall considered for a space. + +“A half-truth will do. I sketched the organization to her before I knew +you. I can tell her you are menaced. That will suffice. And no matter +what the outcome, she need never know the rest.” + +Dragomiloff bowed his approbation. + +“Mr. Hall is to serve as secretary,” he explained to Haas. “He has the +cipher. All applications for money and everything else will be made to +him. Keep him informed from time to time of progress.” + +“Who is the man?” Haas rasped out again. + +“One minute, Mr. Haas. There is one thing I want to impress on you. +Your pledge you remember. No matter who the person may be, you know +that you must perform the task. You know in every way you must avoid +risking your own life. You know what failure means, that all your +comrades are sworn to kill you if you fail.” + +“I know all that,” Haas interrupted. “It is unnecessary.” + +“It is my wish to have you absolutely straight on this point. No matter +who the person--” + +“Father, brother, wife--ay, the devil himself, or God--I understand. +Who is the man? Where will I find him? You know me. When I have +anything to do, I want to do it.” + +Dragomiloff turned to Hall with a smile of gratification. + +“As I told you, I selected our best agent.” + +“We are wasting time,” Haas muttered impatiently. + +“Very well,” Dragomiloff answered. “Are you ready?” + +“Yes.” + +“Now?” + +“Now.” + +“I, Ivan Dragomiloff, am the man.” + +Haas was staggered by the unexpectedness of it. + +“You?” he whispered, as if louder speech had been scorched from his +throat. + +“I,” Dragomiloff answered simply. + +“Then there is no time like now,” Haas said swiftly, at the same time +moving his right hand towards his side pocket. + +But even more swift was the leap of Dragomiloff upon him. Before Hall +could rise from his chair the thing had happened and the danger was +past. He saw Dragomiloff’s two thumbs, end on, crooked and rigid, +drive into the two hollows at either side of the base of Haas’s neck. +So quickly that it was practically simultaneous, at the instant of +the first driven contact of the thumbs, Haas’s hand stopped moving in +the direction of the weapon in his pocket. Both his hands shot up and +clutched spasmodically at the other’s hands. Haas’s face was distorted +in an expression of incredible and absolute agony. He writhed and +twisted for a minute, then his eyes closed, his hands dropped, his body +went limp, and Dragomiloff eased him down to the floor, the flame of +him quenched in unconsciousness. + +Dragomiloff rolled him on his face, and, with a handkerchief, knotted +his hands behind his back. He worked quickly, and as he worked he +talked. + +“Observe, Hall, the first anaesthetic ever used in surgery. It is +purely mechanical. The thumbs press on the carotid arteries, shutting +off the blood supply to the brain. The Japanese practiced it in +surgical operations for centuries. If I had held the pressure for a +minute or so more, the man would be dead. As it is, he will regain +consciousness in a few seconds. See! He is moving now.” + +He rolled Haas over on his back; his eyes fluttered open and rested on +Dragomiloffs face in a puzzled way. + +“I told you it was a difficult case, Mr. Haas,” Dragomiloff assured +him. “You have failed in the first attempt. I am afraid that you will +fail many times.” + +“You’ll give a run for my money, I guess,” was the answer. “Though why +you want to be killed is beyond me.” + +“But I don’t want to be killed.” + +“Then why under the sun have you given me the order?” + +“That’s my business, Mr. Haas. And it is your business to see that you +do your best. How does your throat feel?” + +The recumbent man rolled his head back and forth. + +“Sore,” he announced. + +“It is a trick you ought to learn.” + +“I know it now,” Haas rejoined, “and I am very much aware of the +precise place in which to insert the thumbs. What are you going to do +with me?” + +“Take you along with me in the car and drop you by the roadside. It’s a +warm night, so you won’t catch cold. If I left you here, Mr. Hall might +untie you before I got started. And now I think I’ll bother you for +that weapon in your coat-pocket.” + +Dragomiloff leaned over, and from the pocket in question drew forth an +automatic pistol. + +“Loaded for big game and cocked and ready,” he said, examining it. +“All he had to do was to drop the safety lever with his thumb and pull +the trigger. Will you walk to the car with me, Mr. Haas?” + +Haas shook his head. + +“This is more comfortable than the roadside.” + +For reply, Dragomiloff bent over him and lightly effected his terrible +thumb grip on the throat. + +“I’ll walk,” Haas gasped. + +Quickly and lightly, though his arms were tied behind him, and +apparently without effort, the recumbent man rose to his feet, giving +Hall a hint of the tiger-muscles with which he was endowed. + +“It’s all right,” Haas grumbled. “I’m not kicking, and I’ll take my +medicine. But you caught me unexpectedly, and I’ll tell you one thing. +It is that you can’t do it again, or anything else.” + +Dragomiloff turned and spoke to Hall. + +“The Japanese claim seven different death-touches, but I only know +four. And this man dreams he could best me in physical encounter. Mr. +Haas, let me tell you one thing. You see the edge of my hand. Omitting +the death-touches and everything else, merely using the edge of that +hand like a cleaver, I can break your bones, disjoint your joints, and +rupture your tendons. Pretty good, eh, for the thinking machine you +have always known? Come on; let us start. This way for the adventure +path. Goodbye, Hall.” + +The front door closed behind them, and Winter Hall, stupefied, +looked about him at the modern room in which he stood. He was more +pervaded than ever by the impression of unrealness. Yet that was a +grand piano over there, and those were the current magazines on the +reading table. He even glanced over their familiar names in an effort +to orient himself. He wondered if he were going to wake up in a few +minutes. He glanced at the titles of a table-rack of books--evidently +Dragomiloff’s. There, incongruously cheek by jowl, were Mahan’s +_Problem of Asia_, Buckner’s _Force and Matter_, Wells’s _Mr. Polly_, +Nietzsche’s _Beyond Good and Evil_, Jacob’s _Many Cargoes_, Veblen’s +_Theory of the Leisure Class_, Hyde’s _From Epicurus to Christ_, and +Henry James’s latest novel--all forsaken by this strange mind which had +closed the page of its life on books and fared forth into an impossible +madness of adventure. + + + + +_Chapter VII_ + + +“There is no use waiting for your uncle,” Hall told Grunya next +morning. “We must eat breakfast and start for town.” + +“We?” she asked in frank wonder. “What for?” + +“To get married. Before his departure, your uncle made me your +unofficial guardian, and it seems to me that the best thing to do is to +make my position official--that is, if you have no serious objections.” + +“I have, decidedly,” was her reply. “In the first place, I dislike +being bullied into anything, even into so gratifying a thing as +marriage with you. And next, I detest mystery. Where is Uncle? What has +happened? Where did he go? Did he catch an early train for the city? +And why should he go to the city on Sunday?” + +Hall looked at her gloomily. + +“Grunya, I am not going to tell you to be brave and all that +fol-de-rol. I know you, and it is unnecessary.” He noted growing alarm +in her face and hurried on. “I don’t know when your uncle will return. +I don’t know if he will ever return, or if you will ever see him again. +Listen. You remember that Assassination Bureau I told you about?” + +She nodded. + +“Well, it has selected him for its next victim. He has fled, that is +all, in an attempt to escape.” + +“Oh! But this is outrageous!” she cried. “My Uncle Sergius! This is +the twentieth century. They don’t do things like that now. This is some +joke you and he are playing on me.” + +And Hall, wondering what she would think if she knew the whole truth +concerning her uncle, smiled grimly. + +“On my honor, it is true,” he assured her. “Your uncle has been +selected as the next victim. You remember he was writing a great deal +yesterday afternoon. He had had his warning and was getting his affairs +in shape and preparing his instructions for me.” + +“But the police. Why has he not appealed to them for protection from +this band of cutthroats?” + +“Your uncle is a peculiar man. He won’t listen to any suggestion of the +police. Furthermore, he has made me promise to keep the police out of +it.” + +“But not me,” she interrupted, starting towards the door. “I shall call +them up at once.” + +Hall caught her by the wrist, and she swung angrily around on him. + +“Listen, dear,” he said placatingly. “The whole thing is madness, I +know. It is the sheerest impossible lunacy. Yet it is so, it is true, +every last bit of it. Your uncle does not want the police brought in. +It is his wish. It is his command to me. If you violate his wish, it +will be because I have made the mistake of telling you. I am confident +I have made no mistake.” + +He released her, and she hesitated on the threshold. + +“It can’t be!” she exclaimed. “It is unbelievable! It--it--oh, you are +joking!” + +“It is unbelievable to me, too, yet I am compelled to believe. Your +uncle packed a suitcase last night and left. I saw him go. He said +goodbye to me. He put me in charge of his affairs and yours. Here are +his instructions on that score.” + +Hall drew out his pocketbook and selected several sheets of paper in +the unmistakable handwriting of Sergius Constantine. + +“And here, also, is a note to you. He was in great haste, you know. +Come in and read them at breakfast.” + +It was a depressing meal, Grunya taking nothing more than a cup +of coffee, and Hall toying half-heartedly with an egg. The final +convincing of Grunya was brought about by a telegram addressed to +Hall. The fact that it was in cipher, and that he possessed the key, +satisfied her, but did not diminish the mystery. + +“_Shall let you hear from me from time to time_,” Hall translated it. +“_Love to Grunya. Tell her you have my consent to marry her. The rest +depends on her._” + +“By this telegram I hope to be able to keep track of his movements,” +Hall explained. “And now let us go and be married.” + +“While he is a hunted creature over the face of the earth? Never! +Something must be done. We must do something. I thought you were going +to destroy this nest of murderers. Destroy it, then, and save him.” + +“I can’t explain everything to you,” he said gently. “But this is part +of the program for destroying them. I did not plan it this way, but +it got beyond me. I can tell you this much, though. If your uncle can +escape for a year he will be immune; he will never be endangered again. +And I think he can avoid his pursuers for that long. In the meantime I +shall do everything in my power to aid him, though his own instructions +limit me, as, for instance, when he says that under no circumstances +are the police to be called in.” + +“When the year is up, then I shall marry,” was Grunya’s final judgment. + +“Very well. And in the meantime, today, are you going in to stop in the +city, or will you remain here?” + +“I am going in on the next train.” + +“So am I.” + +“Then we’ll go in together,” Grunya said, with the first faint hint of +a smile that morning. + +It proved a busy day for Hall. Parting from Grunya when town was +reached, he devoted himself to Dragomiloff’s affairs and instructions. +The manager of S. Constantine & Co. was stubbornly suspicious of Hall, +despite the letter he delivered to him in his employer’s handwriting. +And when Hall called up Grunya on the telephone to confirm him, the +manager doubted that it was Constantine’s niece at the other end of the +wire. So Grunya was compelled to come in person and substantiate Hall’s +statements. + +Following upon that he and Grunya lunched together, after which, alone, +he went to take possession of Dragomiloff’s quarters. Certain that +Grunya knew nothing about the rooms where the deaf mute presided, Hall +had sounded her and found that he was right. + +The deaf mute made little trouble. By talking straight to him so that +he could watch the lips, Hall discovered that conversation was no more +difficult than with an ordinary person. On the other hand, the mute +was forced to write whatever he wished to communicate to Hall. Upon +receiving the letter which Hall presented from Dragomiloff, the fellow +immediately pressed it to his nose and sniffed long and carefully. +Satisfied by this means of its genuineness, he accepted Hall as the +temporary master of the place. + +That evening Hall had three callers. The first, a rotund, bewhiskered, +and genial person who gave the name of Burdwell, was one of the agents +of the Bureau. By reference to the list of descriptions of the members, +Hall identified him, though not by the name he had given. + +“Your name is not Burdwell,” Hall said. + +“I know it,” was the answer. “Perhaps you can tell me what is.” + +“I can. It is Thompson--Sylvanius Thompson.” + +“It sounds familiar,” was the jolly response. “Perhaps you can tell me +something more.” + +“You have been associated with the organization for five years. You +were born in Toronto. You are forty-seven years old. You were professor +of sociology at Barlington University, and you were forced to resign +because your economic teachings offended the founder. You have carried +out twelve commissions. Shall I name them for you?” + +Sylvanius Thompson held up a warning hand. + +“We do not mention such occurrences.” + +“We do in this room,” Hall retorted. + +The ex-professor of sociology immediately acknowledged the correctness +of the statement. + +“No use naming them all,” he said. “Give me the first and the last, and +I’ll know I can talk business with you.” + +Again Hall referred to the list. + +“Your first was Sig Lemuels, a police magistrate. It was your entrance +test. Your last was Bertram Festle, who was supposed to have been +drowned while going aboard his yacht at Bar Point.” + +“Very good.” Sylvanius Thompson paused to light a cigar. “I merely +wanted to make sure, that’s all. I’ve never met anybody but the Chief +here, so it was rather unprecedented to have to deal with a stranger. +Now to business. I haven’t had a commission for some time now, and +funds are running low.” + +Hall drew out a typed copy he had made of Dragomiloff’s instructions +and read a certain paragraph carefully. + +“There is nothing on hand now,” he said. “But here is two thousand +dollars with which to keep going. This is an advance on future +services. Keep closely in touch, for you may be needed any time. The +Bureau has a big affair on hand, and the assistance of all its members +may be called for any time. In fact, I am empowered to tell you that +the very life of the organization is at stake. Your receipt, please.” + +The ex-professor signed the receipt, puffed at his cigar, and evidenced +no intention of going. + +“Do you like to kill men?” Hall asked bluntly. + +“Oh, I don’t mind it,” answered Thompson, “though I can’t say that I +like it. But one must live. I have a wife and three children.” + +“Do you believe your way of making a living is right?” was Hall’s next +question. + +“Certainly; else I would not make my living that way. Besides, I am not +a murderer. I am an executioner. No man is ever removed by the Bureau +without cause--and by that I mean righteous cause. Only arch-offenders +against society are removed, as you know yourself.” + +“I don’t mind telling you, Professor, that I know very little about it. +It is true, though I am in temporary charge of the Bureau and acting +under most rigid instructions. Tell me, may you not place mistaken +faith in the Chief?” + +“I do not follow.” + +“I mean ethical faith. May he not be mistaken in his judgments? May he +not select you, for instance, to kill--I beg pardon--to execute, a man +who is not an arch-offender against society, or who may be entirely +innocent of the misdeeds charged against him?” + +“No, young man, that cannot happen. Whenever a commission is offered +me--and I presume this is true of the other members--I first of all +call for the evidence and weigh it carefully. I once even declined +a certain commission because of reasonable doubt. It is true, I was +afterwards proved wrong, but the principle was there, you see. Why, +the Bureau could not last a year if it were not impregnably founded +on right. I, for one, could not look my wife in the eyes nor take my +innocent children in my arms did I believe it to be otherwise with the +Bureau and the commissions I carry out for the Bureau.” + +Next, after the ex-professor, came Haas, livid and hungry-looking, to +report progress. + +“The Chief is headed towards Chicago,” he began. “He ran his auto +clear through to Albany and got away on the New York Central. His +Pullman berth was for Chicago. I was too late to follow him, so I got +a wire to Schwartz in the city here, who caught the next train. Also I +telegraphed to the head of the Chicago Bureau--you know him?” + +“Yes; Starkington.” + +“I telegraphed him, telling him the situation and to put a couple +of members after the Chief. Then I came on to New York in order to +get Harrison. The two of us leave for Chicago the first thing in the +morning, if, in the meantime, no word comes from Starkington that they +have got him.” + +“But you have exceeded your instructions,” Hall objected. “I heard +Drag--the Chief explicitly tell you that Schwartz and Harrison were +to assist, and that the aid of the rest of the organization was to be +called for only after the three of you had failed, and failed for a +considerable time. You haven’t failed yet. You have not even really +begun.” + +“Evidently you know little about our system,” Haas replied. “It has +always been our custom when a chase leads to other cities to call upon +any of the members who may be in those cities.” + +As Hall was about to speak, the deaf mute entered with a telegram +addressed to Dragomiloff. Hall opened it and found it was from +Starkington. He decoded it and then read it aloud to Haas. + + “Has Haas gone crazy? Have received word from Haas that you + appointed him to execute you, that you are headed for Chicago, and + that I am to detail two members to fix you. Haas has never lied + before. He must be crazy. He may prove dangerous. See to him.” + +“That is what Harrison said when I told him not an hour ago,” was +Haas’s comment. “But I do not lie, and I am not crazy. You must fix +this up, Mr. Hall.” + +Assisted by Haas, Hall composed a reply. + + “Haas is neither lunatic nor liar. What he says is correct. + Cooperate with him as requested. + + Winter Hall, Temporary Secretary.” + +“I’ll send it myself,” Haas said, as he rose to go. + +A few minutes later Hall was telephoning to Grunya that her uncle +was headed towards Chicago. This was followed by an interview with +Harrison, who came privily to verify what Haas had told him, and who +went away convinced. + +Hall sat down alone to think things over. He glanced about at the +book-cluttered walls and table, and the old feeling of unreality came +over him. How could it be possible that there was an Assassination +Bureau composed of ethical lunatics? And how could it be possible that +he, who had set out to destroy this Assassination Bureau, was now +actually managing it from its headquarters, and directing the pursuit +and probable killing of the man who had created the Bureau, who was +the father of the woman he loved, and whom he wished to save for his +daughter’s sake--how could it be possible? + +And to prove that it was all true and real, a second telegram arrived +from the head of the Chicago branch. + + “Who in hell are you?” it demanded. + + “Temporary acting secretary appointed by the Chief,” was Hall’s + reply. + +Hall was awakened from sleep several hours later by a third Chicago +telegram. + + “Everything too irregular. Decline further communication with you. + Where is the Chief? + + Starkington.” + + “Chief gone to Chicago. Watch incoming trains and get him to verify + instructions to Haas. I don’t care if you never communicate.” + +Hall flashed back. + +By noon of next day Starkington’s messages began to arrive thick and +fast. + + “Have met Chief. He verifies everything. Accept my apology. He + broke my arm and got away. Have commissioned the four Chicago + members to get him.” + + “Schwartz has just arrived.” + + “Think Chief may head west. Am wiring St. Louis, Denver, and San + Francisco to watch for him. This may prove expensive. Forward money + for contingencies.” + + “Dempsey has three broken ribs and right arm paralyzed. Paralysis + not permanent. Chief got away.” + + “Chief is still in Chicago but cannot locate him.” + + “St. Louis, Denver, and San Francisco have replied. They tell me I + am crazy. Will you please verify?” + +This last wire had been preceded by messages from the three mentioned +cities, all incredulous of Starkington’s sanity, and Hall had replied +to them as he originally replied to Starkington. + +It was while this muddle was pending that Hall, struck by an idea, sent +a long telegram to Starkington and made a still greater muddle. + + “Stop pursuit of Chief. Call a conference of Chicago members and + consider following proposition. Judgment of execution of Chief + irregular. Chief passed judgment on himself. Why? He must be crazy. + It will not be right to kill one who has done no wrong. What wrong + has Chief done? Where is your sanction?” + +That this was a poser, and that it stopped Chicago’s hand, was proved +by the reply. + + “Have talked it over. You are right. Chief’s judgment on self + invalid. Chief has done no wrong. Shall leave him alone. Dempsey’s + arm is better. All are agreed that Chief must be crazy.” + +Hall was jubilant. He had played these ethical madmen to the top of +their madness. Dragomiloff was safe. That evening he took Grunya to the +theatre and to supper and encouraged her with sanguine hopes for her +uncle. But on his return home he found a sheaf of telegrams awaiting +him. + + “Have received wire from Chicago calling off Chief deal. Your last + wire contradicts this. What are we to conclude? + + St. Louis.” + + “Chicago now cancels orders against Chief. By our rules no order + ever canceled. What is the matter? + + Denver.” + + “Where is Chief? Why doesn’t he communicate with us? Chicago by + latest wire has receded from earlier position. Is everybody crazy? + Or is it a joke? + + San Francisco.” + + “Chief still in Chicago. Met Carthey on State Street. Tried to + entice Carthey into following him. Then followed Carthey and + reproached him. Carthey said nothing doing. Chief very angry. + Insists killing order be carried out. + + Starkington.” + + “Chief encountered Carthey later. Committed unprovoked assault on + Carthey. Carthey not injured. + + Starkington.” + + “Chief called on me. Upbraided me bitterly. Told him your message + had changed our minds. Chief furious. Is he crazy? + + Starkington.” + + “Your interference is spoiling everything. What right have you to + interfere? This must be rectified. What are you trying to do? Reply. + + Drago.” + + “Trying to do the right thing. You cannot violate your own rules. + Members have no sanction to perform act.” + +was Hall’s reply. + + “Bosh.” + +was Dragomiloff’s last word for the night. + + + + +_Chapter VIII_ + + +It was not till eleven on the following morning that Hall received word +of Dragomiloff’s next play. It came from the Chief himself. + + “Have sent this message to all branches. Have given it in person to + Chicago branch which will verify. I believe that our organization + is wrong. I believe all its work has been wrong. I believe every + member, wittingly or not, to be wrong. Consider this your sanction + and do your duty.” + +Soon the verdicts of the branches began to pour in on Hall, who smiled +as he forwarded them to Dragomiloff. One and all were agreed that no +reason had been advanced for taking the Chief’s life. + + “A belief is not a sin,” said New Orleans. + + “It is not incorrectness of a belief but insincerity of a belief + that makes a crime,” was Boston’s contribution to the symposium. + + “Chief’s honest belief is no wrong,” concluded St. Louis. + + “Ethical disagreement does not constitute any sanction whatever,” + announced Denver. + + While San Francisco flippantly remarked, “The only thing for the + Chief to do is to retire from control or forget it.” + +Dragomiloff replied by sending out another general message. It ran: + + “My belief is about to take form of deeds. Believing organization + to be wrong, I shall stamp out organization. I shall personally + destroy members, and if necessary shall have recourse to the + police. Chicago will verify this to all branches. I shall shortly + afford even stronger sanction for branches to proceed against me.” + +Hall waited for the replies with keen interest, confessing to himself +his inability to forecast what this society of righteous madmen would +conclude next. It turned out to be a division of opinion. Thus San +Francisco: + + “Sanction O.K. Await instructions.” + +Denver advised: + + “Recommend Chicago branch examine Chief’s sanity. We have good + sanatoriums up here.” + +New Orleans complained: + + “Is everybody crazy? We are without sufficient data. Will somebody + straighten this matter out?” + +Said Boston: + + “In this crisis we must keep our heads. Perhaps Chief is ill. This + must be ascertained satisfactorily before any decision is reached.” + +It was after this that Starkington wired to suggest that Haas, +Schwartz, and Harrison be returned to New York. To this Hall agreed, +but hardly had he got the telegram off, when a later one from +Starkington changed the complexion of the situation. + + “Carthey has just been murdered. Police looking for slayer but + have no clues. It is our belief that Chief is responsible. Please + forward to all branches.” + +Hall, as the focal communicating point of the branches, was now fairly +swamped in a sea of telegrams. Twenty-four hours later Chicago had even +more startling information. + + “Schwartz throttled at three this afternoon. There is no doubt this + time of Chief. Police are pursuing him. So are we. Has dropped + from sight. All branches be on the lookout. It means trouble. Am + proceeding without sanction of branches, but should like same.” + +And promptly the sanctions poured in on Hall. Dragomiloff had achieved +his purpose. At last the ethical madmen were aroused and after him. + +Hall himself was in a quandary, and cursed his ethical nature that +made him value a promise. He was convinced, now, that Dragomiloff was +really a lunatic, having burst forth from his quiet book-and-business +life and become a homicidal maniac. That he had promised a maniac +various things brought up the question whether or not, ethically, he +was justified in breaking those promises. His common sense told him +that he was justified--justified in informing the police, justified +in bringing about the arrests of all the members of the Assassination +Bureau, justified in anything that promised to put a stop to the orgy +of killing that seemed impending. But above his common sense was his +ethics, and at times he was convinced that he was as mad as any of the +madmen with whom he dealt. + +To add to his perplexity, Grunya, who managed to get his address from +the telephone number he had given her, paid him a call. + +“I have come to say goodbye,” was her introduction. “What comfortable +rooms you have. And what a curious servant. He never spoke a word to +me.” + +“Goodbye?” Hall queried. “Are you going back to Edge Moor?” + +She shook her head and smiled airily. + +“No; Chicago. I am going to find Uncle, and to help him if I can. What +last word have you received? Is he still in Chicago?” + +“By the last word....” Hall hesitated. “Yes, by the last word he had +not left Chicago. But you can’t be of any help, and it is unwise of you +to go.” + +“I’m going just the same.” + +“Let me advise you, dear.” + +“Not until the year is up--except in business matters. In fact I came +to turn my little affairs over to you. I go on the Twentieth Century +this afternoon.” + +Argument with Grunya was useless, but Hall was too sensible to quarrel, +and parted from her in appropriate lover fashion, remaining in the +headquarters of the Assassination Bureau to manage its lunatic affairs. + +Nothing happened of moment for another twenty-four hours. Then it came, +an avalanche of messages, precipitated by one from Starkington. + + “Chief still here. Broke Harrison’s neck today. Police do not + connect case with Schwartz. Please call for help on all branches.” + +Hall sent out this general call, and an hour later received the +following from Starkington: + + “Broke into hospital and killed Dempsey. Has definitely left city. + Haas in pursuit. St. Louis take warning.” + + “Rastenaff and Pillsworthy start immediately,” Boston informed Hall. + + “Lucoville has been dispatched to Chicago,” said New Orleans. + + “Not sending anybody. Are waiting for Chief to arrive,” St. Louis + advised. + +And then Grunya’s Chicago wail: + + “Have you any later news?” + +He did not answer this, but very shortly received a second from her. + + “Do please help me if you have heard.” + +Hall replied: + + “Has left Chicago. Probably heading towards St. Louis. Let me join + you.” + +And to this, in turn, he received no answer, and was left to +contemplate the flight of the Chief of the Assassins, pursued by his +daughter and the assassins of four cities, and heading towards the nest +of assassins waiting in St. Louis. + +Another day went by, and another. The van of pursuers arrived in St. +Louis, but there was no sign of Dragomiloff. Haas was reported missing. +Grunya could find no trace of her uncle. Only the head of the branch +remained in Boston, and he informed Hall that he would follow if +anything further happened. In Chicago there was left only Starkington +with his broken arm. + +But at the end of another forty-eight hours, Dragomiloff struck again. +Rastenaff and Pillsworthy had arrived in St. Louis in the early +morning. Each, perforated by a small-calibre bullet, had been carried +from his Pullman berth by men sent from the coroner’s office. The two +St. Louis members were likewise dead. The head of that branch, the only +survivor, sent the information. Haas had reappeared, but no explanation +of his four days’ disappearance was vouchsafed. Dragomiloff had again +dropped out of sight. Grunya was inconsolable and bombarded Hall with +telegrams. The head of the Boston branch sent word that he had started. +And so did Starkington, despite his injury. San Francisco was of the +opinion that Denver would be the Chief’s next point, and sent two men +there to reinforce; while Denver, of the same opinion, kept her two men +in readiness. + +All this made big inroads on the emergency fund of the Bureau, and it +was with satisfaction that Hall, adhering to his instructions, wired +sum after sum of money to the different men. If the pace were kept up, +he decided, the Bureau would be bankrupt before the end of the year. + +And then came a slack period. All members having gone to the West, +and being in touch with each other there, nothing was left for Hall +to do. He endured the suspense and idleness for a day or so; then, +making financial arrangements and arranging with the deaf mute for the +forwarding of telegrams, he closed up the headquarters of the Bureau +and bought a ticket for St. Louis. + + + + +_Chapter IX_ + + +In St. Louis, Hall found no change in the situation. Dragomiloff had +not reappeared and everybody was waiting for something to happen. Hall +attended a conference at Murgweather’s house. Murgweather was the head +of the St. Louis branch, and lived with his family in a comfortable +suburban bungalow. All were gathered when Hall arrived, and he +immediately recognized Haas, the lean flame of a man, and Starkington +he knew by the arm in splints and sling. + +“Who is the man?” demanded Lucoville, the New Orleans member, when Hall +was being introduced. + +“Temporary Secretary of the Bureau,” Murgweather started to explain. + +“It is entirely too irregular to suit me,” Lucoville snapped back. +“He is not one of us. He has killed no man. He has passed no test of +the organization. Not only is his appearance among us unprecedented, +but for men who pursue such a hazardous vocation as ours his presence +is a menace. And in connection with this, I wish to point out two +things. First, by reputation he is known to all of us. I have nothing +derogatory to say about his work in the world. I have read his books +with interest, and, I may add, profit. His contributions to sociology +have been distinct and distinctive. On the other hand, though, he is +a socialist. He is called the ‘Millionaire Socialist.’ What does that +mean? It means that he is out of touch with us and our principles +of conduct. It means that he is a blind creature of Law. Law is his +fetish. He grovels in the mire of ignorance and worships Law. To +him, we, who are above the Law, are arch-offenders against the Law. +Therefore, his presence bodes no good for us. He is bound to destroy us +for the sake of his fetish. This is only in the nature of things. This +is the dictate of both his personal and his philosophical temperament. + +“And secondly, notice that of all times, it is in this time of crisis +to the organization that he has chosen to intrude. Who has vouched for +him? Who has admitted him to our secrets? Only one man, and that man +the Chief, the one who is now bent on destroying us, who has already +killed six of our members and who threatens to expose us to the police. +This looks bad, very bad, for him and us. He is the enemy within our +ranks. It is my suggestion that we put him away--” + +“Pardon me, my dear Lucoville,” Murgweather interrupted. “This +discussion is out of order. Mr. Hall is my guest.” + +“All our heads are in the noose,” retorted the member from New Orleans. +“And guest or no guest, this is no time for social amenities. The man +is a spy. He is bent on destroying us. I charge him with it in his +presence. What has he to say?” + +Hall glanced around at the circle of suspicious faces, and, with the +exception of Lucoville, he noted that none was angry. In truth, he +decided, they were mad philosophers. + +Murgweather made a vain effort to interpose, but was overruled. + +“What have you to say, Mr. Hall?” Hanover, the head of the Boston +branch, demanded. + +“If I may sit down, I shall be glad to reply,” was Hall’s answer. + +Apologies were rendered all around, and he was ensconced in a big +armchair that was drawn up to form one of the circle. + +“My reply, like the charges, will be under two heads,” he began. “In +the first place, I _am_ bent on destroying your organization.” + +This declaration was received in courteous silence, and the thought +came into Hall’s mind that as philosophers and madmen they were +certainly consistent. Emotion of every sort was absent from their +faces. They waited at scholarly attention for the rest of his +discourse. Even Lucoville’s flash of anger had been momentary, and he +now sat as composed as the rest. + +“Why I am bent on destroying your organization is too big a subject +to open at this moment,” Hall continued. “I may say, in passing, that +it is I who am responsible for your Chief’s changed conduct. When I +discovered what an extreme ethicist he was, and each of the rest of +you, I gave him fifty thousand dollars to accept a commission against +himself. I furnished him with a sanction, ethical, of course, and the +execution of the commission he turned over to Mr. Haas in my presence. +Am I right, Mr. Haas?” + +“You are.” + +“And in my presence, the Chief informed you of my secretaryship. Am I +right?” + +“You are.” + +“Now I come to the second head. Why did the Chief trust me with the +headquarters management of the Bureau? The answer is simply and +directly to the point. He knew that I was at least halfway as ethically +mad as the rest of you. He knew that it was impossible for me to break +my word. This I have proved by my subsequent actions. I have done my +best to fulfill the office of acting secretary. I have forwarded all +telegrams, general calls, and orders. I have granted all requests +for funds. I shall continue to do as I have agreed, though I hold in +detestation and horror, ethically, all that you stand for. I am doing +what I believe to be right. Am I right?” + +The pause that followed was very slight. Lucoville arose, walked over +to him, and gravely extended his hand. The others did the same. Then +Starkington preferred a request that adequate provision be made from +the funds of the Bureau for the support of Dempsey’s widow and of +Harrison’s widow and children. There was little discussion, and when +the sums were decided upon, Hall wrote the checks and turned them over +to Murgweather to be forwarded. + +The question next taken up was that of the crisis and of how best to +cope with the recreant Chief. In this Hall took no part, so that, lying +back in his chair, he was able to observe and study these curious +madmen. There were seven of them, and, with the exceptions of Haas and +Lucoville, they had all the appearance of middle-aged, middle-class, +scholarly gentlemen. He could not bring himself to realize that they +were cold-blooded murderers, assassins for hire. And by the same token, +it was incredible that they who were so calm should be the survivors of +the deadly war that was being waged against them. Half of their number +were already dead. Hanover was the sole survivor of Boston, Haas of New +York, Starkington of Chicago, and their genial and bewhiskered host, +Murgweather, of St. Louis. + +“I enjoyed your last book,” Hall’s host leaned over and whispered to +him in an interval. “Your argument for organization by industry as +against organization by craft was unimpeachable. But to my notion, your +exposition of the law of diminishing returns was rather lame. I have a +bone to pick with you there.” + +And this man was an assassin!--all these men were assassins! Hall could +believe only by accepting them as lunatics. And going into town on the +electric car after the meeting, he sat and talked with Haas, and was +astounded to find him an ex-professor of Greek and Hebrew. Lucoville +proved to be an expert in Oriental research. Hanover, he learned, had +once been headmaster of one of the most select New England academies, +while Starkington turned out to be an ex-newspaper editor of no mean +reputation. + +“But why have you, for instance, gone in for this mode of life?” Hall +asked. + +They were sitting on the outside of the car, which had arrived in the +hotel district. The theatres were just letting out, and the sidewalks +were crowded. + +“Because it is right,” Haas answered, “and because it is a better means +of livelihood than Greek and Hebrew. If I had my life all over again--” + +But Hall was never to hear the end of that sentence. The car was +stopped at a crossing for a moment, and Haas was suddenly electrified +by something he had seen. With a flash of eye, and without a word or +motion of farewell, he sprang from the car and was lost to view in the +moving crowd. + +Next morning Hall understood. In the paper was a sensational account +of a mysterious attempt at murder. Haas was lying at the receiving +hospital with a perforated lung. The doctors’ examination showed that +he owed his life to an abnormal, misplaced heart. Had his heart been +where it ought to have been, said the report, the bullet or missile +would have passed through it. But this did not constitute the mystery. +No one had heard the shot fired. Haas had suddenly slumped in the midst +of a thick crowd. A woman, pressed against him in the jam, testified +that at the moment before he fell she heard a faint, though sharp, +metallic click. A man, in front of him, thought he had heard the click +but was not sure. + +“The police are mystified,” the newspaper said. “The victim, a stranger +in the city, is equally mystified. He claims to know of no person or +persons who might be liable to seek his life. Nor does he remember +having heard the click. He was aware only of a violent impact as the +strange missile entered. Sergeant of Detectives O’Connell believes +the weapon to have been an air-rifle, but this is denied by Chief of +Detectives Randall, who claims to know air-rifles, and who denies that +such a weapon could be utilized unseen in a dense crowd.” + +“It was the Chief without doubt,” Murgweather was assuring Hall a few +minutes later. “He is still in town. Will you please inform Denver, +San Francisco, and New Orleans of the event? The weapon is the Chief’s +own invention. Several times he has loaned it to Harrison, who always +returned it after using. The compressed-air chamber is strapped on the +body under the arm or wherever is most convenient. The discharging +mechanism is no larger than a toy pistol, and can be readily concealed +in the hand. We must be very careful from now on.” + +“I am in no danger,” Hall answered. “I am only Temporary Secretary, and +am not a member.” + +“I am glad that Haas will recover,” Murgweather said. “He is a very +estimable man and a scholar. I have the keenest appreciation of his +intellect, though he is prone to be too serious at times, and, I fear +me, finds a certain pleasure in taking human life.” + +“Don’t you?” Hall asked quickly. + +“No, and no other one of us, with the exception of Haas. He has the +temperament for it. Believe me, Mr. Hall, though I have faithfully +performed my tasks for the Bureau, and despite my ethical convictions +as to the righteousness of the acts, I never put through an execution +without qualms of the flesh. I know it is foolish, but I cannot +overcome it. Why, I was positively nauseated by my first affair. I have +written a monograph upon the subject, not for publication, of course, +but it is a very interesting field of study. If you care to, I shall be +glad for you to come out to the house some evening and glance over what +I have written.” + +“Thank you, I shall.” + +“It is a curious problem,” Murgweather continued. “The sacredness of +human life is a social concept. The primitive natural man never had +any qualms about killing his fellow man. Theoretically, I should have +none. Yet I do have. The question is: how do they arise? Has the long +evolution to civilization impressed this concept into the cerebral +cells of the race? Or is it due to my training in childhood and +adolescence, before I became an emancipated thinker? Or may it not be +due to both causes? It is very curious.” + +“I am sure it is,” Hall answered dryly. “But what are you going to do +about the Chief?” + +“Kill him. It is all we can do, and we certainly must assert our right +to live. The situation is a new one to us, however. Hitherto, the men +we destroyed were unaware of their danger. Also, they never pursued +us. But the Chief does know our intention, and, furthermore, he is +destroying us. We have never been hunted before. He has certainly been +more fortunate than we. But I must be going. I agreed to meet Hanover +at quarter past.” + +“But aren’t you afraid?” Hall asked. + +“Of what?” + +“Of the Chief killing you?” + +“No; it won’t matter much. You see, I am well insured, and in my own +experience I have exploded one generally accepted notion, namely, +that the man who has taken many lives is, by those very acts, made +more afraid himself to die. This is not true. I have demonstrated it. +The more I have administered death to others--eighteen times, by my +count--the easier death has seemed to me. Those very qualms I spoke +of are the qualms of life. They belong to life, not to death. I have +written a few detached thoughts on the subject. If you care to glance +at them....” + +“Yes, indeed,” Hall assured him. + +“This evening, then. Say at eleven. If I am detained by this affair, +ask to be shown into my study. I’ll lay the manuscript, and that of the +monograph, too, on the reading table for you. I’d prefer to read them +aloud and discuss them with you, but if I can’t be there, jot down any +notes of criticism that may come to you.” + + + + +_Chapter X_ + + +“I know there is much you are concealing from me, and I cannot +understand why. Surely, you are not unwilling to aid me in saving Uncle +Sergius?” + +Grunya’s last sentence was uttered pleadingly, and her eyes were warm +with the golden glow that for this once failed to reach Hall’s heart. + +“Uncle Sergius doesn’t seem to need much saving,” he muttered grimly. + +“Now just what do you mean?” she cried, quickly suspicious. + +“Nothing, nothing, I assure you, except merely that he has escaped so +far.” + +“But how do you know he has escaped?” she insisted. “May he not be +dead? He has not been heard of since he left Chicago. How do you know +but what those brutes have killed him?” + +“He has been seen here in St. Louis--” + +“There!” she interrupted excitedly. “I knew you were keeping things +from me! Now, honestly, aren’t you?” + +“I am,” Hall confessed. “But by your uncle’s own instructions. Believe +me, you cannot be of the least assistance to him. You can’t even find +him. It would be wise for you to return to New York.” + +For an hour longer she catechized him and he wasted advice on her, and +they parted in mutual irritation. + +Promptly at eleven, Hall rang the bell at Murgweather’s bungalow. +A little sleepy-eyed maidservant of fourteen or fifteen, apparently +aroused from bed, admitted and led him to Murgweather’s study. + +“He’s in there,” she said, pushing open the door and leaving him. + +At the further side of the room, seated at the table, partly in the +light of a reading lamp, but more in shadow, was Murgweather. His +crossed arms rested on the table, and on them rested his bowed head. +Evidently asleep, Hall concluded, as he crossed over. He spoke to him, +then touched him on the shoulder, but there was no response. He felt +the genial assassin’s hand and found it cold. A stain upon the floor, +and a perforation of the reading jacket beneath the shoulder, told the +story. Murgweather’s heart had been in the right place. An open window, +directly behind, showed how the deed had been accomplished. + +Hall drew the heap of manuscript from beneath the dead man’s arms. He +had been killed as he pored over what he had written. “Some Casual +Thoughts on Death,” Hall read the title, then searched on till he +found the monograph, “A Tentative Explanation of Certain Curious +Psychological Traits.” + +It would never do for Murgweather’s family if such damning evidence +were found with the corpse, was Hall’s decision. He burned them in the +fireplace, turned down the lamp, and crept softly out of the house. + +Early the following morning, the news was broken to him in his room by +Starkington, but it was not until afternoon that the papers published +the account. Hall was frightened. The little maidservant had been +interviewed, and that she had used her sleepy eyes to some purpose was +shown by the excellence of the description she gave of the visitor she +had admitted at eleven o’clock the previous night. The detail she gave +was almost photographic. Hall got up abruptly and looked at himself +in the glass. There was no mistaking it. The reflection he saw was +precisely that of the man for whom the police were searching. Even to +the scarf-pin, he was that man. + +He made a hurried rummage of his luggage and arrayed himself as +dissimilarly as possible. Then, dodging into a taxi from the side +entrance of the hotel, he made the round of the shops, from headgear to +footgear purchasing a new outfit. + +Back at the hotel, he found he had just time to catch a westbound +train. Fortunately, he was able to get Grunya to the telephone, so as +to tell her of his departure. Also, he took the liberty of guessing +that Dragomiloff’s next appearance would be in Denver, and he advised +her to follow on. + +Once on the train and out of the city, he breathed more easily, and was +able more calmly to consider the situation. He, too, he decided, was on +the adventure path, and a madly tangled path it was. Starting out with +the intention of running down the Assassination Bureau and destroying +it, he had fallen in love with the daughter of its organizer, become +Temporary Secretary of the Bureau, and was now being sought by the +police for the murder of one of the members who had been killed by the +Chief of the Bureau. “No more practical sociology for me,” he said to +himself. “When I get out of this I shall confine myself to theory. +Closet sociology from now on.” + +At the depot in Denver, he was greeted sadly by Harkins, the head of +the local branch. Not until they were in a machine and whirling uptown +did the cause of Harkins’s sadness come out. + +“Why didn’t you warn us?” he said reproachfully. “You let him give you +the slip, and we were so certain that his account would be settled in +St. Louis that we were not prepared.” + +“He has arrived, then?” + +“Arrived? Gracious! The first we knew, two of us were done +for--Bostwick, who was like a brother to me, and Calkins, of San +Francisco. And now Harding, the other San Francisco man, has dropped +from sight. It is terrible.” He paused and shuddered. “I parted from +Bostwick not more than fifteen minutes before it happened. He was so +bright and cheerful. And now his little love-saturated home! His dear +wife is inconsolable.” + +Tears ran down Harkins’s cheeks, so blinding him that he slowed the +pace of the machine. Hall was curious. Here was a new type of madman, a +sentimental assassin. + +“But why should it be terrible?” he queried. “You have dealt death to +others. It is the same phenomenon in all cases.” + +“But this is different. He was my friend, my comrade.” + +“Possibly others that you have killed had friends and comrades.” + +“But if you could have seen him in his little home,” Harkins maundered +on. “He was a model husband and father. He was a good man, an +excellently good man, a saint, so considerate that he would not harm a +fly.” + +“But what happened to him was only what he had made happen to others,” +Hall objected. + +“No, no; it is different!” the other cried passionately. “If you had +only known him. To know him was to love him. Everybody loved him.” + +“Undoubtedly his victims as well?” + +“Aye, had they had the opportunity they could not have helped loving +him,” Harkins proclaimed vehemently. “If you only knew the good he has +done and was continually doing. His four-footed friends loved him. The +very flowers loved him. He was president of the Humane Society. He was +the strongest worker among the anti-vivisectionists. He was in himself +a whole society for the prevention of cruelty to animals.” + +“Bostwick ... Charles N. Bostwick,” Hall murmured. “Yes, I remember. I +have noticed some of his magazine articles.” + +“Who does not know him?” Harkins broke in ecstatically, and broke off +long enough to blow his nose. “He was a great power for good, a great +power for good. I would gladly change places with him right now, to +have him back in the world.” + +Nevertheless, outside of his love for Bostwick, Hall found Harkins +to be a keen, intelligent man. He stopped the machine at a telegraph +office. + +“I told them to hold any messages for me this morning,” he explained as +he got out. + +In a minute he was back, and together, with the aid of the cipher, they +translated the telegram he had received. It was from Harding, and had +been sent from Ogden. + +“Westbound,” it ran. “Chief on board. Am waiting opportunity. Shall +succeed.” + +“He won’t,” Hall volunteered. “The Chief will get Harding.” + +“Harding is a strong and alert man,” Harkins affirmed. + +“I tell you, you fellows don’t realize what you’re up against.” + +“We realize that the life of the organization is at stake, and that we +must deal with a recreant Chief.” + +“If you thoroughly realized the situation you’d head for tall timber +and climb a tree and let the organization go smash.” + +“But that would be wrong,” Harkins protested gravely. + +Hall threw up his hands in despair. + +“To make it doubly sure,” the other continued, “I shall immediately +tell the comrades at St. Louis to come on. If Harding fails--” + +“Which he will.” + +“We’ll proceed to San Francisco. In the meantime--” + +“In the meantime, you’ll please run me back to the depot,” Hall +interrupted, glancing at his watch. “There’s a westbound train due. +I’ll meet you in San Francisco, at the St. Francis Hotel, if you don’t +meet the Chief first. If you do meet him first ... well, it’s goodbye +now and for good.” + +Before the train started, Hall had time to write a note to Grunya, +which Harkins was to deliver to her on the train. The note informed her +of her uncle’s continued westward flight and advised her, when she got +to San Francisco, to register at the Fairmount Hotel. + + + + +_Chapter XI_ + + +At Reno, Nevada, a dispatch was delivered to Hall. It was from the +sentimental Denver assassin. + + “Man ground to pieces at Winnemucca. Must be Chief. Return at once. + Members all arriving Denver. We must reorganize.” + +But Hall grinned and remained on his westbound train. The reply he +wired was: + + “Better identify. Did you deliver letter to lady?” + +Three days later, at the St. Francis Hotel, Hall heard again from the +manager of the Denver Bureau. This wire was from Winnemucca, Nevada. + + “My mistake. It was Harding. Chief surely heading for San + Francisco. Inform local branch. Am following. Delivered letter. + Lady remained on train.” + +But no trace of Grunya could Hall find in San Francisco. Nor could +Breen and Alsworthy, the two local members, help him. Hall even went +over to Oakland and ferreted out the sleeping car she had arrived in +and the Negro porter of the car. She had come to San Francisco and +promptly disappeared. + +The assassins began to string in--Hanover of Boston, Haas, the hungry +one with the misplaced heart, Starkington of Chicago, Lucoville of New +Orleans, John Gray of New Orleans, and Harkins of Denver. With the two +San Francisco members there was a total of eight. They were all that +survived in the United States. As was well known to them, Hall did not +count. While Temporary Secretary of the organization, disbursing its +funds and transmitting its telegrams, he was not one of them and his +life was not threatened by the mad leader. + +What convinced Hall that they were all madmen was the uniform kindness +with which they treated him and the confidence they reposed in him. +They knew him to be the original cause of their troubles; they knew he +was bent upon the destruction of the Assassination Bureau and that he +had furnished the fifty thousand dollars for the death of their Chief; +and yet they gave Hall credit for what he considered the rightness +of his conduct and for the particular streak of ethical madness that +simmered somewhere in his make-up and compelled him to play fairly with +them. He did not betray them. He handled their funds honestly; and he +performed satisfactorily all the duties of Temporary Secretary. + +With the exception of Haas, who, despite his achievements in Greek +and Hebrew, was too kin to the tiger in lust to kill, Hall could not +help but like these learned lunatics who had made a fetish of ethics +and who took the lives of fellow humans with the same coolness and +directness of purpose with which they solved problems in mathematics, +made translations of hieroglyphics, or carried through chemical +analyses in the test-tubes of their laboratories. John Gray he liked +most of all. A quiet Englishman, in appearance and carriage a country +squire, John Gray entertained radical ideas concerning the function +of the drama. During the weeks of waiting, when there was no sign of +Dragomiloff or Grunya, Gray and Hall frequented the theatres together, +and to Hall their friendship proved a liberal education. During this +period, Lucoville became immersed in basketry, devoting himself in +particular to the recurrent triple-fish design so common in the baskets +of the Ukiah Indians. Harkins painted water colors, after the Japanese +school, of leaves, mosses, grasses, and ferns. Breen, a bacteriologist, +continued his search of years for the parasite of the corn-worm. +Alsworthy’s hobby was wireless telephony, and he and Breen divided an +attic laboratory between them. And Hanover, an immediate patron of the +city’s libraries, surrounded himself with scientific books and worked +at the fourteenth chapter of a ponderous tome which he had entitled +_Physical Compulsions of the Aesthetics of Color_. He put Hall to sleep +one warm afternoon by reading to him the first and thirteenth chapters. + +The two months of inaction would not have occurred, and the assassins +would have gone back to their home cities, had it not been for the fact +that they were baited to remain by a weekly message from Dragomiloff. +Regularly, each Saturday night, Alsworthy was called up by telephone, +and over the wire heard the unmistakable toneless and colorless +voice of the Chief. He always reiterated the one suggestion that the +surviving members of the Assassination Bureau disband the organization. +Hall, present at one of their councils, seconded the proposition. The +hearing they accorded him was out of courtesy only, for he was not one +of them; and he stood alone in the opinion he expressed. + +As they saw it, there was no possible way by which they could break +their oaths. The rules of the Bureau had never been broken. Even +Dragomiloff had not broken them. In strict accord with the rules he +had accepted Hall’s fee of fifty thousand dollars, judged himself and +his acts as socially hurtful, passed sentence on himself, and selected +Haas to execute the sentence. Who were they, they demanded, that they +should behave less rightly than their Chief? To disband an organization +which they believed socially justifiable would be a monstrous wrong. As +Lucoville said, “It would stultify all morality and place us on the +level of the beasts. Are we beasts?” + +And “No! No! No!” had been the passionate cries of the members. + +“Madmen yourselves,” Hall called them. “As mad as your Chief is mad.” + +“All moralists have been considered mad,” Breen retorted. “Or, to be +precise, have been considered mad by the common ruck of their times. +No moralist, unworthy of contempt, can act contrary to his belief. +All crucifixions and martyrdoms have been gladly accepted by the true +moralists. It was the only way to give power to their teaching. Faith! +That’s it! And, as the slang of the day goes, they delivered the goods. +They had faith in the right they envisioned. What is the life of man +compared with the living truth of the thought of man? A vain thing is +precept without example. Are we preceptors who dare not be exemplars?” + +“No! No! No!” had been the chorus of approbation. + +“We dare not, as true thinkers and right-livers, by thought, much less +by deed, negate the high principles we expound,” said Harkins. + +“Nor can we otherwise climb upwards towards the light,” Hanover added. + +“We are not madmen,” Alsworthy cried. “We are men who see clearly. We +are high priests at the altar of right conduct. As well call our good +friend, Winter Hall, a madman. If truth be mad, and we are touched +by it, is not Winter Hall likewise touched? He has called us ethical +lunatics. What else, then, has his conduct been but ethical lunacy? +Why has he not denounced us to the police? Why does he, holding our +views abhorrent, continue to act as our Secretary? He is not even bound +by solemn contracts as we are. He merely bowed his head and consented +to do the several things requested of him by our recreant Chief. He +belongs to both sides in the present controversy; the Chief trusts +him; we trust him; and he betrays neither one side nor the other. We +know and like him. I, for one, find but two things distasteful in +him: first, his sociology, and, second, his desire to destroy our +organization. But when it comes to ethics he is as like us as a pea in +a pod is to its fellows.” + +“I, too, am touched,” Hall murmured sadly. “I admit it. I confess it. +You are such likable lunatics, and I am so weak, or strong, or foolish, +or wise--I don’t know what--that I cannot break my given word. All the +same, I wish I could bring you fellows to my way of thinking, as I +brought the Chief to my way of thinking.” + +“Oh, but did you?” Lucoville cried. “Why then did the Chief not retire +from the organization?” + +“Because he had accepted the fee I paid for his life,” Hall answered. + +“And for the same reasons precisely are we plighted to take his life,” +Lucoville drove the point home. “Are we less moral than our Chief? +By our compacts, when the Chief accepted the fee we were bound to +carry into execution his agreement with you. It mattered not what +that agreement might be. It chanced to be the Chief’s own death.” He +shrugged his shoulders. “What would you? The Chief must die, else we +are not exemplars of what we believe to be right.” + +“There you go, always harking back to morality,” Hall complained. + +“And why not?” Lucoville concluded grandly. “The world is founded +on morality. Without morality the world would perish. There is a +righteousness in the elements themselves. Destroy morality and you +would destroy gravitation. The very rocks would fly apart. The whole +sidereal system would fume into the unthinkableness of chaos.” + + + + +_Chapter XII_ + + +One evening, at the Poodle Dog Café, Hall waited vainly for John Gray +to join him at dinner. The theatre, as usual, had been planned for +afterwards. But John Gray did not come, and by half past eight Hall +returned to the St. Francis Hotel, under his arm a bundle of current +magazines, intent on early to bed. There was something familiar about +the walk of the woman who preceded him towards the elevator, and, with +a quick intake of breath, he hurried after. + +“Grunya,” he said softly, as the elevator started. + +In one instant she gave him a startled glance from trouble-burdened +eyes, and the next instant she had caught his hand between both of hers +and was clinging to it as if for strength. + +“Oh, Winter,” she breathed. “Is it you? That is why I came to the St. +Francis. I thought I might find you. I need you so. Uncle Sergius is +mad, quite mad. He ordered me to pack up for a long journey. We sail +tomorrow. He compelled me to leave the house and to come to a downtown +hotel, promising to join me later, or to join me on the steamer +tomorrow morning. I engaged rooms for him. But something is going to +happen. He has some terrible plan in mind, I know. He--” + +“What floor, sir?” the elevator operator interrupted. + +“Go down again,” Hall ordered, for there was no one else in the car. + +“Wait,” he cautioned. “We will go to the Palm Room and talk.” + +“No, no,” she cried. “Let us get out on the street. I want to walk. +I want fresh air. I want to be able to think. Do you think I am mad, +Winter? Look at me. Do I look it?” + +“Hush,” he commanded, pressing her arm. “Wait. We will talk it over. +Wait.” + +It was patent that she was in a state of high excitement, and her +effort to control herself on the down-trip of the elevator was +successful but pitiful. + +“Why didn’t you communicate with me?” he asked, when they had gained +the sidewalk and were walking to the corner of Powell, where he +intended directing their course across Union Square. “What became of +you when you reached San Francisco? You received my message at Denver. +Why didn’t you come to the St. Francis?” + +“I haven’t time to tell you,” she hurried on. “My head is bursting. I +don’t know what to believe. It seems all a dream. Such things are not +possible. Uncle’s mind is deranged. Sometimes I am absolutely sure +there is no such things as the Assassination Bureau. It is an imagining +of Uncle Sergius. You, too, have imagined it. This is the twentieth +century. Such an awful thing cannot be. I ... I sometimes wonder if +I have had typhoid fever, or if I am not even now in the delirium of +fever, with nurses and doctors around me, raving all this nightmare +myself. Tell me, tell me, are you, too, a sprite of fantasy--a vision +of a disease-stricken brain?” + +“No,” he said gravely and slowly. “You are awake and well. You are +yourself. You are now crossing Powell Street with me. The pavement is +slippery. Do you not feel it underfoot? See those tire chains on that +motorcar. Your arm is in mine. This is a real fog drifting across +from the Pacific. Those are real people on yonder benches. You see +this beggar, asking me for money. He is real. See, I give him a real +half-dollar. He will most likely spend it on real whiskey. I smelled +his breath. Did you? It was real, I assure you, very real. And we are +real. Please grasp that. Now, what is your trouble? Tell me all.” + +“Is there truly an organization of assassins?” + +“Yes,” he answered. + +“How do you know? Is it not mere conjecture? May you not be inoculated +with uncle’s madness?” + +Hall shook his head sadly. “I wish I were. Unfortunately, I know +otherwise.” + +“How do you know?” she cried, pressing the fingers of her free hand +wildly to her temple. + +“Because I am Temporary Secretary of the Assassination Bureau.” + +She recoiled from him, half withdrawing her arm from his and being +restrained only by a reassuring pressure on his part. + +“You are one of the band of murderers that is trying to kill Uncle +Sergius!” + +“No; I am not one of the band. I merely have charge of its funds. Has +you--er--your Uncle Sergius told you anything about the--er--the band?” + +“Oh, endless ravings. He is so deranged that he believes that he +organized it.” + +“He did,” Hall said firmly. “He is crazy, there is no doubt of that; +but nevertheless he made the Assassination Bureau and directed it.” + +Again she recoiled and strove to withdraw her arm. + +“And will you next admit that it is you who paid the Bureau fifty +thousand dollars in advance for his death?” she demanded. + +“It is true. I admit it.” + +“How could you?” she moaned. + +“Listen, Grunya, dear,” he begged. “You have not heard all. You do +not understand. At the time I paid the fee I did not know he was your +father--” + +He broke off abruptly, appalled at the slip he had made. + +“Yes,” she said, with growing calmness, “he told me he was my father, +too. I took it for so much raving. Go on.” + +“Well, then, I did not know he was your father; nor did I know he was +insane. Afterwards, when I learned, I pleaded with him. But he is mad. +So are they all, all mad. And he is up to some new madness right now. +You dread that something is going to happen. Tell me what are your +suspicions. We may be able to prevent it.” + +“Listen!” She pressed close to him and spoke quickly in a low, +controlled voice. “There is much explanation needed from both of us +and to both of us. But first to the danger. When I arrived in San +Francisco, why I do not know save that I had a presentiment, I went +first to the morgue, then I made the round of the hospitals. And I +found him, in the German Hospital, with two severe knife wounds. He +told me he had received them from one of the assassins...” + +“A man named Harding,” Hall interrupted and guessed. “It happened up on +the Nevada desert, near Winnemucca, on a railroad train.” + +“Yes, yes; that is the name. That is what he said.” + +“You see how everything dovetails,” Hall urged. “There may be a great +deal of madness in it, but the madness even is real, and you and I, at +any rate, are sane.” + +“Yes, but let me hurry on.” She pressed his arm with renewed +confidence. “Oh, we have so much to tell each other. Uncle swears by +you. But that is not what I want to say. I rented a furnished house, +on the tip-top of Rincon Hill, and as soon as the doctors permitted, I +moved Uncle Sergius to it. We’ve been keeping house there for the last +few weeks. Uncle is entirely recovered--or Father, rather. He _is_ my +father. I believe that now, for it seems I must believe everything. +And I shall believe ... unless I wake up and find it all a nightmare. +Now Un--Father has been tinkering about the house the last few days. +Today, with everything packed for our voyage to Honolulu, he sent the +luggage aboard the steamer, and sent me to a hotel. Now I know nothing +about explosives, save glints and glimmerings from my reading; but +just the same I know he has mined the house. He has dug up the cellar. +He has opened the walls of the big living room and closed them again. +I know he has run wires behind the partitions, and I know that today +he was making things ready to run a wire from the house to a clump of +shrubbery in the grounds near the gateway. Possibly you may guess what +he plans to do.” + +Hall was just remembering John Gray’s failure to keep the theatre +engagement. + +“Something is to happen there tonight,” Grunya went on. “Uncle intends +to join me later tonight at the St. Francis, or tomorrow morning on the +steamer. In the meantime--” + +But Hall, having reasoned his way to action, was urging her by the +arm, back out of the park to the corner where stood the waiting row of +taxicabs. + +“In the meantime,” he told her, “we must rush to Rincon Hill. He is +going to kill them. We must prevent it.” + +“If only he isn’t killed,” she murmured. “The cowards! The cowards!” + +“Pardon me, dear, but they are not cowards. They are brave men, and +they are the most likable chaps, if a bit peculiar, under the sun. To +know them is to love them. There has been too much killing already.” + +“They want to kill my father.” + +“And he wants to kill them,” Hall retorted. “Don’t forget that. And +it is by his order. He is as mad as a hatter, and they are precisely +as mad as so many more hatters. Come! Quick, please! Quick! They are +assembling there now in the mined house. We may save them--or him, who +knows?” + +“Rincon Hill--time is money--you know what that means,” he said to the +taxi driver, as he helped Grunya in. “Come on, now! Burn up that juice! +Rip up the pavement, anything you want, as long as you get us there!” + +Rincon Hill, once the aristocratic residence district of San Francisco, +lifts its head of decayed gentility from out of the muck and ruck of +the great labor ghetto that spreads away south of Market Street. At +the foot of the hill, Hall paid off the cab, and he and Grunya began +the easy climb. Though it was still early in the evening, no more than +half past nine, few persons were afoot. Chancing to glance back, Hall +saw a familiar form pass across the circle of light shed by a street +lamp. He drew Grunya into the house shadows of the side street and +waited, and in a few minutes was rewarded by seeing Haas go by, walking +in his peculiar, effortless, cat-like way. They continued on, half a +block behind him, and when, at the crest of the hill, under the light +from the next street lamp, they saw him vault a low, old-fashioned iron +fence, Grunya nudged Hall’s arm significantly. + +“That is the house, our house,” she whispered. “Watch him. Little he +dreams he is going to his death.” + +“Little I dream he is either,” Hall whispered back skeptically. “In my +opinion Mr. Haas is a very difficult specimen to kill.” + +“Uncle Sergius is very careful. I have never known him to blunder. He +has arranged everything, and when your Mr. Haas goes through that +front door--” + +She broke off. Hall had gripped her arm savagely. + +“He’s not going through that front door, Grunya. Watch him. He’s +prowling to the rear.” + +“There is no rear,” she said. “The hill falls away in a bulkhead down +to the next back yard, forty feet below. He’ll prowl back to the front. +The garden is very small.” + +“He’s up to something,” Hall muttered, as the dark form came in sight +again. “Ah ha! Mr. Haas! You’re the wily one! See, Grunya, he’s crawled +into that shrubbery by the gate. Is that where the wire was run?” + +“Yes; it’s the only thick clump of shrubbery a man can hide in. Here +comes somebody. I wonder if it’s another of the assassins.” + +Not waiting, Hall and Grunya walked on past the house to the next +corner. The man who had come from the other direction turned into +Dragomiloff’s house and walked up the steps to the door. They heard it, +after a momentary delay, open and shut. + +Grunya insisted on accompanying Hall. It was her house, she said, and +she knew every inch of it. Besides, she still had the pass-key, and it +would not be necessary to ring. + +The front hall was lighted, so that the house number showed plainly, +and they walked boldly past the bushes that concealed Haas, unlocked +the front door, and entered. Hall hung his hat on the rack and pulled +off his gloves. From the door to the right came a murmur of voices. +They paused outside to listen. + +“Beauty _is_ a compulsion,” they heard one voice master the +conversation. + +“That’s Hanover, the Boston associate,” Hall whispered. + +“Beauty is absolute,” the voice went on. “Human life, all life, has +been bent to beauty. It is not a case of paradoxical adaptation. +Beauty was not bent to life. Beauty was in the universe when man was +not. Beauty will remain in the universe when man has vanished and again +is not. Beauty is--well, it is beauty, that is all, the first word and +the last, and it does not depend upon little maggoty men a-crawl in the +slime.” + +“Metaphysics,” they could hear Lucoville sneer. “Pure illusory +metaphysics, my dear Hanover. When a man begins to label as absolute +the transient phenomena of an ephemeral evolution--” + +“Metaphysician yourself,” they heard Hanover interrupt. “You would +contend that nothing exists save in consciousness, that when +consciousness is destroyed, beauty is destroyed, that the thing +itself, the vital principle to which developing life has been bent, +is destroyed. When we know, all of us, and you should know it, that +it is the principle only that persists. As Spencer has well said of +the eternal flux of force and matter, with its alternate rhythm of +evolution and dissolution, ‘ever the same in principle but never the +same in concrete result.’” + +“New norms, new norms,” Lucoville blurted in. “New norms ever appearing +in successive and dissimilar evolutions.” + +“The norm itself!” Hanover cried triumphantly. “Have you considered +that? You, yourself, have just asserted that the norm persists. +What then, is the norm? It is the eternal, the absolute, the +outside-of-consciousness, the father and the mother of consciousness.” + +“A moment,” Lucoville cried excitedly. + +“Bah!” Hanover went on with true scholarly dogmatism. “You +attempt to resurrect the old exploded, Berkeleyan idealism. +Metaphysics--generations behind the times. The modern school, as you +ought to know, insists that the thing exists of itself. Consciousness, +seeing and perceiving the thing, is a mere accident. ’Tis you, my dear +Lucoville, who are the metaphysician.” + +There was a clapping of hands and rumble of approval. + +“Hoist by your own petard,” they heard one mellow voice cry in an +unmistakable English accent. + +“John Gray,” Hall whispered to Grunya. “If the theatre were not so +hopelessly commercialized, he would revolutionize the whole of it.” + +“Logomachy,” they heard Lucoville begin his reply. “Word-mongering, +tricks of speech, a shuffling of words and ideas. If you chaps will +give me ten minutes, I’ll expound my position.” + +“Behold!” Hall whispered. “Our amiable assassins, adorable +philosophers. Now, would you rather believe them madmen than cruel and +brutal murderers?” + +Grunya shrugged her shoulders. “They may bend beauty any way they +please, but I cannot forget that they are bent on killing Uncle +Sergius--my father.” + +“But don’t you see? They are obsessed by ideas. They take no count of +mere human life--not even of their own. They are in slavery to thought. +They live in a world of ideas.” + +“At fifty thousand per,” she retorted. + +It was his turn to shrug his shoulders. + +“Come,” he said. “Let us enter. No, I’ll go first.” + +He turned the door handle and went in, followed by Grunya. The +conversation stopped abruptly, and seven men, seated comfortably about +the room, stared at the two intruders. + +“Look here, Hall,” Harkins said with evident irritation. “You were to +be kept out of this. And we kept you out. Yet here you are, and with +a--pardon me--a stranger.” + +“And if it had depended on you fellows, I should have been kept out,” +Hall answered. “Why so secret?” + +“It was the Chief’s orders. He invited us here. And since we obeyed his +instructions and didn’t let you in on it, our only conclusion is that +it is he who let you in.” + +“No he didn’t,” Hall laughed. “And you might as well ask us to be +seated. This, gentlemen, is Miss Constantine. Miss Constantine, Mr. +Gray; Mr. Harkins; Mr. Lucoville; Mr. Breen; Mr. Alsworthy; Mr. +Starkington; and Mr. Hanover--with the one exception of Mr. Haas, the +surviving members of the Assassination Bureau.” + +“This is broken faith!” Lucoville cried angrily. “Hall, I am +disappointed!” + +“You do not understand, friend Lucoville. This is Miss Constantine’s +house. In the absence of her father you are her guests, all of you.” + +“We were given to understand it was Dragomiloff’s house,” Starkington +said. “He told us so. We came separately, yet, since we all arrived +here we can only conclude that there was no mistake of street and +number.” + +“It is the same thing,” Hall replied, with a quiet smile. “Miss +Constantine is Dragomiloff’s daughter.” + +On the instant Grunya and Hall were surrounded by the others, and hands +were held out to her. Her own hand she put behind her, at the same time +taking a backward step. + +“You want to kill my father,” she said to Lucoville. “It is impossible +that I should take your hand.” + +“Here, this chair; be seated, dear lady,” Lucoville was saying, +assisted by Starkington and Gray in bringing the chair to her. “We are +highly honored--the daughter of our Chief--we did not know he had a +daughter--she is welcome--any daughter of our Chief is welcome--” + +“But you want to kill him,” she continued her objection. “You are +murderers.” + +“We are friends, believe me. We represent an amity that is higher and +deeper than life and death. Dear lady, human life is nothing--less than +a bagatelle. Life! Why, our lives are mere pawns in the game of social +evolution. We admire your father, we respect him; he is a great man. He +is--or, rather, he was--our Chief.” + +“Yet you want to kill him,” she persisted. + +“And by his orders. Be seated, please.” Lucoville succeeded in his +attentions, insofar as she sank down in the chair. “This friend of +yours, Mr. Hall,” he went on. “You do not refuse him as a friend. +You do not call him a murderer. Yet it was he who deposited the +fifty-thousand-dollar fee for your father’s life. You see, dear lady, +already he has half destroyed our organization. Yet we do not hold it +against him. He is our friend. We honor him because we know him to +be a man, an honest man, a man of his word, an ethicist of no mean +dimensions.” + +“Isn’t it wonderful, Miss Constantine!” Hanover broke in ecstatically. +“Amity that makes death cheap! The rule of right! The worship of right! +Does it not make one hope? Think of it! It proves that the future is +ours; that the future belongs to the right-thinking, right-acting man +and woman; that such fierce, feeble stirrings and animal yearnings of +the beastly clay, love of self and love of kindred flesh and blood, +vanish away as dawn mist before the sun of the higher righteousness! +Reason--and, mark me, _right reason_--triumphs! All the human world, +some day, will comport itself, not according to the flesh and the +abysmal mire, but according to high right reason!” + +Grunya bowed her head and threw up her arms in admission of befuddled +despair. + +“You can’t resist them, eh?” Hall exulted, bending over her. + +“It is the chaos of super-thinking,” she said helplessly. “It is ethics +gone mad.” + +“So I told you,” he answered. “They are all mad, as your father is +mad, as you and I are mad insofar as we are touched by their thinking. +And now what do you think of our lovable assassins?” + +“Yes, what do you think of us?” Hanover beamed over the top of his +spectacles. + +“All I can say,” she replied, “is that you don’t look like it--like +assassins, I mean. As for you, Mr. Lucoville, I will take your hand, I +will take the hands of all of you, if you will promise to give up this +attempt to kill my father.” + +“You have a long way, Miss Constantine, to climb upwards to the light,” +Hanover chided regretfully. + +“Kill? Kill?” Lucoville queried excitedly. “Why this fear of killing? +Death is nothing. Only the beasts, the creatures of the mire, fear +death. My dear lady, we are beyond death. We are full-statured +intelligences, knowing good and evil. It is no more difficult for us to +be killed than it is for us to kill. Killing--why, it occurs in every +slaughterhouse and meat-canning establishment in the land. It is so +common that it is almost vulgar.” + +“Who has not swatted a mosquito?” Starkington shouted. “With one fell +swoop of a meat-nourished, death-nourished hand smashed to destruction +a most wonderful, sentient, and dazzling flying mechanism? If there be +tragedy in death--think of the mosquito, the squashed mosquito, the +airy fairy miracle of flight disrupted and crushed as no aviator has +ever been disrupted and crushed, not even MacDonald who fell fifteen +thousand feet. Have you ever studied the mosquito, Miss Constantine? +It will repay you. Why, the mosquito is just as wonderful, in the +phenomena of living matter, as man is wonderful.” + +“But there _is_ a difference,” Gray put in. + +“I was coming to that. And what is the difference? Swat the mosquito.” +He paused for emphasis. “Well, he is swatted, isn’t he? And that is +all. He is finished. The memory of him is not. But swat a man--by +entire generations swat man--and something is left. What is it that is +left? Not a peripatetic organism, not a hungry stomach, a bald head, +and a mouthful of aching teeth, but thoughts--royal, kingly thoughts. +That’s the difference. Thoughts! High thoughts! Right thoughts! +Reasoned righteousness!” + +“Hold!” Hanover shouted, in his excitement springing to his feet and +waving his arms. “Swat--and I accept your word, Starkington, crude +though it is, but expressive. Swat--and I warn you, Starkington--swat +as much as the tiniest pigment cell of the diaphanous gauze of a +new-hatched mosquito’s wing, and the totality of the universe is jarred +from its central suns to the stars beyond the stars. Do not forget +there is a cosmic righteousness in that pigment cell and in the last +atom of the billion atoms that go to compose that pigment cell, and in +every one of the countless myriads of corpuscles that go to compose one +of those billion atoms.” + +“Listen, gentlemen,” Grunya said. “What are you here for? I do not mean +in the universe, but here in this house. I accept all that Mr. Hanover +has so eloquently said of the pigment cell of the mosquito’s wing. It +is evidently not right to--to swat a mosquito. Then, how in the name +of sanity can you reconcile your presence here, bent as you are on a +red-handed murder, with the ethics you have just expounded?” + +An uproar of reconciliation arose from every mouth. + +“Hey! Shut up!” Hall bellowed at them, then turned to the girl and +commanded peremptorily, “Grunya, stop it. You’re getting touched. In +five minutes you’ll be as bad as they are. A truce to argument, you +fellows. Cut it out. Forget it. Let’s get down to business. Where is +the Chief, Miss Constantine’s father? You say he told you to come here. +Why have you come here? To kill him?” + +Hanover wiped his forehead, collapsed from his passion of thought, and +nodded. + +“That is our reasoned intention,” he said calmly. “Of course, the +presence of Miss Constantine is embarrassing. I fear we shall have to +ask her to withdraw.” + +“You are a brute, sir,” she gravely assured the mild-mannered scholar. +“I shall remain right here. And you won’t kill my father. I tell you, +you won’t.” + +“Why isn’t the Chief here, then?” Hall inquired. + +“Because it is not yet time. He telephoned to us, talked with us +himself, and he said he would meet us here in this room at ten o’clock. +It is almost ten now.” + +“Maybe he won’t come,” Hall suggested. + +“He gave his word,” was the simple but quite convincing answer. + +Hall looked at his watch. It marked a few seconds before ten. And ere +those seconds had ticked off, the door opened and Dragomiloff, blond +and colorless, clad in a gray traveling suit, stepped in, passing a +glance over the assemblage from silken eyes of the palest blue. + +“Greetings, dear friends and brothers,” he said in his monotonously +even voice. “I see you are all here, with the exception of Haas. Where +is Haas?” + +The assassins who could not lie stared at one another in awkward +confusion. + +“Where is Haas?” Dragomiloff repeated. + +“We--ah--we don’t know exactly, that is it, exactly,” Harkins began +haltingly. + +“Well, I do, and exactly,” Dragomiloff chopped him short. “I watched +you arrive from the upstairs window. I recognized all of you. Haas +also arrived. He is now lying in the shrubbery inside the gate on the +right-hand side of the walk, and exactly four feet and four inches +from the lower hinge of the gate. I measured it the other day. Do you +think that was what I intended?” + +“We did not care to anticipate your intentions, dear Chief,” Hanover +spoke up benignly, but with logical emphasis. “We debated your +invitation and your instructions carefully, and it was our unanimous +conclusion that we committed no breach of word or faith in assigning +Haas to his position outside. Do you remember your instructions?” + +“Perfectly,” Dragomiloff assented. “Wait till I go over them to +myself.” For a half-minute of silence he reviewed his instructions, +then his face thawed into almost a beam of satisfaction. “You are +correct,” he announced. “You have committed no breach of right conduct. +And now, dear comrades, all our plans are destroyed by this intrusion +of my daughter and of the man who is your Temporary Secretary and who I +hope some day will be my son-in-law.” + +“What was the aim of your plan?” Starkington asked quickly. + +“To destroy you,” Dragomiloff laughed. “And the aim of your plan was?” + +“To destroy you,” Starkington admitted. “And destroy you we will. +We regret Miss Constantine’s presence, as we likewise do Mr. Hall’s +presence. They came uninvited. They can, of course, withdraw.” + +“I won’t!” Grunya cried out. “You cold-blooded, inhuman, mathematical +monsters! This is my father, and I may be abysmal mire, or anything +else you please, but I will not withdraw, and you shall not harm him.” + +“You must meet me halfway in this,” Dragomiloff urged. “Let us consider +this once that we have failed on both sides. Let me propose a truce.” + +“Very well,” Starkington conceded. “A truce for five minutes, during +which time no overt act may be attempted and no one may leave the +room. We should like to confer together over there by the piano. Is it +agreed?” + +“Yes, certainly. But first you will please notice where I am standing. +My hand is resting against this particular book in this bookcase. I +shall not move until you have decided on what course you intend to +pursue.” + +The assassins drew to the far end of the room and began talking in +whispers. + +“Come,” Grunya whispered to her father. “You have but to step through +the door and escape.” + +Dragomiloff smiled forgivingly. “You do not understand,” he said with +gentleness. + +She clenched her hands passionately, crying, “You are as insane as +they.” + +“But Grunya, love,” he pleaded, “is it not a beautiful insanity--if you +prefer the misnomer? Here thought rules and right rules. It would seem +to me the highest rationality and control. What distinguishes man from +the lower animals is control. Witness this scene. There stand seven +men intent on killing me. Here I stand intent on killing them. Yet, by +the miracle of the spoken word we agree to a truce. We trust. It is a +beautiful example of high moral inhibition.” + +“Every hermit, on top of a pillar or living with the snakes in a cliff +cave, has been a beautiful example of such inhibition,” she came back +impatiently. “The inhibitions practiced in the asylums are often very +remarkable.” + +But Dragomiloff refused to be drawn, and smiled and joked until the +assassins returned. As before, Starkington was the spokesman. + +“We have decided,” he said, “that it is our duty to kill you, dear +Chief. There is still a minute to run. When it is gone we shall proceed +to our work. Also, in that interval, we again request our two unbidden +guests to withdraw.” + +Grunya shook her head positively. “I am armed,” she threatened, drawing +a small automatic pistol and displaying her inexperience by not +pressing down the safety catch. + +“It’s too bad,” Starkington apologized. “But we shall have to go on +with our work just the same.” + +“If nothing unforeseen prevents?” Dragomiloff suggested. + +Starkington glanced at his comrades, who nodded, then said, “Certainly, +unless nothing unforeseen--” + +“And here is the unforeseen,” Dragomiloff interrupted quietly. “You see +my hands, my dear Starkington. They bear no weapons. Forbear a minute. +You see the book against which my left hand rests. Behind that book, at +the back of the case, is a push-button. One firm thrust in of the book +presses the button. The room is a magazine of dynamite. Need I explain +more? Draw aside that rug on which you are standing--that’s right. Now +carefully lift up that loose board. See the sticks lying side by side. +They’re all connected.” + +“Most interesting,” Hanover murmured, peering down at the dynamite +through his spectacles. “Death so simply achieved! A violent chemical +reaction, I believe. Some day, when I can spare the time, I shall make +a study of explosives.” + +And in that moment, Hall and Grunya realized that the +philosopher-assassins were truly not afraid of death. As they claimed +for themselves, they were not burdened by the flesh. Love of life did +not yearn through their mental processes. All they knew was the love of +thought. + +“We did not guess this,” Gray assured Dragomiloff. “But we apprehended +what we did not guess. That is why we stationed Haas outside. You +could escape us, but not him.” + +“Which reminds me, comrades,” Dragomiloff said. “I ran another wire +to the spot in the grounds where Haas is now lurking. Let us hope he +does not blunder upon my button I concealed there, else we’ll all go up +along with our theories. Suppose one of you goes and brings him in to +join us. And while we’re about it, let us agree to another truce. Under +the present circumstances, your hands are tied.” + +“Seven lives for one,” said Harkins. “Mathematically it is repulsive.” + +“It is poor economics,” Breen agreed. + +“And suppose,” Dragomiloff continued, “we make the truce till one +o’clock and you all come and have supper with me.” + +“If Haas agrees,” Alsworthy said. “I am going to get him now.” + +Haas agreed and, like any party of friends, they left the house +together and caught an electric car for uptown. + + + + +_Chapter XIII_ + + +In a private room at the Poodle Dog, the eight assassins and +Dragomiloff, Hall, and Grunya sat at table. And a merry, almost +convivial supper it was, despite the fact that Harkins and Hanover +were vegetarians, that Lucoville eschewed all cooked food and munched +bovinely at a great plate of lettuce, raw turnips, and carrots, and +that Alsworthy began, kept up, and finished with nuts, raisins, and +bananas. On the other hand, Breen, who looked a dyspeptic, orgied with +a thick, raw steak and shuddered at the suggestion of wine. Dragomiloff +and Haas drank thin native claret, while Hall, Gray, and Grunya shared +a pint of light Rhine wine. Starkington, however, began with two +Martini cocktails, and ever and again, throughout the meal, buried his +face in a huge stein of Würzburger. + +The talk was outspoken, though the feeling displayed was comradely and +affectionate. + +“We’d have got you,” Starkington told Dragomiloff, “if it hadn’t been +for the inopportune arrival of your daughter.” + +“My dear Starkington,” Dragomiloff retorted. “It was she who saved you. +I’d have bagged the seven of you.” + +“No you wouldn’t,” Breen joined in. “As I understand, the wire led to +the bushes where Haas was hiding.” + +“His being there was an accident, a mere accident,” Dragomiloff +answered lightly enough, yet unable to conceal that he was somewhat +crestfallen. + +“Since when has the fortuitous been discarded from the factors of +evolution?” Hanover began learnedly. + +“You’d never have touched it off, Chief,” Haas was saying at the same +time that Lucoville was demanding of Hanover, “Since when was the +fortuitous ever classed as a factor?” + +“Possibly your disagreement is merely of definition,” Hall said +pacifically. “That asparagus is tinned, Hanover. Did you know that?” + +Hanover forgot the argument, and sat back aghast. “And I never eat +tinned stuff of any sort! Are you sure, Hall? Are you sure?” + +“Ask the waiter. He’ll tell you the same.” + +“It’s all right, dear Haas,” Dragomiloff was saying. “The next time +I’ll surely touch it off, and you won’t be in the way. You’ll be at the +other end of the wire.” + +“Oh, I cannot understand, I cannot understand,” Grunya cried. “It seems +a joke. It can’t be real. Here you are, all good friends, eating and +drinking together and affectionately telling how you intend killing one +another.” She turned to Hall. “Wake me up, Winter. This is a dream.” + +“I wish it were.” + +She turned to Dragomiloff. “Oh, Uncle Sergius, wake me up!” + +“You are awake, Grunya, love.” + +“Then if I’m awake,” she went on, firmly, almost angrily, “it is you +who are the somnambulists. Wake up! Oh, wake up! I wish an earthquake +would come, anything, if it would only rouse you. Father, you can do +it. Withdraw that order for your death which you yourself gave.” + +“But don’t you see, he can’t,” Starkington told her across the corner +of the table. + +Dragomiloff, at the other end of the table, shook his head. “You would +not have me break my word, Grunya?” + +“I’m not afraid to break--anything!” Hall interrupted. “The order +started with me. I withdraw it. Return my fifty thousand, or spend +it on charity. I don’t care. The point is, I don’t want Dragomiloff +killed.” + +“You forget yourself,” Haas reminded him. “You are merely a client of +the Bureau. And when you engaged the service of the Bureau, you agreed +to certain things. The Bureau likewise agreed to certain things. You +may wish to break your agreement, but it has passed beyond you. The +affair is in the hands of the Bureau, and the Bureau does not break +its agreements. It never has broken them and it never will. If there +be not absolute faith in the given word, if the given word be not as +unbreakable as the tie-ribs of earth, then there is no hope in life, +and creation crashes to chaos because of its intrinsic falsity. We deny +this falsity. We prove it by our acts that clinch the finality of the +given word. Am I right, comrades?” + +Approval was unanimous, and Dragomiloff, half rising from his chair, +reached across and grasped the hand of Haas. For once Dragomiloff’s +undeviating, monotonous voice was touched with the emphasis of feeling +as he proclaimed proudly: + +“The hope of the world! The higher race! The top of evolution! The +right-rulers and king-thinkers! The realization of all dreams and +aspirings; the slime crawled upward to the light; the touch and the +promise of Godhead come true!” + +Hanover left his seat and threw his arms about the Chief in an ecstasy +of intellectual admiration and fellowship. Grunya and Hall looked at +each other despairingly. + +“King-thinkers,” he murmured helplessly. + +“The asylums are filled with king-thinkers,” was her angry comment. + +“Logic!” he sneered. + +“I, too, shall write a book,” she added. “It shall be entitled _The +Logic of Lunacy, or, Why Thinkers Go Mad_.” + +“Never has our logic been better vindicated,” Starkington said to her, +as the jubilation of the king-thinkers eased down. + +“You do violence with your logic,” Grunya flung back. “I will prove it +to you--” + +“By logic?” Gray interpolated quickly and raised a general laugh, in +which Grunya could not help but join. + +Hall lifted his hand solemnly for a hearing. + +“We have yet to debate how many angels can dance on the point of a +needle.” + +“Shame on you!” Lucoville cried. “That is antediluvian. We are +scholars, not scholastics--” + +“And you can prove it,” Grunya stabbed across, “as easily as you can +the angels and the needle and everything else.” + +“If ever I get out of this mix-up with you fellows,” Hall declared, “I +shall forswear logic. Never again!” + +“A confession of intellectual fatigue,” Lucoville argued. + +“Only he does not mean it,” Harkins put in. “He can’t help being +logical. It is his heritage--the heritage of man. It distinguishes man +from the lesser--” + +“Hold!” Hanover broke in. “You forget that the universe is founded on +logic. Without logic the universe could not be. In every fibre of it +logic resides. There is logic in the molecule, in the atom, in the +electron. I have a monograph, here in my pocket, which I shall read to +you. I have called it ‘Electronic Logic.’ It--” + +“Here is the waiter,” Hall interrupted wickedly. “He says of course +that the asparagus was tinned.” + +Hanover ceased fumbling in his pocket in order to vent a tirade against +the waiter and the management of the Poodle Dog. + +“That was not logical,” Hall smiled, when the waiter had left the room. + +“And why not, pray?” Hanover asked, with a touch of asperity. + +“Because it is not the season for fresh asparagus.” + +Ere Hanover could recover from this, Breen began on him. + +“You said earlier this evening, Hanover, that you were interested in +explosives. Let me show you the quintessence of universal logic--the +irrefragable logic of the elements, the logic of chemistry, the +logic of mechanics, and the logic of time, all indissolubly welded +together into one of the prettiest devices ever mortal mind conceived. +So thoroughly do I agree with you, that I shall now show you the +unreasoned logic of the stuff of the universe.” + +“Why unreasoned?” Hanover queried faintly, shuddering at the uneaten +asparagus. “Do you think the electron incapable of reason?” + +“I don’t know. I never saw an electron. But for the sake of the +argument, let us suppose it does reason. Anyway, as you’ll agree, it’s +the keenest logic, the absolutest and most unswervable logic you’ve +ever seen. Look at that.” Breen had gone to where his overcoat hung on +the wall and drawn out a flat oblong package. This, when unwrapped, +resembled a folding pocket camera of medium size. He held it up with +eyes sparkling with admiration. “By George, Hanover!” he exclaimed. +“I think you are right. Look at it!--The eloquent-voiced, the subduer +of jarring tongues and warring creeds, the ultimate arbiter. It +enunciates the final word. When it speaks, kings and emperors, grafters +and falsifiers, the Scribes and Pharisees and all wrong-thinkers remain +silent--forever remain silent.” + +“Let it speak,” Haas grinned. “Maybe it will silence Hanover.” + +The laughter died away as they saw Breen, the object poised in his +hand, visibly thinking. And in the silence they saw him achieve his +concept of action. + +“Very well,” he said. “It shall speak.” He drew from his vest pocket an +ordinary-looking, gun-metal watch. “It is an alarm watch,” he went on, +“seventeen-jeweled movement, Swiss-Elgin works. Let me see. It is now +midnight. Our truce”--he bowed to Dragomiloff--“expires at one o’clock. +See, I set it for precisely one minute after one.” He pointed to an +opening in the camera-like object. “Behold this slot. It is specially +devised to receive this watch--mark me, I say, specially devised. I +insert the watch, thus. Did you hear that metallic click? That is +the automatic locking device. No power can now remove that watch. I +cannot. The decree has gone forth. It cannot be recalled. All this is +of my devising save for the voice itself. The voice is the voice of +Nakatodaka, the great Japanese who died last year.” + +“A phonograph record,” Hanover complained. “I thought you said +something about explosives.” + +“The voice of Nakatodaka is an explosive,” Breen expounded. +“Nakatodaka, if you will remember, was killed in his laboratory by his +own voice.” + +“Formose!” Haas said, nodding his head. “I remember now.” + +“So do I,” Hall told Grunya. “Nakatodaka was a great chemist.” + +“But I understand the secret died with him,” Starkington said. + +“So the world understood,” was Breen’s reply. “But the formula was +found by the Japanese government and stolen from the War Office by +a revolutionist.” His voice swelled with pride. “This is the first +Formose ever manufactured on American soil. I manufactured it.” + +“Heavens!” Grunya cried. “And when it goes off it will blow us all up!” + +Breen nodded with intense gratification. + +“If you remain it will,” he said. “The people in this neighborhood will +think it an earthquake or another anarchist outrage.” + +“Stop it!” she commanded. + +“I can’t. That’s the beauty of it. As I told Hanover, it is the logic +of chemistry, the logic of mechanics, and the logic of time, all +indissolubly welded together. There is no power in the universe that +can now break that weld. Any attempt would merely precipitate the +explosion.” + +Grunya caught Hall’s hand as she stared at him in her helplessness, but +Hanover, fluttering and hovering about the infernal machine, peering at +it delightedly through his spectacles, was off in another ecstasy. + +“Wonderful! Wonderful! Breen, I congratulate you. We shall now be able +to settle the affairs of nations and put the world on a higher, nobler +basis. Hebrew is a diversion. This is an efficiency. I shall certainly +devote myself to the study of explosives ... Lucoville, you are +refuted. There _is_ morality in the elements, and reason, and logic.” + +“You forget, my dear Hanover,” Lucoville replied, “that behind this +mechanism and chemistry and abstraction of time is the mind of man, +devising, controlling, utilizing--” + +But he was interrupted by Hall, who had shoved his chair back and +sprung to his feet. + +“You lunatics! You sit there like a lot of clams! Don’t you realize +that that damned thing is going to go off?” + +“Not until one after one,” Hanover mildly assured him. “Besides, Breen +has not yet told us his intentions.” + +“The mind of man behind and informing unconscious matter and blind +force,” Lucoville gibed. + +Starkington leaned across to Hall and said in an undertone, “Transport +this scene to a stage setting with a Wall Street audience! There’d be a +panic.” + +But Hall shook the interruption aside. + +“Look here, Breen, just what is your intention? I, for one, and Miss +Constantine, are going to get out, now, at once.” + +“There is plenty of time,” replied the custodian of Nakatodaka’s voice. +“I’ll tell you my intention. The truce expires at one. I am between +our dear Chief and the door. He can’t go though the walls. I guard the +door. The rest of you may depart. But I remain here with him. The blow +is sped. Nothing can stop it. One minute after the truce is up the last +commission accepted by the Bureau will have been accomplished. Pardon +me, dear Chief, one moment. I have told you that even I cannot stop the +process now at work in that mechanism. But I can expedite it. You see +my thumb, lightly resting in this depression? It just barely brushes a +button. One press of the thumb, and the machine immediately explodes. +Now, as an honorable and logical man and comrade, you can see that any +attempt of yours to get out of this door will blow all of us up, your +daughter and the Temporary Secretary as well. Therefore you will remain +in your seat. Hanover, the formula is safe. I shall remain here and +die with the Chief at one minute after one. You will find the formula +in the top drawer of the filing cabinet in my bedroom.” + +“Do something!” Grunya entreated Hall. “You must do something.” + +Hall, who had sat down, again stood up, moving the wineglass to one +side as he rested one hand on the table. + +“Gentlemen.” He spoke in a quiet voice, but one which immediately +gained him the respectful attention of the others. “Until now, despite +my abhorrence of killing, I have felt bound to respect the ideals that +directed your actions. Now, however, I must question your motives.” + +He turned to Breen, who was watching him carefully. + +“Tell me,” Hall pursued, “do you feel that you, personally, merit +extinction? If you give your life in order to assassinate your Chief, +you are violating the tenet that any death at your hand is one +warranted by the crimes of the victim. Of what crimes are you so guilty +as to make this sentence--which you have passed upon yourself--a just +one?” + +Breen smiled at this adroit argument. The others listened politely. + +“But you see,” the bacteriologist explained happily, “we in the +Assassination Bureau recognize the possibility of our own death in the +execution of our assignments. It is a normal risk of our business.” + +“Accidental death, yes, as a result of the unexpected,” was Hall’s +quiet reply. “Here, however, we are speaking of a planned death, and +that of an innocent person--yourself. This is in violation of your own +principles.” + +There was a moment’s thoughtful silence. + +“He’s quite right, Breen, you know,” Gray finally offered. He had been +listening to the verbal duel with puckered forehead. “I’m afraid that +your solution is scarcely acceptable.” + +“Still,” Lucoville contributed, “consider this: Breen, by arranging an +innocent’s death, might be warranting his own death for dereliction of +principle.” + +“A priori,” Haas snapped impatiently. “Specious. You are arguing in +circles. Until he dies, he is not guilty; if he is not guilty, he does +not warrant death.” + +“Mad!” Grunya whispered. “They are all mad!” + +She stared at the animated faces about the festive table with awe. +They had the intent gleam in their eyes of scholars at a seminar. No +one seemed in the slightest affected by the knowledge of the deadly +bomb ticking away the minutes. Breen had released his thumb from the +small button on the side of the weapon. His eyes followed each speaker +eagerly as they argued his proposal. + +“There is one possible solution,” Harkins remarked slowly, leaning +forward to join the discussion. “Breen, by setting the bomb during the +period of a truce, was dishonoring a commitment. I do not say that +this, of itself, merits a punishment as severe as he contemplates, but +certainly he has been guilty of an action beyond the strict morality of +our organization....” + +“True!” cried Breen, his eyes sparkling. “It is true, and that is the +answer! By speeding the blow during an armistice, I have committed a +sin. I find myself guilty and deserving of death.” His eyes flashed to +the wall-clock. “In exactly thirty minutes....” + +But his inattention to Dragomiloff proved fatal. Swift as a striking +cobra, the strong hands of the ex-Chief of the Bureau sought and found +vital nerves in Breen’s neck. The death-touch of the Japanese was +immediately effective; even as the others watched in startled surprise +Breen’s hand relaxed on the small bomb and he slid lifeless to the +floor. In almost the same motion Dragomiloff had snatched up his coat +and was at the door. + +“I shall see you on the boat, Grunya, my dear,” he murmured, and was +through and away before any of the others could move. + +“After him!” cried Harkins, springing to his feet. But he found his way +barred by the tall form of John Gray. + +“There is a truce!” Gray reminded him fiercely. “Breen broke it and has +paid dearly for his dereliction. We are still bound by our honor for +another twenty minutes.” + +Starkington, who had watched the entire discussion dispassionately from +one end of the long table, lifted his head and spoke. + +“The bomb,” he observed quietly. “Our polemics, I am afraid, will have +to be postponed. There are exactly--” he glanced at the wall-clock +“--eighteen minutes until it is scheduled to detonate.” + +Haas leaned down curiously, picking the small box from Breen’s lax hand. + +“There must be a way....” + +“Breen assured us there was not,” Starkington responded dryly. “I +believe him. Breen never equivocated in a scientific statement.” He +came to his feet. “As head of the Chicago office I must assume command +of our greatly reduced forces. Harkins, you and Alsworthy must take +the bomb to the Bay as quickly as possible. We cannot leave it here to +explode and kill innocents.” + +He waited as the two men took their coats and left, carrying the deadly +ticking container of Formose. + +“Our respected ex-Chief made mention of a boat,” he continued evenly. +“I had assumed this was his motive in coming to San Francisco; his +statement merely confirmed it. Since we cannot stoop to extracting +the name of the steamer from his lovely daughter, we must make other +arrangements. Haas...?” + +“There are but three steamers sailing in the morning with the tide,” +responded Haas almost mechanically, while Grunya marveled at the wealth +of information stored behind the bulging brow. “There are enough of us +remaining to easily check upon all of them.” + +“Good,” Starkington agreed. “They are...?” + +“The _Argosy_, at Oakland; the _Eastern Clipper_ at Jansen’s Wharf, and +the _Takku Maru_ at the Commercial Dock.” + +“Fine. Then Lucoville, you will take the _Argosy_. Haas, the _Takku +Maru_ should be more suitable for you. Gray, the _Eastern Clipper_.” + +The three men rose alertly, but Starkington waved them to their seats. + +“There is time until the tide, gentlemen,” he remarked easily. +“Besides, there are still twelve minutes remaining of our armistice.” +He stared at the body of Breen lying twisted on the floor. “We must +make arrangements for the removal of our dear friend here, as well. An +unfortunate heart attack, I should say. Hanover, if you would handle +the telephone.... Thank you.” + +His hand reached over to the table to find a wine-list. + +“After which I would suggest a brandy, a bodied brandy. Possibly from +Spain. A fitting drink, taken at the end of a repast. We shall drink, +gentlemen, to the end of a most difficult assignment. And we shall +toast, gentlemen, the man who made the assignment possible.” + +Hall swung about to object to this macabre humor at his expense, but +before he could speak, the even voice of Starkington continued quietly. + +“We shall toast, gentlemen: Ivan Dragomiloff!” + + + + +_Chapter XIV_ + + +Winter Hall, aided by a full purse, experienced little difficulty in +convincing the purser that space was available, even for a latecomer, +aboard the _Eastern Clipper_. He had stopped briefly at his hotel for a +bag, had left a short note to be delivered first thing in the morning, +and had met an anxious Grunya at the gangplank. While he was completing +his financial arrangements for passage, Grunya disappeared below to +inform her father of Hall’s presence aboard ship. An elfin smile lit +Dragomiloff’s features. + +“Did you expect me to be angry, my dear?” he inquired. “Upset? Or even +surprised? While the thought of a trip alone with my newly discovered +daughter is enjoyable, it will be even more enjoyable to travel with +her when she is happy.” + +“You have always made me happy, Uncle--I mean, Father,” she pouted, but +her eyes were twinkling. + +Dragomiloff laughed. + +“There comes a time, my dear, when a father is limited in the happiness +he can impart. And now, if you do not mind, I shall sleep. It has been +a tiring day.” + +Grunya kissed him tenderly and was opening the door when memory struck. + +“Father,” she exclaimed. “The Assassination Bureau! They intend to +investigate every ship sailing on the morning’s tide.” + +“But of course,” he said gently. “It is the first thing they would do.” +He kissed her again and closed the door behind her. + +She mounted to the upper deck and found Hall. Hand in hand they stood +at the rail, peering at the lights of the sleeping city. His hand +tightened on hers. + +“Must it really be a year?” he asked sadly. + +“There are only three months remaining,” she laughed. “Do not be +impatient.” Her laughter faded. “In truth, this is advice more suitable +to myself.” + +“Grunya!” + +“It is true,” she admitted. “Oh, Winter, I want to be married to you so +much!” + +“Darling! The captain of the ship can marry us tomorrow!” + +“No. I am as mad as all of you. I have given my word and I will not +change it.” She faced him soberly. “Until the year is up I will not +marry you. And should anything happen to my father before then....” + +“Nothing will happen to him,” Hall assured her. + +She looked at him steadily. + +“Yet you will not promise me to prevent anything from happening.” + +“My darling, I cannot.” Hall stared over the rail at the darkened +waters below. “These madmen--and I must include your father in that +category--will not allow anyone to interfere in their dangerous game. +And that’s what it is to them, you know. A game.” + +“Which no one can win,” she agreed sadly, and then glanced at her +time-piece. “It is very late. I really must go to sleep. Shall I see +you in the morning?” + +“You can scarcely avoid me on a small steamer,” he laughed, and bending +his head he kissed her fingers passionately. + + * * * * * + +Dragomiloff, finding his cabin warm, unbolted the porthole and swung +it wide. His stateroom fronted upon the dockside and a solid row of +inscrutable warehouses lit only by a row of small electric bulbs, +swinging faintly in the night breeze. The maneuver resulted in little +improvement; the night without was sultry and quiet. + +He stood in the dark of his room, leaning against the brass rim of the +porthole, breathing deeply. His thoughts ranged over the past nine +months and the narrow escapes he had managed. He felt tired, mentally +and physically tired. Age, he thought. The one variable in life’s +equation beyond the power of the brain to control or to evaluate. At +least there were ten days ahead of freedom from stress; ten pleasant +days of sea-voyage in which to recuperate. Suddenly, as he stood there, +he heard a familiar voice rising from the shadows below. + +“You are certain? Dragomiloff. It is very possible that he is a +passenger aboard.” + +“Quite sure,” the purser replied. “There is no one of that name on the +ship. You may be certain that we would do everything in our power to +aid the Federal government.” + +In the safety of his darkened stateroom, Dragomiloff grinned. His +weariness fled as, all senses alert, he listened intently. Gray was +clever to adopt the guise of a Federal man, but then Gray had always +been extremely worthy of his position in the Bureau. + +“There is a chance this man is not using his real name,” Gray pursued. +“He is a smallish person, deceptively frail-looking--although, believe +me, he is not--and he is traveling with his daughter, a quite beautiful +young lady whose name is Grunya.” + +“There is a gentleman traveling with his daughter....” + +Dragomiloff’s smile deepened. In the blackness of his room his small, +strong fingers flexed and unflexed themselves preparatorily. + +There was a moment’s silence on the dock below; then Gray spoke +thoughtfully. + +“I should like to check further if you don’t mind. Could you give me +his cabin number?” + +“Of course. One second, sir. Here it is--31--on the lower deck.” There +was a hesitant pause. “But if you should be wrong....” + +“I shall apologize.” There was coldness in Gray’s voice. “The Federal +government has no interest in embarrassing innocent people. But still, +I have my duty to perform.” + +The shadowy figures at the foot of the gangplank separated, the taller +one mounting the inclined stairway easily, brushing past the other. + +“I can find it, thank you. There is no need for you to leave your post.” + +“Certainly, sir. I hope....” + +But Gray was beyond earshot. Stepping lightly to the deck of the ship +he strode quickly to a door leading to an inner passageway. Once inside +he immediately checked the numbers on the cabins facing him. The door +before him was marked 108; without hesitation he swung to the stairway +and descended. Here the numbers were of two digits. He smiled to +himself and crept along the silent corridor, marking each door. + +Number 31 lay beyond a turn in the passage, set in a small alcove. +Flattening himself against the wall of the alcove, Gray considered +his next step. He did not underestimate Dragomiloff, who had taught +him not only the beauty of logic, ethics, and morality, but who had +also taught him to break a man’s neck with one swift blow. There was a +sudden shudder to the ship, and he stiffened, but it was only the great +engines below beginning to revolve, warming up preparatory to sailing. + +In the silence of the deserted corridor Gray considered and rejected +the thought of using his revolver. In the confined space the sound +would be deafening, escape made that much more difficult. Instead he +withdrew a thin, sharp knife from a holster on his forearm, and tested +the edge briefly against his thumb. Satisfied, he gripped it firmly, +edge uppermost, while his other hand crept to the lock, master-key in +hand. + +One quick glance assured him that he was alone in the passageway; the +passengers were all asleep. As silently as possible he inserted the +key, turning it slowly. + +To his surprise the door was suddenly jerked inwards. Before he could +recover his balance he was being pulled into the room and strong +fingers were being clamped upon the hand holding the knife. But Gray’s +reactions had always been swift. Rather than pulling back, he went +forward with his assailant, pushing fiercely, adding his weight to the +impetus of the other’s force. The two men fell in a sprawl against the +bunk beneath the porthole. With a sudden heave, Gray was on his feet, +twisting to one side, the knife once more firmly in position in his +fingers. Dragomiloff was also on his feet, hands outstretched, his taut +fingers searching for an opening to give a death-touch to his opponent. + +For a moment they stood panting a few feet from one another. The small +electric lights from the dock gave the cabin eerie shadows. Then, swift +as lightning, Gray’s arm flashed forwards, the knife whistling in the +darkness. But it encountered only empty air; Dragomiloff had dropped +to the floor, and as the other’s arm swept above him he reached up and +clutched it, twisting. With a smothered cry Gray dropped the knife and +fell upon the smaller man, straining with his free hand for a grip on +the other’s throat. + +They fought in fury and in silence, two trained assassins each aware +of the other’s ability and each convinced of the rightness, as well +as the necessity, for the other’s death. Each hold and counter-hold +was automatic; their proficiency in the death-science of the Japanese +equal and devastating. Beneath them the rumble of the huge pistons +slowly turning over increased. Within the stateroom the battle waged +relentlessly, grip matching grip, their panting breath now lost in the +larger sound of the ship’s engines. + +Their thrashing legs encountered the open door; it slammed shut. Gray +attempted to roll free and suddenly felt his lost knife pressing +against his shoulder blades. With a thrust of his arched back he rolled +further, fending off Dragomiloff’s attack with one hand while he +searched for the weapon with his other. And then his fingers found it. +Twisting violently, he pulled free, swinging the blade for a frontal +blow, and thrust it forward viciously. He felt it bite into something +soft and for one second he relaxed. And in that moment Dragomiloff’s +eager fingers found the spot they had been seeking. Gray fell back, his +fingers dragging the knife from the mattress of the bunk with their +last dying effort. + +Dragomiloff staggered to his feet, staring sombrely down at the shadowy +figure of his old friend lying at the foot of the narrow bunk. He +leaned against the closed porthole, fighting to regain his breath, +aware of how much the years had taken from his fighting ability. He +rubbed his face wearily. Still, he thought, he had not succumbed to +Gray’s attack, and Gray was as deadly as any member. + +A sudden rap at the door brought immediate awareness to him. He bent +swiftly, rolling the dead body out of sight beneath the bunk, and came +quietly to stand beside the door. + +“Yes?” + +“Mr. Constantine? Could I see you a moment, sir?” + +“One second.” + +Dragomiloff switched on the stateroom light; a swift glance about the +room revealed nothing too incriminating. He straightened a chair, +threw the blanket back to conceal the torn mattress, and slipped into +a dressing-gown. He glanced about once more. Satisfied that all was +presentable, he opened the door a crack and yawned widely into the face +of the purser. + +“Yes? What is it?” + +The purser looked embarrassed. + +“A Mr. Gray, sir. Did he stop down to see you?” + +“Oh, that. Yes, he did. But it was really too bad his bothering me, +you know. He was looking for a Mr. Dragomovitch, or something. He +apologized and left. Why?” + +“The ship is sailing, sir. Do you suppose he might have gone ashore in +the last few moments? While I was coming down here?” + +Dragomiloff yawned again and stared at the purser coldly. + +“I’m sure I have no idea. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really would +like to get some rest.” + +“Certainly, sir. I’m sorry. Thank you.” + +Dragomiloff locked the door and once again switched off the lights. He +sat on the small chair furnished with the stateroom and stared at the +locked porthole thoughtfully. Tomorrow would be too late; there would +be stewards cleaning the cabins. Even morning would be too late; early +strollers about the decks were not uncommon. It would have to be now, +with all the attendant dangers. With patience he settled back to await +the ship’s departure. + +Voices came from the deck above as lines were cast off and the ship +prepared to leave the dock. The rumble of the engines increased; a +slight motion was imparted to the cabin. Above his head the faint +pounding of feet could be heard as seamen ran back and forth, winching +in the lines, obeying the exigencies of the steel monster which was to +take them across the ocean. + +The cries on deck abated. Dragomiloff carefully unbolted the porthole +and thrust his head out. The watery gap between the pier and the ship +was slowly widening; the lights strung along the warehouses were +fading in distance. He listened carefully for footsteps from above; +there were none. Returning to his task he rolled the body free from +its hiding place and, bending, lifted it with ease to prop it on the +bunk. One last searching glance indicated that the coast was clear. He +thrust the flaccid arms through the porthole and fed the body into the +open air. It fell with a faint splash; Dragomiloff waited quietly for +any outbreak of sound from above. There was none. With graven face he +latched the porthole, pulled the drapes tightly over them, and re-lit +the light. + +One final check was necessary before retiring, for Dragomiloff was a +thorough man. The knife was stowed in a suitcase, and the bag locked. +The slit in the mattress was covered with the sheet, reversed and +tucked in tightly. The rug was straightened. Only when the room had +regained its former appearance did Dragomiloff relax and slowly begin +undressing. + +It had been a busy night, but one step further along his inexorable +path. + + + + +_Chapter XV_ + + +Lucoville rapped sharply upon Starkington’s hotel-room door and when +the door swung back, entered and quietly laid a newspaper upon the +table. Starkington’s eye immediately caught the black headlines, and he +read through the lurid account rapidly. + + TWO DIE IN MYSTERIOUS EXPLOSION + + Aug. 15: A mysterious explosion in the early hours of today on + Worth Street near the Bay region caused the tragic death of two + unidentified men. Police could discover no clue as to the cause + of the violent detonation, which broke windows in the immediate + vicinity, as well as costing the lives of the two men who were + believed to be walking in the area at the time of the explosion. + + The violence of the detonation made identification of the two + victims impossible. The shattered fragments of a small metal box + were the only unusual item found in the area, but police claim it + could not possibly have played a part in the tragedy because of its + size. At present the authorities admit themselves baffled. + +“Harkins and Alsworthy!” he exclaimed through clenched teeth. “We must +get the others here as quickly as possible!” + +“I have telephoned to Haas and Hanover,” Lucoville replied. “They +should be here at any moment.” + +“And Gray?” + +“His hotel room did not answer. I am rather surprised, since it was +agreed that a report be made this morning on the ships that were +investigated last night.” + +“You found nothing at the _Argosy_?” + +“Nothing. Nor did Haas at the _Takku Maru_.” + +The two men stared at each other in silent common thought. + +“Do you suppose ...?” Starkington began, but at that moment there was +an imperious rap at the door, and before either occupant could answer, +the door swung wide, revealing Hanover and Haas. + +Haas rushed in, laying a later edition of the newspaper upon the table. + +“Did you see this?” he cried. “Gray is dead!” + +“Dead?” + +“Found floating alongside Jansen’s Wharf, where the _Eastern Clipper_ +was docked! Dragomiloff is on that ship, and it has sailed!” + +There was a moment’s shocked silence. Starkington walked over and +slowly seated himself. His eyes roved the stern faces of his companions +before he spoke. + +“Well, gentlemen,” he said softly, “we are being decimated. The total +remaining members of the Assassination Bureau are within this room at +this moment. Three of our number died within the past twelve hours. +Where is the success that crowned our every effort for all these years? +Can it all have departed at the same moment?” + +“There are limits to one’s infallibility,” Haas objected. “Harkins and +Alsworthy died as the result of an accident.” + +“Accident? You do not honestly believe that, Haas. You cannot. There is +no such thing as an accident. We control our own lives, or we control +nothing.” + +“Or at least we believe that, or we believe nothing,” Lucoville amended +dryly. + +“But the wall-clock must have been wrong!” Haas insisted. + +“Obviously,” Starkington admitted. “But is it an accident to fail +through dependence upon a mechanical contrivance? Inventions, my dear +Haas, are the work of doers, and not thinkers.” + +“A ridiculous statement,” Haas sneered. + +“Not at all. It is the inability to mentally rationalize problems that +leads men to seek mechanical solutions. Take that wall-clock, for +example. Does the knowledge of the exact hour solve the problems of +that hour? What is gained, in beauty or morality, to know that at this +moment it is eight minutes past the hour of ten?” + +“You oversimplify,” Haas retorted. “Someday the clock may take its +revenge.” + +Hanover leaned forwards. + +“As for your sneering at doers,” he remarked, “do you consider us, +then, as only thinkers and not doers?” + +Starkington smiled. + +“Of late, to be truthful, we have been neither. Now we must be both.” + +Lucoville, who had been standing at a window staring into the street, +swung about. + +“Look here,” he said flatly. “Dragomiloff has sailed. He has left the +country. It is doubtful that he will return. Why do we not give up this +senseless chase? We can rebuild the Bureau ourselves. Dragomiloff began +it with one--himself--and we are four.” + +“Give up the chase?” Haas was shocked. “Senseless? How could we rebuild +the Bureau if the first thing we give up is not the chase, but our +principles?” + +Lucoville bowed his head. + +“You are right, of course. I was not thinking. Well, then, what is our +next step?” + +Haas answered him. The thin flame of a man arose and bent over the +table, his huge forehead puckered. + +“There is a ship sailing at four this afternoon--the _Oriental +Star_--from Dearborn Slip. It is the fastest ship on the Pacific run. +It should easily dock in Hawaii a day in advance of the _Eastern +Clipper_’s arrival. I suggest that we be waiting for Dragomiloff +when he arrives in Honolulu. And that we be more careful than our +predecessors when we meet him.” + +“It is an excellent idea,” Hanover agreed enthusiastically. “He will +feel himself safe.” + +“The Chief never feels himself safe,” Starkington commented. “It is +only that he does not allow his feeling of un-safety to disturb him. +Well, gentlemen; does Haas’s suggestion sit well with you?” + +There was a moment’s silence. Then Lucoville shook his head. + +“I do not believe it necessary that we all travel. Haas has still not +recovered fully from his wound. Also, I do not believe it well to put +all our eggs in one basket. I suggest that Haas remain. There may well +be need for some action from the mainland.” + +This suggestion was carefully considered by the other three. +Starkington nodded. + +“I agree. Haas?” + +The small intense man smiled ruefully. + +“I should, of course, enjoy being in at the kill. But I must bow to the +logic of Lucoville’s argument. I also agree.” + +Hanover nodded his acceptance. + +“We have sufficient funds?” + +Starkington reached over and extracted an envelope from his desk. + +“This was delivered by messenger this morning. Hall has signed a paper +giving me power of withdrawal of our funds.” + +Hanover raised his eyebrows. + +“He has traveled with Dragomiloff, then.” + +“With the daughter, rather,” Haas corrected with a smile. “Poor Hall! +Trapped by love into acquiring a father-in-law he has paid to have +killed!” + +“Hall’s logic is tainted by emotion,” Starkington commented. “The fate +of the emotional is not only predictable, but usually deserved.” He +arose. “Well, then, I shall arrange for our passage.” He stared at +Lucoville in sudden concern. “Why do you frown?” + +“The food aboard ship,” Lucoville sighed unhappily. “Do you suppose +they will be able to provide fresh vegetables for the entire trip?” + + * * * * * + +The edge of the sun was breaking evenly over the eastern horizon. +Winter Hall, enjoying the warm breeze of the Pacific morning, +was suddenly aware of a presence at his elbow. He turned to find +Dragomiloff staring off into the distance. + +“Good morning!” Hall smiled. “Did you sleep well?” + +Dragomiloff was forced to return the smile. + +“As well as could be expected,” was his dry reply. + +“When I find it difficult to drop off to sleep,” Hall offered, “I +usually walk the deck. I find that exercise aids me in falling asleep.” + +“It was certainly not lack of exercise.” Dragomiloff suddenly swung +his gaze fully upon the tall, handsome young man at his side. “I had a +visitor last night before the ship sailed.” + +Memory returned to Hall like a blow. + +“Gray! He was to investigate this ship!” + +“Yes. Gray dropped in to see me.” + +“Is he aboard?” Hall glanced about; his pleasant smile had disappeared. + +“No. He did not sail with us. He remained.” + +Hall stared at the small sandy-haired man beside him with growing +comprehension. + +“You killed him!” + +“Yes, I killed him. I was forced to.” + +Hall turned back to his contemplation of the sunrise. A sternness had +settled over his strong face. + +“You say you were forced to. Do I recognize in this admission a change +in your beliefs?” + +“No.” Dragomiloff shook his head. “Although all beliefs must be +amenable to change if thinking man is to merit his ability to reason. +I say forced to, because Gray was my friend. In a way you might say he +was my protégé. It was in following my teachings that he attempted my +life. It was in recognition of the purity of his motives that I took +his.” + +Hall sighed wearily. + +“No, you have not changed. Tell me, when will this madness end?” + +“Madness?” Dragomiloff shrugged his shoulders. “Define your terms. What +is sanity? To allow those to live whose course of action leads to the +taking of innocent lives? At times, thousands of innocent lives?” + +“You certainly cannot be referring to John Gray!” + +“I am not. I am merely justifying the basis of my teachings, which John +Gray believed in, and which you choose to call madness.” + +Hall stared at the other hopelessly. + +“But you have already admitted the fallacy of that philosophy. Man +cannot judge; he can only be judged. And not by the individual. Only by +the group.” + +“True. It was on this basis that you convinced me that the aims of the +Assassination Bureau were unworthy. Or possibly a better word would +be ‘premature.’ For the Bureau itself, you must remember, is a group, +representative of society itself. Picture a Bureau, if you would, +encompassing all mankind. Then the arguments you used to convince me +would no longer be valid. But no matter. In any event, you did convince +me, and I did undertake the task of having myself assassinated. +Unfortunately, the very perfection of the organization has worked +against me.” + +“Perfection!” Hall cried in exasperation. “How can you use that word? +They have failed to kill you in at least six or eight attempts!” + +“That failure is proof of the perfection,” Dragomiloff stated gravely. +“I see you do not understand. Failures are calculable; for the Bureau +contains within it certain checks and balances. The failures prove the +rightness of these checks and balances.” + +Hall stared at the small man at his side in amazement. + +“You are unbelievable! Tell me, when will this--very well, I shall not +use the word ‘madness’--when will this adventure, then, end?” + +To his surprise Dragomiloff smiled in quite a friendly manner. + +“I like that word ‘adventure.’ All life is an adventure, but we do not +appreciate it until life itself is in jeopardy. When will it end? When +we end, I suppose. When our brains cease to function; when we join +the worms and the non-thinkers. In my particular case,” he continued, +noting Hall’s barely concealed impatience, “at the end of a period of +one year from the time of my original instructions to Haas.” + +“And that time is well along. In less than three months your contract +will have expired. What then?” + +To his surprise Dragomiloff’s smile suddenly faded. + +“I do not know. I cannot believe that the organization I have built up +so painstakingly will allow me to live the full period. That would be +a negation of its perfection.” + +“But certainly you do not want them to succeed?” + +Dragomiloff clasped his hands tightly. His face was frowning and +serious. + +“I do not know. It is something that has been bothering me more and +more as the weeks and months have passed.” + +“You are an amazing person! In what way has it been bothering you?” + +The small light-haired man faced his larger companion. + +“I am not sure that I wish to be saved by the expiration of a time +limit. Time should be the master of people, and not the servant. +Time, you see, is the one perfect machine, whose gears are set by the +stars, whose hands are controlled by the infinite. I have also built a +perfect machine, the Bureau. But the Bureau must depend upon itself to +demonstrate that perfection. It must not be saved from its shortcomings +by the inexorable function of another, and greater, machine.” + +“But yet you are attempting to take advantage of the time element for +your own salvation,” Hall pointed out, intrigued as always by the +workings of the other’s mind. + +“I am human,” Dragomiloff replied sadly. “Possibly, in the long run, +this may prove to be the fatal weakness of my philosophy.” + +Without further comment he turned and walked slowly and heavily to the +doors leading to the inner parts of the ship. Hall stared after the man +a moment, and then felt his arm touched from the other side. He swung +about to face Grunya. + +“What have you been saying to my father?” she demanded. “He looked +quite shaken.” + +“It is what your father has been saying to himself,” Hall replied. +He took her arm and they began strolling along the deck. “There is an +instinct within each of us to fight to retain life. But there is also +within each of us a hidden death-wish, which uses many excuses for +justification. We have yet to see which dominates in the life of your +strange father.” + +“Or in his death,” she murmured, and clung fiercely to the protective +arm of her loved one. + + + + +_Chapter XVI_ + + +The days aboard the _Eastern Clipper_ passed swiftly and pleasantly. +Grunya basked each day in the warm sun, lying in her deck-chair, and +acquired a deep tan, as did Hall. Dragomiloff, however, although +spending an equal number of hours on the sun-swept deck, seemed immune +to the power of the burning rays and remained as pale as ever. Hall +and Dragomiloff seemed to have declared a moratorium on philosophical +discussion; their talk now ran more to the schools of bonito and +albacore that often played in the wake behind the ship, or to the +excellent cuisine served aboard, or even at times to their respective +deck-tennis scores. + +And then one morning, as if it had never been, the trip was over. They +awoke this day and came on deck to find themselves in the shadow of +towering Diamond Head at the entrance to the island of Oahu, with the +port city of Honolulu lying white and glistening in the background. +Small canoes with lei-laden natives were already racing towards the +ship. Below, in the bowels of the giant liner, stokers were leaning +quietly upon their blackened shovels; the great engines had slowed and +the ship was barely making way. + +“Beautiful!” Grunya murmured, and turned to Hall. “Is it not beautiful, +Winter?” + +“Almost as beautiful as you are,” Hall replied jocularly, and turned to +Dragomiloff. “Ten weeks,” he said lightly. “In just ten weeks, sir, +our relationship will change. You shall become my father-in-law.” + +“And no longer your friend?” Dragomiloff laughed. + +“Always my friend.” Hall frowned slightly. “By the way, what are your +plans now? Do you think the other members of the Bureau will follow you +here?” + +Dragomiloff’s smile did not lessen in the least. + +“Follow me? They are here now. Or most of them. They would leave at +least one on the mainland, of course.” + +“But how could they arrive sooner than we?” + +“By faster ship. I would judge they took the _Oriental Star_ the +afternoon after we sailed. The discovery of Gray’s body would tell +them our ship, and hence our destination. They will have docked last +evening. They will be on hand when we disembark, do not fear.” + +“But how can you be so sure?” Grunya demanded. + +“By placing myself in their position and calculating what I would do +under the same circumstances. No, my dear, I am not wrong. They will be +on hand to greet me.” + +Grunya reached over to grasp his arm, fear growing in her eyes. + +“But, Father, what will you do?” + +“Do not worry, my dear. I shall not fall victim to them, if that is +what you fear. Now pay close heed: several days before sailing I sent a +letter on the mail packet making reservations for the two of you at the +Queen Anne Inn. There will also be a car and driver available whenever +you wish. I myself will not be able to join you, but as soon as I am +settled you shall hear from me.” + +“For the two of us?” Hall was surprised. “But you did not even know I +would be coming!” + +Dragomiloff smiled broadly. + +“I said I always put myself in the other fellow’s boots. In your place +I would never allow a girl as beautiful as my Grunya to escape me. My +dear Hall, I knew you would be aboard this ship.” + +He turned back to the rail. The native-filled canoes were now bobbing +alongside the ship; young boys dressed only in the native _molo_ were +diving for coins flung by the passengers into the clear water of the +harbor entrance. The white buildings along the quay reflected back +the morning sun. The giant liner stopped; a slim cruiser flashed from +shore carrying the pilot and the Chinese porters who would take off the +luggage. + +A loud hoot broke the silence as the ship’s whistle announced their +proud arrival. The pilot boat slipped alongside and the officials, neat +in their peaked caps and white shorts, clambered aboard. They were +followed by a string of blue-clad, pig-tailed porters who scampered up +the Jacob’s ladder, their sloping straw hats bobbing in unison, and +disappeared into the inner passageway. + +Dragomiloff turned to the other two. + +“If you will pardon me, I must finish my packing,” he said lightly, and +with a wave disappeared into the interior of the ship. + +The pilot appeared on the bridge and the _Eastern Clipper_’s engines +began to rumble, changing to a higher pitch as the ship proceeded +landwards. + +“We had best get below and see to our luggage,” Hall remarked. + +“Oh, Winter, must we so soon? This is so lovely! See how the mountains +seem to sweep up from the city. The clouds are like puff-balls hanging +over the peaks!” She paused and the animation died upon her face. +“Winter; what will Father do?” + +“I should not worry about your father, dear. They may not be here. And +even if they are, it is doubtful that they would attempt anything in +this crowd. Come.” + +They went below as the steamer edged closer to the pier. Lines were +cast ashore and willing hands linked them to stanchions set in the +dock. The ship’s winches began turning, winding in the cable, pulling +the liner into position along the dock. A band broke into music, +playing the famous “Aloha.” Screams of recognition broke out as +passengers and friends found each other in the crowd; handkerchiefs +were waved frantically. The gangplank edged downwards; the band played +louder. + +Hall, returning to deck after assigning his luggage to a porter, came +to stand at the rail staring down at the animated faces strung out +behind the railing below. Suddenly he came erect with a start; staring +him in the eye was Starkington! + +The head of the Chicago branch of the Bureau smiled delightedly and +waved his hand. Hall’s glance slid along the upturned faces and stopped +at another. Hanover was also there, closer to the exit. The rest, Hall +was sure, were placed at equally strategic positions. + +The gangplank fell into place and the barriers were dropped. Friends +and passengers swarmed up and down the gangplank, pushing past heavily +laden porters struggling down, swaying perilously beneath their loads. +Starkington was mounting the gangplank, shoving his way through the +throng. Hall came forward to meet him. + +Starkington was smiling happily. + +“Hello, Hall! It’s nice to see you. How have you been?” + +“Starkington! You must not do this thing!” + +Starkington raised his eyebrows. + +“Must not do what thing? Must not keep our sacred word? Must not remain +true to a promise? A commitment?” His smile remained, but the eyes +behind the smile were deadly serious. They swung over Hall’s shoulder, +searching the face of each passenger surging towards the gangplank. +“He has no escape this time, Hall. Lucoville came aboard with the pilot +boat; he is below at this moment. Hanover is guarding the dock. The +Chief made a grave mistake to corner himself in this manner.” + +Hall gritted his teeth. + +“I shall not permit it. I shall speak to the authorities.” + +“You will speak to no one.” Starkington’s tone was pedantic; he might +have been a professor explaining some obvious point to a rather dull +student. “You have given your word of honor. To the Chief himself, as +well as to all of us. You did not speak to the authorities before, and +you will not speak to them now....” + +He broke off as a Chinese porter, burdened beneath a mountain of +suitcases, stumbled into him with a sing-song excuse. Lucoville +appeared at their side. He smiled happily at the sight of Hall. + +“Hall! This is a pleasure. How was the trip? Did you enjoy it? Tell +me,” he continued, lowering his voice, “how were the vegetables aboard +this ship? For the return voyage I should prefer a cuisine more in +keeping with my tastes. The _Oriental Star_ was pitifully short on both +vegetables and fruit. Meat, and more meat! I suppose they thought they +were doing the passengers a favor....” + +He seemed to realize that Starkington was waiting, for he dropped the +subject and turned to the other. + +“Dragomiloff is below. He booked cabin No. 31 under a different name; +I have placed an outside latch on the cabin to prevent his escape. +However, there is still the porthole....” + +“Hanover is watching for that.” He turned to the white face of Hall +beside him. “Hadn’t you better go ashore, Hall? Believe me, there is +nothing you can do to prevent this.” + +“I shall remain,” Hall exclaimed, and then wheeled as a hand clutched +his arm convulsively. “Grunya! Grunya, my dear!” + +“Winter!” she cried, and faced Starkington with burning eyes. “What are +you doing here? You shall not harm my father!” + +“We have discussed this before,” Starkington replied smoothly. “You are +familiar with our mission, and you are also familiar with your father’s +instructions. I would suggest, Miss Dragomiloff, that you go ashore. +There is nothing you can do.” + +“Go ashore?” Suddenly she lifted her head in resolution. “Yes, I shall +go ashore! And I shall return with the police! I do not care what my +father’s instructions were; you shall not kill him!” She swung to +Hall, her eyes flashing. “And you! You stand there! What kind of a man +are you? You are worse than these madmen, for they believe themselves +right, while you know they are wrong. And yet you make no move!” + +She tore her arm loose from Hall’s grip and ran for the gangplank, +pushing her way through the thinning crowd. Starkington looked after +her, nodding his head sagely. + +“You have made a very good choice, Hall. She is a spirited girl. Ah, +well, I’m afraid our schedule must be accelerated a bit. I had hoped to +wait until the ship was deserted. However, most of the passengers seem +to have left. Are you coming?” + +This last was said in such a polite voice that Hall could scarcely +believe he was being invited to witness the execution of a man, and +that man Grunya’s father. Starkington smiled at him quite congenially +and took his arm. + +Hall walked beside the other as if in a dream. It was not believable! +One might think he was merely being taken to visit a friend for an +afternoon’s game of whist! Beside him as they descended the broad +carpeted staircase Starkington was chattering quite pleasantly. + +“Travel by ship is really delightful, don’t you think? We all enjoyed +it very much. Lucoville here, of course, constantly complained about +the food, but.... Ah, here we are.” + +He bent and listened at the door. Faint sounds could be heard from +within. He removed the mechanism Lucoville had placed upon the latch +and turned to the others. + +“Lucoville, stand to that side. Hall, I would suggest you leave the +alcove. The Chief is certain to be prepared to defend himself, and I +should not like to see harm come to you.” + +“But you may be killed!” Hall cried. + +“Assuredly. However, between Lucoville and myself, one of us should be +able to complete the assignment. And that is all that counts.” + +He withdrew a revolver from his pocket and held it in readiness. To +his side Lucoville had done the same. Hall stared at the two in awe; +neither exhibited the slightest fear. Starkington took a key from his +pocket and inserted it in the lock, making no attempt to mask the sound. + +“Back, Hall,” he commanded, and in the same moment swung the door wide +and charged within. At the sight that faced them Starkington paused, +mouth agape, while Hall burst into laughter. + +There on the bunk, twisting and squirming, lay a Chinese, stripped to +his underwear and lashed to the bunk. His mouth was firmly gagged, +and his eyes were flashing with anger. Even as he twisted his head, +frantically imploring his discoverers to free him, they could see the +ragged edges where his pig-tail had been severed. + +“Dragomiloff!” Lucoville gasped. “He must have been one of the porters +that passed us!” He sprang for the door, but Starkington’s arm barred +his way. + +“It is too late,” he said evenly. “We must begin our search anew.” + +There was a commotion in the corridor and Grunya appeared, accompanied +by several of the island police, night-sticks poised. At the sight +of Hall’s convulsed shouts of laughter, Grunya paused uncertainly. +The determination of her attitude withered in face of that hilarity. +Starkington raised his eyebrows politely. + +The police took in the scene at once and then, hastening forwards, +released the poor Chinese, who immediately broke into a gale of +chatter, pointing first to his severed pig-tail, then to his nearly +nude body, and then demonstrated with waving arms the means by which +he had been overcome and bound. This all was accompanied by a constant +barrage of language. The sergeant of police broke in several times +to ask questions in the same tongue, and then turned to Starkington +sternly. + +“Where is the man responsible for this outrage?” he demanded in English. + +“I do not know,” Starkington avowed. But then his sense of propriety +came to his aid. He reached into his pocket and extracted a fistful of +notes, stripping several from the top. + +“Here,” he said in a kindly voice to the still-outraged Chinese. “You +have been no less victimized than ourselves. This will partially +compensate for your disgrace. But,” and his voice changed to encompass +deep regret, “I do not know what will compensate for ours!” + + + + +_Chapter XVII_ + + +Two weeks passed before Grunya and Hall received instructions which +were to lead to meeting Dragomiloff. The time had been spent in +taking advantage of the car and driver to visit the lovely vistas of +the tropical city. The driver had appeared at the Queen Anne Inn the +morning after their arrival bearing a note which read: + + “My children, This will introduce Chan, an old and trusted employee + of S. Constantine & Co. He will drive you where you want and when + you want, save for the few errands I shall require of him. Do not + ask him any questions, for he will not answer them. I am well and + happy, and will contact you when conditions are ripe. My love to my + dear Grunya and a firm handclasp to my friend Hall.” + +There had been no signature, but none was needed. Satisfied that +Dragomiloff was safe, they were able to relax. Their time was spent in +typical tourist fashion. They swam at Waikiki, and watched the intrepid +surf-riders come sweeping down the foaming ridges of the ocean, racing +bent-kneed for the palm-lined shore. They strolled the colorful streets +of the city, marveling at the many sights. They enjoyed visiting the +fish market on King Street with the vendors crying their wares in eight +different languages, or sitting beside Kewolo Basin while the Japanese +sampans came wallowing in, loaded to the rail with their catch. Chan, +imperturbable, neither offered suggestions nor comment; he drove where +he was told and nothing more. + +Quite often their evenings were joined by Starkington, Hanover, and +Lucoville. Grunya, despite herself, could not help but like the three. +Their minds and their attitudes reminded her so much of her father. +She was secretly ashamed of her scene aboard ship; she felt it had +demonstrated a lack of faith in her father. Somehow, her camaraderie +with the trio seemed to her to partially compensate for this failing. +Too, each day that passed brought the end of the contract closer, and +lessened the danger of the Bureau’s success. + +One evening this time element had arisen in discussion with the three +congenial assassins. + +“There are less than two months remaining,” Hall mentioned as the five +sat at dinner. He laughed. “Believe me, I do not object to your passing +the days in this pleasant fashion. In fact, it pleases me to see the +funds of the Bureau dissipated in this innocuous way. But I am curious. +How does it happen that you are not searching for Dragomiloff?” + +“But we are searching,” Starkington corrected him gently. “In our +own manner. And our search will be successful. I cannot, of course, +disclose our plan, but this much I can say: he spent two days +at Nanakuli, and the following three days at Waianae. Lucoville +investigated in one case, and Hanover in the other. But he had already +left.” + +Hall’s eyebrows lifted mockingly. + +“You did not investigate yourself?” + +“No.” There was no embarrassment in Starkington’s tone. “I was busy +keeping an eye on you and Miss Dragomiloff, although I am sure that you +know no more about his whereabouts than we do.” + +He lifted his glass. + +“Let us drink a toast. To the end of this business.” + +“I will be happy to drink to that,” Hall remarked evenly. “Though we +mean different things.” + +“It is the difficulty of all language,” Starkington admitted with a +rueful smile. “Definition.” + +“It is not a difficulty,” Hanover objected. “Definition is the very +basis of language. It is the skeleton upon which the sound-forms are +hung that make a language.” + +“You are speaking about the same language,” Lucoville stated solemnly, +although his eyes were twinkling. “I am sure that Starkington and Hall +are speaking about--or at least are speaking--different languages.” + +“I thought I was speaking, not about language, but about a toast,” +Starkington corrected mildly. He lifted his glass. “If there are no +more interruptions....” + +But there was one more. + +“In my opinion,” Grunya said archly, her eyes reflecting her enjoyment +of the repartee, “the important point is that each be true to his own +definition.” + +“I agree!” Lucoville cried. + +“And I,” added Hanover. + +“I....” Starkington, who had set down his glass, raised it once more. +“I ... am thirsty.” With no further ado he drank. With a laugh, the +others joined him. + +As they strolled homeward in the balmy night air beneath the giant +hibiscus that lined their way, Hall took Grunya’s hand in his and felt +her fingers tighten. + +“How could they have known where Father has been?” she inquired +worriedly. “Certainly these islands are too large and too numerous for +them to have accidentally stumbled upon his trail.” + +“They are very clever men,” Hall replied thoughtfully. “But your father +is also clever. I do not think you need worry.” + +They swung into the large entrance to the hotel. Beyond, in the +bougainvillea-covered courtyard, a _luau_ was being held and the soft +music of guitars could be heard. At their entrance the receptionist +moved away from the door where he had been watching the festivities and +came forwards. With their keys, Hall received a sealed note; he tore it +open and read it as Grunya waited. + + “Dear Hall: My haven is ready at last; my haven and my trap. It + has taken time but it has been worth it. Go to your rooms and + then descend the rear staircase. Chan will be waiting behind the + hotel. Your luggage can be picked up later, although where we + shall be staying we shall require few of the symbols of so-called + civilization.” + +There was a strange postscript, underlined for emphasis: + + “_It is vital that your time-piece be exact when you meet me._” + +Hall thanked the clerk politely and carelessly thrust the note into +his pocket. A slight shake of his head discouraged Grunya from asking +questions until they were on the upper floor away from prying eyes. + +“What can Father mean by a haven and a trap?” Grunya asked anxiously. +“Or by his request that your time-piece be exact when we meet?” + +But Hall could offer no suggestion. They swiftly packed their suitcases +and left them within the confines of their rooms. A telephone call to +the island observatory confirmed the accuracy of Hall’s pocket-watch, +and moments later they had descended the rear staircase and were +peering through the darkness of the moonless night. + +A deeper shadow delineated the car. They slid into the rear seat while +Chan put the automobile into motion. Without lights they crept through +the obscure alley until they came upon a cross-street. Chan flicked on +the head-lamps and swung into the deserted avenue. A mile or so from +the beach he turned again, this time into a wide highway, maintaining +his speed. + +Until now Hall had remained silent. Now he leaned forwards, speaking +quietly into the chauffeur’s ear. + +“Where are we to meet Mr. Constantine?” he asked. + +The Chinese shrugged. “My instructions are to take you beyond Nuuanu +Pali pass,” he said in his clipped but accurate English. “There we will +be met. Beyond this I can tell you nothing.” + +Hall leaned back; Grunya clasped his hand, her eyes sparkling at the +thought of seeing her father once again. The car rode smoothly along +the deserted road, its head-lamps cutting a wedge in the hazy darkness. +Higher and higher they mounted into the hills as the lights of the city +grew smaller in the distance below and then finally disappeared. A +sharpness sprang into the air. Without warning Chan increased the speed +of the car and they were flung back against the seats, the wind rushing +against their faces. + +“What...?” Hall began. + +“The car behind,” Chan explained calmly. “It has been following us +since we left. Now is the time to increase our lead, I believe.” + +Hall swung about. Below them, twisting and turning on the winding road, +twin head-lamps marked the passage of a vehicle behind. There was +sudden bumping as their car left the macadam; a swirl of dust blocked +his vision. + +“They will have marked our turn-off!” Hall cried. + +“Of course,” Chan replied smoothly. “My instructions are not to lose +them.” + +He handled the automobile expertly along the winding dirt road. Dust +swirled about them; Hall wished they had put the side-curtains in +place. They had passed the ridge of the pass and were now descending. +As their vehicle made sharp turns Hall could look back and note, higher +on the mountain, the twin shafts of light that marked their pursuers. + +Without warning Chan applied the brake; both Grunya and Hall were flung +forwards. The car came to a stop; the door was thrown wide and a small +figure sprang inside. Immediately they were in motion once again, +accelerating through the darkness. + +“Who...?” + +There was a low chuckle. + +“Whom did you expect?” Dragomiloff inquired. He leaned over and flicked +on a small lamp set in the back seat of the swaying car. Grunya gasped +at his appearance. Dragomiloff was wearing a jersey and trousers, both +once white, but now tattered and marked by the brush. On his feet were +a pair of stained tennis-shoes. He kissed his daughter fondly and +clasped Hall’s outstretched hand. Then, switching off the lamp, he +leaned back smiling in the darkness. + +“How do you like my costume?” he asked. “Away from the large cities +there is no need for formal clothing. Once we are settled, we may even +assume the native _molo_. Hall and I, that is. Grunya, you shall have +your choice of a _muumuu_ or a _pa-u_, as you wish.” + +“Father,” Grunya exclaimed. “You should see yourself! You look like a +beachcomber! Where is that dear old solemn Uncle Sergius that I used to +tickle and fling pillows at?” + +“He is dead, my dear,” replied Dragomiloff with a twinkle. “Your Mr. +Hall killed him with a few quiet thrusts of logic. The second deadliest +weapon that I have ever encountered.” + +“And the deadliest?” Hall inquired. + +“You shall see.” Dragomiloff turned to his daughter. “Grunya, my dear, +you had best sleep. Explanations can wait. We still have several hours +until we reach our destination.” + +Their car continued down the winding road, leading now towards the +eastern shore of the island. The clouds had swept away; to the east +the first faint strands of dawn began to appear. Hall leaned towards +Dragomiloff. + +“You know that we are being followed?” + +“Of course. We shall allow them to keep us in sight until we pass the +village of Haikuloa. From then on there are no more turn-offs and they +cannot mistake our destination. After Haikuloa we can go our way.” + +“I do not understand this.” Hall stared at the small man in frowning +contemplation. “Are you the hare or the hound in this weird chase?” + +“I am both. Throughout life, every man is both. The chase is constant; +only a man’s control of the elements of the chase determines whether he +be hare or hound.” + +“And you feel that you control these elements?” + +“Completely.” + +“And yet, you know,” Hall said, “they knew you were in Nanakuli and +Waianae.” + +“I wished them to. I planted the evidence that led them there. I laid a +trail to the west so they would follow when you and Grunya headed east.” + +He laughed at the expression on Hall’s face. + +“Logic comes in many degrees, my friend. If I hold a stone in one hand +and you guess that hand correctly, the following time I may switch +hands. Or I may retain it in the same hand, calculating you might think +I would switch. Or I might switch hands on the basis that you would +expect me to reason as I did. Or....” + +“I know,” Hall acknowledged. “It is an old theory of the scales of +intelligence. But I fail to see how it applies here.” + +“I shall explain. First, as to how I marked my passage west to +Starkington’s satisfaction. I simply ordered books in Russian from the +largest bookstore in Honolulu with instructions to deliver them to me +at certain small villages along the western coast. Starkington and the +others know I would not forego my studies under any circumstances. Had +I left a less subtle trail he might not have been taken in, but I knew +he would consider this an unconscious gesture on my part.” + +“But he claimed you had actually visited those places!” + +“And I did. There is little bait in an empty hook. However, once he +felt he had marked me traveling west, I was ready to lead him east. You +and Grunya did this excellently; I am sure that you sneaked down the +rear steps of the hotel quite dramatically. And I am equally sure that +Starkington watched you do so.” + +Hall stared at the smaller man. + +“You are amazing!” + +“Thank you.” There was no false modesty in the tone. Dragomiloff lapsed +into silence. + +The car had passed Haikuloa, and Chan was now intent upon losing +those in the following car. The car raced along the narrow dirt road. +Suddenly the ocean was just below them, spreading out to the horizon +and the rising sun. With a swerve Chan swung off into the brush, drove +for several hundred yards, and braked. The silence of the early morning +surrounded them. + +“One other thing ...” Hall began. + +“Hush! They will be passing soon!” + +They waited in silence. Moments later the roar of a heavy car came to +their ears. It passed their hiding place with a rush and disappeared on +the road leading below. Dragomiloff descended from the car with Hall +and led the way to the edge of the cliff upon which they had stopped. +Below them a line of thatched huts marked a beach village. Dragomiloff +pointed into the distance. + +“There. Do you see it? That small island off shore? That is our haven.” + +Hall stared across the narrow expanse of water that separated the +island from the shore. The island was quite small, less than a mile in +length and something less than half as much in width. Palm trees ringed +the white sand beach; on a small hummock in the center lay a large +thatched cottage. No sign of life could be discerned. + +Dragomiloff’s finger shifted. + +“That stretch of water between here and the island is called the _Huhu +Kai_--the angry sea.” + +“I have never seen water as calm,” Hall stated. “The name appears to be +some sort of joke.” + +“Do not think so. The floor of the ocean between the shore and the +island has a very strange configuration.” He broke off this line of +thought. “You remembered to check the accuracy of your watch?” + +“I did. But why....” + +“Good! What hour do you have now?” + +Hall checked his watch. + +“Six forty-three.” + +Dragomiloff made a rapid calculation. + +“There is about one hour yet. Well, we can relax for a bit.” + +But he did not seem to be able to relax. He paced back and forth +restlessly, and finally came to stand beside Hall, peering down at the +small thatched village beneath them. + +“It will take them some time to descend by car; the road is winding +and often dangerous.” And then, apropos of nothing in their previous +conversation, he murmured, “Righteousness. Morality and righteousness. +It is all that we have, but it is enough. Do you know, Hall, that the +motto of these islands is _Ua mau ke ea o ka aina i ka pono_? It means: +‘The life of the land is preserved in righteousness.’” + +“You’ve been here before?” + +“Oh, yes; many times. S. Constantine & Co. have been importing from +Hawaii for many years. I had hoped....” He did not finish the thought +but turned to Hall almost fiercely. He seemed to be in the grip of some +sudden excitement. + +“What is the hour?” + +“Seven-oh-three.” + +“We must start. We shall leave Grunya here with Chan; it is best. Leave +your jacket, it will be warm. Come; we go by foot.” + +Hall turned for one last glance at the sleeping girl curled in a corner +of the car. Chan was sitting imperturbably in the front seat, his eyes +staring straight ahead. With a sigh the tall young man wheeled and +followed Dragomiloff through a narrow passage in the trees. + + + + +_Chapter XVIII_ + + +They came silently through the tall grass to the edge of the palm +fringe that bordered the white sand. The water beyond was smooth as +silk, the tiny wavelets breaking on the shore in little ripples. In the +clear air of morning the tiny island stood sharp and white against the +green background of the sea. The sun, now well above the horizon, hung +like an orange ball in the east. + +Hall was panting from the exertion of their descent; Dragomiloff showed +no signs of effort. He swung about to his companion, his eyes bright +with anticipation. + +“The time!” he demanded. + +Hall stared at him, breathing deeply. + +“Why this constant attention to the hour?” + +“The time!” There was urgency in the smaller man’s tone. Hall shrugged. + +“Seven-thirty-two.” + +Dragomiloff nodded in satisfaction and peered down the beach. The row +of thatched huts was spread out below them. On the sand a line of +hollowed-out canoes was drawn up. The tide was rising, tugging at the +canoes. Even as they watched, a native emerged from one of the huts, +dragged the outermost canoes higher onto the sand, and disappeared once +again into the shadowed doorway. + +The car used by their pursuers was stationed before the largest of the +huts, its wheels half-buried in the sand. There was no one in sight. +Dragomiloff studied the scene with narrowed eyes, a calculating frown +upon his face. + +“The time!” + +“Seven-thirty-four.” + +The smaller man nodded. + +“We must leave in exactly three minutes. When I start to run across the +sand, you will follow. We shall launch that small canoe lying closest +to us. I will enter and you will push us off. We will paddle for the +island.” He paused in thought. “I had planned on their being in sight, +but no matter. We shall have to make some sort of outcry....” + +“Outcry?” Hall stared at his companion. “You wish to be caught?” + +“I wish to be followed. Wait--all is well.” + +Starkington had appeared from the large hut, followed by Hanover and +Lucoville. They stood scuffing their feet in the sand, speaking with a +native who stood tall and majestic in the open doorway of the hut. + +“Excellent!” Dragomiloff’s eyes were glued upon the trio. “The time?” + +“Exactly seven-thirty-seven.” + +“The hour! Now!” + +He dashed from their refuge, his feet light on the brilliant sand. +Hall, running hastily behind, almost tripped but recovered himself in +time. Dragomiloff had the small canoe in the water; without hesitation +he sprang inside. With a heave Hall set them free and swung aboard, his +trouser legs dripping from their immersion. Dragomiloff had already +grasped a paddle and was sending them shooting across the calm water. +Hall lifted a paddle from the bottom of the boat and joined the smaller +man in propelling their slight craft across the smooth sea. + +There was a loud shout from the trio on shore. They came hurrying to +the edge of the water. A moment later they had clambered aboard a +larger canoe and were bent to the paddles. The native ran after them, +calling something in a loud voice, waving his hands frantically and +pointing seawards, but they paid him no heed. Dragomiloff and Hall +increased their efforts; their light canoe momentarily widened the gap. + +“This is insane!” Hall gasped, the sweat pouring down his face. “They +are three! They will be on us long before we reach the island! And even +then that barren rock is no refuge!” + +Dragomiloff offered no refutation. His strong back bent and +straightened as he lifted and lowered his paddle steadily. Behind them +the larger canoe was beginning to gain ground; the distance between the +two shallow boats was lessening. + +Then, suddenly, Dragomiloff ceased paddling and smiled grimly. + +“The hour,” he asked quietly. “What is the hour?” + +Hall paid no attention. His paddle was digging fiercely into the smooth +sea. + +“The hour,” Dragomiloff insisted calmly. + +With a muffled curse Hall threw down his paddle. + +“Then let them have you!” he cried in exasperation. He dug into his +pocket. “You and your ‘what is the hour’! It is seven-forty-one!” + +And at that moment there was a slight tremor that ran through their +canoe. It was as if some giant hand had nudged it gently. Hall looked +up in surprise; the tremor was repeated. Dragomiloff was leaning +forwards intently, his hands loose in his lap, staring in the direction +of the mainland. Hall swung about and viewed with amazement the sight +behind him. + +The canoe in pursuit had ceased to make headway. Despite the power +of the paddle-strokes of its occupants it remained fixed, as if +painted upon the broad ocean. Then, slowly, it began to swing away +in a wide circle, a light wake behind it. The trio in the canoe dug +more desperately with their paddles, but to no avail. Hall stared. +Dragomiloff sat relaxed, viewing the sight with graven face. + +On all sides of the restricted arena upon which this drama was being +played, the sea remained calm. But in the center, less than four +hundred yards from where they lay rocking gently on the bosom of the +ocean, the great forces of nature were at work. Slowly the shining +waters increased their colossal sweep; the ripples on the surface took +on a circular shape. The large canoe rode the current evenly, hugging +the rim of the circle tightly; the Lilliputian efforts of the paddlers +were lost against that vast array of strength. + +The motion of the sea increased. It circled with ever-increasing +velocity. Before Hall’s horrified eyes the smooth surface began slowly +to dip towards the center, to begin the formation of a gigantic flat +cone with smooth, shining sides. The canoe coasted free along the green +walls, tilted but locked in place by the giant centrifugal force. The +occupants had ceased paddling; their hands were fastened to the sides +of the vessel while they watched their certain death approach. One +paddle suddenly slipped from the canoe; it accompanied their dizzying +path, lying flat and rigid upon the firm waters at their side. + +Hall turned to Dragomiloff in wrath. + +“You are a devil!” he cried. + +But the other merely continued to watch the frightful scene with no +expression at all upon his face. + +“The tide,” he murmured, as if to himself. “It is the tide. What force +can compare with the power of nature!” + +Hall swung back to the dreadful sight, his jaws clenched. + +Deeper and deeper the cone pitched, faster and faster the glassy walls +rushed around, the canoe held fixedly against the glistening slope. +Hall’s eyes raised momentarily to the cliff above the village. The sun, +reflected from some heliographic point, located some part of their +automobile. For one brief instant he wondered if Grunya were watching; +then his eyes were drawn back to the sight before him. + +The faces of the three were clearly visible. No fear appeared, nor did +they cry out. They seemed to be discussing something in an animated +fashion; probably, Hall thought with wonder, the mysteries of the death +they would so soon encounter, or the beauty of the trap into which they +had fallen. + +The vortex deepened. A sound seemed to come from the depths of the +racing cone, a tortured sound, the sound of rushing water. The canoe +was spinning at an incredible rate. Then it suddenly seemed to slip +lower on the burnished slope, to be seeking the oblivion of the depths +of its own will. Hall cried out unconsciously. But the slim vessel +held, lower in the pit of speeding water, whirling madly. Swifter and +swifter it fled along the green shining walls. Hall felt his sight +sucked into the abyss before him; his hands were white on the sides of +their rocking canoe. + +Starkington raised a hand in a brave salute; his head lifted with a +smile in their direction. Instantly he was thrown from the canoe. His +body raced alongside the small craft, spread-eagled upon the hard +water. Then, before Hall’s eyes, it slid into the center of the vortex +and disappeared. + +Hall swung about, facing Dragomiloff. + +“You are a devil!” he whispered. + +Dragomiloff paid no attention. His eyes were fixed pensively upon the +maelstrom. Hall turned back, unable to keep his eyes from the gruesome +sight before them. + +The large canoe had slipped lower along the sides of the whirling +death. Lucoville’s mouth was open; he appeared to be shouting some +triumphant greeting to the fate that was reaching out with damp fingers +to gather them in. Hanover sat calmly. + +The boat slid the last few feet; the bow touched the vortex. With +a shriek of rending wood the canoe twisted in the air and then +disappeared, sucked into the oily maw, crushed by the enormous forces +pressing in upon it. Its two occupants were still seated bravely +within; they seemed to swirl into the air and then were swallowed by +the voracious sea. + +The growling of the rushing ocean began to abate, as if sated by this +sacrifice of flesh given it. Slowly the huge cone flattened; the vortex +rose evenly as the sides assumed horizontal shape. A low wave traveled +from the calming waters, rocking their canoe gently, reminding them of +their salvation. Hall shuddered. + +Behind him there was a stirring. + +“We had best return now.” Dragomiloff’s tone was even. + +Hall stared at his companion with loathing. + +“You killed them! As surely as if you had struck them down with a knife +or a gun!” + +“Killed them? Yes. You wished them killed, did you not? You wanted the +Assassination Bureau wiped out.” + +“I wanted them disbanded! I wanted them to cease their activities!” + +“One cannot disband ideas. Convictions.” His voice was cold. His eyes +roamed the empty sea where the large canoe had been sucked into +eternity. Sadness entered his tone. “They were my friends.” + +“Friends!” + +“Yes.” Dragomiloff picked up his paddle and set it in the water. “We +had best return now.” + +Hall sighed and dipped his paddle into the sea. The canoe moved +sluggishly and then gained speed. They passed over the spot where +Starkington and the others had met death. Dragomiloff paused for one +brief moment, as if in salute to the lost members of the Bureau. + +“We shall have to cable Haas,” he remarked slowly, and resumed the even +rhythm of his paddling. + + + + +_Chapter XIX_ + + +Haas, in San Francisco, waited impatiently for word from the three who +had sailed in pursuit of the ex-Chief of the Assassination Bureau. The +days passed swiftly, each day bringing closer the end of the compact. +Then, at long last, a letter arrived via the mail packet. + + “Dear Haas: + + “I can see you pacing your room, muttering to yourself in Greek and + Hebrew, wondering if we have fallen victim to the lazy charm of + this beautiful island. Or if we have fallen victim to D. You can + relax; we have done neither. + + “But the task has not been easy. D. laid a very neat trail to the + west; we are convinced his true flight will be to the east. We are + watching his daughter and Hall carefully. The first move they make + in this direction will place us on the scent. + + “We realize that time is running out, but do not fear. The Bureau + has never failed and will not fail now. You can expect a coded + cable any day. + + “By the way, some incidental intelligence: D. has also used the + name Constantine in his travels. We discovered this when we located + him aboard the _Eastern Clipper_. Yes, he escaped. When we get + together, after this is all over, we will tell you the whole story. + + “Starkington. + + “P.S. Lucoville has fallen in love with _poi_, an unpalatable + mess made from taro root. We shall have even greater trouble + with him and his diet once we return.” + +Haas laid down the letter with a frown. The mail packet had sailed +from Honolulu nine days earlier; certainly there should have been a +cable from Starkington by this time. The trio had been in Hawaii nearly +a month; less than six weeks remained to complete the assignment. He +picked up the letter again, studying it carefully. + +Constantine, eh? It rang some faint bell. There was a large export and +import firm with that name. They had offices in New York, he knew; +possibly they also had offices in Honolulu. He sat in the quiet of the +room, the letter dangling from his fingers, while his tremendous brain +calculated all of the possibilities. + +In sudden resolve he arose. If there were no cable within the next +two days he would catch the first steamer to the islands. And in the +meantime he would prepare himself, for there would be precious little +time once he arrived there. Folding the letter, he slipped it into his +pocket and left the room. + +His first stop was at the public library. A willing librarian furnished +him with a large map of the Hawaiian Islands, and he spread it out upon +a table and hunched over it, studying the details of Oahu with care. +The trail had been to the west; his finger traced a spidery line that +ran along the coast from Honolulu through Nanakuli and Waianae to a +small finger of land marked Kaena Point. He nodded. That had been the +false trail; Starkington would make no mistake on that score. + +The roads to the east were more complex. Some ran over Nuuanu Pali pass +and ended in the bush, or meandered down to unnamed beaches. Another +thin line marked a road running up and back of Diamond Head, and then +coming to the coast at a curved spit marked Mokapu Point. He pushed +aside the map and leaned back, thinking. + +He tried to put himself in Dragomiloff’s place. Why remain on Oahu? +Why not leave for one of the many islands like Niihau or Kauai that +spread out to the west; some deserted, some so sparsely inhabited as +to make discovery virtually impossible in the little time left to +the Bureau? Why remain on the one island that offered the greatest +possibility for discovery? + +Only, of course, if discovery were desired. He sat up, his brain +racing. And why would discovery be desired? Only for a trap! His eye +flashed once again to the map before him, but it told him nothing. He +knew too little of the terrain. He leaned back once more, employing his +giant intelligence. + +A trap to catch three people with certainty was difficult. An accident? +Too uncertain; one might always remain alive. An ambush? Almost +impossible against three trained men such as Starkington, Hanover, and +Lucoville. If he were Dragomiloff, faced with the problem, in what +manner would he attempt to resolve it? + +Not on land. There was always cover available; the conditions +were never certain. For one man, yes; but never three. If he were +Dragomiloff he would set his trap on the sea, where escape and cover +were unavailable. He bent over the large map once again, his heart +beating faster. + +The eastern coast wound about tenuously, marked by little coves and +scattered offshore islands. An island? Possibly. But again there +would be the problem of possible cover, although escape would be more +difficult. No; it would be the sea. But how do you trap three men on +the barren sea? Three men of extraordinary intelligence, each highly +trained in assassination, and also in self-protection? + +He sighed and folded the map. Further investigation was necessary. He +returned the chart to the librarian, thanking her, and left the cool +building. One additional possibility occurred to him and he turned his +steps in the direction of the Court House. + +The clerk of land records nodded pleasantly. + +“Yes,” he said. “We do have copies of land transactions in Hawaii. That +is, if they are more than six months old. It takes that long to have +them registered and filed here.” He peered at the thin, intense man +facing him. “What would the purchaser’s name be, please?” + +“Constantine,” Haas replied. “S. Constantine & Co.” + +“The importers? If you will wait one moment....” + +Haas stared through the dusty window facing the Bay and the constant +passage of small and large ships in the distance, but he saw none +of this. In his mind’s eye he saw a beach, and a boat--no, two +boats--bobbing on the ocean off the shore. In one boat Dragomiloff sat +quietly, while the other contained Starkington and the others. They +remained there, fixed upon his mind, while he searched the scene for +some indication of the trap, some means to explain why Dragomiloff was +luring them there. + +The clerk returned. + +“Here we are, sir. S. Constantine & Co. purchased an office block on +King Street in 1906. Five years ago. The details are all here, if you +would care to examine them.” + +Haas shook his head. + +“No. I am speaking about another land purchase. More recent. On the +eastern coast....” He hesitated, and suddenly the picture became clear. +Suddenly he was sure. Dragomiloff had been planning this coup since the +very first day. He straightened, speaking more positively. “The land +was bought between ten and eleven months ago.” + +The clerk disappeared into his files once again. This time when he +returned Haas could not repress a small smile of triumph, for again the +clerk was carrying a folder. + +“I think this is what you are looking for, sir. But the purchase +was not effected by the company. It was made in the name of Sergius +Constantine, and comprises a small island off the eastern coast of +Oahu.” + +Haas read the details swiftly. His magnificent memory, recalling the +chart of the coastline with perfect clarity, instantly located the +small island. Thanking the clerk, he left, his footsteps faster, his +mind flying as he reviewed the many possibilities. + +There could be no doubt that it was a trap, planned for months, and now +in the process of execution. The victims had not been known; fate had +selected them. He must send a cable at once; Starkington would need to +be warned. + +He turned into his hotel, forming the words for the telegram in his +mind, picturing his code-book lying in his suitcase hidden beneath his +shirts. With his key he was handed a small envelope. He slit it open as +he walked towards the stairway, and then stopped short. The message was +brief and conclusive: + + “Haas: Regret to inform you that Starkington, Hanover, and + Lucoville died as the result of an unfortunate boating accident. + Knew you would want to know. Hall.” + +For a moment he remained, his fingers grasping the cable tightly as +his mind encompassed the disaster. Too late! No time now for warnings; +little time for anything. He must take the first boat. The first boat +was--the _Amberly_, sailing at dusk. He would need to go to their +offices to arrange passage; they were just a few blocks away. + +He rushed to the door and into the street, jostling people as he forced +his way through the noon-day crowd. Poor Starkington, he had always +liked him so much! Hanover, gentle and scholarly, always so excited at +the thought of wrong-doing in this naughty world! And Lucoville; he +would never again grouse over his food! + +The shipping offices were there across the street. Without looking he +sprang into the pavement, never noting the huge brewery wagon bearing +down upon him. There was a scream from someone along the sidewalk; a +startled curse from the driver pulling madly and vainly on the reins. +The twin span of grays, frightened by the apparition of the small +figure before them, and frenzied by the violent tug of the bit, lashed +out wildly. Haas fell beneath the flailing hooves, his last thoughts a +recognition of unbearable pain, and the wonder that he should die so +far from the palm-fringed beach and the end of his quest. + + * * * * * + +By mutual consent it was agreed to pass the final days of the fateful +year upon the island. Here Dragomiloff, Grunya, and Hall lived in +simple fashion, doing their own cooking, drawing their own water, +finding their food in the sea as the natives before them had done for +years. Surprisingly, they found it pleasant, a relaxing change from +the flurry of their lives upon the mainland. But each knew it to be an +escape from their problems, and one which could last but a short time. + +To his own amazement, Hall found his liking for Dragomiloff returning +daily, despite the frightful recollection of Starkington’s death. The +memory was fading; it slid further into the recesses of his mind until +it appeared as a remembered scene from a book long since read, or a +panel of a mural viewed in some obscure gallery long forgotten. + +Dragomiloff never shirked his share of the chores, nor did he attempt +by reason of his position or his age to direct or command. He was +always ready with a helping hand at the fishing and the cooking, and +the evenness of his temper often led Hall to wonder if the dreadful +scene of the whirlpool had actually existed. Yet daily, as the calendar +flew, the small man kept more and more to himself. He sat at meals +silent and increasingly thoughtful; the tasks he selected were now +those suitable to one person. And daily he spent more and more time +along the beach, staring across the empty expanse of the sea towards +the mainland, as if waiting. + +It was in the late afternoon of the penultimate day that he approached +Hall, who was crouching in the surf sifting the shallows for the +succulent crabs that hid there. His face was taut, although his voice +remained even. + +“Hall, you are certain that you cabled to Haas?” + +Hall looked up, surprised. + +“Of course. Why do you ask?” + +“I cannot imagine why he has not come.” + +“Possibly some circumstance beyond his control.” Hall stared at his +companion. “You know, he is the last of the Assassination Bureau.” + +Dragomiloff’s face was expressionless as he contemplated the brown face +of the crouching man. + +“Except for me, of course,” he stated quietly, and turned in the +direction of the hut. + +Hall’s eyes followed Dragomiloff’s figure for a moment and then, with +a shrug, he returned to his crabbing. When the small wicker basket was +sufficiently full to insure a good evening meal he straightened up, +rubbing the cramped muscles of his back. We are all on edge, but there +is but one last day, he thought with satisfaction, and then frowned. +There was no doubt but that he would miss the island. + +The sun was sinking into the green hills of the mainland as he came +back to the hut. He placed the basket of squirming crabs in the small +kitchen and padded through into the living room. Grunya was bent in +deep conversation with her father; they both stopped short as soon as +he entered. It was evident they did not wish to be disturbed. Feeling +a bit hurt, Hall left the scene abruptly and walked down to the beach. +Secrets? he thought a bit bitterly as he tramped the damp sand. Secrets +at this late stage? + +It was dark when he returned. Dragomiloff was in his room, bent over +his writing table, his lamp casting the shadow of his profile sharply +against the thatched wall. Grunya was sitting by a small lamp weaving a +small mat from palm-fronds. Hall dropped into a chair opposite her and +watched the play of her strong hands silently for a few moments. Her +usual smile at sight of him was missing. + +“Grunya.” + +She looked up inquiringly, her face set. + +“Yes, Winter?” + +“Grunya.” He kept his voice low. “We are at the end of our days +here. Soon we shall return to civilization.” He hesitated, somewhat +frightened by the solemnity of her face. “Will you--still wish to marry +me?” + +“Of course.” Her eyes dropped once again to the work in her lap; her +fingers picked up their chore. “I want nothing more than to marry you.” + +“And your father?” + +She looked up, no muscle of her face moving. Not for the first time +Hall noted the sharp resemblance to the blond man in the strong, fine +lines of her face. + +“What about my father?” + +“What will he do? The Assassination Bureau will be no more. It was a +large part of his life.” + +“It was all of his life.” Then her eyes came up, unfathomable. They +slid over Hall’s shoulder and stopped. Hall swung about. Dragomiloff +had come into the room and was standing quietly. Grunya’s eyes came +back to Hall. She attempted a smile. + +“Winter, we ... we need water. Would you...?” + +“Of course.” + +He rose, took the bucket, and walked in the direction of the small +spring at the northern end of the island. The moon had risen, large and +white, and lit his path with dancing shadows from the stirring flowers +along the way. His heart was heavy; Grunya’s strange sternness--almost +coldness--weighed upon him. But then a lighter thought came. Each of +us, he thought, has been subject to strain these past few days. Lord +knows how I must have appeared to her! Just a few more days and they +would find themselves aboard ship, and the captain could marry them. +Man and wife! He filled the bucket and started back, whistling softly +to himself. + +The water butt was in the kitchen. He up-ended the bucket and poured; +water overflowed, washing against his bare feet. The butt had been +full. In sudden fear he threw the bucket down and dashed for the living +room. Grunya was still working silently, but her cheeks were wet with +tears. A sheaf of papers lay upon the table before her, curled and +heavy under the lamp. + +“Grunya, my dear! What....” + +She attempted to continue her work but the tears streamed faster and +faster until she flung the weaving from her and fell into his waiting +arms. + +“Oh, Winter...!” + +“What is it? What is it, my darling?” Sudden suspicion came to him and +he turned in the direction of Dragomiloff’s room. The room was dark, +but the moonlight, streaming in at the open window, fell across the +empty bed. He sprang for the door, but Grunya clutched his arm. + +“No! You must not! Read this!” + +He paused irresolutely, but the pressure of her hand upon his arm was +demanding. Her eyes, raised to his, were filled with tears, but they +were filled, also, with determination. Slowly he relaxed and reached +for the sheaf of papers. Grunya watched his face as he read, her eyes +roving from the broad forehead to the stern jaw, noting the marks of +the man who would be her only refuge forever. + + “Dear Children: + + “I can wait no longer. Haas has not come and my hours are running + out. + + “You must try and understand me and--as Hall would call it--my + madness. I speak now of the action I must take. As head of the + Assassination Bureau I accepted a commission; this commission will + be fulfilled. The Bureau has never failed and it will not fail now. + To do so would negate everything it has ever stood for. I am sure + that only death could have prevented Haas from accomplishing his + mission, but in our organization the duty always passes to another. + As the last member, I must accept it. + + “But I do not accept it with sadness. The Bureau was my life, and + as it vanishes, so must Ivan Dragomiloff vanish. Nor am I accepting + it with shame; pride marks the step I shall take this night. + Possibly we were wrong--at one time you, Hall, convinced me that we + were. But we were never wrong for the wrong reasons--even in our + wrongness there was a rightness. + + “That we killed, and that many times, we do not deny. But the + terrible thing in killing is not the quantity of victims, but the + quality. The death of one Socrates is a far greater crime against + humanity than the slaughter of endless hordes of the savages that + Genghis Khan led on the brutal rape of Asia; but who truly believes + it? The public--were they to know--would scream imprecation down at + our Bureau, even as, with the same breath, they glorified to the + heavens all forms of thoughtless and needless slaying. + + “You doubt me? Walk through the parks of our great cities, and our + squares, and our plazas. What monuments do you find to Aristotle? + Or to Paine? Or Spinoza? No; these spaces are reserved for the + demigods, sword in hand, who led us in all our slaughtering + crusades since we raised ourselves from the apes. The late war + with Spain will doubtless fill the few remaining spots, both here + and in Spain, with horsed heroes, arms raised in bloody salute, + commemorating in deathless bronze the victory of violence in the + battle for men’s minds. + + “Yet I allowed myself to be convinced that we were wrong. Why? + Because in essence we _were_ wrong. The world must come to + recognize the joint responsibility for justice; it can no longer + remain the aim of a select--and self-selected--few. Even now, the + rumblings that come from Europe foreshadow a greater catastrophe + than mankind has yet endured, but the salvation must come from a + larger morality than even we could offer. It must come from the + growing moral fibre of the world itself. + + “Yet, one doubt; one question. If that moral fibre be not + forthcoming? Then, in some distant age, the Assassination Bureau + may well be re-born. For of the deaths that can be laid at our + doors, the following may be said: No man died who did not deserve + it. No man died whose death did not benefit mankind. It is doubtful + if the same will be said of those whose statues rise from the + squares after the next ‘final’ war is fought. + + “But time runs out. I ask you, Hall, to guard Grunya. She is the + life I bequeath to this earth, the proof that no man, right or + wrong, can pass without leaving his mark. + + “One last kiss to my Grunya. One final handclasp to you, my friend. + + “D.” + +Hall lifted his eyes from the papers between his fingers; they sought +the beautiful face of his loved one. + +“You did not attempt to stop him?” + +“No.” Her gaze was steady and brave. “All my life he has done +everything for me. My slightest wish was granted.” Her eyes misted; her +mouth quivered with an effort for control. “I love him so much! I had +no other means of repaying him.” + +Hall gathered her in his arms, wonder at her great strength flooding +him. Suddenly the strain was too much; she burst into violent tears, +clutching his arms with all her force. + +“Oh, Winter, was I wrong? Was I wrong? Should I have begged him for his +life?” + +He held her tightly, soothingly. Through the open doorway his eyes +sought the smooth sea reflected brightly in the brilliant moonlight. A +shadow crossed his vision, a slight figure in the distance, bent easily +over a paddle, moving quietly to the center of the channel to await +the _Huhu Kai_. He did not know whether he saw it or imagined it, but +suddenly one arm seemed to rise from the dwindling canoe in a happy +salute. + +“No,” he said fiercely, holding her tighter. “No, my darling. You were +not wrong.” + + +THE END + + +[_Jack London stops and Mr. Fish begins on page 122_] + + + + +JACK LONDON’S NOTES FOR THE COMPLETION OF THE BOOK + + +You “sped the blow” before the truce up. Drago finds this out. + +Alarm of Breen when he sees the point. “But I can’t stop it. Any +attempt to stop it will immediately explode it.” + +Drago: “I’ll help you out,” Breen grateful. + +They prove to Breen that he set it in the truce. + +“You’re right. I almost was guilty of wrong. Disconnect it--I can’t. +That was the device I mentioned. The beauty of this machine is that it +is like a decree of the Bureau. Once set, as it is set, no power on +earth can stop it. Automatic locking device. A blacksmith could not now +remove the clockwork.” + +Take it down and throw it in the Bay. + +“Friends, lunatics--will you permit this?” + +“They can’t stop it,” Hanover chuckled. “The irrefragable logic of the +elements! The irrefragable logic of the elements!” + +“Are you going to stay here and be blown up?” Hall demanded angrily. + +“Certainly not. But, as Breen says, there is plenty of time. Ten +minutes will remove the slowest of us outside the area of destruction. +In the meantime consider the marvel of it!” + +Hall considers other people. + +Breen: “I broke down in my reasoning. That shows fallibility of human +reason. But, Hanover, you see no breakdown in the reasoning of the +elements. Can’t break.” + +So absorbed, all forgot the flight of time, Drago stood up, and put an +affectionate hand on Lucoville’s shoulder--near to the neck. + +Speaks pleasantly.--swift--spasmodic--hand. + +Death-touch of Japanese. Caught hat and coat. Slips out--Haas springing +like a tiger, collided with servant--crash of dishes. + +“Dear friend Lucoville,” says Hanover, peering through spectacles. “You +will never reply.” + +The Chief truly had the last word. + + * * * * * + +Next day’s papers--_San Francisco Examiner_--mysterious explosion in +Bay--dead fish. No clue. + +Drago’s message: “Going to Los Angeles. Shall remain some time. Come +and get me.” + +At dinner when Drago had exalted adventure path--they accused him of +being a sentimentalist, an Epicurean (sneered). + + * * * * * + +“Gentlemen!” Hall cried desperately, “I appeal to you as +mathematicians. Ethics can be reduced to science. Why give all your +lives for his? + +“Gentlemen, fellow madmen--reflect. Cast this situation in terms of an +equation. It is unscientific, irrational. More, it is unmoral. As high +ethicists it would be a wanton act, etc.” + +They debate. They give in. + +Drago: “Wisely done. And now, a truce. I believe we are the only group +in the United States or the world who so trust.” Pulls out watch. “It +is 9:30. Let us go and have dinner. 2 hours truce. After that, if +nothing is determined or deranged, let the status quo continue.” + + * * * * * + +Hall loses Grunya, who saves Drago, and escapes with him. Then +Hall, telegrams, traces them through Mexico, West Indies, Panama, +Ecuador--cables big (5 times) sum to Drago, and starts in pursuit. + +Arrives; finds them gone. Encounters Haas, and follows him. Sail on +same windjammer for Australia. There loses Haas. + +Himself, cabling, locates them as headed for Tahiti. + +Meets them in Tahiti. Marries Grunya. Appearance of Haas. + +The three, Drago, Grunya and Hall (married) live in Tahiti until +assassins arrive. Then Drago sneaks in cutter for Taiohae. + +Drago assures others of his sanity; they’re not even insane. They’re +stupid. They cannot understand the transvaluation of values he has +achieved. + +On a sandy islet, Dragomiloff manages to blow up the whole group except +Haas who is too avidly clever. House mined. + +Drago, in Nuka Island, village Taiohae, Marquesas. There is a wrecked +cutter and assassin (Haas) is thrown up on beach where Melville escaped +nearly a century earlier. While Drago is off exploring Typee Valley on +this island, Hall and Grunya play off the assassin Haas, and think are +rid of him. + +Drago dies triumphantly: Weak, helpless, on Marquesas island, by +accident of wreck is discovered by appointed slayer--Haas. Only by +accident, however. “In truth I have outwitted organization.” Slayer and +he discuss way he is to die. Drago has a slow, painless poison. Agrees +to take. Takes. Will be an hour in dying. + +Drago: “Now, let us discuss the wrongness of the organization which +must be disbanded.” + +Grunya and Hall arrive. Schooner lying on and off. They come ashore in +whaleboat, in time for his end. + +After all dead but Haas, Hall cleaned up the affairs of the Bureau. +$117,000 was turned over to him. Stored books and furniture of Drago. +Sent mute to be caretaker of the bungalow at Edge Moor. + + + + +ENDING AS OUTLINED BY CHARMIAN LONDON + + +The small yacht sailing, spinnaker winged out, day and night, for many +days and nights. The saturnalia of destruction--splendid description of +the bonita--by the hundreds of thousands. The great hunting. The miles +wide swatch of destruction. The gunies, bosuns, frigate birds, etc., +increasing--tens of thousands. All after flying fish. When flying fish +come aboard, they, too, rush to catch them. Saturnalia of killing gets +on their nerves. Birds break wings against rigging, fall overboard, +torn to pieces by bonita and attacked from above by their fluttering +kind--frigate birds, bosuns, etc. Native sailors catch bonita to eat +raw--as haul in, caught-bonita are attacked by their fellows. Sailors +catch a shark--cut it clean open, none of its parts left. Beating heart +in a man’s hand--shark heaved overboard, swims and swims, snapping with +jaws as the bonita hosts flit by in the sun-flooded brine--beating +heart shock to Grunya. Finally the madness of the tropic sun, etc. Here +begin to shoot birds, fish, etc., with small automatic rifle, and she +looks up and applauds. All killed or injured are immediately eaten by +others. Once the Irish terrier goes overboard and is torn to pieces +by bonita. Once, her scarf, red, struck and dragged down, etc., etc. +Nothing can escape. + +And so the end, tragic foredoomed, as they go ashore, sharks snap at +their oar blades. And on the beach, a school of small fish, discovered, +rush upon the beach. They wade ashore through this silvery surf of +perished life, and find--Dragomiloff dying. + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + +Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a +predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they +were not changed. + +Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation +marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left +unbalanced. + +According to the note at the end of the story (page 179), the transition +of authors from Jack London to Robert Fish occurs on page 122. The first +full paragraph on that page reads: “Do something!” Grunya entreated Hall. +“You must do something.” + +Page 33: “you ever fail” was printed as “you every fail”. Changed here. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75562 *** diff --git a/75562-h/75562-h.htm b/75562-h/75562-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..03075fa --- /dev/null +++ b/75562-h/75562-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8054 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Assassination Bureau, Ltd | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + +body { + margin-left: 2.5em; + margin-right: 2.5em; +} +.x-ebookmaker body {margin: 0;} +.x-ebookmaker-drop {color: inherit;} + +h1, h2 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; + margin-top: 2.5em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + word-spacing: .2em; +} + +h1 {line-height: 1;} + +h2.chap {margin-bottom: 0;} +h2+p {margin-top: 1.5em;} +.x-ebookmaker h1, .x-ebookmaker .chapter, .x-ebookmaker .section {page-break-before: always;} +.x-ebookmaker h1.nobreak, .x-ebookmaker h2.nobreak, .x-ebookmaker .nobreak {page-break-before: avoid; padding-top: 0;} + +.transnote h2 { + margin-top: .5em; + margin-bottom: 1em; +} + +p { + text-indent: 1.75em; + margin-top: .51em; + margin-bottom: .24em; + text-align: justify; +} +.x-ebookmaker p { + margin-top: .5em; + margin-bottom: .25em; +} + +.center p, p.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +.p2 {padding-top: 2em;} +.p4 {padding-top: 4em;} +.vspace {line-height: 1.3;} +.vspace2 {line-height: 1.6;} + +.in0 {text-indent: 0;} +.in4 {padding-left: 4em;} + +.smaller {font-size: 85%;} +.larger {font-size: 125%;} +.xxlarge {font-size: 300%;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right; margin-right: 2em;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.bold {font-weight: bold;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin: 4em auto 4em auto; + clear: both; +} +.x-ebookmaker hr { + margin-top: .1em; + margin-bottom: .1em; + visibility: hidden; + color: white; + width: .01em; + display: none; +} + +.tb { + text-align: center; + padding-top: .76em; + padding-bottom: .24em; + letter-spacing: 1.5em; + margin-right: -1.5em; +} + +.x-ebookmaker .tb {letter-spacing: 1.25em; margin-right: -1.25em;} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + right: .25em; + text-indent: 0; + text-align: right; + font-size: 70%; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + font-style: normal; + letter-spacing: normal; + line-height: normal; + color: #acacac; + border: .0625em solid #acacac; + background: #ffffff; + padding: .0625em .125em; +} + +.blockquot {margin: 1.5em 2em 1.5em 2em; font-size: 90%;} +.blockquot .blockquot {font-size: 100%;} +.blockquot p {text-indent: 0;} +.blockquot p.ti, .blockquot.ti p {text-indent: 1.25em;} + +p.hang {text-indent: -2.3em; padding-left: .3em;} + +.transnote { + border: .3em double gray; + font-family: sans-serif, serif; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5%; + margin-top: 4em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + padding: 1em; +} +.x-ebookmaker .transnote { + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; + margin-left: 2%; + margin-right: 2%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + padding: .5em; +} + +.covernote {visibility: hidden; display: none;} +.x-ebookmaker .covernote {visibility: visible; display: block; text-align: justify} + +.wspace {word-spacing: .3em;} + +span.locked {white-space:nowrap;} +.pagenum br {display: none; visibility: hidden;} + + /* ]]> */ </style> +</head> + +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75562 ***</div> + +<div class="transnote section"> +<p class="center larger">Transcriber’s Notes</p> + +<p class="covernote">New original cover art included with this eBook is granted +to the public domain. It is the original Title page, +with the blank areas colored red by Transcriber.</p> + +<p>The original book did not have a Table of Contents. The one below was +added by the Transcriber.</p> + +<p><a href="#Transcribers_Notes">Additional notes</a> will be found near the end of this ebook.</p> + +<p class="in0 in4 smaller vspace2"> +<a href="#Chapter_I"><i>Chapter I</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_II"><i>Chapter II</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_III"><i>Chapter III</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_IV"><i>Chapter IV</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_V"><i>Chapter V</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_VI"><i>Chapter VI</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_VII"><i>Chapter VII</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_VIII"><i>Chapter VIII</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_IX"><i>Chapter IX</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_X"><i>Chapter X</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XI"><i>Chapter XI</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XII"><i>Chapter XII</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XIII"><i>Chapter XIII</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XIV"><i>Chapter XIV</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XV"><i>Chapter XV</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XVI"><i>Chapter XVI</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XVII"><i>Chapter XVII</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XVIII"><i>Chapter XVIII</i></a><br> +<a href="#Chapter_XIX"><i>Chapter XIX</i></a><br> +<a href="#JACK_LONDONS_NOTES_FOR">Jack London’s Notes For the Completion of the Book</a><br> +<a href="#ENDING_AS_OUTLINED_BY_CHARMIAN_LONDON">Ending As Outlined by Charmian London</a> +</p> +<div> </div> +</div> + +<div class="section"> +<h1>The Assassination Bureau, Ltd.</h1> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div> </div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter section vspace"> +<p class="right bold"> +<span class="xxlarge">Jack<br> +London</span><br> +<br> +<i>Completed by Robert L. Fish from notes by Jack London</i><br> +<br> +<span class="xxlarge">The<br> +Assassination<br> +Bureau,<br> +Ltd.</span></p> + +<p class="p4 right">McGraw-Hill Book Company, Inc.<br> +<span class="smaller wspace">New York Toronto London</span> +</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div> </div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter section p4 in4"> +<p class="in0 smaller"> +The Assassination Bureau, Ltd.<br> +<br> +Copyright © 1963 by Irving Shepard<br> +All Rights Reserved. Printed in the<br> +United States of America. This book or parts<br> +thereof may not be reproduced in any form<br> +without written permission of the publishers.<br> +<br> +Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 63-20448<br> +<br> +First Edition<br> +<br> +38655 +</p> +<div> </div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Assassination_Bureau_Ltd"><span class="p4 smaller">The Assassination Bureau, Ltd.</span></h2> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div> </div> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_I"><i>Chapter I</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>He was a handsome man, with large liquid-black eyes, +an olive complexion that was laid upon a skin clear, +clean, and of surpassing smoothness of texture, and with +a mop of curly black hair that invited fondling—in +short, the kind of a man that women like to look upon, +and also, the kind of a man who is quite thoroughly aware +of this insinuative quality of his looks. He was lean-waisted, +muscular, and broad-shouldered, and about him +was a certain bold, masculine swagger that was belied by +the apprehensiveness in the glance he cast around the +room and at the retreating servant who had shown him +in. The fellow was a deaf mute—this he would have +guessed, had he not been already aware of the fact, +thanks to Lanigan’s description of an earlier visit to this +same apartment.</p> + +<p>Once the door had closed on the servant’s back, the +visitor could scarcely refrain from shivering. Yet there +was nothing in the place itself to excite such a feeling. It +was a quiet, dignified room, lined with crowded bookshelves, +with here and there an etching, and, in one place, +a map-rack. Also against the wall was a big rack +filled with railway timetables and steamship folders. +Between the windows was a large, flattop desk, on which +stood a telephone, and from which, on an extension, +swung a typewriter. Everything was in scrupulous order +and advertised a presiding genius that was the soul +of system.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span></p> + +<p>The books attracted the waiting man, and he ranged +along the shelves, with a practiced eye skimming titles +by whole rows at a time. Nor was there anything shivery +in these solid-backed books. He noted especially +Ibsen’s Prose Dramas and Shaw’s various plays and +novels; editions de luxe of Wilde, Smollett, Fielding, +Sterne, and the <i>Arabian Nights</i>; La Fargue’s <i>Evolution +of Property</i>, <i>The Students’ Marx</i>, <i>Fabian Essays</i>, Brooks’ +<i>Economic Supremacy</i>, Dawson’s <i>Bismarck and State +Socialism</i>, Engels’ <i>Origin of the Family</i>, Conant’s <i>The +United States in the Orient</i>, and John Mitchell’s <i>Organized +Labor</i>. Apart, and in the original Russian, were +the works of Tolstoy, Gorky, Turgenev, Andreyev, Goncharov, +and Dostoyevski.</p> + +<p>The man strayed on to a library table, heaped with +orderly piles of the current reviews and quarterlies, +where, at one corner, were a dozen of the late novels. +He pulled up an easy chair, stretched out his legs, lighted +a cigarette, and glanced over these books. One, a slender, +red-bound volume, caught his eyes. On the front +cover a gaudy female rioted. He selected it, and read +the title: <i>Four Weeks: A Loud Book</i>. As he opened +it, a slight but sharp explosion occurred within its papers, +accompanied by a flash of light and a puff of smoke. On +the instant he was convulsed with terror. He fell back +in the chair and sank down, arms and legs in the air, +the book flying from his hands in about the same fashion +a man would dispense with a snake he had unwittingly +picked up. The visitor was badly shaken. His beautiful +olive skin had turned a ghastly green, while his +liquid-black eyes bulged with horror.</p> + +<p>Then it was that the door to an inner apartment opened, +and the presiding genius entered. A cold mirth was +frosted on his countenance as he surveyed the abject fright +of the other. Stooping, he picked up the book, spread it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span> +open, and exposed the toy-work mechanism that had exploded +the paper cap.</p> + +<p>“No wonder creatures like you are compelled to come +to me,” he sneered. “You terrorists are always a puzzle +to me. Why is it that you are most fascinated by the +very thing of which you are most afraid?” He was now +gravely scornful. “Powder—that’s it. If you had exploded +that toy-pistol cap on your naked tongue it would +have caused no more than a temporary inconvenience to +your facilities of speaking and eating. Whom do you +want to kill now?”</p> + +<p>The speaker was a striking contrast to his visitor. So +blond was he that it might well be described as washed-out +blond. His eyes, veiled by the finest and most silken +of lashes that were almost like an albino’s, were the palest +of pale blue. His head, partly bald, was thinly covered +by a similar growth of fine and silky hair, almost snow-white +so fairly white it was, yet untinctured by time. The +mouth was firm and considerative, though not harsh, and +the dome of forehead, broad and lofty, spoke eloquently +of the brain behind. His English was painfully correct, +the total and colorless absence of any accent almost constituting +an accent in itself. Despite the crude practical +joke he had just perpetrated, there was little humor in +him. A grave and somber dignity, that hinted of scholarship, +characterized him; while he emanated an atmosphere +of complacency of power and seemed to suggest an +altitude of philosophic calm far beyond fake books and +toy-pistol caps. So elusive was his personality, his colorless +coloring, and his almost lineless face, that there was +no clew to his age, which might have been anywhere +between thirty and fifty—or sixty. One felt that he +was older than he looked.</p> + +<p>“You are Ivan Dragomiloff?” the visitor asked.</p> + +<p>“That is the name I am known by. It serves as well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> +as any other—as well as Will Hausmann serves you. +That is the name you were admitted under. I know you. +You are secretary of the Caroline Warfield group. I +have had dealings with it before. Lanigan represented +you, I believe.”</p> + +<p>He paused, placed a black skullcap on his thin-thatched +head, and sat down.</p> + +<p>“No complaints, I hope,” he added coldly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, not at all,” Hausmann hastened to assure +him. “That other affair was entirely satisfactory. The +only reason we had not been to you again was that we +could not afford it. But now we want McDuffy, chief +of <span class="locked">police—”</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, I know him,” the other interrupted.</p> + +<p>“He has been a brute, a beast,” Hausmann hurried on +with raising indignation. “He has martyred our cause +again and again, deflowered our group of its choicest +spirits. Despite the warnings we gave him, he deported +Tawney, Cicerole, and Gluck. He has broken up our +meetings repeatedly. His officers have clubbed and +beaten us like cattle. It is due to him that four of our +martyred brothers and sisters are now languishing in +prison cells.”</p> + +<p>While he went on with the recital of grievances, Dragomiloff +nodded his head gravely, as if keeping a running +account.</p> + +<p>“There is old Sanger, as pure and lofty a soul as ever +breathed the polluted air of civilization, seventy-two years +old, a patriarch, broken in health, dying inch by inch and +serving out his ten years in Sing Sing in this land of the +free. And for what?” he cried excitedly. Then his +voice sank to hopeless emptiness as he feebly answered +his own question. “For nothing.”</p> + +<p>“These hounds of the law must be taught the red lesson +again. They cannot continue always to ill-treat us with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> +impunity. McDuffy’s officers gave perjured testimony +on the witness stand. This we know. He has lived too +long. The time has come. And he should have been +dead long ere this, only we could not raise the money. +But when we decided that assassination was cheaper than +lawyer fees, we left our poor comrades to go unattended +to their prison cells and accumulated the fund more +quickly.”</p> + +<p>“You know it is our rule never to fill an order until we +are satisfied that it is socially justifiable,” Dragomiloff observed +quietly.</p> + +<p>“Surely.” Hausmann attempted indignantly to interrupt.</p> + +<p>“But in this case,” Dragomiloff went on calmly and +judicially, “there is little doubt but what your cause is +just. The death of McDuffy would appear socially expedient +and right. I know him and his deeds. I can +assure you that on investigation I believe we are practically +certain so to conclude. And now, the money.”</p> + +<p>“But if you do not find the death of McDuffy socially +right?”</p> + +<p>“The money will be returned to you, less ten percent +to cover the cost of investigation. It is our custom.”</p> + +<p>Hausmann pulled a fat wallet from his pocket, and then +hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Is full payment necessary?”</p> + +<p>“Surely you know our terms.” There was mild reproof +in Dragomiloffs voice.</p> + +<p>“But I thought, I hoped—you know yourself we +anarchists are poor people.”</p> + +<p>“And that is why I make you so cheap a rate. Ten +thousand dollars is not too much for the killing of the +chief of police of a great city. Believe me, it barely pays +expenses. Private persons are charged much more, and +merely for private persons at that. Were you a millionaire,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> +instead of a poor struggling group, I should charge +you fifty thousand at the very least for McDuffy. Besides, +I am not entirely in this for my health.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens! What would you charge for a king!” the +other cried.</p> + +<p>“That depends. A king, say of England, would cost +half a million. Little second- and third-rate kings come +anywhere between seventy-five and a hundred thousand +dollars.”</p> + +<p>“I had no idea they came so high,” Hausmann muttered.</p> + +<p>“That is why so few are killed. Then, too, you forget +the heavy expenses of so perfect an organization as I +have built up. Our mere traveling expenses are far +larger than you imagine. My agents are numerous, +and you don’t think for a moment that they take their +lives in their hands and kill for a song. And remember, +these things we accomplish without any peril whatsoever +to our clients. If you feel that Chief McDuffy’s life is +dear at ten thousand, let me ask if you rate your own at +any less. Besides, you anarchists are poor operators. +Whenever you try your hand you bungle it or get caught. +Furthermore, you always insist on dynamite or infernal +machines, which are extremely <span class="locked">hazardous—”</span></p> + +<p>“It is necessary that our executions be sensational and +spectacular,” Hausmann explained.</p> + +<p>The Chief of the Assassination Bureau nodded his +head.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I understand. But that is not the point. It is +such a stupid, gross way of killing that it is, as I said, +extremely hazardous for our agents. Now, if your group +will permit me to use, say, poison, I’ll throw off ten percent; +if an air-rifle, twenty-five percent.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” cried the anarchist. “It will not serve +our end. Our killings must be red.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span></p> + +<p>“In which case I can grant you no reduction. You +are an American, are you not, Mr. Hausmann?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and American born—over in St. Joseph, Michigan.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you kill McDuffy yourself and save your +group the money?”</p> + +<p>The anarchist blanched.</p> + +<p>“No, no. Your service is too, too excellent, Mr. +Dragomiloff. Also, I have a—er—a temperamental +diffidence about the taking of life or the shedding of blood—that +is, you know, personally. It is repulsive to me. +Theoretically I may know a killing to be just, but, actually, +I cannot bring myself to do it. I—I simply can’t, +that is all. I can’t help it. I could not with my own +hand harm a fly.”</p> + +<p>“Yet you belong to a violent group.”</p> + +<p>“I know it. My reason compels me to belong. I +could not be satisfied to belong with the philosophic, non-resistant +Tolstoians. I do not believe in turning the other +cheek, as do those in the Martha Brown group, for instance. +If I am struck, I must strike <span class="locked">back—”</span></p> + +<p>“Even if by proxy,” Dragomiloff interrupted dryly.</p> + +<p>Hausmann bowed.</p> + +<p>“By proxy. If the flesh is weak, there is no other way. +Here is the money.”</p> + +<p>As Dragomiloff counted it, Hausmann made a final +effort for a bargain.</p> + +<p>“Ten thousand dollars. You will find it correct. Take +it, and remember that it represents devotion and sacrifice +on the parts of many scores of comrades who could ill +afford the heavy contributions we demand. Couldn’t +you—er—couldn’t you throw in Inspector Morgan +for full measure? He is another foul-hearted beast.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No; it can’t be done. Your group already enjoys<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span> +the biggest cut-rate we have ever accorded.”</p> + +<p>“A bomb, you know,” the other urged. “You might +get both of them with the same bomb.”</p> + +<p>“Which we shall be very careful not to do. Of course, +we shall have to investigate Chief McDuffy. We demand +a moral sanction for all our transactions. If we +find that his death is not socially <span class="locked">justifiable—”</span></p> + +<p>“What becomes of the ten thousand?” Hausmann +broke in anxiously.</p> + +<p>“It is returned to you less ten percent for running expenses.”</p> + +<p>“And if you fail to kill him?”</p> + +<p>“If, at the end of a year, we have failed, the money +is returned to you, plus five percent interest on the same.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff, indicating that the interview was at an +end, pressed a call-button and stood up. His example +was followed by Hausmann, who took advantage of the +delay in the servant’s coming to ask him another question.</p> + +<p>“But suppose you should die?—an accident, sickness, +anything. I have no receipt for the money. It would +be lost.”</p> + +<p>“All that is arranged. The head of my Chicago +branch would immediately take charge, and would conduct +everything until such time as the head of the San +Francisco branch could arrive. An instance of that occurred +only last year. You remember Burgess?”</p> + +<p>“Which Burgess?”</p> + +<p>“The railroad king. One of our men covered that, +made the whole transaction and received the payment in +advance, as usual. Of course, my sanction was obtained. +And then two things happened. Burgess was +killed in a railroad accident, and our man died of pneumonia. +Nevertheless, the money was returned. I saw +to it personally, though it was not recoverable by law. +Our long success shows our honorable dealing with our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> +clients. Believe me, operating as we do outside the law, +anything less than the strictest honesty would be fatal to +us. Now concerning <span class="locked">McDuffy—”</span></p> + +<p>At this moment the servant entered, and Hausmann +made a warning gesture for silence. Dragomiloff smiled.</p> + +<p>“Can’t hear a word,” he said.</p> + +<p>“But you rang for him just now. And, by Jove, he +answered my ring at the door.”</p> + +<p>“A ring for him is a flash. Instead of a bell, an electric +light is turned on. He has never heard a sound in his +life. As long as he does not see your lips, he cannot +understand what you say. And now, about McDuffy. +Have you thought well about removing him? Remember, +with us, an order once given is as good as accomplished. +We cannot carry on our business otherwise. +We have our rules, you know. Once the order goes forth +it can never be withdrawn. Are you satisfied?”</p> + +<p>“Quite.” Hausmann paused at the door. “When +may we hear news of—of activity?”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff considered a moment.</p> + +<p>“Within a week. The investigation, in this case, is +only formal. The operation itself is very simple. I have +my men on the spot. Good day.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_II"><i>Chapter II</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>One afternoon, a week later, an electric cab waited +in front of the great Russian importing house of S. Constantine +& Co. It was three o’clock when Sergius Constantine +himself emerged from the private office and was +accompanied to the cab by the manager, to whom he +was still giving instructions. Had Hausmann or Lanigan +watched him enter the cab they would have recognized +him immediately, but not by the name of Sergius +Constantine. Had they been asked, and had they answered, +they would have named him Ivan Dragomiloff.</p> + +<p>For Ivan Dragomiloff it was who drove the cab south +and crossed over into the teeming East Side. He +stopped, once, to buy a paper from a gamin who was +screaming “Extra!” Nor did he start again until he had +read the headlines and brief text announcing another +anarchist outrage in a neighboring city and the death of +Chief McDuffy. As he laid the paper beside him and +started on, there was an expression of calm pride on +Constantine’s face. The organization which he had built +up worked, and worked with its customary smoothness. +The investigation—in this case almost perfunctory—had +been made, the order sent forth, and McDuffy was +dead. He smiled slightly as he drew up before a modern +apartment house which was placed on the edge of +one of the most noisome East Side slums. The smile was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> +at thought of the rejoicing there would be in the Caroline +Warfield group—the terrorists who had not the courage +to slay.</p> + +<p>An elevator took Constantine to the top floor, and a +pushbutton caused the door to be opened for him by a +young woman who threw her arms around his neck, kissed +him, and showered him with Russian diminutives of affection, +and whom, in turn, he called Grunya.</p> + +<p>They were very comfortable rooms into which he was +taken—and remarkably comfortable and tasteful, even +for a model apartment house in the East Side. Chastely +simple, culture and wealth spoke in the furnishing and +decoration. There were many shelves of books, a table +littered with magazines, while a parlor grand filled the far +end of the room. Grunya was a robust Russian blonde, +but with all the color that her caller’s blondness lacked.</p> + +<p>“You should have telephoned,” she chided, in English +that was as without accent as his own. “I might have +been out. You are so irregular I never know when to +expect you.”</p> + +<p>Dropping the afternoon paper beside him, he lolled +back among the cushions of the capacious window-seat.</p> + +<p>“Now Grunya, dear, you mustn’t begin by scolding,” +he said, looking at her with beaming fondness. “I’m not +one of your submerged-tenth kindergarteners, nor am I +going to let you order my actions, yea, even to the extent +of being told when to wash my face or blow my nose. +I came down on the chance of finding you in, but principally +for the purpose of trying out my new cab. Will +you come for a little run around?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Not this afternoon. I expect a visitor at four.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make a note of it.” He looked at his watch. +“Also, I came to learn if you would come home the end<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> +of the week. Edge Moor is lonely without either of us.”</p> + +<p>“I was out three days ago,” she pouted. “Grosset said +you hadn’t been there for a month.”</p> + +<p>“Too busy. But I’m going to loaf for a week now and +read up. By the way, why was it necessary for Grosset +to tell you I hadn’t been there in a month, unless for the +fact that you hadn’t been there?”</p> + +<p>“Busy, you inquisitor, busy, just like you.” She bubbled +with laughter, and, reaching over, caressed his hand.</p> + +<p>“Will you come?”</p> + +<p>“It’s only Monday, now,” she considered. “Yes; if—” +She paused roguishly. “If I can bring a friend +for the week end. You’ll like him, I know.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ho; it’s a <em>him</em>, is it? One of your long-haired +socialists, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“No; a short-haired one. But you ought to know +better, Uncle, dear, than to be repeating those comic-supplement +jokes. I never saw a long-haired socialist +in my life. Did you?”</p> + +<p>“No; but I’ve seen them drink beer,” he announced +with conviction.</p> + +<p>“Now you shall be punished.” She picked up a cushion +and advanced upon him menacingly. “As my kindergarteners +say, ‘I’m going to knock your block off.’—There! +And there! And there!”</p> + +<p>“Grunya! I protest!” he grunted and panted between +blows. “It is unbecoming. It is disrespectful, to +treat your mother’s brother in such fashion. I’m getting +<span class="locked">old—”</span></p> + +<p>“Pouf!” the lively Grunya shut him off, discarding the +cushion. She picked up his hand and looked at the +fingers. “To think I’ve seen those fingers tear a pack of +cards in two and bend silver coins.”</p> + +<p>“They are past all that now. They ... are quite +feeble.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span></p> + +<p>He let the members in question rest limply and flaccidly +in her hand, and aroused her indignation again. +She placed her hand on his biceps.</p> + +<p>“Tense it,” she commanded.</p> + +<p>“I—I can’t,” he faltered. “—Oh! Ouch! There, +that’s the best I can do.” A very weak effort indeed he +made of it. “I’ve gone soft, you see—the breakdown +of tissue due to advancing <span class="locked">senility—”</span></p> + +<p>“Tense it!” she cried, this time with a stamp of her foot.</p> + +<p>Constantine surrendered and obeyed, and as the biceps +swelled under her hand, a glow of admiration appeared +in her face.</p> + +<p>“Like iron,” she murmured, “only it is living iron. It +is wonderful. You are cruelly strong. I should die if +you ever put the weight of your strength on me.”</p> + +<p>“You will remember,” he answered, “and place it to +my credit, that when you were a little thing, even when +you were very naughty, I never spanked you.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Uncle, but was not that because you had moral +convictions against spanking?”</p> + +<p>“True; but if ever those convictions were shaken, it +was by you, and often enough when you were anywhere +between three and six. Grunya, dear, I don’t want to +hurt your feelings, but truth compels me to say that at +that period you were a barbarian, a savage, a cave-child, +a jungle beast, a—a regular little devil, a she-wolf of a +cub without morality or manners, <span class="locked">a—”</span></p> + +<p>But a cushion, raised and threatening, caused him to +desist and to throw up his arms in arches of protection +to his head.</p> + +<p>“’Ware!” he cried. “By your present actions the only +difference I can note is that you are a full-grown cub. +Twenty-two, eh? And feeling your strength—beginning +to take it out on me. But it is not too late. The +next time you attempt to trounce me, I <em>will</em> give you a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> +spanking, even if you are a young lady, a fat young lady.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you brute! I’m not!” She thrust out her arm. +“Look at that. Feel it. That’s muscle. I weigh one +hundred and twenty-eight. Will you take it back?”</p> + +<p>Again the cushion rose and fell upon him, and it was +in the midst of struggling to defend himself, laughing and +grunting, dodging and guarding with his arms, that a +maid entered with a samovar and Grunya desisted in order +to serve tea.</p> + +<p>“One of your kindergarteners?” he queried, as the +maid left the room.</p> + +<p>Grunya nodded.</p> + +<p>“She looks quite respectable,” he commented. “Her +face is actually clean.”</p> + +<p>“I refuse to let you make me excited over my settlement +work,” she answered, with a smile and caress, as she +passed him his tea. “I have been working out my individual +evolution, that is all. You don’t believe now what +you did at twenty.”</p> + +<p>Constantine shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I am only a dreamer,” he added wistfully.</p> + +<p>“You have read and studied, and yet you have done +nothing for social betterment. You have never raised +your hand.”</p> + +<p>“I have never raised my hand,” he echoed sadly, and, +at the same moment, his glance falling on the headlines +of the newspaper announcing McDuffy’s death, he found +himself forced to suppress the grin that writhed at his lips.</p> + +<p>“It’s the Russian character,” Grunya cried. “—Study, +microscopic inspection and introspection, everything but +deeds and action. But I—” Her young voice lifted +triumphantly. “I am of the new generation, the first +American <span class="locked">generation—”</span></p> + +<p>“You were Russian born,” he interpolated dryly.</p> + +<p>“But American bred. I was only a babe. I have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> +known no other land but this land of action. And yet, +Uncle Sergius, you could have been such a power, if you’d +only let business alone.”</p> + +<p>“Look at all that you do down here,” he answered. +“Don’t forget, it is my business that enables you to perform +your works. You see, I do good by....” He +hesitated, and remembered Hausmann, the gentle-spirited +terrorist. “I do good by proxy. That’s it. You are +my proxy.”</p> + +<p>“I know it, and it’s horrid of me to say such things,” +she cried generously. “You’ve spoiled me. I never +knew my father, so it is no treason for me to say I’m +glad it was you that took my father’s place. My father—no +father—could have been so—so colossally kind.”</p> + +<p>And, instead of cushions, it was kisses this time she +lavished on the colorless, thin-thatched blond gentleman +with iron muscles who lolled on the window-seat.</p> + +<p>“What is becoming of your anarchism?” he queried +slyly, chiefly for the purpose of covering up the modest +confusion and happiness her words had caused. “It +looked for a while, several years ago, as if you were going +to become a full-fledged Red, breathing death and destruction +to all upholders of the social order.”</p> + +<p>“I—I did have leanings that way,” she confessed reluctantly.</p> + +<p>“Leanings!” he shouted. “You worried the life out +of me trying to persuade me to give up my business and +devote myself to the cause of humanity. And you +spelled ‘cause’ all in capitals, if you will remember. +Then you came down to this slum work—making terms +with the enemy, in fact—patching up the poor wrecks +of the system you <span class="locked">despised—”</span></p> + +<p>She raised a hand in protest.</p> + +<p>“What else would you call it?” he demanded. “Your +boys’ clubs, your girls’ clubs, your little mothers’ clubs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span> +Why, that day nursery you established for women workers! +It only meant, by taking care of the children during +work hours, that you more thoroughly enabled the employers +to sweat the mothers.”</p> + +<p>“But I’ve outgrown the day-nursery scheme, Uncle; +you know that.”</p> + +<p>Constantine nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“And a few other things. You’re getting real conservative—er, +sort of socialistic. Not of such stuff are +revolutionists made.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so revolutionary, Uncle, dear. I’m growing +up. Social development is slow and painful. There are +no short cuts. Every step must be worked out. Oh, +I’m still a philosophic anarchist. Every intelligent +socialist is. But it seems more clear to me every day +that the ideal freedom of a state of anarchy can only be +obtained by going through the intervening stage of +socialism.”</p> + +<p>“What is his name?” Constantine asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>“Who?—What?” A warm flush of maiden blood +rose in her cheeks.</p> + +<p>Constantine quietly sipped his tea and waited.</p> + +<p>Grunya recovered herself and looked at him earnestly +for a moment.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you,” she said, “on Saturday night, at Edge +Moor. He—he is the short-haired one.”</p> + +<p>“The guest you are to bring?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you no more till then.”</p> + +<p>“Do you...?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I ... I think so,” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Has he spoken?”</p> + +<p>“Yes ... and no. He has such a way of taking things +for granted. You wait until you meet him. You’ll love +him, Uncle Sergius, I know you will. And you’ll respect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span> +his mind, too. He’s ... he’s my visitor at four. Wait +and meet him now. There’s a dear, do, please.”</p> + +<p>But Uncle Sergius Constantine, alias Ivan Dragomiloff, +looked at his watch and quickly stood up.</p> + +<p>“No; bring him to Edge Moor Saturday, Grunya, and +I’ll do my best to like him. And I’ll have more opportunity +then than now. I’m going to loaf for a week. If +it is as serious as it seems, have him stop the week.”</p> + +<p>“He’s so busy,” was her answer. “It was all I could +do to persuade him for the week end.”</p> + +<p>“Business?”</p> + +<p>“In a way. But not real business. He’s not in business. +He’s rich, you know. Social-betterment business +would best describe what keeps him busy. But you’ll +admire his mind, Uncle, and respect it, too.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so ... for your sake, dear,” were Constantine’s +last words, as they parted in an embrace at the door.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_III"><i>Chapter III</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>It was a very demure young woman who received +Winter Hall a few minutes after her uncle’s departure. +Grunya was intensely serious as she served him tea and +chatted with him—if chat it can be called, when the +subject matter ranged from Gorky’s last book and the +latest news of the Russian Revolution to Hull House and +the shirtwaist-makers’ strike.</p> + +<p>Winter Hall shook his head forbiddingly at her reconstructed +ameliorative plans.</p> + +<p>“Take Hull House,” he said. “It was a point of illumination +in the slum wilderness of Chicago. It is still a +point of illumination and no more. The slum wilderness +has grown, vastly grown. There is a far greater +totality of vice and misery and degradation in Chicago +today than was there when Hull House was founded. +Then Hull House has failed, as have all the other ameliorative +devices. You can’t save a leaky boat with a +bailer that throws out less water than rushes in.”</p> + +<p>“I know, I know,” Grunya murmured sadly.</p> + +<p>“Take the matter of inside rooms,” Hall went on. “In +New York City, at the close of the Civil War, there were +sixty thousand inside rooms. Since then inside rooms +have been continually crusaded against. Men, many of +them, have devoted their lives to that very fight. Public-spirited +citizens by thousands and tens of thousands have +contributed their money and their approval. Whole<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> +blocks have been torn down and replaced by parks and +playgrounds. It has been a great and terrible fight. +And what is the result? Today, in the year 1911, there +are over three hundred thousand inside rooms in New +York City.”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders and sipped his tea.</p> + +<p>“More and more do you make me see two things,” +Grunya confessed. “First, that liberty, unrestricted by +man-made law, cannot be gained except by evolution +through a stage of excessive man-made law that will well-nigh +reduce us all to automatons—the socialistic stage, +of course. But I, for one, would never care to live in the +socialist state. It would be maddening.”</p> + +<p>“You prefer the splendid, wild, cruel beauty of our +present commercial individualism?” he asked quietly.</p> + +<p>“Almost I do. Almost I do. But the socialist state +must come. I know that, because of the second thing I +so clearly see, and that is the failure of amelioration to +ameliorate.” She broke off abruptly, favored him with +a dazzling, cheerful smile, and announced, “But why +should we be serious with the hot weather coming on? +Why don’t you leave town for a breath of air?”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you?” he countered.</p> + +<p>“Too busy.”</p> + +<p>“Same here.” He paused, and his face seemed suddenly +to become harsh and grim, as if reflecting some +stern inner thought. “In fact, I have never been busier +in my life, and never so near accomplishing something +big.”</p> + +<p>“But you will run up for the week end and meet my +uncle?” she demanded impulsively. “He was here just +a few minutes ago. He wants to make it a—a sort of +house party, just the three of us, and suggests the week.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head reluctantly.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to, and I’ll run up, but I can’t stay a whole<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> +week. This affair of mine is most important. I have +learned only today what I have been months in seeking.”</p> + +<p>And while he talked, she studied his face as only a +woman in love can study a man’s face. She knew every +minutest detail of Winter Hall’s face, from the inverted +arch of the joined eyebrows to the pictured corners of +the lips, from the firm unclefted chin to the last least +crinkle of the ear. Being a man, even if he were in love, +not so did Hall know Grunya’s face. He loved her, but +love did not open his eyes to microscopic details. Had +he been called upon suddenly to describe her out of the +registered impressions of his consciousness, he could +have done so only in general terms, such as vivacious, +plastic, delicate coloring, low forehead, hair always becoming, +eyes that smiled and glowed even as her cheeks +did, a sympathetic and adorable mouth, and a voice the +viols of which were wonderful and indescribable. He +had also impressions of cleanness and wholesomeness, +noble seriousness, facile wit, and brilliant intellect.</p> + +<p>What Grunya saw was a well-built man of thirty-two, +with the brow of a thinker and all the facial insignia of +a doer. He, too, was blue-eyed and blond, in the +bronzed American way of those that live much in the +sun. He smiled much, and, when he laughed, laughed +heartily. Yet often, in repose, a certain sternness, almost +brutal, was manifest in his face. Grunya, who loved +strength and who was appalled by brutality, was sometimes +troubled by fluttering divinations of this other side +of his character.</p> + +<p>Winter Hall was a rather unusual product of the times. +In spite of the easy ways of wealth in which he had spent +his childhood, and of the comfortable fortune inherited +from his father and added to by two spinster aunts, he +had early devoted himself to the cause of humanity. At +college he had specialized in economics and sociology,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> +and had been looked upon as somewhat of a crank by +his less serious fellow students. Out of college, he had +backed Riis, both with money and personal effort, in the +New York crusade. Much time and labor spent in a +social settlement had left him dissatisfied. He was always +in search of the thing behind the thing, of the cause +that was really the cause. Thus, he had studied politics, +and, later, pursued graft from New York City to Albany +and back again, and studied it, too, in the capital of his +country.</p> + +<p>After several years, apparently futile, he spent a few +months in a university settlement that was in reality a +hotbed of radicalism, and resolved to begin his studies +from the very bottom. A year he spent as a casual +laborer wandering over the country, and for another year +he wandered as a vagabond, the companion of tramps +and yegg men. For two years, in Chicago, he was a +professional charity worker, toiling long hours and drawing +down a salary of fifty dollars a month. And out of +it all, he had developed into a socialist—a “millionaire +socialist,” as he was labeled by the press.</p> + +<p>He traveled much, and investigated always, studying +affairs at first hand. There was never a strike of importance +that did not see him among the first on the ground. +He attended all the national and international conventions +of organized labor, and spent a year in Russia during +the impending crisis of the 1905 Revolution. Many +articles of his had appeared in the heavier magazines, +and he was the author of several books, all well written, +deep, thoughtful, and, for a socialist, conservative.</p> + +<p>And this was the man with whom Grunya Constantine +chatted and drank tea in the window-seat of her East +Side apartment.</p> + +<p>“But it is not necessary for you to keep yourself +mewed up all the time in this wretched, stifling city,” she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> +was saying. “In your case I can’t imagine what imperatively +compels <span class="locked">you—”</span></p> + +<p>But she did not finish the sentence, for at that moment +she discovered that Hall was no longer listening to her. +His glance had chanced to rest on the afternoon paper +lying on the seat. Entirely oblivious of her existence, he +had picked up the paper and begun to read.</p> + +<p>Grunya sulked prettily, but he took no notice of her.</p> + +<p>“It’s very nice of you, I ... I must say,” she broke out, +finally attracting his attention. “Reading a newspaper +while I am talking to you.”</p> + +<p>He turned the sheet so that she could see the headline +of McDuffy’s assassination. She looked up at him with +incomprehension.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Grunya, but when I saw that, I +forgot everything.” He tapped his forefinger on the +headline. “That is why I am so busy. That is why I +remain in New York. That is why I can allow myself +no more than a week end with you, and you know how +dearly I would love to have the whole week.”</p> + +<p>“But I do not understand,” she faltered. “Because +the anarchists have blown up a chief of police in another +city ... I ... I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you. For two years I had my suspicions, then +they became a certainty, and for months now I have +steadily devoted myself to running down what I believe +to be the most terrible organization for assassination +that has ever flourished in the United States, or anywhere +else. In fact, I am almost certain that the organization +is international.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember when John Mossman committed +suicide by leaping from the seventh story of the Fidelity +Building? He was my friend, as well as my father’s +friend before me. There was no reason for him to kill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> +himself. The Fidelity Trust Corporation was flourishing. +So were all his other interests. His home life was +unusually happy. His health was prodigiously good. +There was nothing on his mind. Yet the stupid police +called it suicide. There was some talk about its being +tri-facial neuralgia—incurable, unescapable, unendurable. +When men get that they do commit suicide. But +he did not have it. We lunched together the day of his +death. I know he did not have it, and I made a point +of verifying the fact by interviewing his physician. It +was theory only, and it was poppycock. He never killed +himself, never leaped from the seventh story of the +Fidelity Building. Then who killed him? And why? +Somebody threw him from the seventh story. Who? +Why?</p> + +<p>“It is likely that the affair would have been dismissed +from my mind as an insoluble mystery, had not Governor +Northampton been killed by an air-rifle just three days +later. You remember?—on a city street, from any one +of a thousand windows. They never got a clue. I +wondered casually about these two murders, and from +then on, grew keenly alive to anything unusual in the +daily list of homicides in the whole country.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shall not give you the whole list, but just a few. +There was Borff, the organized labor grafter of Sannington. +He had controlled that city for years. Graft +prosecution after graft prosecution failed to reach him. +When they settled his estate they found him possessed of +half a dozen millions. They settled his estate just after +he had reached out and laid hands on the whole political +machinery of the state. It was just at the height of his +power and his corruption when he was struck down.</p> + +<p>“And there were others—Chief of Police Little; +Welchorst, the big promoter; Blankhurst, the Cotton<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> +King; Inspector Satcherly, found floating in the East +River, and so on, and so on. The perpetrators were never +discovered. Then there were the society murders—Charley +Atwater, killed on that last hunting trip of his; +Mrs. Langthorne-Haywards; Mrs. Hastings-Reynolds; old +Van Auston—oh, a long list indeed.</p> + +<p>“All of which convinced me that a strong organization +of some sort was at work. That it was no mere Black +Hand affair, I was certain. The murders were not confined +to any nationality nor to any stratum of society. +My first thought was of the anarchists. Forgive me, +Grunya—” His hand flashed out to hers and retained +it warmly. “I had heard much talk of you, and that +you were in close touch with the violent groups. I knew +that you spent much money, and I was suspicious. And +at any rate, you could put me in closer touch with the +anarchists. I came suspecting you, and I remained to +love you. I found you the gentlest of anarchists and a +very half-hearted one at that. You were already started +in your settlement work down <span class="locked">here—”</span></p> + +<p>“And you remained to dissatisfy me with that, too,” +she laughed, at the same time lifting the hand that held +hers and resting her cheek against it. “But go on. I’m +all excited.”</p> + +<p>“I did get in close with the anarchists, and the more I +studied them the more confident I became that they were +incapable. They were so unpractical. They dreamed +dreams and spun theories and raged against police persecution, +and that was all. They never got anywhere. +They never did anything but get themselves in trouble—I +am speaking of the violent groups, of course. As for +the Tolstoians and the Kropotkinians, they were no more +than mild academic philosophers. They couldn’t harm +a fly, and their violent cousins couldn’t.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span></p> + +<p>“You see, the assassinations have been of all sorts. +Had they been political alone, or social, they might have +been due to some hopelessly secret society. But they +were commercial and society as well. Therefore, I +concluded, the world must in some way have access to +this organization. But how? I assumed the hypothesis +that there was some man I wanted killed. And there I +stuck. I did not have the address of the firm that would +perform that task for me. Here was the flaw in my reasoning, +namely, the hypothesis itself. I really did not +want to kill any man.</p> + +<p>“But this flaw dawned on me afterwards, when Coburn, +at the Federal Club, told half a dozen of us of an adventure +he had just had this afternoon. To him it was +merely a curious incident, but I caught at once the gleam +of light in it. He was crossing Fifth Avenue, downtown, +on foot, when a man, dressed like a mechanician, dismounted +alongside of him from a motorcycle and spoke +to him. In a few words, the fellow told him that if there +were anyone he wanted put out of the world it could be +attended to with safety and dispatch. About that time +Coburn threatened to punch the fellow’s head, and he +promptly jumped on his motorcycle and made off.</p> + +<p>“Now here’s the point. Coburn was in deep trouble. +He had recently been double-crossed (if you know what +that means) by Mattison, his partner, to the tune of a +tremendous sum. In addition, Mattison had cleared out +for Europe with Coburn’s wife. Do you see? First, +Coburn did have, or might be supposed to have, or ought +to have, a desire for vengeance against Mattison. And +secondly, thanks to the newspapers, the affair was public +property.”</p> + +<p>“I see!” Grunya cried, with glowing eyes. “There +was the flaw in your hypothesis. Since you could not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> +make public your hypothetical desire to kill a man, the +organization, naturally, could make no overtures to you +about it.”</p> + +<p>“Correct. But I was no forwarder. Or yet, in a way, +I was. I saw now how the world got access to the organization +and its service. From then on I studied the mysterious +and prominent murders with this in mind, and I +found, so far as the society ones were concerned, that +they were practically always preceded by sensational +public exploitation of scandal. The commercial murders—well, +the shady and unfair transactions of a fair proportion +of the big businessmen are always leaking out, +even though they do not get into print. When Hawthorn +was found mysteriously dead on his yacht, the gossip +of his underhand dealings in the fight against the +Combine had been in the clubs for weeks. You may +not remember them, but in their day the Atwater-Jones +scandal and the Langthorne-Haywards scandal were most +sensationally featured by the newspapers.</p> + +<p>“So I became certain that this murder organization +must approach persons high in political, business, and +social life. And I was also certain that its overtures were +not always rebuffed as in the case of Coburn. I looked +about me and wondered what ones of the very men I met +in the clubs or at directors’ meetings had patronized this +firm of men-killers. That I must be acquainted with +such men I had no doubt, but which ones were they? +And imagine my asking them to give me the address of +the firm which they had employed to wipe out their +enemies.</p> + +<p>“But at last, and only now, have I got the direct clue. +I kept close eye on all my friends who were high in the +world. When any one of them was afflicted by a great +trouble, I attached myself to him. For a time this was +fruitless, though there was one who must have availed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> +himself of the services of the organization, for, within six +months, the man who had been the cause of his trouble +was dead. Suicide, the police said.</p> + +<p>“And then my chance came. You know of the furor +of a few years ago caused by the marriage of Gladys Van +Martin with Baron Portos de Moigne. It was one of +those unfortunate international marriages. He was a +brute. He has robbed her and divorced her. The details +of his conduct have only just come out, and they are +incredibly horrible. He has even beaten her so badly that +the physicians despaired of her life, for a time, and, later, +of her reason. And by French law he has possessed himself +of their children—two boys.</p> + +<p>“Her brother, Percy Van Martin, and I were classmates +at college. I promptly made it a point to get in close +with him. We’ve seen a good deal of each other the +last several weeks. Only the other day the thing I was +waiting for happened, and he told me of it. The organization +had approached him. Unlike Coburn, he did not +drive the man away, but heard him out. If Van Martin +cared to go further in the matter, he was to insert the +single word <span class="allsmcap">MESOPOTAMIA</span> in the personal column of the +<i>Herald</i>. I quickly persuaded him to let me take hold of +the affair. I inserted <span class="allsmcap">MESOPOTAMIA</span>, as directed, and, +acting as Van Martin’s representative, I have seen and +talked with one of the men of the organization. He was +only an underling, however. They are very suspicious +and careful. But tonight I shall meet the principal. It +is all arranged. And then....”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” Grunya cried eagerly. “And then?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I have no plans.”</p> + +<p>“But the danger!”</p> + +<p>Hall smiled reassuringly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t imagine there will be any risk. I am coming +merely to transact some business with the firm, namely,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> +the assassination of Percy Van Martin’s ex-brother-in-law. +Firms do not make a practice of killing their +clients.”</p> + +<p>“But when they find out you are not a client?” she +protested.</p> + +<p>“I won’t be there at that time. And when they do +find out, it will be too late for them to do me any harm.”</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> + +<p>“Be careful, do be careful,” Grunya urged as they +parted at the door half an hour later. “And you will +come up for the week end?”</p> + +<p>“Surely.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll meet you at the station myself.”</p> + +<p>“And I’ll meet your redoubtable uncle a few minutes +afterwards, I suppose.” He made a mock shiver. “He’s +not a regular ogre, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll love him,” she proclaimed proudly. “He is +finer and better than a dozen fathers. He never denies +me anything. Not <span class="locked">even—”</span></p> + +<p>“Me?” Hall interrupted.</p> + +<p>Grunya tried to meet him with an equal audaciousness, +but blushed and dropped her eyes, and the next moment +was encircled by his arms.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_IV"><i>Chapter IV</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>“So you are Ivan Dragomiloff?”</p> + +<p>Winter Hall paused a moment to glance curiously +around at the book-lined walls and back again to the +colorless blond in the black skullcap, who had not risen +to greet him.</p> + +<p>“I must say access to you is made sufficiently difficult. +It leads one to believe that the—er—work of your +Bureau is performed discreetly as well as capably.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff smiled the ghost of a pleased smile.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” he said, indicating a chair that faced him +and that threw the visitor’s face into the light.</p> + +<p>Again Hall glanced around the room and back at the +man before him.</p> + +<p>“I am surprised,” was Hall’s comment.</p> + +<p>“You expected low-browed ruffians and lurid melodrama, +I suppose?” Dragomiloff queried pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“No, not that. I knew too keen a mind was required +to direct the operations of your—er—institution.”</p> + +<p>“They have been uniformly successful.”</p> + +<p>“How long have you been in business?—if I may ask.”</p> + +<p>“Eleven years, actively—though there was preparation +and elaboration of the plan prior to that.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t mind talking with me about it?” was Hall’s +next query.</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” came the answer. “As a client, you +are in the same boat with me. Our interests are identical.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> +And, since we never blackmail our clients after the +transaction is completed, our interests remain identical. +A little important information can do no harm, and I +don’t mind saying that I am rather proud of this organization. +It is, as you say, and if I immodestly say so +myself, capably directed.”</p> + +<p>“But I can’t understand,” Hall exclaimed. “You are +the last person in the world I should conceive of as being +at the head of a band of murderers.”</p> + +<p>“And you are the last person in the world I should +expect to find here seeking the professional services of +such a person,” was the dry counter. “I like your looks. +You are strong, honest, unafraid, and, in your eyes is +that undefinable yet unmistakable tiredness of the scholar. +You read a great deal, and study. You are as remarkably +different from my regular run of clients as I am, +obviously, from the person you expected to meet at the +head of a band of murderers. Though executioners is +the better and truer description.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind the name,” Hall answered. “It does not +reduce my surprise that you should be conducting this—er—enterprise.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but you scarcely know how we conduct it.” +Dragomiloff laced and interlaced his strong, lean fingers +and meditated for further answer. “I might explain that +we conduct our trade with a greater measure of ethics +than our clients bring to us.”</p> + +<p>“Ethics!” Hall burst into laughter.</p> + +<p>“Yes, precisely; and I’ll admit it sounds funny in connection +with an Assassination Bureau.”</p> + +<p>“Is that what you call it?”</p> + +<p>“One name is as good as another,” the head of the +Bureau went on imperturbably. “But you will find, in +patronizing us, a keener, a more rigid standard of right-dealing +than in the business world. I saw the need of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> +that at the start. It was imperative. Organized as we +were, outside the law, and in the very teeth of the law, +success was only to be gained by doing right. We have +to be right with one another, with our patrons, with everybody, +and everything. You have no idea the amount of +business we turn away.”</p> + +<p>“What!” Hall cried. “And why?”</p> + +<p>“Because it would not be right to transact it. Don’t +laugh, please. In fact, we of the Bureau are all rather +fanatical when it comes to ethics. We have the sanction +of right in all that we do. We must have that sanction. +Without it we could not last very long. Believe me, +this is so. And now to business. You have come here +through the accredited channels. You can have but one +errand. Whom do you want executed?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know?” Hall asked in wonderment.</p> + +<p>“Certainly not. That is not my branch. I spend no +time drumming up trade.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, when I give you the man’s name, you will +not find that sanction of right. It seems you are judge +as well as executioner.”</p> + +<p>“Not executioner. I never execute. It is not my +branch. I am the head. I judge-locally, that is—and +other members carry out the orders.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose these others should prove weak vessels?” +Dragomiloff looked very pleased.</p> + +<p>“Ah, that was the rub. I studied it a long time. Almost +as conclusively as anything else, it was that very +thing that made me see that our operations could be conducted +only on an ethical basis. We have our own code +of right, and our own law. Only men of the highest +ethical nature, combined with the requisite physical and +nervous stamina, are admitted to our ranks. As a result, +almost fanatically are our oaths observed. There +have been weak vessels—several of them.” He paused<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span> +and seemed to ponder sadly. “They paid the penalty. +It was a splendid object lesson to the rest.”</p> + +<p>“You mean—?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; they were executed. It had to be. But it is +very rarely necessary with us.”</p> + +<p>“How do you manage it?”</p> + +<p>“When we have selected a desperate, intelligent, and +reasonable man—this selecting, by the way, is done by +the members themselves, who, rubbing shoulders everywhere +with all sorts of men, have better opportunity than +I for meeting and estimating strong characters. When +such a man is selected, he is tried out. His life is the +pledge he gives for his faithfulness and loyalty. I know +of these men, and have the reports on them. I rarely +see them, unless they rise in the organization, and by the +same token very few of them ever see me.</p> + +<p>“One of the first things done is to give a candidate an +unimportant and unremunerative murder—say, a brutal +mate of some ship, or a bullying foreman, a usurer, or a +petty grafting politician. It is good for the world to have +such individuals out of it, you know. But to return. +Every step of the candidate in this, his first killing, is so +marked by us that a mass of testimony is gathered sufficient +to convict him before any court in this land. And +the affair is so conducted that this testimony proceeds +from outside persons. We would not have to appear. +For that matter, we have never found it necessary to invoke +the country’s law for the castigation of a member.</p> + +<p>“Well, when this initial task has been performed, the +man is one of us, tied to us body and soul. After that +he is thoroughly educated in our <span class="locked">methods—”</span></p> + +<p>“Does ethics enter into the curriculum?” Hall interrupted +to ask.</p> + +<p>“It does, it does,” was the enthusiastic response. “It +is the most important thing we teach our members.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> +Nothing that is not founded on right can endure.”</p> + +<p>“You are an anarchist?” the visitor asked with sharp +irrelevance.</p> + +<p>The Chief of the Assassination Bureau shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No; I am a philosopher.”</p> + +<p>“It is the same thing.”</p> + +<p>“With a difference. For instance, the anarchists mean +well; but I do well. Of what use is philosophy that cannot +be applied? Take the old-country anarchists. They +decide on an assassination. They plan and conspire +night and day, at last strike the blow, and are almost +invariably captured by the police. Usually the person or +personage they try to kill gets off unscathed. Not so +with us.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you ever fail?”</p> + +<p>“We strive to make failure impossible. Any member +who fails, because of weakness or fear, is punished with +death.” Dragomiloff paused solemnly, his pale blue +eyes shining with an exultant light. “We have never +had a failure. Or course, we give a man a year in which +to perform his task. Also, if it be a big affair, he is +given assistants. And I repeat, we have never had a +failure. The organization is as near perfect as the +mind of man can make it. Even if I should drop out +of it, die suddenly, the organization would run on just +the same.”</p> + +<p>“Do you draw any line at accepting commissions?” +Winter Hall asked.</p> + +<p>“No; from emperor and king down to the humblest +peasant—we accept them all, if—and it is a big <em>if</em>—if +their execution is decided to be socially justifiable. +And, once we have accepted payment, which is in advance, +you know, and have decided it to be right to make +a certain killing, that killing takes place. It is one of +our rules.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span></p> + +<p>As Winter Hall listened, a wild idea flashed into his +mind. So whimsical was it, so almost lunatic, that he +felt immeasurably fascinated by it.</p> + +<p>“You are very ethical, I must say,” he began, “a—what +I might call—ethical enthusiast.”</p> + +<p>“Or monstrosity,” Dragomiloff added pleasantly. +“Yes, I have quite a penchant that way.”</p> + +<p>“Anything you conceive to be right, that thing you +will do.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff nodded affirmation, and a silence fell, +which he was the first to break.</p> + +<p>“You have some one in mind whom you wish removed. +Who is it?”</p> + +<p>“I am so curious,” was the reply, “and so interested, +that I should like to approach it tentatively ... you know, +in arranging the terms of the bargain. You surely must +have a scale of prices, determined, of course, by the +position and influence of ... of the victim.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff nodded.</p> + +<p>“Suppose it were a king I wished removed?” Hall +queried.</p> + +<p>“There are kings and kings. The price varies. Is +your man a king?”</p> + +<p>“No; he is not a king. He is a strong man, but not +of noble title.”</p> + +<p>“He is not a president?” Dragomiloff asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“No; he holds no official position whatever. In fact, +he is a man in private life. For what sum will you +guarantee the removal of a man in private life?”</p> + +<p>“For such a man it would be less difficult and hazardous. +He would come cheaper.”</p> + +<p>“Not so,” Hall urged. “I can afford to be generous +in this. It is a very difficult and hazardous commission +I am giving you. He is a man of powerful mind, of +infinite wit and recourse.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p> + +<p>“A millionaire?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know.”</p> + +<p>“I would suggest forty thousand dollars as the price,” +the head of the Bureau concluded. “Of course, on learning +his identity, I may have to increase that sum. On +the other hand, I may decrease it.”</p> + +<p>Hall drew bills of large denomination from his pocketbook, +counted them, and handed them to the other.</p> + +<p>“I imagined you did business on a currency basis,” +he said, “and so I came prepared. And, now, as I +understand it, you will guarantee to <span class="locked">kill—”</span></p> + +<p>“I do no killing,” Dragomiloff interrupted.</p> + +<p>“You will guarantee to have killed any man I name.”</p> + +<p>“That is correct, with the proviso, of course, that an +investigation shows his execution to be justifiable.”</p> + +<p>“Good. I understand perfectly. Any man I name, +even if he should be my father, or yours?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; though as it happens I have neither father nor +son.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose I named myself?”</p> + +<p>“It would be done. The order would go forth. We +have no concern with the whims of our clients.”</p> + +<p>“But suppose, say tomorrow or next week, I should +change my mind?”</p> + +<p>“It would be too late.” Dragomiloff spoke with decision. +“Once an order goes forth it can never be +recalled. That is one of the most necessary of our +rules.”</p> + +<p>“Very good. However, I am not the man.”</p> + +<p>“Then who is he?”</p> + +<p>“The name men know him by is Ivan Dragomiloff.”</p> + +<p>Hall said it quietly enough, and just as quietly was +it received.</p> + +<p>“I want better identification,” Dragomiloff suggested.</p> + +<p>“He is a native of Russia, I believe. I know he is a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> +resident of New York City. He is blond, remarkably +blond, and of just about your size, height, weight, +and age.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff’s pale-blue eyes looked long and steadily +at his visitor. At last he spoke.</p> + +<p>“I was born in the province of Valenko. Where was +your man born?”</p> + +<p>“In the province of Valenko.”</p> + +<p>Again Dragomiloff scrutinized the other with unwavering +eyes.</p> + +<p>“I am compelled to believe that you mean me.”</p> + +<p>Hall nodded unequivocally.</p> + +<p>“It is, believe me, unprecedented,” Dragomiloff went +on. “I am puzzled. Frankly, I cannot understand why +you want my life. I have never seen you before. We +do not know each other. I cannot guess at the remotest +motive. At any rate, you forget that I must have a +sanction of right before I order this execution.”</p> + +<p>“I am prepared to furnish it,” was Hall’s answer.</p> + +<p>“But you must convince me.”</p> + +<p>“I am prepared to do that. It was because I divined +you to be what you called yourself, an ethical monstrosity, +that I conceived this proposition and made it +to you. I believe, if I can prove to you the justification +of your death, that you will carry it out. Am I right?”</p> + +<p>“You are right.” Dragomiloff paused, and then his +face lighted up with a smile. “Of course, that would +be suicide, and you know that this is an Assassination +Bureau.”</p> + +<p>“You would give the order to one of your members. +As I understand, under pledge of his own life he would +be compelled to carry out the order.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff looked even pleased.</p> + +<p>“Very true. It goes to show how perfect is the machine +I have created. It is fitted to every contingency,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span> +even to this most unexpected one developed by you. +Come. You interest me. You are original. You have +imagination, fantasy. Pray show me the ethical sanction +for my own removal from this world.”</p> + +<p>“Thou shalt not kill,” Hall began.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” came the interruption. “We must +get a basis for this discussion, which I fear will quickly +become academic. The point is, you must prove to me +that I have done such wrong that my death is right. +And I am to be judge. What wrong have I done? +What person, not a wrong-doer, have I ordered executed? +In what way have I violated my own sanctions of right +conduct, or even have done wrong blunderingly or unwittingly?”</p> + +<p>“I understand, and I change my discourse accordingly. +First, let me ask if you were responsible for the death +of John Mossman?”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff nodded.</p> + +<p>“He was a friend of mine. I had known him all my +life. There was no evil in him. He harmed no one.”</p> + +<p>Hall was speaking warmly, but the other’s raised hand +and amused smile made him pause.</p> + +<p>“It was something like seven years ago that John +Mossman built the Fidelity Building. Where did he get +the money? It was at that time that he, who had all his +life been a banker in a small, conservative way, suddenly +branched out in a number of large enterprises. You +remember the fortune he left. Where did he get it?”</p> + +<p>Hall was about to speak, but Dragomiloff signified +that he had not finished.</p> + +<p>“Not long before the building of the Fidelity, you will +remember, the Combine attacked Carolina Steel, bankrupted +it, and then absorbed the wreckage for a song. +The president of Carolina Steel committed <span class="locked">suicide—”</span></p> + +<p>“To escape the penitentiary,” Hall interpolated.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p> + +<p>“He was tricked into doing what he did.”</p> + +<p>Hall nodded and said, “I recollect. It was one of +the agents of the Combine.”</p> + +<p>“That agent was John Mossman.”</p> + +<p>Hall remained incredulously silent, while the other +continued.</p> + +<p>“I assure you I can prove it, and I will. But do me +the courtesy of accepting for a moment whatever statements +I make. They will be proved, and to your satisfaction.”</p> + +<p>“Very well then. You killed Stolypin.”</p> + +<p>“No; not guilty. The Russian Terrorists did that.”</p> + +<p>“I have your word?”</p> + +<p>“You have my word.”</p> + +<p>Hall ranged over in his mind all the assassinations he +had tabulated, and made another departure.</p> + +<p>“James and Hardman, president and secretary of the +Southwestern Federation of <span class="locked">Miners—”</span></p> + +<p>“We killed them,” Dragomiloff broke in. “And what +was wrong about it—mind you, wrong to me?”</p> + +<p>“You are a humanist. The cause of labor, as that of +the people, must be dear to you. It was a great loss +to organized labor, the deaths of these two leaders.”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary,” Dragomiloff replied. “They were +killed in 1904. For six years prior to that, the Federation +had won not one victory, while it had been decisively +beaten in three disastrous strikes. In the first six months +after the two leaders were removed, the Federation won +the big strike of 1905, and from then to now has never +ceased making substantial gains.”</p> + +<p>“You mean?” Hall demanded.</p> + +<p>“I mean that the Mine Owners League did not bring +about the assassination. I mean that James and Hardman +were secretly in the pay, and in big pay, of the +Mine Owners League. I mean that it was a group of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span> +the miners themselves that laid the facts of their leaders’ +treason before us and paid the price we demanded for +the service. We did it for twenty-five thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p>Winter Hall’s bafflement plainly showed, and he debated +a long minute before speaking.</p> + +<p>“I believe you, Mr. Dragomiloff. Tomorrow or next +day I should like to go over the proofs with you. But +that will be merely for formal correctness. In the meantime +I must find some other way to convince you. This +list of assassinations is a long one.”</p> + +<p>“Longer than you think.”</p> + +<p>“And I do not doubt but what you have found similar +justification for all of them. Mind you, not that I believe +any one of these killings to be right, but that I +believe they have been right to you. Your fear that the +discussion would become academic was well founded. +It is only in that way that I can hope to get you. Suppose +we defer it until tomorrow. Will you lunch with +me? Or where would you prefer us to meet?”</p> + +<p>“Right here, I think, after lunch.” Dragomiloff +waved his hand around at his book-covered walls. +“There are plenty of authorities, you see, and we can +always send out to the branch Carnegie Library around +the corner for more.”</p> + +<p>He pressed the call button, and both arose as the +servant entered.</p> + +<p>“Believe me, I am going to get you,” was Hall’s parting +assurance.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff smiled whimsically.</p> + +<p>“I trust not,” he said. “But if you do it will be +unique.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_V"><i>Chapter V</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>For long days and nights the discussion between Hall +and Dragomiloff was waged. At first confined to ethics, +it quickly grew wider and deeper. Ethics being the capstone +of all the sciences, they found themselves compelled +to seek down through those sciences to the original +foundations. Dragomiloff demanded of Hall’s <em>Thou +shalt not kill</em> a more rigid philosophic sanction than +religion had given it. While, in order to be intelligible, +and to reason intelligently, they found it necessary to +thresh out and ascertain each other’s most ultimate beliefs +and telic ideals.</p> + +<p>It was the struggle of two scholars, and practical +scholars at that; yet more often than not the final result +sought was lost in the excitement and clash of ideas. +And Hall did his antagonist the justice of realizing that +on his part it was purely a pursuit of truth. That his +life was the forfeit if he lost had no influence on Dragomiloff’s +reasoning. The question at issue was whether +or not his Assassination Bureau was a right institution.</p> + +<p>Hall’s one thesis, which he never abandoned, to which +he forced all roads of argument to lead, was that the +time had come in the evolution of society when society, +as a whole, must work out its own salvation. The time +was past, he contended, for the man on horseback, or +for small groups of men on horseback, to manage the +destinies of society. Dragomiloff, he insisted, was such<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> +a man, and his Assassination Bureau was the steed he +bestrode, by virtue of which he judged and punished, +and, within narrow limits it was true, herded and trampled +society in the direction he wanted it to go.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff, on the other hand, did not deny that he +played the part of the man on horseback, who thought +for society, decided for society, and drove society; but +he did deny, and emphatically, that society as a whole +was able to manage itself, and that, despite blunders +and mistakes, social progress lay in such management of +the whole by itself. And this was the crux of the question, +to settle which they ransacked history and traced +the social evolution of man up from the minutest known +details of primitive groupings to highest civilization.</p> + +<p>In fact, so practical-minded were the two scholars, so +unmetaphysical, that they accepted social expediency as +the determining factor and agreed that it was in the +highest way ethical. And in the end, measured by this +particular yardstick, Winter Hall won. Dragomiloff +acknowledged his own defeat, and, in his gratification +and excitement, Hall’s hand went impulsively out to him. +Firmly, and despite his surprise, Dragomiloff returned +the grip.</p> + +<p>“I see, now,” he said, “that I failed to lay sufficient +stress on the social factors. The assassinations have not +been so much intrinsically wrong as socially wrong. I +even take part of that back. As between individuals, +they have not been wrong at all. But individuals are +not individuals alone. They are parts of complexes of +individuals. There was where I erred. It is dimly clear +to me. I was not justified. And now—” He broke +off and looked at his watch. “It is two o’clock. We +have sat late. And now I am prepared to pay the +penalty. Of course you will give me time to settle my +affairs before I give the order to my agents?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span></p> + +<p>Hall, who in the height of debate had forgotten the +terms of the debate, was startled.</p> + +<p>“I am not prepared for that,” he said. “And to tell +the truth, it had quite slipped my mind. Perhaps it is +not necessary. You are yourself convinced of the wrong +of assassination. Suppose you disband the organization. +That will be sufficient.”</p> + +<p>But Dragomiloff shook his head.</p> + +<p>“An agreement is an agreement. I have accepted a +commission from you. Right is right, and this is where, +I maintain, the doctrine of social expediency does not +apply. The individual, per se, has some prerogatives +left, and one of these is the keeping of one’s word. This +I must do. The commission shall be carried out. I am +afraid it will be the last handled by the Bureau. This +is Saturday morning. Suppose you give me until tomorrow +night before issuing the order?”</p> + +<p>“Tommyrot!” Hall exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“That is not argument,” was the grave reproof. “Besides, +all argument is finished. I decline to hear any +more. One thing, though, in fairness: considering how +difficult a person I shall be to assassinate, I would suggest +a further charge of at least ten thousand dollars.” +He held up his hand in token that he had more to say. +“Oh, believe me, I am modest. I shall make it so difficult +for my agents that it will be worth all of fifty +thousand and <span class="locked">more—”</span></p> + +<p>“If you will only break up the <span class="locked">organization—”</span></p> + +<p>But Dragomiloff silenced him.</p> + +<p>“The discussion is ended. This is now my affair. The +organization will be broken up in any event, but I warn +you, according to our rules of long standing, I may +escape. As you will recollect, I promised you, at the +time the bargain was made, that if, at the end of a year,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> +the commission had not been fulfilled, the fee would be +returned to you plus five percent. If I escape I shall +hand it to you myself.”</p> + +<p>But Winter Hall waved his hand impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” he said. “I insist on one statement. You +and I are agreed on the foundation of ethics. Social +expedience being the basis of all <span class="locked">ethics—”</span></p> + +<p>“Pardon me—” came the interruption “—of social +ethics only. The individual, in certain aspects, is still +an individual.”</p> + +<p>“Neither you nor I,” Hall continued, “accepts the old +Judaic code of an eye for an eye. We do not believe in +punishment for crime. The killings of your Bureau, +while justified by crimes committed by the victims, were +not regarded by you as punishments. You looked upon +your victims as social ills, the extirpation of which would +benefit society. You removed them from the social +organism on the same principle that surgeons remove cancers. +I caught that point of view of yours from the +beginning of the discussion.</p> + +<p>“But to return. Not accepting the punishment theory, +you and I regard crime as a mere anti-social tendency, +and as such, expediently and arbitrarily, we classify it. +Thus, crime is a social abnormality, partaking of the +nature of sickness. It <em>is</em> sickness. The criminal, the +wrong-doer, is a sick man, and he should be treated accordingly, +so that he may be cured of his sickness.</p> + +<p>“Now I come to you and to my point. Your Assassination +Bureau was anti-social. You believed in it. +Therefore you were sick. Your belief in assassination +constituted your sickness. But now you no longer believe. +You are cured. Your tendency is no longer anti-social. +There is now no need for your death, which +would be nothing else than punishment for an illness<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span> +of which you had already been cured. Disband the +organization and go out of business. That is all you +have to do.”</p> + +<p>“Are you done—quite done?” Dragomiloff queried +suavely.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then let me answer and end the argument. I conceived +my Bureau in righteousness, and I operated it in +righteousness. Also, I created it, made it the perfect +thing that it is. Its foundation was certain right principles. +In all its history, not one of these principles was +violated. A particular one of these principles was that +portion of the contracts with our clients wherein we +guaranteed to carry out any commission we accepted. I +accepted a commission from you. I received forty thousand +dollars. The agreement was that I should order my +own execution if you proved to my satisfaction that the +assassinations achieved by the Bureau were wrong. You +have proved it. Nothing remains but to live up to the +agreement.</p> + +<p>“I am proud of this institution. Nor shall I, with a +last act, stultify its basic principles, break the rules under +which it operated. This I hold is my right as an individual, +and in no way does it conflict with social expediency. +I do not want to die. If I escape death for +a year, the commission I accepted from you, as you +know, automatically terminates. I shall do my best to +escape. And now, not another word. I am resolved. +Concerning breaking up the Bureau, what would you +suggest?”</p> + +<p>“Give me the names and all details of all members. +I shall then serve notice on them to <span class="locked">disband—”</span></p> + +<p>“Not until after my death or until the year has expired,” +Dragomiloff objected.</p> + +<p>“All right, after your death, or the expiration of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> +year, I shall serve this notice, backed by the threat of +going to the police with my information.”</p> + +<p>“They may kill you,” was the warning.</p> + +<p>“Yes; they may. I shall have to take that chance.”</p> + +<p>“You can avoid it. When you serve notice, inform +them that all information is placed in escrow in half a +dozen different cities, and that in event of your being +killed it goes into the hands of the police.”</p> + +<p>It was three in the morning before the details for disbanding +the organization were arranged. It was at this +time that a long silence fell, broken at last by Dragomiloff.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, Hall, I like you. You are an ethical +enthusiast yourself. You might almost have created the +Bureau, than which I know no higher compliment, because +it is my belief that the Bureau is a remarkable +achievement. At any rate, not only do I like you, but +I know I can trust you. You would keep your word as +I keep mine. Now, I have a daughter. Her mother is +dead and in the event of my death she would be without +kith or kin in the world. I should like to put her in +your charge. Are you willing to accept the responsibility?”</p> + +<p>Hall nodded his acquiescence.</p> + +<p>“She is a grown woman, so there is no need for guardianship +papers. But she is unmarried, and I shall leave her +a great deal of money, the investment of which you will +have to see to. I am running out to see her this afternoon. +Will you come along? It is not far, only at Edge +Moor on the Hudson.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m making a week-end visit to Edge Moor myself!” +Hall exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Good. Whereabouts in Edge Moor?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I’ve never been there.”</p> + +<p>“Never mind. It is not a large place. You can spare +a couple of hours Sunday morning. I’ll run over for you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> +in a machine. Telephone me where and when to come. +Suburban 245 is my number.”</p> + +<p>Hall jotted the number down and rose to go.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff yawned as they shook hands.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would reconsider,” the other urged.</p> + +<p>But Dragomiloff yawned again, shook his head, and +showed his visitor out.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_VI"><i>Chapter VI</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>Grunya ran the machine that carried Winter Hall from +the station at Edge Moor.</p> + +<p>“Uncle is really eager to meet you,” she assured him. +“He doesn’t know who you are, yet. I teased him by +not telling him. Perhaps it is the teasing that accounts +for his eagerness, for he certainly is eager.”</p> + +<p>“Have you told him?” Hall asked significantly.</p> + +<p>Grunya became suddenly absorbed in operating the +car.</p> + +<p>“What?” she asked.</p> + +<p>For reply, Hall laid his hand on hers upon the steering +wheel. She ventured one glance at him, looking into his +eyes with audacious steadiness for a moment. Then the +telltale flush betrayed her, the steady gaze wavered, and +with dropped eyes she returned to the steering.</p> + +<p>“That might account for his eagerness,” Hall remarked +quietly.</p> + +<p>“I—I never thought of it.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes were turned from him, but he could see the +rosy warmth in her cheek. After a minute he made another +remark.</p> + +<p>“It is a pity to shame so splendid a sunset with unveraciousness.”</p> + +<p>“Coward,” she cried; but her enunciation made the +epithet a love note.</p> + +<p>And then she looked at him again, and laughed, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> +he laughed with her, and both felt that the sunset was +unsmirched and that the world was very fair.</p> + +<p>It was when they entered the driveway to the bungalow +that he asked her in what direction lay the Dragomiloff +place.</p> + +<p>“Never heard of it,” was her response. “Dragomiloff? +No such person lives in Edge Moor, I am sure. Why?”</p> + +<p>“They may be recent comers,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps so. And here we are. Grosset, take Mr. +Hall’s suitcase. Where’s Uncle?”</p> + +<p>“In the library, writing, miss. He said not to disturb +him till dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Then at dinner you’ll meet,” she said to Hall. “And +you’ll only just have time. Show Mr. Hall his room, +Grosset.”</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later, Winter Hall, in the absence of +Grunya, entered the living room and found himself face +to face with the man he had parted from at three that +morning.</p> + +<p>“What the devil are you doing here?” Hall blurted +out.</p> + +<p>But the other’s composure was unshaken.</p> + +<p>“Waiting to be introduced, I suppose,” he said, holding +out his hand. “I am Sergius Constantine. Grunya has +certainly surprised both of us.”</p> + +<p>“And you are also Ivan Dragomiloff?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but not in this house.”</p> + +<p>“But I do not understand. You spoke of a daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Grunya is my daughter, though she believes herself +my niece. It is a long story, which I shall make short, +after dinner, when we get rid of Grunya. But let me tell +you now, that the situation is beautiful, gratifyingly beautiful. +You, whom I selected to watch over my Grunya, +I find are already—if I am right—her lover. Am I +right?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span></p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know what to say,” Hall faltered, his wit +for one time not ready, his mind stunned by this most +undreamed dénouement.</p> + +<p>“Am I right?” Dragomiloff repeated.</p> + +<p>“You are right,” came the answer, prompt at last. “I +do love—her—I do love Grunya. But does she know +... you?”</p> + +<p>“Only as her uncle, Sergius Constantine, head of the +importing house of that name—here she comes. As I +was saying, I agree with you in preferring Turgenev to +Tolstoy. Of course, this without detracting from the +power of Tolstoy. It is Tolstoy’s philosophy that is repugnant +to one who believes—ah, here you are, Grunya.”</p> + +<p>“And already acquainted,” she pouted. “I had expected +to be present at such a momentous encounter.” +She turned chidingly to Hall, while Constantine’s arm encircled +her waist. “Why didn’t you warn me you could +dress with such speed?”</p> + +<p>She held out her free hand to him.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said, “let us go in to dinner.”</p> + +<p>And in this manner, Constantine’s arm around Grunya, +and she lightly leading Hall by the hand, the three passed +into the dining room.</p> + +<p>At table Hall caught himself desiring to pinch himself +in order to disprove the reality of which he was a part. +The situation was almost too preposterously grotesque to +be real—Grunya, whom he loved, alternately tilting and +smiling at her father whom she believed her uncle, and +whom she never dreamed was the originator and head of +the dread Assassination Bureau; he, Hall, whom Grunya +loved in return, joining in the badinage against the man +to whom he had paid fifty thousand dollars to order his +own execution; and Dragomiloff himself, unperturbed, +complacent, unbending in the general mirth, until his habitual +frostiness thawed into actual geniality.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span></p> + +<p>Afterwards, Grunya played and sang, until Dragomiloff, +under the double plea of an expected visitor and a desire +for a man-talk with Hall, advised her, in mock phrases +of paternal patronage, that it was bedtime for a chit of +her years. With a parting fling, she said good night and +left them, her laughter rippling back through the open +door. Dragomiloff got up, closed it, and returned to his +seat.</p> + +<p>“Well?” Hall demanded.</p> + +<p>“My father was a contractor in the Russian-Turkish +War,” was the reply. “His name was—well, never mind +his name. He made a fortune of sixty million rubles, +which I, as an only son, inherited. At university I became +inoculated with radical ideas and joined the Young +Russians. We were a pack of Utopianists and dreamers, +and of course we got into trouble. I was in prison several +times. My wife died of smallpox at the same time +that her brother Sergius Constantine died of the same disease. +This took place on my last estate. Our latest conspiracy +had leaked, and this time it meant Siberia for me. +My escape was simple. My brother-in-law, a pronounced +conservative, was buried under my name, and I became +Sergius Constantine. Grunya was a baby. I got out of +the country easily enough, though what was left of my +fortune fell into the hands of the officials. Here in New +York, where Russian spies are more prevalent than you +imagine, I maintained the fiction of my name. And there +you have it. I have even returned once to Russia, as my +brother-in-law, of course, and sold out his possessions. +Too long did I maintain the fiction; Grunya knew me as +her uncle, and her uncle I have remained. That is all.”</p> + +<p>“But the Assassination Bureau?” Hall asked.</p> + +<p>“Believing it was right, and stung by the charge that +we Russians were thinkers, not doers, I organized it. +And it has worked, successfully, perfectly. It has been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span> +a financial success as well. I proved that I could act, as +well as dream dreams. Grunya, however, still calls me a +dreamer. But she does not know. One moment.”</p> + +<p>He went into the adjoining room and returned with a +large envelope in his hand.</p> + +<p>“And now to other things. My expected visitor is the +man to whom I shall give the order of execution. I intended +to do so tomorrow, but your opportune presence +tonight expedites matters. Here are my instructions to +you.” He handed over the envelope. “Grunya, legally, +must sign all papers, deeds, and such things, but you must +advise her. My will is in my safe. You will have to +handle my funds for me until I die or return. If I telegraph +for money, or anything, you will do as instructed. +In this envelope is the cipher I shall use, which is likewise +the cipher used by the organization.</p> + +<p>“There is a large emergency fund which I have handled +for the Bureau. This belongs to the members. I shall +make you its custodian. The members will draw upon +it at need.” Dragomiloff shook his head with simulated +sadness and smiled. “I am afraid I shall prove very expensive +to them before they get me.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens, man!” Hall cried. “You are furnishing +them the sinews of war. What you should do is to prevent +their access to the fund.”</p> + +<p>“That would not be fair, Hall. And I am so made +that I must play fairly. And I do you the honor to believe +that in the matter you will likewise play fairly and +obey all my instructions. Am I right?”</p> + +<p>“But you are asking me to furnish aid to the men who +are going to kill you, the father of the girl I love. It is +preposterous. It is monstrous. Put a stop to the whole +thing now. Disband the organization and be done +with it.”</p> + +<p>But Dragomiloff was adamant.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span></p> + +<p>“My mind is made up. You know that. I must do +what I believe to be right. You will obey my instructions?”</p> + +<p>“You are a monster! A stubborn, stiff-necked monster +of absurd and lunatic righteousness. You are a +scholar’s mind degraded, you are ethics gone mad, you +are ... are....”</p> + +<p>But Winter Hall failed in his quest for further superlatives, +and stuttered, and ceased. Dragomiloff smiled patiently.</p> + +<p>“You will obey my instructions. Am I right?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll obey them,” Hall cried angrily. +“It is patent that you will have your way. There is no +stopping you. But why tonight? Won’t tomorrow be +time enough to start on this madman’s adventure?”</p> + +<p>“No; I am eager to start. And you have hit the precise +word. Adventure. That is it. I have not had it since +I was a boy, since I was a young Bakuninite in Russia +dreaming my boyish dreams of universal human freedom. +Since then, what have I done? I have been a thinking +machine. I have built up successful businesses. I have +made a fortune. I have invented the Assassination Bureau +and run it. And that is all. I have not lived. I +have had no adventure. I have been a mere spider, a +huge brain thinking and planning in the midst of a web. +But now I break the web. I go forth on the adventure +path. Why, do you know, I have never killed a man in +my life. Nor have I ever seen one killed. I was never +in a railroad accident. I know nothing of violence; I +who possess the vast strength of violence have never used +that strength save in amity, in boxing and wrestling and +such exercises. Now I shall live, body and brain, and +play a new role. Strength!”</p> + +<p>He held out his lean white hand and looked at it +angrily.</p> + +<p>“Grunya will tell you that I can bend a silver dollar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> +between those fingers. Was that all they were made for?—to +bend dollars? Here, your arm a moment.”</p> + +<p>Merely between fingertips and thumb, he caught Hall’s +forearm midway from wrist to elbow. He pressed, and +Hall was startled by the fierce pang of the bruise. It +seemed as if fingers and thumb would meet through the +flesh and bone. The next moment the arm was flung +aside, and Dragomiloff was smiling grimly.</p> + +<p>“No damage,” he said, “though it will be black and +blue for a week or so. Now do you know why I want to +get out of my web? I have vegetated for a score of +years. I have used those fingers to write my signature +and to turn the pages of books. From my web I have +sent men out on the adventure path. Now I shall play +against those men, and I, too, shall do. It will be a royal +game. Mine was the master mind that made the perfect +machine. I created it. Never has it failed to destroy +the man appointed. I am now the man appointed. +The question is: <em>is it greater than I, its creator?</em> Will it +destroy its creator, or will its creator outwit it?”</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly, looked at his watch, and pressed +a bell.</p> + +<p>“Have the car brought around,” he told the servant +who responded, “put into it the suitcase you will find +in my bedroom.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Hall as the servant left the room.</p> + +<p>“And now my hegira begins. Haas should be here +any moment.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Haas?”</p> + +<p>“Bar none and absolutely the most capable member +we have. He has always been given our most difficult +and hazardous commissions. He is an ethical fanatic, +a Danite. No destroying angel was ever so terrible +as he. He is a flame. He is not a man at all, but a +flame. You shall see for yourself. There he is now.”</p> + +<p>A moment later the man was shown in. Hall was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> +shocked by the first view of his face—a wasted, ravaged +face, hollow-cheeked and sunken, in which burned a pair +of eyes the like of which could be experienced only in +nightmares. Such was the fire of them that the whole +face seemed caught up in the conflagration.</p> + +<p>Hall acknowledged the introduction, and was surprised +at the firm, almost savagely firm, grip of the handshake. +He noted the man’s movements as he took a +chair and seated himself. He seemed to move cat-like, +and Hall was confident that he was muscled like a tiger, +though all this was belied by the withered, blighted face, +which gave an impression that the rest of the body was +a shrunken slender shell. Slender the body was, but Hall +could mark the bulge of the biceps and shoulder muscles.</p> + +<p>“I have a commission for you, Mr. Haas,” Dragomiloff +began. “Possibly it may prove the most dangerous and +difficult one you have ever undertaken.”</p> + +<p>Hall could have sworn that the man’s eyes blazed even +more fiercely at the intimation.</p> + +<p>“This case has received my sanction,” Dragomiloff +continued. “It is right, essentially right. The man +must die. The Bureau has received fifty thousand +dollars for his death. According to our custom, one-third +of this sum will go to you. But so difficult am I +afraid it will prove, that I have decided your share shall +be one-half. Here are five thousand for <span class="locked">expenses—”</span></p> + +<p>“The amount is unusual,” Haas broke in, licking his +lips as if they were parched by the flame of his being.</p> + +<p>“The man you are to kill is unusual,” Dragomiloff +retorted. “You will need to call upon Schwartz and +Harrison immediately to assist you. If, after a time, the +three of you have <span class="locked">failed—”</span></p> + +<p>Haas snorted incredulously, and the fever that seemed +consuming him burned up with increasing heat in his +lean and avid face.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p> + +<p>“If after a time, the three of you have failed, call +upon the whole organization.”</p> + +<p>“Who is the man?” Haas demanded, and he bit the +words out almost in a snarl.</p> + +<p>“One moment.” Dragomiloff turned to Hall. “What +shall you tell Grunya?”</p> + +<p>Hall considered for a space.</p> + +<p>“A half-truth will do. I sketched the organization to +her before I knew you. I can tell her you are menaced. +That will suffice. And no matter what the outcome, she +need never know the rest.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff bowed his approbation.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hall is to serve as secretary,” he explained to +Haas. “He has the cipher. All applications for money +and everything else will be made to him. Keep him informed +from time to time of progress.”</p> + +<p>“Who is the man?” Haas rasped out again.</p> + +<p>“One minute, Mr. Haas. There is one thing I want to +impress on you. Your pledge you remember. No +matter who the person may be, you know that you must +perform the task. You know in every way you must +avoid risking your own life. You know what failure +means, that all your comrades are sworn to kill you if +you fail.”</p> + +<p>“I know all that,” Haas interrupted. “It is unnecessary.”</p> + +<p>“It is my wish to have you absolutely straight on this +point. No matter who the <span class="locked">person—”</span></p> + +<p>“Father, brother, wife—ay, the devil himself, or God—I +understand. Who is the man? Where will I find +him? You know me. When I have anything to do, I +want to do it.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff turned to Hall with a smile of gratification.</p> + +<p>“As I told you, I selected our best agent.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span></p> + +<p>“We are wasting time,” Haas muttered impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” Dragomiloff answered. “Are you +ready?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Now?”</p> + +<p>“Now.”</p> + +<p>“I, Ivan Dragomiloff, am the man.”</p> + +<p>Haas was staggered by the unexpectedness of it.</p> + +<p>“You?” he whispered, as if louder speech had been +scorched from his throat.</p> + +<p>“I,” Dragomiloff answered simply.</p> + +<p>“Then there is no time like now,” Haas said swiftly, +at the same time moving his right hand towards his side +pocket.</p> + +<p>But even more swift was the leap of Dragomiloff upon +him. Before Hall could rise from his chair the thing had +happened and the danger was past. He saw Dragomiloff’s +two thumbs, end on, crooked and rigid, drive +into the two hollows at either side of the base of Haas’s +neck. So quickly that it was practically simultaneous, at +the instant of the first driven contact of the thumbs, +Haas’s hand stopped moving in the direction of the +weapon in his pocket. Both his hands shot up and +clutched spasmodically at the other’s hands. Haas’s face +was distorted in an expression of incredible and absolute +agony. He writhed and twisted for a minute, then his +eyes closed, his hands dropped, his body went limp, and +Dragomiloff eased him down to the floor, the flame of +him quenched in unconsciousness.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff rolled him on his face, and, with a handkerchief, +knotted his hands behind his back. He worked +quickly, and as he worked he talked.</p> + +<p>“Observe, Hall, the first anaesthetic ever used in surgery. +It is purely mechanical. The thumbs press on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span> +the carotid arteries, shutting off the blood supply to the +brain. The Japanese practiced it in surgical operations +for centuries. If I had held the pressure for a minute +or so more, the man would be dead. As it is, he will regain +consciousness in a few seconds. See! He is moving +now.”</p> + +<p>He rolled Haas over on his back; his eyes fluttered +open and rested on Dragomiloffs face in a puzzled way.</p> + +<p>“I told you it was a difficult case, Mr. Haas,” Dragomiloff +assured him. “You have failed in the first attempt. +I am afraid that you will fail many times.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll give a run for my money, I guess,” was the +answer. “Though why you want to be killed is beyond +me.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t want to be killed.”</p> + +<p>“Then why under the sun have you given me the +order?”</p> + +<p>“That’s my business, Mr. Haas. And it is your business +to see that you do your best. How does your throat +feel?”</p> + +<p>The recumbent man rolled his head back and forth.</p> + +<p>“Sore,” he announced.</p> + +<p>“It is a trick you ought to learn.”</p> + +<p>“I know it now,” Haas rejoined, “and I am very much +aware of the precise place in which to insert the thumbs. +What are you going to do with me?”</p> + +<p>“Take you along with me in the car and drop you by +the roadside. It’s a warm night, so you won’t catch +cold. If I left you here, Mr. Hall might untie you before +I got started. And now I think I’ll bother you for that +weapon in your coat-pocket.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff leaned over, and from the pocket in +question drew forth an automatic pistol.</p> + +<p>“Loaded for big game and cocked and ready,” he said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> +examining it. “All he had to do was to drop the safety +lever with his thumb and pull the trigger. Will you walk +to the car with me, Mr. Haas?”</p> + +<p>Haas shook his head.</p> + +<p>“This is more comfortable than the roadside.”</p> + +<p>For reply, Dragomiloff bent over him and lightly +effected his terrible thumb grip on the throat.</p> + +<p>“I’ll walk,” Haas gasped.</p> + +<p>Quickly and lightly, though his arms were tied behind +him, and apparently without effort, the recumbent man +rose to his feet, giving Hall a hint of the tiger-muscles +with which he was endowed.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,” Haas grumbled. “I’m not kicking, +and I’ll take my medicine. But you caught me unexpectedly, +and I’ll tell you one thing. It is that you +can’t do it again, or anything else.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff turned and spoke to Hall.</p> + +<p>“The Japanese claim seven different death-touches, +but I only know four. And this man dreams he could +best me in physical encounter. Mr. Haas, let me tell +you one thing. You see the edge of my hand. Omitting +the death-touches and everything else, merely using +the edge of that hand like a cleaver, I can break your +bones, disjoint your joints, and rupture your tendons. +Pretty good, eh, for the thinking machine you have +always known? Come on; let us start. This way for +the adventure path. Goodbye, Hall.”</p> + +<p>The front door closed behind them, and Winter Hall, +stupefied, looked about him at the modern room in which +he stood. He was more pervaded than ever by the impression +of unrealness. Yet that was a grand piano over +there, and those were the current magazines on the reading +table. He even glanced over their familiar names +in an effort to orient himself. He wondered if he were +going to wake up in a few minutes. He glanced at the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span> +titles of a table-rack of books—evidently Dragomiloff’s. +There, incongruously cheek by jowl, were Mahan’s +<i>Problem of Asia</i>, Buckner’s <i>Force and Matter</i>, Wells’s +<i>Mr. Polly</i>, Nietzsche’s <i>Beyond Good and Evil</i>, Jacob’s +<i>Many Cargoes</i>, Veblen’s <i>Theory of the Leisure Class</i>, +Hyde’s <i>From Epicurus to Christ</i>, and Henry James’s latest +novel—all forsaken by this strange mind which had +closed the page of its life on books and fared forth into +an impossible madness of adventure.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_VII"><i>Chapter VII</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>“There is no use waiting for your uncle,” Hall told +Grunya next morning. “We must eat breakfast and +start for town.”</p> + +<p>“We?” she asked in frank wonder. “What for?”</p> + +<p>“To get married. Before his departure, your uncle +made me your unofficial guardian, and it seems to me +that the best thing to do is to make my position official—that +is, if you have no serious objections.”</p> + +<p>“I have, decidedly,” was her reply. “In the first place, +I dislike being bullied into anything, even into so gratifying +a thing as marriage with you. And next, I detest +mystery. Where is Uncle? What has happened? +Where did he go? Did he catch an early train for the +city? And why should he go to the city on Sunday?”</p> + +<p>Hall looked at her gloomily.</p> + +<p>“Grunya, I am not going to tell you to be brave and all +that fol-de-rol. I know you, and it is unnecessary.” He +noted growing alarm in her face and hurried on. “I +don’t know when your uncle will return. I don’t know if +he will ever return, or if you will ever see him again. +Listen. You remember that Assassination Bureau I told +you about?”</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well, it has selected him for its next victim. He has +fled, that is all, in an attempt to escape.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! But this is outrageous!” she cried. “My Uncle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> +Sergius! This is the twentieth century. They don’t do +things like that now. This is some joke you and he are +playing on me.”</p> + +<p>And Hall, wondering what she would think if she knew +the whole truth concerning her uncle, smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>“On my honor, it is true,” he assured her. “Your +uncle has been selected as the next victim. You remember +he was writing a great deal yesterday afternoon. +He had had his warning and was getting his affairs in +shape and preparing his instructions for me.”</p> + +<p>“But the police. Why has he not appealed to them for +protection from this band of cutthroats?”</p> + +<p>“Your uncle is a peculiar man. He won’t listen to +any suggestion of the police. Furthermore, he has +made me promise to keep the police out of it.”</p> + +<p>“But not me,” she interrupted, starting towards the +door. “I shall call them up at once.”</p> + +<p>Hall caught her by the wrist, and she swung angrily +around on him.</p> + +<p>“Listen, dear,” he said placatingly. “The whole thing +is madness, I know. It is the sheerest impossible lunacy. +Yet it is so, it is true, every last bit of it. Your uncle does +not want the police brought in. It is his wish. It is +his command to me. If you violate his wish, it will be +because I have made the mistake of telling you. I am +confident I have made no mistake.”</p> + +<p>He released her, and she hesitated on the threshold.</p> + +<p>“It can’t be!” she exclaimed. “It is unbelievable! +It—it—oh, you are joking!”</p> + +<p>“It is unbelievable to me, too, yet I am compelled to +believe. Your uncle packed a suitcase last night and +left. I saw him go. He said goodbye to me. He put +me in charge of his affairs and yours. Here are his +instructions on that score.”</p> + +<p>Hall drew out his pocketbook and selected several sheets<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> +of paper in the unmistakable handwriting of Sergius +Constantine.</p> + +<p>“And here, also, is a note to you. He was in great +haste, you know. Come in and read them at breakfast.”</p> + +<p>It was a depressing meal, Grunya taking nothing more +than a cup of coffee, and Hall toying half-heartedly with +an egg. The final convincing of Grunya was brought +about by a telegram addressed to Hall. The fact that +it was in cipher, and that he possessed the key, satisfied +her, but did not diminish the mystery.</p> + +<p>“<em>Shall let you hear from me from time to time</em>,” Hall +translated it. “<i>Love to Grunya. Tell her you have my +consent to marry her. The rest depends on her.</i>”</p> + +<p>“By this telegram I hope to be able to keep track of +his movements,” Hall explained. “And now let us go +and be married.”</p> + +<p>“While he is a hunted creature over the face of the +earth? Never! Something must be done. We must +do something. I thought you were going to destroy this +nest of murderers. Destroy it, then, and save him.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t explain everything to you,” he said gently. +“But this is part of the program for destroying them. I +did not plan it this way, but it got beyond me. I can +tell you this much, though. If your uncle can escape +for a year he will be immune; he will never be endangered +again. And I think he can avoid his pursuers for +that long. In the meantime I shall do everything in +my power to aid him, though his own instructions limit +me, as, for instance, when he says that under no circumstances +are the police to be called in.”</p> + +<p>“When the year is up, then I shall marry,” was +Grunya’s final judgment.</p> + +<p>“Very well. And in the meantime, today, are you +going in to stop in the city, or will you remain here?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span></p> + +<p>“I am going in on the next train.”</p> + +<p>“So am I.”</p> + +<p>“Then we’ll go in together,” Grunya said, with the first +faint hint of a smile that morning.</p> + +<p>It proved a busy day for Hall. Parting from Grunya +when town was reached, he devoted himself to Dragomiloff’s +affairs and instructions. The manager of S. +Constantine & Co. was stubbornly suspicious of Hall, +despite the letter he delivered to him in his employer’s +handwriting. And when Hall called up Grunya on the +telephone to confirm him, the manager doubted that it +was Constantine’s niece at the other end of the wire. So +Grunya was compelled to come in person and substantiate +Hall’s statements.</p> + +<p>Following upon that he and Grunya lunched together, +after which, alone, he went to take possession of Dragomiloff’s +quarters. Certain that Grunya knew nothing +about the rooms where the deaf mute presided, Hall had +sounded her and found that he was right.</p> + +<p>The deaf mute made little trouble. By talking straight +to him so that he could watch the lips, Hall discovered +that conversation was no more difficult than with an +ordinary person. On the other hand, the mute was +forced to write whatever he wished to communicate to +Hall. Upon receiving the letter which Hall presented +from Dragomiloff, the fellow immediately pressed it to his +nose and sniffed long and carefully. Satisfied by this +means of its genuineness, he accepted Hall as +the temporary master of the place.</p> + +<p>That evening Hall had three callers. The first, a +rotund, bewhiskered, and genial person who gave the +name of Burdwell, was one of the agents of the Bureau. +By reference to the list of descriptions of the members, +Hall identified him, though not by the name he had given.</p> + +<p>“Your name is not Burdwell,” Hall said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span></p> + +<p>“I know it,” was the answer. “Perhaps you can tell +me what is.”</p> + +<p>“I can. It is Thompson—Sylvanius Thompson.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds familiar,” was the jolly response. “Perhaps +you can tell me something more.”</p> + +<p>“You have been associated with the organization for +five years. You were born in Toronto. You are +forty-seven years old. You were professor of sociology +at Barlington University, and you were forced to resign +because your economic teachings offended the founder. +You have carried out twelve commissions. Shall I name +them for you?”</p> + +<p>Sylvanius Thompson held up a warning hand.</p> + +<p>“We do not mention such occurrences.”</p> + +<p>“We do in this room,” Hall retorted.</p> + +<p>The ex-professor of sociology immediately acknowledged +the correctness of the statement.</p> + +<p>“No use naming them all,” he said. “Give me the +first and the last, and I’ll know I can talk business with +you.”</p> + +<p>Again Hall referred to the list.</p> + +<p>“Your first was Sig Lemuels, a police magistrate. It +was your entrance test. Your last was Bertram Festle, +who was supposed to have been drowned while going +aboard his yacht at Bar Point.”</p> + +<p>“Very good.” Sylvanius Thompson paused to light a +cigar. “I merely wanted to make sure, that’s all. I’ve +never met anybody but the Chief here, so it was rather +unprecedented to have to deal with a stranger. Now to +business. I haven’t had a commission for some time +now, and funds are running low.”</p> + +<p>Hall drew out a typed copy he had made of Dragomiloff’s +instructions and read a certain paragraph carefully.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span></p> + +<p>“There is nothing on hand now,” he said. “But here +is two thousand dollars with which to keep going. This +is an advance on future services. Keep closely in touch, +for you may be needed any time. The Bureau has a +big affair on hand, and the assistance of all its members +may be called for any time. In fact, I am empowered +to tell you that the very life of the organization is at +stake. Your receipt, please.”</p> + +<p>The ex-professor signed the receipt, puffed at his cigar, +and evidenced no intention of going.</p> + +<p>“Do you like to kill men?” Hall asked bluntly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t mind it,” answered Thompson, “though +I can’t say that I like it. But one must live. I have a +wife and three children.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe your way of making a living is right?” +was Hall’s next question.</p> + +<p>“Certainly; else I would not make my living that way. +Besides, I am not a murderer. I am an executioner. +No man is ever removed by the Bureau without cause—and +by that I mean righteous cause. Only arch-offenders +against society are removed, as you know yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mind telling you, Professor, that I know very +little about it. It is true, though I am in temporary +charge of the Bureau and acting under most rigid instructions. +Tell me, may you not place mistaken faith +in the Chief?”</p> + +<p>“I do not follow.”</p> + +<p>“I mean ethical faith. May he not be mistaken in +his judgments? May he not select you, for instance, +to kill—I beg pardon—to execute, a man who is not +an arch-offender against society, or who may be entirely +innocent of the misdeeds charged against him?”</p> + +<p>“No, young man, that cannot happen. Whenever a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> +commission is offered me—and I presume this is true +of the other members—I first of all call for the evidence +and weigh it carefully. I once even declined a certain +commission because of reasonable doubt. It is true, I +was afterwards proved wrong, but the principle was there, +you see. Why, the Bureau could not last a year if it +were not impregnably founded on right. I, for one, +could not look my wife in the eyes nor take my innocent +children in my arms did I believe it to be otherwise with +the Bureau and the commissions I carry out for the +Bureau.”</p> + +<p>Next, after the ex-professor, came Haas, livid and +hungry-looking, to report progress.</p> + +<p>“The Chief is headed towards Chicago,” he began. +“He ran his auto clear through to Albany and got away +on the New York Central. His Pullman berth was for +Chicago. I was too late to follow him, so I got a wire +to Schwartz in the city here, who caught the next train. +Also I telegraphed to the head of the Chicago Bureau—you +know him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; Starkington.”</p> + +<p>“I telegraphed him, telling him the situation and to put +a couple of members after the Chief. Then I came on +to New York in order to get Harrison. The two of us +leave for Chicago the first thing in the morning, if, in the +meantime, no word comes from Starkington that they +have got him.”</p> + +<p>“But you have exceeded your instructions,” Hall objected. +“I heard Drag—the Chief explicitly tell you +that Schwartz and Harrison were to assist, and that the +aid of the rest of the organization was to be called for +only after the three of you had failed, and failed for a +considerable time. You haven’t failed yet. You have +not even really begun.”</p> + +<p>“Evidently you know little about our system,” Haas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> +replied. “It has always been our custom when a chase +leads to other cities to call upon any of the members +who may be in those cities.”</p> + +<p>As Hall was about to speak, the deaf mute entered +with a telegram addressed to Dragomiloff. Hall opened +it and found it was from Starkington. He decoded it and +then read it aloud to Haas.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Has Haas gone crazy? Have received word from Haas that +you appointed him to execute you, that you are headed for +Chicago, and that I am to detail two members to fix you. +Haas has never lied before. He must be crazy. He may +prove dangerous. See to him.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“That is what Harrison said when I told him not an +hour ago,” was Haas’s comment. “But I do not lie, +and I am not crazy. You must fix this up, Mr. Hall.”</p> + +<p>Assisted by Haas, Hall composed a reply.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Haas is neither lunatic nor liar. What he says is correct. +Cooperate with him as requested.</p> + +<p class="right"> +Winter Hall, Temporary Secretary.” +</p> +</div> + +<p>“I’ll send it myself,” Haas said, as he rose to go.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Hall was telephoning to Grunya +that her uncle was headed towards Chicago. This was +followed by an interview with Harrison, who came privily +to verify what Haas had told him, and who went away +convinced.</p> + +<p>Hall sat down alone to think things over. He glanced +about at the book-cluttered walls and table, and the old +feeling of unreality came over him. How could it be +possible that there was an Assassination Bureau composed +of ethical lunatics? And how could it be possible +that he, who had set out to destroy this Assassination +Bureau, was now actually managing it from its headquarters, +and directing the pursuit and probable killing +of the man who had created the Bureau, who was the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> +father of the woman he loved, and whom he wished to +save for his daughter’s sake—how could it be possible?</p> + +<p>And to prove that it was all true and real, a second +telegram arrived from the head of the Chicago branch.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="ti">“Who in hell are you?” it demanded.</p> + +<p class="ti">“Temporary acting secretary appointed by the Chief,” was +Hall’s reply.</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall was awakened from sleep several hours later by a +third Chicago telegram.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Everything too irregular. Decline further communication +with you. Where is the Chief?</p> + +<p class="right"> +Starkington.” +</p> + +<p>“Chief gone to Chicago. Watch incoming trains and get him +to verify instructions to Haas. I don’t care if you never communicate.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall flashed back.</p> + +<p>By noon of next day Starkington’s messages began +to arrive thick and fast.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Have met Chief. He verifies everything. Accept my apology. +He broke my arm and got away. Have commissioned +the four Chicago members to get him.”</p> + +<p>“Schwartz has just arrived.”</p> + +<p>“Think Chief may head west. Am wiring St. Louis, Denver, +and San Francisco to watch for him. This may prove expensive. +Forward money for contingencies.”</p> + +<p>“Dempsey has three broken ribs and right arm paralyzed. +Paralysis not permanent. Chief got away.”</p> + +<p>“Chief is still in Chicago but cannot locate him.”</p> + +<p>“St. Louis, Denver, and San Francisco have replied. They +tell me I am crazy. Will you please verify?”</p> +</div> + +<p>This last wire had been preceded by messages from the +three mentioned cities, all incredulous of Starkington’s +sanity, and Hall had replied to them as he originally replied +to Starkington.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span></p> + +<p>It was while this muddle was pending that Hall, struck +by an idea, sent a long telegram to Starkington and made +a still greater muddle.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Stop pursuit of Chief. Call a conference of Chicago members +and consider following proposition. Judgment of execution +of Chief irregular. Chief passed judgment on himself. +Why? He must be crazy. It will not be right to kill one +who has done no wrong. What wrong has Chief done? +Where is your sanction?”</p> +</div> + +<p>That this was a poser, and that it stopped Chicago’s +hand, was proved by the reply.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Have talked it over. You are right. Chief’s judgment on +self invalid. Chief has done no wrong. Shall leave him +alone. Dempsey’s arm is better. All are agreed that Chief +must be crazy.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall was jubilant. He had played these ethical madmen +to the top of their madness. Dragomiloff was safe. +That evening he took Grunya to the theatre and to supper +and encouraged her with sanguine hopes for her uncle. +But on his return home he found a sheaf of telegrams +awaiting him.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Have received wire from Chicago calling off Chief deal. +Your last wire contradicts this. What are we to conclude?</p> + +<p class="right"> +St. Louis.” +</p> + +<p>“Chicago now cancels orders against Chief. By our rules no +order ever canceled. What is the matter?</p> + +<p class="right"> +Denver.” +</p> + +<p>“Where is Chief? Why doesn’t he communicate with us? +Chicago by latest wire has receded from earlier position. Is +everybody crazy? Or is it a joke?</p> + +<p class="right"> +San Francisco.” +</p> + +<p>“Chief still in Chicago. Met Carthey on State Street. Tried +to entice Carthey into following him. Then followed Carthey +and reproached him. Carthey said nothing doing. Chief +very angry. Insists killing order be carried out.</p> + +<p class="right"> +Starkington.” +</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Chief encountered Carthey later. Committed unprovoked +assault on Carthey. Carthey not injured.</p> + +<p class="right"> +Starkington.” +</p> + +<p>“Chief called on me. Upbraided me bitterly. Told him +your message had changed our minds. Chief furious. Is he +crazy?</p> + +<p class="right"> +Starkington.” +</p> + +<p>“Your interference is spoiling everything. What right have +you to interfere? This must be rectified. What are you +trying to do? Reply.</p> + +<p class="right"> +Drago.” +</p> + +<p>“Trying to do the right thing. You cannot violate your own +rules. Members have no sanction to perform act.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="in0">was Hall’s reply.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Bosh.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="in0">was Dragomiloff’s last word for the night.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_VIII"><i>Chapter VIII</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>It was not till eleven on the following morning that +Hall received word of Dragomiloff’s next play. It came +from the Chief himself.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Have sent this message to all branches. Have given it in +person to Chicago branch which will verify. I believe that +our organization is wrong. I believe all its work has been +wrong. I believe every member, wittingly or not, to be +wrong. Consider this your sanction and do your duty.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Soon the verdicts of the branches began to pour in +on Hall, who smiled as he forwarded them to Dragomiloff. +One and all were agreed that no reason had been +advanced for taking the Chief’s life.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“A belief is not a sin,” said New Orleans.</p> + +<p>“It is not incorrectness of a belief but insincerity of a belief +that makes a crime,” was Boston’s contribution to the symposium.</p> + +<p>“Chief’s honest belief is no wrong,” concluded St. Louis.</p> + +<p>“Ethical disagreement does not constitute any sanction whatever,” +announced Denver.</p> + +<p>While San Francisco flippantly remarked, “The only thing for +the Chief to do is to retire from control or forget it.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Dragomiloff replied by sending out another general +message. It ran:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“My belief is about to take form of deeds. Believing organization +to be wrong, I shall stamp out organization. I shall<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span> +personally destroy members, and if necessary shall have recourse +to the police. Chicago will verify this to all branches. +I shall shortly afford even stronger sanction for branches to +proceed against me.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall waited for the replies with keen interest, confessing +to himself his inability to forecast what this society +of righteous madmen would conclude next. It turned +out to be a division of opinion. Thus San Francisco:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Sanction O.K. Await instructions.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Denver advised:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Recommend Chicago branch examine Chief’s sanity. We +have good sanatoriums up here.”</p> +</div> + +<p>New Orleans complained:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Is everybody crazy? We are without sufficient data. Will +somebody straighten this matter out?”</p> +</div> + +<p>Said Boston:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“In this crisis we must keep our heads. Perhaps Chief is ill. +This must be ascertained satisfactorily before any decision is +reached.”</p> +</div> + +<p>It was after this that Starkington wired to suggest that +Haas, Schwartz, and Harrison be returned to New York. +To this Hall agreed, but hardly had he got the telegram +off, when a later one from Starkington changed the +complexion of the situation.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Carthey has just been murdered. Police looking for slayer +but have no clues. It is our belief that Chief is responsible. +Please forward to all branches.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall, as the focal communicating point of the branches, +was now fairly swamped in a sea of telegrams. Twenty-four +hours later Chicago had even more startling information.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Schwartz throttled at three this afternoon. There is no +doubt this time of Chief. Police are pursuing him. So are +we. Has dropped from sight. All branches be on the lookout. +It means trouble. Am proceeding without sanction of +branches, but should like same.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And promptly the sanctions poured in on Hall. +Dragomiloff had achieved his purpose. At last the +ethical madmen were aroused and after him.</p> + +<p>Hall himself was in a quandary, and cursed his ethical +nature that made him value a promise. He was convinced, +now, that Dragomiloff was really a lunatic, having +burst forth from his quiet book-and-business life +and become a homicidal maniac. That he had promised +a maniac various things brought up the question whether +or not, ethically, he was justified in breaking those promises. +His common sense told him that he was justified—justified +in informing the police, justified in bringing +about the arrests of all the members of the Assassination +Bureau, justified in anything that promised to put a stop +to the orgy of killing that seemed impending. But above +his common sense was his ethics, and at times he was +convinced that he was as mad as any of the madmen with +whom he dealt.</p> + +<p>To add to his perplexity, Grunya, who managed to get +his address from the telephone number he had given her, +paid him a call.</p> + +<p>“I have come to say goodbye,” was her introduction. +“What comfortable rooms you have. And what a curious +servant. He never spoke a word to me.”</p> + +<p>“Goodbye?” Hall queried. “Are you going back to +Edge Moor?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head and smiled airily.</p> + +<p>“No; Chicago. I am going to find Uncle, and to help +him if I can. What last word have you received? Is +he still in Chicago?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span></p> + +<p>“By the last word....” Hall hesitated. “Yes, by the +last word he had not left Chicago. But you can’t be of +any help, and it is unwise of you to go.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going just the same.”</p> + +<p>“Let me advise you, dear.”</p> + +<p>“Not until the year is up—except in business matters. +In fact I came to turn my little affairs over to you. I go +on the Twentieth Century this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Argument with Grunya was useless, but Hall was too +sensible to quarrel, and parted from her in appropriate +lover fashion, remaining in the headquarters of the +Assassination Bureau to manage its lunatic affairs.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened of moment for another twenty-four +hours. Then it came, an avalanche of messages, precipitated +by one from Starkington.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Chief still here. Broke Harrison’s neck today. Police do +not connect case with Schwartz. Please call for help on all +branches.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall sent out this general call, and an hour later received +the following from Starkington:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Broke into hospital and killed Dempsey. Has definitely left +city. Haas in pursuit. St. Louis take warning.”</p> + +<p>“Rastenaff and Pillsworthy start immediately,” Boston informed +Hall.</p> + +<p>“Lucoville has been dispatched to Chicago,” said New Orleans.</p> + +<p>“Not sending anybody. Are waiting for Chief to arrive,” +St. Louis advised.</p> +</div> + +<p>And then Grunya’s Chicago wail:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Have you any later news?”</p> +</div> + +<p>He did not answer this, but very shortly received a +second from her.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Do please help me if you have heard.”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span></p> + +<p>Hall replied:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Has left Chicago. Probably heading towards St. Louis. +Let me join you.”</p> +</div> + +<p>And to this, in turn, he received no answer, and was +left to contemplate the flight of the Chief of the Assassins, +pursued by his daughter and the assassins of four +cities, and heading towards the nest of assassins waiting +in St. Louis.</p> + +<p>Another day went by, and another. The van of +pursuers arrived in St. Louis, but there was no sign of +Dragomiloff. Haas was reported missing. Grunya +could find no trace of her uncle. Only the head of the +branch remained in Boston, and he informed Hall that +he would follow if anything further happened. In +Chicago there was left only Starkington with his broken +arm.</p> + +<p>But at the end of another forty-eight hours, Dragomiloff +struck again. Rastenaff and Pillsworthy had +arrived in St. Louis in the early morning. Each, perforated +by a small-calibre bullet, had been carried from +his Pullman berth by men sent from the coroner’s office. +The two St. Louis members were likewise dead. The +head of that branch, the only survivor, sent the information. +Haas had reappeared, but no explanation of his +four days’ disappearance was vouchsafed. Dragomiloff +had again dropped out of sight. Grunya was inconsolable +and bombarded Hall with telegrams. The head of +the Boston branch sent word that he had started. And +so did Starkington, despite his injury. San Francisco +was of the opinion that Denver would be the Chief’s next +point, and sent two men there to reinforce; while Denver, +of the same opinion, kept her two men in readiness.</p> + +<p>All this made big inroads on the emergency fund of +the Bureau, and it was with satisfaction that Hall, adhering<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span> +to his instructions, wired sum after sum of money +to the different men. If the pace were kept up, he decided, +the Bureau would be bankrupt before the end of +the year.</p> + +<p>And then came a slack period. All members having +gone to the West, and being in touch with each other +there, nothing was left for Hall to do. He endured the +suspense and idleness for a day or so; then, making +financial arrangements and arranging with the deaf mute +for the forwarding of telegrams, he closed up the headquarters +of the Bureau and bought a ticket for St. Louis.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_IX"><i>Chapter IX</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>In St. Louis, Hall found no change in the situation. +Dragomiloff had not reappeared and everybody was waiting +for something to happen. Hall attended a conference +at Murgweather’s house. Murgweather was the +head of the St. Louis branch, and lived with his family in +a comfortable suburban bungalow. All were gathered +when Hall arrived, and he immediately recognized Haas, +the lean flame of a man, and Starkington he knew by the +arm in splints and sling.</p> + +<p>“Who is the man?” demanded Lucoville, the New +Orleans member, when Hall was being introduced.</p> + +<p>“Temporary Secretary of the Bureau,” Murgweather +started to explain.</p> + +<p>“It is entirely too irregular to suit me,” Lucoville +snapped back. “He is not one of us. He has killed +no man. He has passed no test of the organization. +Not only is his appearance among us unprecedented, but +for men who pursue such a hazardous vocation as ours +his presence is a menace. And in connection with this, +I wish to point out two things. First, by reputation he +is known to all of us. I have nothing derogatory to say +about his work in the world. I have read his books with +interest, and, I may add, profit. His contributions to +sociology have been distinct and distinctive. On the +other hand, though, he is a socialist. He is called the +‘Millionaire Socialist.’ What does that mean? It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> +means that he is out of touch with us and our principles +of conduct. It means that he is a blind creature of Law. +Law is his fetish. He grovels in the mire of ignorance +and worships Law. To him, we, who are above the +Law, are arch-offenders against the Law. Therefore, +his presence bodes no good for us. He is bound to destroy +us for the sake of his fetish. This is only in the +nature of things. This is the dictate of both his personal +and his philosophical temperament.</p> + +<p>“And secondly, notice that of all times, it is in this +time of crisis to the organization that he has chosen to +intrude. Who has vouched for him? Who has admitted +him to our secrets? Only one man, and that man +the Chief, the one who is now bent on destroying us, +who has already killed six of our members and who +threatens to expose us to the police. This looks bad, +very bad, for him and us. He is the enemy within our +ranks. It is my suggestion that we put him <span class="locked">away—”</span></p> + +<p>“Pardon me, my dear Lucoville,” Murgweather interrupted. +“This discussion is out of order. Mr. Hall is +my guest.”</p> + +<p>“All our heads are in the noose,” retorted the member +from New Orleans. “And guest or no guest, this is no +time for social amenities. The man is a spy. He is +bent on destroying us. I charge him with it in his presence. +What has he to say?”</p> + +<p>Hall glanced around at the circle of suspicious faces, +and, with the exception of Lucoville, he noted that none +was angry. In truth, he decided, they were mad philosophers.</p> + +<p>Murgweather made a vain effort to interpose, but was +overruled.</p> + +<p>“What have you to say, Mr. Hall?” Hanover, the head +of the Boston branch, demanded.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span></p> + +<p>“If I may sit down, I shall be glad to reply,” was Hall’s +answer.</p> + +<p>Apologies were rendered all around, and he was ensconced +in a big armchair that was drawn up to form one +of the circle.</p> + +<p>“My reply, like the charges, will be under two heads,” +he began. “In the first place, I <em>am</em> bent on destroying +your organization.”</p> + +<p>This declaration was received in courteous silence, +and the thought came into Hall’s mind that as philosophers +and madmen they were certainly consistent. Emotion +of every sort was absent from their faces. They +waited at scholarly attention for the rest of his discourse. +Even Lucoville’s flash of anger had been momentary, and +he now sat as composed as the rest.</p> + +<p>“Why I am bent on destroying your organization is +too big a subject to open at this moment,” Hall continued. +“I may say, in passing, that it is I who am responsible for +your Chief’s changed conduct. When I discovered what +an extreme ethicist he was, and each of the rest of you, +I gave him fifty thousand dollars to accept a commission +against himself. I furnished him with a sanction, ethical, +of course, and the execution of the commission he turned +over to Mr. Haas in my presence. Am I right, Mr. +Haas?”</p> + +<p>“You are.”</p> + +<p>“And in my presence, the Chief informed you of my +secretaryship. Am I right?”</p> + +<p>“You are.”</p> + +<p>“Now I come to the second head. Why did the Chief +trust me with the headquarters management of the +Bureau? The answer is simply and directly to the point. +He knew that I was at least halfway as ethically mad as the +rest of you. He knew that it was impossible for me to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> +break my word. This I have proved by my subsequent +actions. I have done my best to fulfill the office of acting +secretary. I have forwarded all telegrams, general +calls, and orders. I have granted all requests for funds. +I shall continue to do as I have agreed, though I hold in +detestation and horror, ethically, all that you stand for. +I am doing what I believe to be right. Am I right?”</p> + +<p>The pause that followed was very slight. Lucoville +arose, walked over to him, and gravely extended his hand. +The others did the same. Then Starkington preferred a +request that adequate provision be made from the funds +of the Bureau for the support of Dempsey’s widow and of +Harrison’s widow and children. There was little discussion, +and when the sums were decided upon, Hall +wrote the checks and turned them over to Murgweather +to be forwarded.</p> + +<p>The question next taken up was that of the crisis and of +how best to cope with the recreant Chief. In this Hall +took no part, so that, lying back in his chair, he was able +to observe and study these curious madmen. There +were seven of them, and, with the exceptions of Haas and +Lucoville, they had all the appearance of middle-aged, +middle-class, scholarly gentlemen. He could not bring +himself to realize that they were cold-blooded murderers, +assassins for hire. And by the same token, it was incredible +that they who were so calm should be the survivors +of the deadly war that was being waged against +them. Half of their number were already dead. Hanover +was the sole survivor of Boston, Haas of New York, +Starkington of Chicago, and their genial and bewhiskered +host, Murgweather, of St. Louis.</p> + +<p>“I enjoyed your last book,” Hall’s host leaned over and +whispered to him in an interval. “Your argument for +organization by industry as against organization by craft +was unimpeachable. But to my notion, your exposition<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span> +of the law of diminishing returns was rather lame. I +have a bone to pick with you there.”</p> + +<p>And this man was an assassin!—all these men were +assassins! Hall could believe only by accepting them +as lunatics. And going into town on the electric car +after the meeting, he sat and talked with Haas, and was astounded +to find him an ex-professor of Greek and Hebrew. +Lucoville proved to be an expert in Oriental research. +Hanover, he learned, had once been headmaster of one of +the most select New England academies, while Starkington +turned out to be an ex-newspaper editor of no mean +reputation.</p> + +<p>“But why have you, for instance, gone in for this mode +of life?” Hall asked.</p> + +<p>They were sitting on the outside of the car, which had +arrived in the hotel district. The theatres were just +letting out, and the sidewalks were crowded.</p> + +<p>“Because it is right,” Haas answered, “and because it +is a better means of livelihood than Greek and Hebrew. +If I had my life all over <span class="locked">again—”</span></p> + +<p>But Hall was never to hear the end of that sentence. +The car was stopped at a crossing for a moment, and +Haas was suddenly electrified by something he had seen. +With a flash of eye, and without a word or motion of +farewell, he sprang from the car and was lost to view in +the moving crowd.</p> + +<p>Next morning Hall understood. In the paper was a +sensational account of a mysterious attempt at murder. +Haas was lying at the receiving hospital with a perforated +lung. The doctors’ examination showed that he owed his +life to an abnormal, misplaced heart. Had his heart been +where it ought to have been, said the report, the bullet or +missile would have passed through it. But this did not +constitute the mystery. No one had heard the shot fired. +Haas had suddenly slumped in the midst of a thick crowd.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> +A woman, pressed against him in the jam, testified that at +the moment before he fell she heard a faint, though sharp, +metallic click. A man, in front of him, thought he had +heard the click but was not sure.</p> + +<p>“The police are mystified,” the newspaper said. “The +victim, a stranger in the city, is equally mystified. He +claims to know of no person or persons who might be +liable to seek his life. Nor does he remember having +heard the click. He was aware only of a violent impact +as the strange missile entered. Sergeant of Detectives +O’Connell believes the weapon to have been an air-rifle, +but this is denied by Chief of Detectives Randall, who +claims to know air-rifles, and who denies that such a weapon +could be utilized unseen in a dense crowd.”</p> + +<p>“It was the Chief without doubt,” Murgweather was +assuring Hall a few minutes later. “He is still in town. +Will you please inform Denver, San Francisco, and New +Orleans of the event? The weapon is the Chief’s own +invention. Several times he has loaned it to Harrison, +who always returned it after using. The compressed-air +chamber is strapped on the body under the arm or wherever +is most convenient. The discharging mechanism is +no larger than a toy pistol, and can be readily concealed +in the hand. We must be very careful from now on.”</p> + +<p>“I am in no danger,” Hall answered. “I am only +Temporary Secretary, and am not a member.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad that Haas will recover,” Murgweather +said. “He is a very estimable man and a scholar. I +have the keenest appreciation of his intellect, though he +is prone to be too serious at times, and, I fear me, finds a +certain pleasure in taking human life.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you?” Hall asked quickly.</p> + +<p>“No, and no other one of us, with the exception of +Haas. He has the temperament for it. Believe me, Mr. +Hall, though I have faithfully performed my tasks for the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> +Bureau, and despite my ethical convictions as to the +righteousness of the acts, I never put through an execution +without qualms of the flesh. I know it is foolish, +but I cannot overcome it. Why, I was positively nauseated +by my first affair. I have written a monograph +upon the subject, not for publication, of course, but it +is a very interesting field of study. If you care to, I shall +be glad for you to come out to the house some evening +and glance over what I have written.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, I shall.”</p> + +<p>“It is a curious problem,” Murgweather continued. +“The sacredness of human life is a social concept. The +primitive natural man never had any qualms about killing +his fellow man. Theoretically, I should have none. Yet +I do have. The question is: how do they arise? Has the +long evolution to civilization impressed this concept into +the cerebral cells of the race? Or is it due to my training +in childhood and adolescence, before I became an +emancipated thinker? Or may it not be due to both +causes? It is very curious.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure it is,” Hall answered dryly. “But what are +you going to do about the Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Kill him. It is all we can do, and we certainly must +assert our right to live. The situation is a new one to us, +however. Hitherto, the men we destroyed were unaware +of their danger. Also, they never pursued us. But the +Chief does know our intention, and, furthermore, he is +destroying us. We have never been hunted before. He +has certainly been more fortunate than we. But I must +be going. I agreed to meet Hanover at quarter past.”</p> + +<p>“But aren’t you afraid?” Hall asked.</p> + +<p>“Of what?”</p> + +<p>“Of the Chief killing you?”</p> + +<p>“No; it won’t matter much. You see, I am well insured, +and in my own experience I have exploded one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> +generally accepted notion, namely, that the man who has +taken many lives is, by those very acts, made more afraid +himself to die. This is not true. I have demonstrated +it. The more I have administered death to others—eighteen +times, by my count—the easier death has +seemed to me. Those very qualms I spoke of are the +qualms of life. They belong to life, not to death. I +have written a few detached thoughts on the subject. If +you care to glance at them....”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed,” Hall assured him.</p> + +<p>“This evening, then. Say at eleven. If I am detained +by this affair, ask to be shown into my study. I’ll lay +the manuscript, and that of the monograph, too, on the +reading table for you. I’d prefer to read them aloud +and discuss them with you, but if I can’t be there, jot down +any notes of criticism that may come to you.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_X"><i>Chapter X</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>“I know there is much you are concealing from me, +and I cannot understand why. Surely, you are not unwilling +to aid me in saving Uncle Sergius?”</p> + +<p>Grunya’s last sentence was uttered pleadingly, and her +eyes were warm with the golden glow that for this once +failed to reach Hall’s heart.</p> + +<p>“Uncle Sergius doesn’t seem to need much saving,” +he muttered grimly.</p> + +<p>“Now just what do you mean?” she cried, quickly +suspicious.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, nothing, I assure you, except merely that he +has escaped so far.”</p> + +<p>“But how do you know he has escaped?” she insisted. +“May he not be dead? He has not been heard of since +he left Chicago. How do you know but what those +brutes have killed him?”</p> + +<p>“He has been seen here in St. <span class="locked">Louis—”</span></p> + +<p>“There!” she interrupted excitedly. “I knew you were +keeping things from me! Now, honestly, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I am,” Hall confessed. “But by your uncle’s own +instructions. Believe me, you cannot be of the least +assistance to him. You can’t even find him. It would +be wise for you to return to New York.”</p> + +<p>For an hour longer she catechized him and he wasted +advice on her, and they parted in mutual irritation.</p> + +<p>Promptly at eleven, Hall rang the bell at Murgweather’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> +bungalow. A little sleepy-eyed maidservant of +fourteen or fifteen, apparently aroused from bed, admitted +and led him to Murgweather’s study.</p> + +<p>“He’s in there,” she said, pushing open the door and +leaving him.</p> + +<p>At the further side of the room, seated at the table, +partly in the light of a reading lamp, but more in shadow, +was Murgweather. His crossed arms rested on the +table, and on them rested his bowed head. Evidently +asleep, Hall concluded, as he crossed over. He spoke +to him, then touched him on the shoulder, but there was +no response. He felt the genial assassin’s hand and +found it cold. A stain upon the floor, and a perforation +of the reading jacket beneath the shoulder, told the story. +Murgweather’s heart had been in the right place. An +open window, directly behind, showed how the deed had +been accomplished.</p> + +<p>Hall drew the heap of manuscript from beneath the +dead man’s arms. He had been killed as he pored +over what he had written. “Some Casual Thoughts on +Death,” Hall read the title, then searched on till he found +the monograph, “A Tentative Explanation of Certain +Curious Psychological Traits.”</p> + +<p>It would never do for Murgweather’s family if such +damning evidence were found with the corpse, was Hall’s +decision. He burned them in the fireplace, turned down +the lamp, and crept softly out of the house.</p> + +<p>Early the following morning, the news was broken to +him in his room by Starkington, but it was not until +afternoon that the papers published the account. Hall +was frightened. The little maidservant had been interviewed, +and that she had used her sleepy eyes to some purpose +was shown by the excellence of the description she +gave of the visitor she had admitted at eleven o’clock the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> +previous night. The detail she gave was almost photographic. +Hall got up abruptly and looked at himself in +the glass. There was no mistaking it. The reflection he +saw was precisely that of the man for whom the police +were searching. Even to the scarf-pin, he was that man.</p> + +<p>He made a hurried rummage of his luggage and arrayed +himself as dissimilarly as possible. Then, dodging +into a taxi from the side entrance of the hotel, he made +the round of the shops, from headgear to footgear purchasing +a new outfit.</p> + +<p>Back at the hotel, he found he had just time to catch +a westbound train. Fortunately, he was able to get +Grunya to the telephone, so as to tell her of his departure. +Also, he took the liberty of guessing that Dragomiloff’s +next appearance would be in Denver, and he advised her +to follow on.</p> + +<p>Once on the train and out of the city, he breathed more +easily, and was able more calmly to consider the situation. +He, too, he decided, was on the adventure path, +and a madly tangled path it was. Starting out with the +intention of running down the Assassination Bureau and +destroying it, he had fallen in love with the daughter +of its organizer, become Temporary Secretary of the +Bureau, and was now being sought by the police for the +murder of one of the members who had been killed by +the Chief of the Bureau. “No more practical sociology +for me,” he said to himself. “When I get out of this I shall +confine myself to theory. Closet sociology from now +on.”</p> + +<p>At the depot in Denver, he was greeted sadly by Harkins, +the head of the local branch. Not until they were +in a machine and whirling uptown did the cause of +Harkins’s sadness come out.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you warn us?” he said reproachfully.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> +“You let him give you the slip, and we were so certain +that his account would be settled in St. Louis that we were +not prepared.”</p> + +<p>“He has arrived, then?”</p> + +<p>“Arrived? Gracious! The first we knew, two of +us were done for—Bostwick, who was like a brother to +me, and Calkins, of San Francisco. And now Harding, +the other San Francisco man, has dropped from sight. +It is terrible.” He paused and shuddered. “I parted +from Bostwick not more than fifteen minutes before it +happened. He was so bright and cheerful. And now +his little love-saturated home! His dear wife is inconsolable.”</p> + +<p>Tears ran down Harkins’s cheeks, so blinding him that +he slowed the pace of the machine. Hall was curious. +Here was a new type of madman, a sentimental assassin.</p> + +<p>“But why should it be terrible?” he queried. “You +have dealt death to others. It is the same phenomenon +in all cases.”</p> + +<p>“But this is different. He was my friend, my comrade.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly others that you have killed had friends and +comrades.”</p> + +<p>“But if you could have seen him in his little home,” +Harkins maundered on. “He was a model husband and +father. He was a good man, an excellently good man, a +saint, so considerate that he would not harm a fly.”</p> + +<p>“But what happened to him was only what he had made +happen to others,” Hall objected.</p> + +<p>“No, no; it is different!” the other cried passionately. +“If you had only known him. To know him was to love +him. Everybody loved him.”</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly his victims as well?”</p> + +<p>“Aye, had they had the opportunity they could not +have helped loving him,” Harkins proclaimed vehemently. +“If you only knew the good he has done and was continually<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> +doing. His four-footed friends loved him. The +very flowers loved him. He was president of the Humane +Society. He was the strongest worker among the +anti-vivisectionists. He was in himself a whole society +for the prevention of cruelty to animals.”</p> + +<p>“Bostwick ... Charles N. Bostwick,” Hall murmured. +“Yes, I remember. I have noticed some of his magazine +articles.”</p> + +<p>“Who does not know him?” Harkins broke in ecstatically, +and broke off long enough to blow his nose. “He +was a great power for good, a great power for good. I +would gladly change places with him right now, to have +him back in the world.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, outside of his love for Bostwick, Hall +found Harkins to be a keen, intelligent man. He stopped +the machine at a telegraph office.</p> + +<p>“I told them to hold any messages for me this morning,” +he explained as he got out.</p> + +<p>In a minute he was back, and together, with the aid of +the cipher, they translated the telegram he had received. +It was from Harding, and had been sent from Ogden.</p> + +<p>“Westbound,” it ran. “Chief on board. Am waiting +opportunity. Shall succeed.”</p> + +<p>“He won’t,” Hall volunteered. “The Chief will get +Harding.”</p> + +<p>“Harding is a strong and alert man,” Harkins affirmed.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, you fellows don’t realize what you’re up +against.”</p> + +<p>“We realize that the life of the organization is at stake, +and that we must deal with a recreant Chief.”</p> + +<p>“If you thoroughly realized the situation you’d head +for tall timber and climb a tree and let the organization +go smash.”</p> + +<p>“But that would be wrong,” Harkins protested gravely.</p> + +<p>Hall threw up his hands in despair.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span></p> + +<p>“To make it doubly sure,” the other continued, “I +shall immediately tell the comrades at St. Louis to come +on. If Harding <span class="locked">fails—”</span></p> + +<p>“Which he will.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll proceed to San Francisco. In the <span class="locked">meantime—”</span></p> + +<p>“In the meantime, you’ll please run me back to the +depot,” Hall interrupted, glancing at his watch. “There’s +a westbound train due. I’ll meet you in San Francisco, +at the St. Francis Hotel, if you don’t meet the Chief first. +If you do meet him first ... well, it’s goodbye now and +for good.”</p> + +<p>Before the train started, Hall had time to write a note +to Grunya, which Harkins was to deliver to her on the +train. The note informed her of her uncle’s continued +westward flight and advised her, when she got to San +Francisco, to register at the Fairmount Hotel.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XI"><i>Chapter XI</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>At Reno, Nevada, a dispatch was delivered to Hall. +It was from the sentimental Denver assassin.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Man ground to pieces at Winnemucca. Must be Chief. +Return at once. Members all arriving Denver. We must +reorganize.”</p> +</div> + +<p>But Hall grinned and remained on his westbound train. +The reply he wired was:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Better identify. Did you deliver letter to lady?”</p> +</div> + +<p>Three days later, at the St. Francis Hotel, Hall heard +again from the manager of the Denver Bureau. This +wire was from Winnemucca, Nevada.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“My mistake. It was Harding. Chief surely heading for +San Francisco. Inform local branch. Am following. Delivered +letter. Lady remained on train.”</p> +</div> + +<p>But no trace of Grunya could Hall find in San Francisco. +Nor could Breen and Alsworthy, the two local +members, help him. Hall even went over to Oakland +and ferreted out the sleeping car she had arrived in and +the Negro porter of the car. She had come to San Francisco +and promptly disappeared.</p> + +<p>The assassins began to string in—Hanover of Boston, +Haas, the hungry one with the misplaced heart, Starkington +of Chicago, Lucoville of New Orleans, John Gray +of New Orleans, and Harkins of Denver. With the two +San Francisco members there was a total of eight. They +were all that survived in the United States. As was well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> +known to them, Hall did not count. While Temporary +Secretary of the organization, disbursing its funds and +transmitting its telegrams, he was not one of them and +his life was not threatened by the mad leader.</p> + +<p>What convinced Hall that they were all madmen was +the uniform kindness with which they treated him and +the confidence they reposed in him. They knew him to +be the original cause of their troubles; they knew he was +bent upon the destruction of the Assassination Bureau +and that he had furnished the fifty thousand dollars for +the death of their Chief; and yet they gave Hall credit +for what he considered the rightness of his conduct and +for the particular streak of ethical madness that simmered +somewhere in his make-up and compelled him to +play fairly with them. He did not betray them. He +handled their funds honestly; and he performed satisfactorily +all the duties of Temporary Secretary.</p> + +<p>With the exception of Haas, who, despite his achievements +in Greek and Hebrew, was too kin to the tiger in +lust to kill, Hall could not help but like these learned lunatics +who had made a fetish of ethics and who took the lives +of fellow humans with the same coolness and directness +of purpose with which they solved problems in mathematics, +made translations of hieroglyphics, or carried through +chemical analyses in the test-tubes of their laboratories. +John Gray he liked most of all. A quiet Englishman, in +appearance and carriage a country squire, John Gray entertained +radical ideas concerning the function of the +drama. During the weeks of waiting, when there was no +sign of Dragomiloff or Grunya, Gray and Hall frequented +the theatres together, and to Hall their friendship proved a +liberal education. During this period, Lucoville became +immersed in basketry, devoting himself in particular to +the recurrent triple-fish design so common in the baskets +of the Ukiah Indians. Harkins painted water colors,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span> +after the Japanese school, of leaves, mosses, grasses, and +ferns. Breen, a bacteriologist, continued his search of +years for the parasite of the corn-worm. Alsworthy’s +hobby was wireless telephony, and he and Breen divided +an attic laboratory between them. And Hanover, an +immediate patron of the city’s libraries, surrounded himself +with scientific books and worked at the fourteenth +chapter of a ponderous tome which he had entitled +<i>Physical Compulsions of the Aesthetics of Color</i>. He +put Hall to sleep one warm afternoon by reading to him +the first and thirteenth chapters.</p> + +<p>The two months of inaction would not have occurred, +and the assassins would have gone back to their home +cities, had it not been for the fact that they were baited +to remain by a weekly message from Dragomiloff. +Regularly, each Saturday night, Alsworthy was called up +by telephone, and over the wire heard the unmistakable +toneless and colorless voice of the Chief. He always +reiterated the one suggestion that the surviving members +of the Assassination Bureau disband the organization. +Hall, present at one of their councils, seconded the proposition. +The hearing they accorded him was out of +courtesy only, for he was not one of them; and he stood +alone in the opinion he expressed.</p> + +<p>As they saw it, there was no possible way by which +they could break their oaths. The rules of the Bureau +had never been broken. Even Dragomiloff had not +broken them. In strict accord with the rules he had +accepted Hall’s fee of fifty thousand dollars, judged himself +and his acts as socially hurtful, passed sentence on +himself, and selected Haas to execute the sentence. +Who were they, they demanded, that they should behave +less rightly than their Chief? To disband an organization +which they believed socially justifiable would be a +monstrous wrong. As Lucoville said, “It would stultify<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> +all morality and place us on the level of the beasts. Are +we beasts?”</p> + +<p>And “No! No! No!” had been the passionate cries +of the members.</p> + +<p>“Madmen yourselves,” Hall called them. “As mad as +your Chief is mad.”</p> + +<p>“All moralists have been considered mad,” Breen retorted. +“Or, to be precise, have been considered mad by +the common ruck of their times. No moralist, unworthy +of contempt, can act contrary to his belief. All crucifixions +and martyrdoms have been gladly accepted by the +true moralists. It was the only way to give power to their +teaching. Faith! That’s it! And, as the slang of the +day goes, they delivered the goods. They had faith in +the right they envisioned. What is the life of man +compared with the living truth of the thought of man? +A vain thing is precept without example. Are we preceptors +who dare not be exemplars?”</p> + +<p>“No! No! No!” had been the chorus of approbation.</p> + +<p>“We dare not, as true thinkers and right-livers, by +thought, much less by deed, negate the high principles +we expound,” said Harkins.</p> + +<p>“Nor can we otherwise climb upwards towards the +light,” Hanover added.</p> + +<p>“We are not madmen,” Alsworthy cried. “We are men +who see clearly. We are high priests at the altar of right +conduct. As well call our good friend, Winter Hall, a +madman. If truth be mad, and we are touched by it, is +not Winter Hall likewise touched? He has called us +ethical lunatics. What else, then, has his conduct been +but ethical lunacy? Why has he not denounced us to +the police? Why does he, holding our views abhorrent, +continue to act as our Secretary? He is not even bound +by solemn contracts as we are. He merely bowed his +head and consented to do the several things requested of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> +him by our recreant Chief. He belongs to both sides in +the present controversy; the Chief trusts him; we trust +him; and he betrays neither one side nor the other. We +know and like him. I, for one, find but two things distasteful +in him: first, his sociology, and, second, his desire +to destroy our organization. But when it comes to +ethics he is as like us as a pea in a pod is to its fellows.”</p> + +<p>“I, too, am touched,” Hall murmured sadly. “I admit +it. I confess it. You are such likable lunatics, and I +am so weak, or strong, or foolish, or wise—I don’t know +what—that I cannot break my given word. All the +same, I wish I could bring you fellows to my way of thinking, +as I brought the Chief to my way of thinking.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but did you?” Lucoville cried. “Why then did +the Chief not retire from the organization?”</p> + +<p>“Because he had accepted the fee I paid for his life,” +Hall answered.</p> + +<p>“And for the same reasons precisely are we plighted to +take his life,” Lucoville drove the point home. “Are we +less moral than our Chief? By our compacts, when the +Chief accepted the fee we were bound to carry into execution +his agreement with you. It mattered not what that +agreement might be. It chanced to be the Chief’s own +death.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What would you? +The Chief must die, else we are not exemplars of what +we believe to be right.”</p> + +<p>“There you go, always harking back to morality,” Hall +complained.</p> + +<p>“And why not?” Lucoville concluded grandly. “The +world is founded on morality. Without morality the +world would perish. There is a righteousness in the elements +themselves. Destroy morality and you would destroy +gravitation. The very rocks would fly apart. The +whole sidereal system would fume into the unthinkableness +of chaos.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XII"><i>Chapter XII</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>One evening, at the Poodle Dog Café, Hall waited +vainly for John Gray to join him at dinner. The theatre, +as usual, had been planned for afterwards. But John +Gray did not come, and by half past eight Hall returned +to the St. Francis Hotel, under his arm a bundle of current +magazines, intent on early to bed. There was something +familiar about the walk of the woman who preceded +him towards the elevator, and, with a quick intake of +breath, he hurried after.</p> + +<p>“Grunya,” he said softly, as the elevator started.</p> + +<p>In one instant she gave him a startled glance from +trouble-burdened eyes, and the next instant she had +caught his hand between both of hers and was clinging +to it as if for strength.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Winter,” she breathed. “Is it you? That is why +I came to the St. Francis. I thought I might find you. +I need you so. Uncle Sergius is mad, quite mad. He +ordered me to pack up for a long journey. We sail tomorrow. +He compelled me to leave the house and to +come to a downtown hotel, promising to join me later, or +to join me on the steamer tomorrow morning. I engaged +rooms for him. But something is going to happen. +He has some terrible plan in mind, I know. <span class="locked">He—”</span></p> + +<p>“What floor, sir?” the elevator operator interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Go down again,” Hall ordered, for there was no one +else in the car.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span></p> + +<p>“Wait,” he cautioned. “We will go to the Palm Room +and talk.”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” she cried. “Let us get out on the street. I +want to walk. I want fresh air. I want to be able to +think. Do you think I am mad, Winter? Look at me. +Do I look it?”</p> + +<p>“Hush,” he commanded, pressing her arm. “Wait. +We will talk it over. Wait.”</p> + +<p>It was patent that she was in a state of high excitement, +and her effort to control herself on the down-trip of the +elevator was successful but pitiful.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you communicate with me?” he asked, +when they had gained the sidewalk and were walking to +the corner of Powell, where he intended directing their +course across Union Square. “What became of you +when you reached San Francisco? You received my +message at Denver. Why didn’t you come to the St. +Francis?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t time to tell you,” she hurried on. “My head +is bursting. I don’t know what to believe. It seems all +a dream. Such things are not possible. Uncle’s mind is +deranged. Sometimes I am absolutely sure there is no +such things as the Assassination Bureau. It is an imagining +of Uncle Sergius. You, too, have imagined it. This +is the twentieth century. Such an awful thing cannot be. +I ... I sometimes wonder if I have had typhoid fever, or +if I am not even now in the delirium of fever, with nurses +and doctors around me, raving all this nightmare myself. +Tell me, tell me, are you, too, a sprite of fantasy—a vision +of a disease-stricken brain?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said gravely and slowly. “You are awake +and well. You are yourself. You are now crossing +Powell Street with me. The pavement is slippery. Do +you not feel it underfoot? See those tire chains on that +motorcar. Your arm is in mine. This is a real fog drifting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span> +across from the Pacific. Those are real people on +yonder benches. You see this beggar, asking me for +money. He is real. See, I give him a real half-dollar. +He will most likely spend it on real whiskey. I smelled +his breath. Did you? It was real, I assure you, very +real. And we are real. Please grasp that. Now, what +is your trouble? Tell me all.”</p> + +<p>“Is there truly an organization of assassins?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“How do you know? Is it not mere conjecture? May +you not be inoculated with uncle’s madness?”</p> + +<p>Hall shook his head sadly. “I wish I were. Unfortunately, +I know otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know?” she cried, pressing the fingers of +her free hand wildly to her temple.</p> + +<p>“Because I am Temporary Secretary of the Assassination +Bureau.”</p> + +<p>She recoiled from him, half withdrawing her arm from +his and being restrained only by a reassuring pressure on +his part.</p> + +<p>“You are one of the band of murderers that is trying +to kill Uncle Sergius!”</p> + +<p>“No; I am not one of the band. I merely have charge +of its funds. Has you—er—your Uncle Sergius told +you anything about the—er—the band?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, endless ravings. He is so deranged that he believes +that he organized it.”</p> + +<p>“He did,” Hall said firmly. “He is crazy, there is no +doubt of that; but nevertheless he made the Assassination +Bureau and directed it.”</p> + +<p>Again she recoiled and strove to withdraw her arm.</p> + +<p>“And will you next admit that it is you who paid the +Bureau fifty thousand dollars in advance for his death?” +she demanded.</p> + +<p>“It is true. I admit it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span></p> + +<p>“How could you?” she moaned.</p> + +<p>“Listen, Grunya, dear,” he begged. “You have not +heard all. You do not understand. At the time I paid +the fee I did not know he was your <span class="locked">father—”</span></p> + +<p>He broke off abruptly, appalled at the slip he had +made.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, with growing calmness, “he told me +he was my father, too. I took it for so much raving. +Go on.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I did not know he was your father; nor +did I know he was insane. Afterwards, when I learned, +I pleaded with him. But he is mad. So are they all, all +mad. And he is up to some new madness right now. +You dread that something is going to happen. Tell me +what are your suspicions. We may be able to prevent it.”</p> + +<p>“Listen!” She pressed close to him and spoke quickly +in a low, controlled voice. “There is much explanation +needed from both of us and to both of us. But first to the +danger. When I arrived in San Francisco, why I do not +know save that I had a presentiment, I went first to the +morgue, then I made the round of the hospitals. And I +found him, in the German Hospital, with two severe knife +wounds. He told me he had received them from one of +the assassins...”</p> + +<p>“A man named Harding,” Hall interrupted and guessed. +“It happened up on the Nevada desert, near Winnemucca, +on a railroad train.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes; that is the name. That is what he said.”</p> + +<p>“You see how everything dovetails,” Hall urged. +“There may be a great deal of madness in it, but the +madness even is real, and you and I, at any rate, are +sane.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but let me hurry on.” She pressed his arm with +renewed confidence. “Oh, we have so much to tell each +other. Uncle swears by you. But that is not what I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> +want to say. I rented a furnished house, on the tip-top +of Rincon Hill, and as soon as the doctors permitted, I +moved Uncle Sergius to it. We’ve been keeping house +there for the last few weeks. Uncle is entirely recovered—or +Father, rather. He <em>is</em> my father. I believe that +now, for it seems I must believe everything. And I shall +believe ... unless I wake up and find it all a nightmare. +Now Un—Father has been tinkering about the house the +last few days. Today, with everything packed for our +voyage to Honolulu, he sent the luggage aboard the +steamer, and sent me to a hotel. Now I know nothing +about explosives, save glints and glimmerings from my +reading; but just the same I know he has mined the house. +He has dug up the cellar. He has opened the walls of +the big living room and closed them again. I know he +has run wires behind the partitions, and I know that today +he was making things ready to run a wire from the house +to a clump of shrubbery in the grounds near the gateway. +Possibly you may guess what he plans to do.”</p> + +<p>Hall was just remembering John Gray’s failure to keep +the theatre engagement.</p> + +<p>“Something is to happen there tonight,” Grunya went +on. “Uncle intends to join me later tonight at the St. +Francis, or tomorrow morning on the steamer. In the +<span class="locked">meantime—”</span></p> + +<p>But Hall, having reasoned his way to action, was urging +her by the arm, back out of the park to the corner where +stood the waiting row of taxicabs.</p> + +<p>“In the meantime,” he told her, “we must rush to Rincon +Hill. He is going to kill them. We must prevent it.”</p> + +<p>“If only he isn’t killed,” she murmured. “The cowards! +The cowards!”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, dear, but they are not cowards. They are +brave men, and they are the most likable chaps, if a bit +peculiar, under the sun. To know them is to love them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> +There has been too much killing already.”</p> + +<p>“They want to kill my father.”</p> + +<p>“And he wants to kill them,” Hall retorted. “Don’t +forget that. And it is by his order. He is as mad as a +hatter, and they are precisely as mad as so many more +hatters. Come! Quick, please! Quick! They are assembling +there now in the mined house. We may save +them—or him, who knows?”</p> + +<p>“Rincon Hill—time is money—you know what that +means,” he said to the taxi driver, as he helped Grunya in. +“Come on, now! Burn up that juice! Rip up the pavement, +anything you want, as long as you get us there!”</p> + +<p>Rincon Hill, once the aristocratic residence district of +San Francisco, lifts its head of decayed gentility from out +of the muck and ruck of the great labor ghetto that spreads +away south of Market Street. At the foot of the hill, Hall +paid off the cab, and he and Grunya began the easy climb. +Though it was still early in the evening, no more than +half past nine, few persons were afoot. Chancing to +glance back, Hall saw a familiar form pass across the circle +of light shed by a street lamp. He drew Grunya into +the house shadows of the side street and waited, and in a +few minutes was rewarded by seeing Haas go by, walking +in his peculiar, effortless, cat-like way. They continued +on, half a block behind him, and when, at the crest +of the hill, under the light from the next street lamp, they +saw him vault a low, old-fashioned iron fence, Grunya +nudged Hall’s arm significantly.</p> + +<p>“That is the house, our house,” she whispered. “Watch +him. Little he dreams he is going to his death.”</p> + +<p>“Little I dream he is either,” Hall whispered back skeptically. +“In my opinion Mr. Haas is a very difficult specimen +to kill.”</p> + +<p>“Uncle Sergius is very careful. I have never known +him to blunder. He has arranged everything, and when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> +your Mr. Haas goes through that front <span class="locked">door—”</span></p> + +<p>She broke off. Hall had gripped her arm savagely.</p> + +<p>“He’s not going through that front door, Grunya. +Watch him. He’s prowling to the rear.”</p> + +<p>“There is no rear,” she said. “The hill falls away in a +bulkhead down to the next back yard, forty feet below. +He’ll prowl back to the front. The garden is very small.”</p> + +<p>“He’s up to something,” Hall muttered, as the dark +form came in sight again. “Ah ha! Mr. Haas! You’re +the wily one! See, Grunya, he’s crawled into that shrubbery +by the gate. Is that where the wire was run?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it’s the only thick clump of shrubbery a man can +hide in. Here comes somebody. I wonder if it’s another +of the assassins.”</p> + +<p>Not waiting, Hall and Grunya walked on past the house +to the next corner. The man who had come from the +other direction turned into Dragomiloff’s house and +walked up the steps to the door. They heard it, after a +momentary delay, open and shut.</p> + +<p>Grunya insisted on accompanying Hall. It was her +house, she said, and she knew every inch of it. Besides, +she still had the pass-key, and it would not be necessary +to ring.</p> + +<p>The front hall was lighted, so that the house number +showed plainly, and they walked boldly past the bushes +that concealed Haas, unlocked the front door, and entered. +Hall hung his hat on the rack and pulled off his +gloves. From the door to the right came a murmur of +voices. They paused outside to listen.</p> + +<p>“Beauty <em>is</em> a compulsion,” they heard one voice master +the conversation.</p> + +<p>“That’s Hanover, the Boston associate,” Hall whispered.</p> + +<p>“Beauty is absolute,” the voice went on. “Human life, +all life, has been bent to beauty. It is not a case of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> +paradoxical adaptation. Beauty was not bent to life. +Beauty was in the universe when man was not. Beauty +will remain in the universe when man has vanished and +again is not. Beauty is—well, it is beauty, that is all, +the first word and the last, and it does not depend upon +little maggoty men a-crawl in the slime.”</p> + +<p>“Metaphysics,” they could hear Lucoville sneer. “Pure +illusory metaphysics, my dear Hanover. When a man +begins to label as absolute the transient phenomena of an +ephemeral <span class="locked">evolution—”</span></p> + +<p>“Metaphysician yourself,” they heard Hanover interrupt. +“You would contend that nothing exists save in +consciousness, that when consciousness is destroyed, +beauty is destroyed, that the thing itself, the vital principle +to which developing life has been bent, is destroyed. +When we know, all of us, and you should know it, that +it is the principle only that persists. As Spencer has well +said of the eternal flux of force and matter, with its alternate +rhythm of evolution and dissolution, ‘ever the same +in principle but never the same in concrete result.’”</p> + +<p>“New norms, new norms,” Lucoville blurted in. “New +norms ever appearing in successive and dissimilar evolutions.”</p> + +<p>“The norm itself!” Hanover cried triumphantly. +“Have you considered that? You, yourself, have just +asserted that the norm persists. What then, is the norm? +It is the eternal, the absolute, the outside-of-consciousness, +the father and the mother of consciousness.”</p> + +<p>“A moment,” Lucoville cried excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” Hanover went on with true scholarly dogmatism. +“You attempt to resurrect the old exploded, +Berkeleyan idealism. Metaphysics—generations behind +the times. The modern school, as you ought to +know, insists that the thing exists of itself. Consciousness, +seeing and perceiving the thing, is a mere accident.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> +’Tis you, my dear Lucoville, who are the metaphysician.”</p> + +<p>There was a clapping of hands and rumble of approval.</p> + +<p>“Hoist by your own petard,” they heard one mellow +voice cry in an unmistakable English accent.</p> + +<p>“John Gray,” Hall whispered to Grunya. “If the theatre +were not so hopelessly commercialized, he would +revolutionize the whole of it.”</p> + +<p>“Logomachy,” they heard Lucoville begin his reply. +“Word-mongering, tricks of speech, a shuffling of words +and ideas. If you chaps will give me ten minutes, I’ll +expound my position.”</p> + +<p>“Behold!” Hall whispered. “Our amiable assassins, +adorable philosophers. Now, would you rather believe +them madmen than cruel and brutal murderers?”</p> + +<p>Grunya shrugged her shoulders. “They may bend +beauty any way they please, but I cannot forget that they +are bent on killing Uncle Sergius—my father.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t you see? They are obsessed by ideas. +They take no count of mere human life—not even of +their own. They are in slavery to thought. They live +in a world of ideas.”</p> + +<p>“At fifty thousand per,” she retorted.</p> + +<p>It was his turn to shrug his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Come,” he said. “Let us enter. No, I’ll go first.”</p> + +<p>He turned the door handle and went in, followed by +Grunya. The conversation stopped abruptly, and seven +men, seated comfortably about the room, stared at the +two intruders.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Hall,” Harkins said with evident irritation. +“You were to be kept out of this. And we kept you out. +Yet here you are, and with a—pardon me—a stranger.”</p> + +<p>“And if it had depended on you fellows, I should have +been kept out,” Hall answered. “Why so secret?”</p> + +<p>“It was the Chief’s orders. He invited us here. And +since we obeyed his instructions and didn’t let you in on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> +it, our only conclusion is that it is he who let you in.”</p> + +<p>“No he didn’t,” Hall laughed. “And you might as +well ask us to be seated. This, gentlemen, is Miss Constantine. +Miss Constantine, Mr. Gray; Mr. Harkins; +Mr. Lucoville; Mr. Breen; Mr. Alsworthy; Mr. Starkington; +and Mr. Hanover—with the one exception of Mr. +Haas, the surviving members of the Assassination +Bureau.”</p> + +<p>“This is broken faith!” Lucoville cried angrily. +“Hall, I am disappointed!”</p> + +<p>“You do not understand, friend Lucoville. This is +Miss Constantine’s house. In the absence of her father +you are her guests, all of you.”</p> + +<p>“We were given to understand it was Dragomiloff’s +house,” Starkington said. “He told us so. We came +separately, yet, since we all arrived here we can only conclude +that there was no mistake of street and number.”</p> + +<p>“It is the same thing,” Hall replied, with a quiet smile. +“Miss Constantine is Dragomiloff’s daughter.”</p> + +<p>On the instant Grunya and Hall were surrounded by the +others, and hands were held out to her. Her own hand +she put behind her, at the same time taking a backward +step.</p> + +<p>“You want to kill my father,” she said to Lucoville. +“It is impossible that I should take your hand.”</p> + +<p>“Here, this chair; be seated, dear lady,” Lucoville was +saying, assisted by Starkington and Gray in bringing the +chair to her. “We are highly honored—the daughter of +our Chief—we did not know he had a daughter—she +is welcome—any daughter of our Chief is <span class="locked">welcome—”</span></p> + +<p>“But you want to kill him,” she continued her objection. +“You are murderers.”</p> + +<p>“We are friends, believe me. We represent an amity +that is higher and deeper than life and death. Dear lady, +human life is nothing—less than a bagatelle. Life!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> +Why, our lives are mere pawns in the game of social evolution. +We admire your father, we respect him; he is a +great man. He is—or, rather, he was—our Chief.”</p> + +<p>“Yet you want to kill him,” she persisted.</p> + +<p>“And by his orders. Be seated, please.” Lucoville +succeeded in his attentions, insofar as she sank down in +the chair. “This friend of yours, Mr. Hall,” he went on. +“You do not refuse him as a friend. You do not call +him a murderer. Yet it was he who deposited the fifty-thousand-dollar +fee for your father’s life. You see, dear +lady, already he has half destroyed our organization. +Yet we do not hold it against him. He is our friend. We +honor him because we know him to be a man, an honest +man, a man of his word, an ethicist of no mean dimensions.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it wonderful, Miss Constantine!” Hanover +broke in ecstatically. “Amity that makes death cheap! +The rule of right! The worship of right! Does it not +make one hope? Think of it! It proves that the future +is ours; that the future belongs to the right-thinking, right-acting +man and woman; that such fierce, feeble stirrings +and animal yearnings of the beastly clay, love of self and +love of kindred flesh and blood, vanish away as dawn +mist before the sun of the higher righteousness! Reason—and, +mark me, <em>right reason</em>—triumphs! All the human +world, some day, will comport itself, not according +to the flesh and the abysmal mire, but according to high +right reason!”</p> + +<p>Grunya bowed her head and threw up her arms in admission +of befuddled despair.</p> + +<p>“You can’t resist them, eh?” Hall exulted, bending +over her.</p> + +<p>“It is the chaos of super-thinking,” she said helplessly. +“It is ethics gone mad.”</p> + +<p>“So I told you,” he answered. “They are all mad, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span> +your father is mad, as you and I are mad insofar as we +are touched by their thinking. And now what do you +think of our lovable assassins?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, what do you think of us?” Hanover beamed +over the top of his spectacles.</p> + +<p>“All I can say,” she replied, “is that you don’t look like +it—like assassins, I mean. As for you, Mr. Lucoville, +I will take your hand, I will take the hands of all of you, +if you will promise to give up this attempt to kill my +father.”</p> + +<p>“You have a long way, Miss Constantine, to climb +upwards to the light,” Hanover chided regretfully.</p> + +<p>“Kill? Kill?” Lucoville queried excitedly. “Why +this fear of killing? Death is nothing. Only the beasts, +the creatures of the mire, fear death. My dear lady, we +are beyond death. We are full-statured intelligences, +knowing good and evil. It is no more difficult for us to +be killed than it is for us to kill. Killing—why, it occurs +in every slaughterhouse and meat-canning establishment +in the land. It is so common that it is almost +vulgar.”</p> + +<p>“Who has not swatted a mosquito?” Starkington +shouted. “With one fell swoop of a meat-nourished, +death-nourished hand smashed to destruction a most wonderful, +sentient, and dazzling flying mechanism? If there +be tragedy in death—think of the mosquito, the squashed +mosquito, the airy fairy miracle of flight disrupted and +crushed as no aviator has ever been disrupted and crushed, +not even MacDonald who fell fifteen thousand feet. +Have you ever studied the mosquito, Miss Constantine? +It will repay you. Why, the mosquito is just as wonderful, +in the phenomena of living matter, as man is wonderful.”</p> + +<p>“But there <em>is</em> a difference,” Gray put in.</p> + +<p>“I was coming to that. And what is the difference?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> +Swat the mosquito.” He paused for emphasis. “Well, +he is swatted, isn’t he? And that is all. He is finished. +The memory of him is not. But swat a man—by entire +generations swat man—and something is left. What is +it that is left? Not a peripatetic organism, not a hungry +stomach, a bald head, and a mouthful of aching teeth, +but thoughts—royal, kingly thoughts. That’s the difference. +Thoughts! High thoughts! Right thoughts! +Reasoned righteousness!”</p> + +<p>“Hold!” Hanover shouted, in his excitement springing +to his feet and waving his arms. “Swat—and I accept +your word, Starkington, crude though it is, but expressive. +Swat—and I warn you, Starkington—swat +as much as the tiniest pigment cell of the diaphanous +gauze of a new-hatched mosquito’s wing, and the totality +of the universe is jarred from its central suns to the stars +beyond the stars. Do not forget there is a cosmic righteousness +in that pigment cell and in the last atom of the +billion atoms that go to compose that pigment cell, and in +every one of the countless myriads of corpuscles that go +to compose one of those billion atoms.”</p> + +<p>“Listen, gentlemen,” Grunya said. “What are you +here for? I do not mean in the universe, but here in this +house. I accept all that Mr. Hanover has so eloquently +said of the pigment cell of the mosquito’s wing. It is evidently +not right to—to swat a mosquito. Then, how +in the name of sanity can you reconcile your presence +here, bent as you are on a red-handed murder, with the +ethics you have just expounded?”</p> + +<p>An uproar of reconciliation arose from every mouth.</p> + +<p>“Hey! Shut up!” Hall bellowed at them, then turned +to the girl and commanded peremptorily, “Grunya, stop +it. You’re getting touched. In five minutes you’ll be +as bad as they are. A truce to argument, you fellows. +Cut it out. Forget it. Let’s get down to business.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> +Where is the Chief, Miss Constantine’s father? You say +he told you to come here. Why have you come here? +To kill him?”</p> + +<p>Hanover wiped his forehead, collapsed from his passion +of thought, and nodded.</p> + +<p>“That is our reasoned intention,” he said calmly. “Of +course, the presence of Miss Constantine is embarrassing. +I fear we shall have to ask her to withdraw.”</p> + +<p>“You are a brute, sir,” she gravely assured the mild-mannered +scholar. “I shall remain right here. And +you won’t kill my father. I tell you, you won’t.”</p> + +<p>“Why isn’t the Chief here, then?” Hall inquired.</p> + +<p>“Because it is not yet time. He telephoned to us, +talked with us himself, and he said he would meet us here +in this room at ten o’clock. It is almost ten now.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe he won’t come,” Hall suggested.</p> + +<p>“He gave his word,” was the simple but quite convincing +answer.</p> + +<p>Hall looked at his watch. It marked a few seconds +before ten. And ere those seconds had ticked off, the +door opened and Dragomiloff, blond and colorless, clad +in a gray traveling suit, stepped in, passing a glance over +the assemblage from silken eyes of the palest blue.</p> + +<p>“Greetings, dear friends and brothers,” he said in his +monotonously even voice. “I see you are all here, with +the exception of Haas. Where is Haas?”</p> + +<p>The assassins who could not lie stared at one another +in awkward confusion.</p> + +<p>“Where is Haas?” Dragomiloff repeated.</p> + +<p>“We—ah—we don’t know exactly, that is it, exactly,” +Harkins began haltingly.</p> + +<p>“Well, I do, and exactly,” Dragomiloff chopped him +short. “I watched you arrive from the upstairs window. +I recognized all of you. Haas also arrived. He is now +lying in the shrubbery inside the gate on the right-hand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> +side of the walk, and exactly four feet and four inches +from the lower hinge of the gate. I measured it the other +day. Do you think that was what I intended?”</p> + +<p>“We did not care to anticipate your intentions, dear +Chief,” Hanover spoke up benignly, but with logical +emphasis. “We debated your invitation and your instructions +carefully, and it was our unanimous conclusion +that we committed no breach of word or faith in assigning +Haas to his position outside. Do you remember your +instructions?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly,” Dragomiloff assented. “Wait till I go over +them to myself.” For a half-minute of silence he reviewed +his instructions, then his face thawed into almost +a beam of satisfaction. “You are correct,” he announced. +“You have committed no breach of right conduct. +And now, dear comrades, all our plans are destroyed +by this intrusion of my daughter and of the man +who is your Temporary Secretary and who I hope some +day will be my son-in-law.”</p> + +<p>“What was the aim of your plan?” Starkington asked +quickly.</p> + +<p>“To destroy you,” Dragomiloff laughed. “And the +aim of your plan was?”</p> + +<p>“To destroy you,” Starkington admitted. “And destroy +you we will. We regret Miss Constantine’s presence, +as we likewise do Mr. Hall’s presence. They came +uninvited. They can, of course, withdraw.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t!” Grunya cried out. “You cold-blooded, +inhuman, mathematical monsters! This is my father, +and I may be abysmal mire, or anything else you please, +but I will not withdraw, and you shall not harm him.”</p> + +<p>“You must meet me halfway in this,” Dragomiloff +urged. “Let us consider this once that we have failed +on both sides. Let me propose a truce.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” Starkington conceded. “A truce for five<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> +minutes, during which time no overt act may be attempted +and no one may leave the room. We should like to confer +together over there by the piano. Is it agreed?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, certainly. But first you will please notice where +I am standing. My hand is resting against this particular +book in this bookcase. I shall not move until you have +decided on what course you intend to pursue.”</p> + +<p>The assassins drew to the far end of the room and began +talking in whispers.</p> + +<p>“Come,” Grunya whispered to her father. “You have +but to step through the door and escape.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff smiled forgivingly. “You do not understand,” +he said with gentleness.</p> + +<p>She clenched her hands passionately, crying, “You are +as insane as they.”</p> + +<p>“But Grunya, love,” he pleaded, “is it not a beautiful +insanity—if you prefer the misnomer? Here thought +rules and right rules. It would seem to me the highest +rationality and control. What distinguishes man from +the lower animals is control. Witness this scene. There +stand seven men intent on killing me. Here I stand intent +on killing them. Yet, by the miracle of the spoken +word we agree to a truce. We trust. It is a beautiful +example of high moral inhibition.”</p> + +<p>“Every hermit, on top of a pillar or living with the +snakes in a cliff cave, has been a beautiful example of +such inhibition,” she came back impatiently. “The inhibitions +practiced in the asylums are often very remarkable.”</p> + +<p>But Dragomiloff refused to be drawn, and smiled and +joked until the assassins returned. As before, Starkington +was the spokesman.</p> + +<p>“We have decided,” he said, “that it is our duty to kill +you, dear Chief. There is still a minute to run. When +it is gone we shall proceed to our work. Also, in that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> +interval, we again request our two unbidden guests to +withdraw.”</p> + +<p>Grunya shook her head positively. “I am armed,” she +threatened, drawing a small automatic pistol and displaying +her inexperience by not pressing down the safety +catch.</p> + +<p>“It’s too bad,” Starkington apologized. “But we shall +have to go on with our work just the same.”</p> + +<p>“If nothing unforeseen prevents?” Dragomiloff suggested.</p> + +<p>Starkington glanced at his comrades, who nodded, then +said, “Certainly, unless nothing <span class="locked">unforeseen—”</span></p> + +<p>“And here is the unforeseen,” Dragomiloff interrupted +quietly. “You see my hands, my dear Starkington. +They bear no weapons. Forbear a minute. You see +the book against which my left hand rests. Behind that +book, at the back of the case, is a push-button. One +firm thrust in of the book presses the button. The room +is a magazine of dynamite. Need I explain more? +Draw aside that rug on which you are standing—that’s +right. Now carefully lift up that loose board. See the +sticks lying side by side. They’re all connected.”</p> + +<p>“Most interesting,” Hanover murmured, peering down +at the dynamite through his spectacles. “Death so simply +achieved! A violent chemical reaction, I believe. +Some day, when I can spare the time, I shall make a +study of explosives.”</p> + +<p>And in that moment, Hall and Grunya realized that +the philosopher-assassins were truly not afraid of death. +As they claimed for themselves, they were not burdened +by the flesh. Love of life did not yearn through their +mental processes. All they knew was the love of thought.</p> + +<p>“We did not guess this,” Gray assured Dragomiloff. +“But we apprehended what we did not guess. That is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span> +why we stationed Haas outside. You could escape us, +but not him.”</p> + +<p>“Which reminds me, comrades,” Dragomiloff said. “I +ran another wire to the spot in the grounds where Haas +is now lurking. Let us hope he does not blunder upon +my button I concealed there, else we’ll all go up along +with our theories. Suppose one of you goes and +brings him in to join us. And while we’re about it, let +us agree to another truce. Under the present circumstances, +your hands are tied.”</p> + +<p>“Seven lives for one,” said Harkins. “Mathematically +it is repulsive.”</p> + +<p>“It is poor economics,” Breen agreed.</p> + +<p>“And suppose,” Dragomiloff continued, “we make the +truce till one o’clock and you all come and have supper +with me.”</p> + +<p>“If Haas agrees,” Alsworthy said. “I am going to +get him now.”</p> + +<p>Haas agreed and, like any party of friends, they left +the house together and caught an electric car for uptown.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XIII"><i>Chapter XIII</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>In a private room at the Poodle Dog, the eight assassins +and Dragomiloff, Hall, and Grunya sat at table. +And a merry, almost convivial supper it was, despite the +fact that Harkins and Hanover were vegetarians, that +Lucoville eschewed all cooked food and munched bovinely +at a great plate of lettuce, raw turnips, and carrots, +and that Alsworthy began, kept up, and finished +with nuts, raisins, and bananas. On the other hand, +Breen, who looked a dyspeptic, orgied with a thick, raw +steak and shuddered at the suggestion of wine. Dragomiloff +and Haas drank thin native claret, while Hall, +Gray, and Grunya shared a pint of light Rhine wine. +Starkington, however, began with two Martini cocktails, +and ever and again, throughout the meal, buried his face +in a huge stein of Würzburger.</p> + +<p>The talk was outspoken, though the feeling displayed +was comradely and affectionate.</p> + +<p>“We’d have got you,” Starkington told Dragomiloff, +“if it hadn’t been for the inopportune arrival of your +daughter.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Starkington,” Dragomiloff retorted. “It was +she who saved you. I’d have bagged the seven of you.”</p> + +<p>“No you wouldn’t,” Breen joined in. “As I understand, +the wire led to the bushes where Haas was hiding.”</p> + +<p>“His being there was an accident, a mere accident,” +Dragomiloff answered lightly enough, yet unable to conceal +that he was somewhat crestfallen.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span></p> + +<p>“Since when has the fortuitous been discarded from +the factors of evolution?” Hanover began learnedly.</p> + +<p>“You’d never have touched it off, Chief,” Haas was +saying at the same time that Lucoville was demanding +of Hanover, “Since when was the fortuitous ever classed +as a factor?”</p> + +<p>“Possibly your disagreement is merely of definition,” +Hall said pacifically. “That asparagus is tinned, Hanover. +Did you know that?”</p> + +<p>Hanover forgot the argument, and sat back aghast. +“And I never eat tinned stuff of any sort! Are you sure, +Hall? Are you sure?”</p> + +<p>“Ask the waiter. He’ll tell you the same.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all right, dear Haas,” Dragomiloff was saying. +“The next time I’ll surely touch it off, and you won’t be +in the way. You’ll be at the other end of the wire.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I cannot understand, I cannot understand,” +Grunya cried. “It seems a joke. It can’t be real. Here +you are, all good friends, eating and drinking together +and affectionately telling how you intend killing one another.” +She turned to Hall. “Wake me up, Winter. +This is a dream.”</p> + +<p>“I wish it were.”</p> + +<p>She turned to Dragomiloff. “Oh, Uncle Sergius, wake +me up!”</p> + +<p>“You are awake, Grunya, love.”</p> + +<p>“Then if I’m awake,” she went on, firmly, almost angrily, +“it is you who are the somnambulists. Wake up! +Oh, wake up! I wish an earthquake would come, anything, +if it would only rouse you. Father, you can do it. +Withdraw that order for your death which you yourself +gave.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t you see, he can’t,” Starkington told her +across the corner of the table.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff, at the other end of the table, shook his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> +head. “You would not have me break my word, +Grunya?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not afraid to break—anything!” Hall interrupted. +“The order started with me. I withdraw it. +Return my fifty thousand, or spend it on charity. I don’t +care. The point is, I don’t want Dragomiloff killed.”</p> + +<p>“You forget yourself,” Haas reminded him. “You are +merely a client of the Bureau. And when you engaged +the service of the Bureau, you agreed to certain things. +The Bureau likewise agreed to certain things. You may +wish to break your agreement, but it has passed beyond +you. The affair is in the hands of the Bureau, and the +Bureau does not break its agreements. It never has +broken them and it never will. If there be not absolute +faith in the given word, if the given word be not as unbreakable +as the tie-ribs of earth, then there is no hope +in life, and creation crashes to chaos because of its intrinsic +falsity. We deny this falsity. We prove it by +our acts that clinch the finality of the given word. Am I +right, comrades?”</p> + +<p>Approval was unanimous, and Dragomiloff, half rising +from his chair, reached across and grasped the hand of +Haas. For once Dragomiloff’s undeviating, monotonous +voice was touched with the emphasis of feeling as he proclaimed +proudly:</p> + +<p>“The hope of the world! The higher race! The top +of evolution! The right-rulers and king-thinkers! The +realization of all dreams and aspirings; the slime crawled +upward to the light; the touch and the promise of Godhead +come true!”</p> + +<p>Hanover left his seat and threw his arms about the +Chief in an ecstasy of intellectual admiration and fellowship. +Grunya and Hall looked at each other despairingly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span></p> + +<p>“King-thinkers,” he murmured helplessly.</p> + +<p>“The asylums are filled with king-thinkers,” was her +angry comment.</p> + +<p>“Logic!” he sneered.</p> + +<p>“I, too, shall write a book,” she added. “It shall be +entitled <i>The Logic of Lunacy, or, Why Thinkers Go +Mad</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Never has our logic been better vindicated,” Starkington +said to her, as the jubilation of the king-thinkers +eased down.</p> + +<p>“You do violence with your logic,” Grunya flung back. +“I will prove it to <span class="locked">you—”</span></p> + +<p>“By logic?” Gray interpolated quickly and raised a +general laugh, in which Grunya could not help but join.</p> + +<p>Hall lifted his hand solemnly for a hearing.</p> + +<p>“We have yet to debate how many angels can dance on +the point of a needle.”</p> + +<p>“Shame on you!” Lucoville cried. “That is antediluvian. +We are scholars, not <span class="locked">scholastics—”</span></p> + +<p>“And you can prove it,” Grunya stabbed across, “as +easily as you can the angels and the needle and everything +else.”</p> + +<p>“If ever I get out of this mix-up with you fellows,” Hall +declared, “I shall forswear logic. Never again!”</p> + +<p>“A confession of intellectual fatigue,” Lucoville argued.</p> + +<p>“Only he does not mean it,” Harkins put in. “He +can’t help being logical. It is his heritage—the heritage +of man. It distinguishes man from the <span class="locked">lesser—”</span></p> + +<p>“Hold!” Hanover broke in. “You forget that the +universe is founded on logic. Without logic the universe +could not be. In every fibre of it logic resides. There +is logic in the molecule, in the atom, in the electron. I +have a monograph, here in my pocket, which I shall read +to you. I have called it ‘Electronic Logic.’ <span class="locked">It—”</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span></p> + +<p>“Here is the waiter,” Hall interrupted wickedly. “He +says of course that the asparagus was tinned.”</p> + +<p>Hanover ceased fumbling in his pocket in order to vent +a tirade against the waiter and the management of the +Poodle Dog.</p> + +<p>“That was not logical,” Hall smiled, when the waiter +had left the room.</p> + +<p>“And why not, pray?” Hanover asked, with a touch +of asperity.</p> + +<p>“Because it is not the season for fresh asparagus.”</p> + +<p>Ere Hanover could recover from this, Breen began on +him.</p> + +<p>“You said earlier this evening, Hanover, that you were +interested in explosives. Let me show you the quintessence +of universal logic—the irrefragable logic of the +elements, the logic of chemistry, the logic of mechanics, +and the logic of time, all indissolubly welded together into +one of the prettiest devices ever mortal mind conceived. +So thoroughly do I agree with you, that I shall now show +you the unreasoned logic of the stuff of the universe.”</p> + +<p>“Why unreasoned?” Hanover queried faintly, shuddering +at the uneaten asparagus. “Do you think the electron +incapable of reason?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I never saw an electron. But for the +sake of the argument, let us suppose it does reason. Anyway, +as you’ll agree, it’s the keenest logic, the absolutest +and most unswervable logic you’ve ever seen. Look at +that.” Breen had gone to where his overcoat hung on +the wall and drawn out a flat oblong package. This, +when unwrapped, resembled a folding pocket camera of +medium size. He held it up with eyes sparkling with +admiration. “By George, Hanover!” he exclaimed. “I +think you are right. Look at it!—The eloquent-voiced, +the subduer of jarring tongues and warring creeds, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> +ultimate arbiter. It enunciates the final word. When it +speaks, kings and emperors, grafters and falsifiers, the +Scribes and Pharisees and all wrong-thinkers remain silent—forever +remain silent.”</p> + +<p>“Let it speak,” Haas grinned. “Maybe it will silence +Hanover.”</p> + +<p>The laughter died away as they saw Breen, the object +poised in his hand, visibly thinking. And in the silence +they saw him achieve his concept of action.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said. “It shall speak.” He drew from +his vest pocket an ordinary-looking, gun-metal watch. +“It is an alarm watch,” he went on, “seventeen-jeweled +movement, Swiss-Elgin works. Let me see. It is now +midnight. Our truce”—he bowed to Dragomiloff—“expires +at one o’clock. See, I set it for precisely one +minute after one.” He pointed to an opening in the +camera-like object. “Behold this slot. It is specially +devised to receive this watch—mark me, I say, specially +devised. I insert the watch, thus. Did you hear that +metallic click? That is the automatic locking device. +No power can now remove that watch. I cannot. The +decree has gone forth. It cannot be recalled. All this +is of my devising save for the voice itself. The voice is +the voice of Nakatodaka, the great Japanese who died +last year.”</p> + +<p>“A phonograph record,” Hanover complained. “I +thought you said something about explosives.”</p> + +<p>“The voice of Nakatodaka is an explosive,” Breen expounded. +“Nakatodaka, if you will remember, was killed +in his laboratory by his own voice.”</p> + +<p>“Formose!” Haas said, nodding his head. “I remember +now.”</p> + +<p>“So do I,” Hall told Grunya. “Nakatodaka was a +great chemist.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span></p> + +<p>“But I understand the secret died with him,” Starkington +said.</p> + +<p>“So the world understood,” was Breen’s reply. “But +the formula was found by the Japanese government and +stolen from the War Office by a revolutionist.” His voice +swelled with pride. “This is the first Formose ever manufactured +on American soil. I manufactured it.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens!” Grunya cried. “And when it goes off it +will blow us all up!”</p> + +<p>Breen nodded with intense gratification.</p> + +<p>“If you remain it will,” he said. “The people in this +neighborhood will think it an earthquake or another anarchist +outrage.”</p> + +<p>“Stop it!” she commanded.</p> + +<p>“I can’t. That’s the beauty of it. As I told Hanover, +it is the logic of chemistry, the logic of mechanics, and +the logic of time, all indissolubly welded together. There +is no power in the universe that can now break that weld. +Any attempt would merely precipitate the explosion.”</p> + +<p>Grunya caught Hall’s hand as she stared at him in her +helplessness, but Hanover, fluttering and hovering about +the infernal machine, peering at it delightedly through +his spectacles, was off in another ecstasy.</p> + +<p>“Wonderful! Wonderful! Breen, I congratulate you. +We shall now be able to settle the affairs of nations and +put the world on a higher, nobler basis. Hebrew is a diversion. +This is an efficiency. I shall certainly devote +myself to the study of explosives ... Lucoville, you are +refuted. There <em>is</em> morality in the elements, and reason, +and logic.”</p> + +<p>“You forget, my dear Hanover,” Lucoville replied, +“that behind this mechanism and chemistry and abstraction +of time is the mind of man, devising, controlling, +<span class="locked">utilizing—”</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span></p> + +<p>But he was interrupted by Hall, who had shoved his +chair back and sprung to his feet.</p> + +<p>“You lunatics! You sit there like a lot of clams! +Don’t you realize that that damned thing is going to go +off?”</p> + +<p>“Not until one after one,” Hanover mildly assured him. +“Besides, Breen has not yet told us his intentions.”</p> + +<p>“The mind of man behind and informing unconscious +matter and blind force,” Lucoville gibed.</p> + +<p>Starkington leaned across to Hall and said in an undertone, +“Transport this scene to a stage setting with a +Wall Street audience! There’d be a panic.”</p> + +<p>But Hall shook the interruption aside.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Breen, just what is your intention? I, for +one, and Miss Constantine, are going to get out, now, at +once.”</p> + +<p>“There is plenty of time,” replied the custodian of +Nakatodaka’s voice. “I’ll tell you my intention. The +truce expires at one. I am between our dear Chief and +the door. He can’t go though the walls. I guard the +door. The rest of you may depart. But I remain here +with him. The blow is sped. Nothing can stop it. One +minute after the truce is up the last commission accepted +by the Bureau will have been accomplished. Pardon me, +dear Chief, one moment. I have told you that even I +cannot stop the process now at work in that mechanism. +But I can expedite it. You see my thumb, lightly resting +in this depression? It just barely brushes a button. One +press of the thumb, and the machine immediately explodes. +Now, as an honorable and logical man and comrade, +you can see that any attempt of yours to get out of +this door will blow all of us up, your daughter and the +Temporary Secretary as well. Therefore you will remain +in your seat. Hanover, the formula is safe. I shall remain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> +here and die with the Chief at one minute after one. +You will find the formula in the top drawer of the filing +cabinet in my bedroom.”</p> + +<p>“Do something!” Grunya entreated Hall. “You +must do something.”</p> + +<p>Hall, who had sat down, again stood up, moving the +wineglass to one side as he rested one hand on the table.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen.” He spoke in a quiet voice, but one +which immediately gained him the respectful attention of +the others. “Until now, despite my abhorrence of killing, +I have felt bound to respect the ideals that directed +your actions. Now, however, I must question your motives.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Breen, who was watching him carefully.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” Hall pursued, “do you feel that you, personally, +merit extinction? If you give your life in order +to assassinate your Chief, you are violating the tenet that +any death at your hand is one warranted by the crimes +of the victim. Of what crimes are you so guilty as to +make this sentence—which you have passed upon yourself—a +just one?”</p> + +<p>Breen smiled at this adroit argument. The others listened +politely.</p> + +<p>“But you see,” the bacteriologist explained happily, +“we in the Assassination Bureau recognize the possibility +of our own death in the execution of our assignments. It +is a normal risk of our business.”</p> + +<p>“Accidental death, yes, as a result of the unexpected,” +was Hall’s quiet reply. “Here, however, we are speaking +of a planned death, and that of an innocent person—yourself. +This is in violation of your own principles.”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s thoughtful silence.</p> + +<p>“He’s quite right, Breen, you know,” Gray finally offered. +He had been listening to the verbal duel with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span> +puckered forehead. “I’m afraid that your solution is +scarcely acceptable.”</p> + +<p>“Still,” Lucoville contributed, “consider this: Breen, by +arranging an innocent’s death, might be warranting his +own death for dereliction of principle.”</p> + +<p>“A priori,” Haas snapped impatiently. “Specious. +You are arguing in circles. Until he dies, he is not guilty; +if he is not guilty, he does not warrant death.”</p> + +<p>“Mad!” Grunya whispered. “They are all mad!”</p> + +<p>She stared at the animated faces about the festive table +with awe. They had the intent gleam in their eyes of +scholars at a seminar. No one seemed in the slightest +affected by the knowledge of the deadly bomb ticking +away the minutes. Breen had released his thumb from +the small button on the side of the weapon. His eyes +followed each speaker eagerly as they argued his proposal.</p> + +<p>“There is one possible solution,” Harkins remarked +slowly, leaning forward to join the discussion. “Breen, +by setting the bomb during the period of a truce, was +dishonoring a commitment. I do not say that this, of +itself, merits a punishment as severe as he contemplates, +but certainly he has been guilty of an action beyond the +strict morality of our organization....”</p> + +<p>“True!” cried Breen, his eyes sparkling. “It is true, +and that is the answer! By speeding the blow during an +armistice, I have committed a sin. I find myself guilty +and deserving of death.” His eyes flashed to the wall-clock. +“In exactly thirty minutes....”</p> + +<p>But his inattention to Dragomiloff proved fatal. Swift +as a striking cobra, the strong hands of the ex-Chief of +the Bureau sought and found vital nerves in Breen’s +neck. The death-touch of the Japanese was immediately +effective; even as the others watched in startled surprise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span> +Breen’s hand relaxed on the small bomb and he slid lifeless +to the floor. In almost the same motion Dragomiloff +had snatched up his coat and was at the door.</p> + +<p>“I shall see you on the boat, Grunya, my dear,” he +murmured, and was through and away before any of the +others could move.</p> + +<p>“After him!” cried Harkins, springing to his feet. But +he found his way barred by the tall form of John Gray.</p> + +<p>“There is a truce!” Gray reminded him fiercely. +“Breen broke it and has paid dearly for his dereliction. +We are still bound by our honor for another twenty +minutes.”</p> + +<p>Starkington, who had watched the entire discussion dispassionately +from one end of the long table, lifted his head +and spoke.</p> + +<p>“The bomb,” he observed quietly. “Our polemics, +I am afraid, will have to be postponed. There are exactly—” +he glanced at the wall-clock “—eighteen minutes +until it is scheduled to detonate.”</p> + +<p>Haas leaned down curiously, picking the small box +from Breen’s lax hand.</p> + +<p>“There must be a way....”</p> + +<p>“Breen assured us there was not,” Starkington responded +dryly. “I believe him. Breen never equivocated +in a scientific statement.” He came to his feet. +“As head of the Chicago office I must assume command +of our greatly reduced forces. Harkins, you and Alsworthy +must take the bomb to the Bay as quickly as possible. +We cannot leave it here to explode and kill innocents.”</p> + +<p>He waited as the two men took their coats and left, +carrying the deadly ticking container of Formose.</p> + +<p>“Our respected ex-Chief made mention of a boat,” he +continued evenly. “I had assumed this was his motive +in coming to San Francisco; his statement merely confirmed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> +it. Since we cannot stoop to extracting the name +of the steamer from his lovely daughter, we must make +other arrangements. Haas...?”</p> + +<p>“There are but three steamers sailing in the morning +with the tide,” responded Haas almost mechanically, while +Grunya marveled at the wealth of information stored behind +the bulging brow. “There are enough of us remaining +to easily check upon all of them.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” Starkington agreed. “They are...?”</p> + +<p>“The <i>Argosy</i>, at Oakland; the <i>Eastern Clipper</i> at Jansen’s +Wharf, and the <i>Takku Maru</i> at the Commercial +Dock.”</p> + +<p>“Fine. Then Lucoville, you will take the <i>Argosy</i>. +Haas, the <i>Takku Maru</i> should be more suitable for you. +Gray, the <i>Eastern Clipper</i>.”</p> + +<p>The three men rose alertly, but Starkington waved them +to their seats.</p> + +<p>“There is time until the tide, gentlemen,” he remarked +easily. “Besides, there are still twelve minutes remaining +of our armistice.” He stared at the body of Breen +lying twisted on the floor. “We must make arrangements +for the removal of our dear friend here, as well. +An unfortunate heart attack, I should say. Hanover, if +you would handle the telephone.... Thank you.”</p> + +<p>His hand reached over to the table to find a wine-list.</p> + +<p>“After which I would suggest a brandy, a bodied +brandy. Possibly from Spain. A fitting drink, taken at +the end of a repast. We shall drink, gentlemen, to the +end of a most difficult assignment. And we shall toast, +gentlemen, the man who made the assignment possible.”</p> + +<p>Hall swung about to object to this macabre humor at +his expense, but before he could speak, the even voice of +Starkington continued quietly.</p> + +<p>“We shall toast, gentlemen: Ivan Dragomiloff!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XIV"><i>Chapter XIV</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>Winter Hall, aided by a full purse, experienced little +difficulty in convincing the purser that space was available, +even for a latecomer, aboard the <i>Eastern Clipper</i>. +He had stopped briefly at his hotel for a bag, had left a +short note to be delivered first thing in the morning, and +had met an anxious Grunya at the gangplank. While he +was completing his financial arrangements for passage, +Grunya disappeared below to inform her father of Hall’s +presence aboard ship. An elfin smile lit Dragomiloff’s +features.</p> + +<p>“Did you expect me to be angry, my dear?” he inquired. +“Upset? Or even surprised? While the thought of a +trip alone with my newly discovered daughter is enjoyable, +it will be even more enjoyable to travel with her when she +is happy.”</p> + +<p>“You have always made me happy, Uncle—I mean, +Father,” she pouted, but her eyes were twinkling.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff laughed.</p> + +<p>“There comes a time, my dear, when a father is limited +in the happiness he can impart. And now, if you do not +mind, I shall sleep. It has been a tiring day.”</p> + +<p>Grunya kissed him tenderly and was opening the door +when memory struck.</p> + +<p>“Father,” she exclaimed. “The Assassination Bureau! +They intend to investigate every ship sailing on the morning’s +tide.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span></p> + +<p>“But of course,” he said gently. “It is the first thing +they would do.” He kissed her again and closed the door +behind her.</p> + +<p>She mounted to the upper deck and found Hall. Hand +in hand they stood at the rail, peering at the lights of the +sleeping city. His hand tightened on hers.</p> + +<p>“Must it really be a year?” he asked sadly.</p> + +<p>“There are only three months remaining,” she laughed. +“Do not be impatient.” Her laughter faded. “In truth, +this is advice more suitable to myself.”</p> + +<p>“Grunya!”</p> + +<p>“It is true,” she admitted. “Oh, Winter, I want to be +married to you so much!”</p> + +<p>“Darling! The captain of the ship can marry us tomorrow!”</p> + +<p>“No. I am as mad as all of you. I have given my +word and I will not change it.” She faced him soberly. +“Until the year is up I will not marry you. And should +anything happen to my father before then....”</p> + +<p>“Nothing will happen to him,” Hall assured her.</p> + +<p>She looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>“Yet you will not promise me to prevent anything from +happening.”</p> + +<p>“My darling, I cannot.” Hall stared over the rail at +the darkened waters below. “These madmen—and I +must include your father in that category—will not allow +anyone to interfere in their dangerous game. And +that’s what it is to them, you know. A game.”</p> + +<p>“Which no one can win,” she agreed sadly, and then +glanced at her time-piece. “It is very late. I really must +go to sleep. Shall I see you in the morning?”</p> + +<p>“You can scarcely avoid me on a small steamer,” he +laughed, and bending his head he kissed her fingers passionately.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> + +<p>Dragomiloff, finding his cabin warm, unbolted the porthole<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span> +and swung it wide. His stateroom fronted upon the +dockside and a solid row of inscrutable warehouses lit +only by a row of small electric bulbs, swinging faintly in +the night breeze. The maneuver resulted in little improvement; +the night without was sultry and quiet.</p> + +<p>He stood in the dark of his room, leaning against the +brass rim of the porthole, breathing deeply. His thoughts +ranged over the past nine months and the narrow escapes +he had managed. He felt tired, mentally and physically +tired. Age, he thought. The one variable in life’s equation +beyond the power of the brain to control or to evaluate. +At least there were ten days ahead of freedom from +stress; ten pleasant days of sea-voyage in which to recuperate. +Suddenly, as he stood there, he heard a familiar +voice rising from the shadows below.</p> + +<p>“You are certain? Dragomiloff. It is very possible +that he is a passenger aboard.”</p> + +<p>“Quite sure,” the purser replied. “There is no one of +that name on the ship. You may be certain that we +would do everything in our power to aid the Federal government.”</p> + +<p>In the safety of his darkened stateroom, Dragomiloff +grinned. His weariness fled as, all senses alert, he listened +intently. Gray was clever to adopt the guise of a +Federal man, but then Gray had always been extremely +worthy of his position in the Bureau.</p> + +<p>“There is a chance this man is not using his real name,” +Gray pursued. “He is a smallish person, deceptively +frail-looking—although, believe me, he is not—and he +is traveling with his daughter, a quite beautiful young +lady whose name is Grunya.”</p> + +<p>“There is a gentleman traveling with his daughter....”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff’s smile deepened. In the blackness of his +room his small, strong fingers flexed and unflexed themselves +preparatorily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span></p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence on the dock below; then +Gray spoke thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“I should like to check further if you don’t mind. +Could you give me his cabin number?”</p> + +<p>“Of course. One second, sir. Here it is—31—on +the lower deck.” There was a hesitant pause. “But if +you should be wrong....”</p> + +<p>“I shall apologize.” There was coldness in Gray’s +voice. “The Federal government has no interest in embarrassing +innocent people. But still, I have my duty +to perform.”</p> + +<p>The shadowy figures at the foot of the gangplank separated, +the taller one mounting the inclined stairway easily, +brushing past the other.</p> + +<p>“I can find it, thank you. There is no need for you to +leave your post.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir. I hope....”</p> + +<p>But Gray was beyond earshot. Stepping lightly to the +deck of the ship he strode quickly to a door leading to an +inner passageway. Once inside he immediately checked +the numbers on the cabins facing him. The door before +him was marked 108; without hesitation he swung to the +stairway and descended. Here the numbers were of two +digits. He smiled to himself and crept along the silent +corridor, marking each door.</p> + +<p>Number 31 lay beyond a turn in the passage, set in a +small alcove. Flattening himself against the wall of the +alcove, Gray considered his next step. He did not underestimate +Dragomiloff, who had taught him not only +the beauty of logic, ethics, and morality, but who had +also taught him to break a man’s neck with one swift +blow. There was a sudden shudder to the ship, and he +stiffened, but it was only the great engines below beginning +to revolve, warming up preparatory to sailing.</p> + +<p>In the silence of the deserted corridor Gray considered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> +and rejected the thought of using his revolver. In the +confined space the sound would be deafening, escape made +that much more difficult. Instead he withdrew a thin, +sharp knife from a holster on his forearm, and tested the +edge briefly against his thumb. Satisfied, he gripped it +firmly, edge uppermost, while his other hand crept to the +lock, master-key in hand.</p> + +<p>One quick glance assured him that he was alone in the +passageway; the passengers were all asleep. As silently +as possible he inserted the key, turning it slowly.</p> + +<p>To his surprise the door was suddenly jerked inwards. +Before he could recover his balance he was being pulled +into the room and strong fingers were being clamped upon +the hand holding the knife. But Gray’s reactions had +always been swift. Rather than pulling back, he went +forward with his assailant, pushing fiercely, adding his +weight to the impetus of the other’s force. The two men +fell in a sprawl against the bunk beneath the porthole. +With a sudden heave, Gray was on his feet, twisting to +one side, the knife once more firmly in position in his +fingers. Dragomiloff was also on his feet, hands outstretched, +his taut fingers searching for an opening to give +a death-touch to his opponent.</p> + +<p>For a moment they stood panting a few feet from one +another. The small electric lights from the dock gave +the cabin eerie shadows. Then, swift as lightning, Gray’s +arm flashed forwards, the knife whistling in the darkness. +But it encountered only empty air; Dragomiloff +had dropped to the floor, and as the other’s arm swept +above him he reached up and clutched it, twisting. With +a smothered cry Gray dropped the knife and fell upon +the smaller man, straining with his free hand for a grip +on the other’s throat.</p> + +<p>They fought in fury and in silence, two trained assassins +each aware of the other’s ability and each convinced<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> +of the rightness, as well as the necessity, for the other’s +death. Each hold and counter-hold was automatic; their +proficiency in the death-science of the Japanese equal and +devastating. Beneath them the rumble of the huge pistons +slowly turning over increased. Within the stateroom +the battle waged relentlessly, grip matching grip, their +panting breath now lost in the larger sound of the ship’s +engines.</p> + +<p>Their thrashing legs encountered the open door; it +slammed shut. Gray attempted to roll free and suddenly +felt his lost knife pressing against his shoulder blades. +With a thrust of his arched back he rolled further, fending +off Dragomiloff’s attack with one hand while he +searched for the weapon with his other. And then his +fingers found it. Twisting violently, he pulled free, +swinging the blade for a frontal blow, and thrust it forward +viciously. He felt it bite into something soft and +for one second he relaxed. And in that moment Dragomiloff’s +eager fingers found the spot they had been seeking. +Gray fell back, his fingers dragging the knife from +the mattress of the bunk with their last dying effort.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff staggered to his feet, staring sombrely +down at the shadowy figure of his old friend lying at the +foot of the narrow bunk. He leaned against the closed +porthole, fighting to regain his breath, aware of how +much the years had taken from his fighting ability. He +rubbed his face wearily. Still, he thought, he had not +succumbed to Gray’s attack, and Gray was as deadly as +any member.</p> + +<p>A sudden rap at the door brought immediate awareness +to him. He bent swiftly, rolling the dead body out of +sight beneath the bunk, and came quietly to stand beside +the door.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Constantine? Could I see you a moment, sir?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span></p> + +<p>“One second.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff switched on the stateroom light; a swift +glance about the room revealed nothing too incriminating. +He straightened a chair, threw the blanket back to conceal +the torn mattress, and slipped into a dressing-gown. He +glanced about once more. Satisfied that all was presentable, +he opened the door a crack and yawned widely into +the face of the purser.</p> + +<p>“Yes? What is it?”</p> + +<p>The purser looked embarrassed.</p> + +<p>“A Mr. Gray, sir. Did he stop down to see you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that. Yes, he did. But it was really too bad +his bothering me, you know. He was looking for a Mr. +Dragomovitch, or something. He apologized and left. +Why?”</p> + +<p>“The ship is sailing, sir. Do you suppose he might +have gone ashore in the last few moments? While I was +coming down here?”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff yawned again and stared at the purser +coldly.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I have no idea. And now, if you’ll excuse +me, I really would like to get some rest.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir. I’m sorry. Thank you.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff locked the door and once again switched +off the lights. He sat on the small chair furnished with +the stateroom and stared at the locked porthole thoughtfully. +Tomorrow would be too late; there would be stewards +cleaning the cabins. Even morning would be too +late; early strollers about the decks were not uncommon. +It would have to be now, with all the attendant dangers. +With patience he settled back to await the ship’s departure.</p> + +<p>Voices came from the deck above as lines were cast off +and the ship prepared to leave the dock. The rumble of +the engines increased; a slight motion was imparted to +the cabin. Above his head the faint pounding of feet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> +could be heard as seamen ran back and forth, winching +in the lines, obeying the exigencies of the steel monster +which was to take them across the ocean.</p> + +<p>The cries on deck abated. Dragomiloff carefully unbolted +the porthole and thrust his head out. The watery +gap between the pier and the ship was slowly widening; +the lights strung along the warehouses were fading in distance. +He listened carefully for footsteps from above; +there were none. Returning to his task he rolled the +body free from its hiding place and, bending, lifted it with +ease to prop it on the bunk. One last searching glance +indicated that the coast was clear. He thrust the flaccid +arms through the porthole and fed the body into the open +air. It fell with a faint splash; Dragomiloff waited quietly +for any outbreak of sound from above. There was none. +With graven face he latched the porthole, pulled the +drapes tightly over them, and re-lit the light.</p> + +<p>One final check was necessary before retiring, for +Dragomiloff was a thorough man. The knife was stowed +in a suitcase, and the bag locked. The slit in the mattress +was covered with the sheet, reversed and tucked in +tightly. The rug was straightened. Only when the +room had regained its former appearance did Dragomiloff +relax and slowly begin undressing.</p> + +<p>It had been a busy night, but one step further along +his inexorable path.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XV"><i>Chapter XV</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>Lucoville rapped sharply upon Starkington’s hotel-room +door and when the door swung back, entered and +quietly laid a newspaper upon the table. Starkington’s +eye immediately caught the black headlines, and he read +through the lurid account rapidly.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center"> +TWO DIE IN MYSTERIOUS EXPLOSION +</p> + +<p>Aug. 15: A mysterious explosion in the early hours of today +on Worth Street near the Bay region caused the tragic death +of two unidentified men. Police could discover no clue as +to the cause of the violent detonation, which broke windows +in the immediate vicinity, as well as costing the lives of the +two men who were believed to be walking in the area at the +time of the explosion.</p> + +<p class="ti">The violence of the detonation made identification of the +two victims impossible. The shattered fragments of a small +metal box were the only unusual item found in the area, but +police claim it could not possibly have played a part in the +tragedy because of its size. At present the authorities admit +themselves baffled.</p> +</div> + +<p>“Harkins and Alsworthy!” he exclaimed through +clenched teeth. “We must get the others here as quickly +as possible!”</p> + +<p>“I have telephoned to Haas and Hanover,” Lucoville +replied. “They should be here at any moment.”</p> + +<p>“And Gray?”</p> + +<p>“His hotel room did not answer. I am rather surprised, +since it was agreed that a report be made this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span> +morning on the ships that were investigated last night.”</p> + +<p>“You found nothing at the <i>Argosy</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Nor did Haas at the <i>Takku Maru</i>.”</p> + +<p>The two men stared at each other in silent common +thought.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose ...?” Starkington began, but at +that moment there was an imperious rap at the door, and +before either occupant could answer, the door swung wide, +revealing Hanover and Haas.</p> + +<p>Haas rushed in, laying a later edition of the newspaper +upon the table.</p> + +<p>“Did you see this?” he cried. “Gray is dead!”</p> + +<p>“Dead?”</p> + +<p>“Found floating alongside Jansen’s Wharf, where the +<i>Eastern Clipper</i> was docked! Dragomiloff is on that +ship, and it has sailed!”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s shocked silence. Starkington +walked over and slowly seated himself. His eyes roved +the stern faces of his companions before he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Well, gentlemen,” he said softly, “we are being decimated. +The total remaining members of the Assassination +Bureau are within this room at this moment. Three +of our number died within the past twelve hours. Where +is the success that crowned our every effort for all these +years? Can it all have departed at the same moment?”</p> + +<p>“There are limits to one’s infallibility,” Haas objected. +“Harkins and Alsworthy died as the result of an accident.”</p> + +<p>“Accident? You do not honestly believe that, Haas. +You cannot. There is no such thing as an accident. +We control our own lives, or we control nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Or at least we believe that, or we believe nothing,” +Lucoville amended dryly.</p> + +<p>“But the wall-clock must have been wrong!” Haas +insisted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span></p> + +<p>“Obviously,” Starkington admitted. “But is it an accident +to fail through dependence upon a mechanical +contrivance? Inventions, my dear Haas, are the work +of doers, and not thinkers.”</p> + +<p>“A ridiculous statement,” Haas sneered.</p> + +<p>“Not at all. It is the inability to mentally rationalize +problems that leads men to seek mechanical solutions. +Take that wall-clock, for example. Does the knowledge +of the exact hour solve the problems of that hour? What +is gained, in beauty or morality, to know that at this moment +it is eight minutes past the hour of ten?”</p> + +<p>“You oversimplify,” Haas retorted. “Someday the +clock may take its revenge.”</p> + +<p>Hanover leaned forwards.</p> + +<p>“As for your sneering at doers,” he remarked, “do you +consider us, then, as only thinkers and not doers?”</p> + +<p>Starkington smiled.</p> + +<p>“Of late, to be truthful, we have been neither. Now +we must be both.”</p> + +<p>Lucoville, who had been standing at a window staring +into the street, swung about.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said flatly. “Dragomiloff has sailed. +He has left the country. It is doubtful that he will return. +Why do we not give up this senseless chase? We +can rebuild the Bureau ourselves. Dragomiloff began it +with one—himself—and we are four.”</p> + +<p>“Give up the chase?” Haas was shocked. “Senseless? +How could we rebuild the Bureau if the first thing +we give up is not the chase, but our principles?”</p> + +<p>Lucoville bowed his head.</p> + +<p>“You are right, of course. I was not thinking. Well, +then, what is our next step?”</p> + +<p>Haas answered him. The thin flame of a man arose +and bent over the table, his huge forehead puckered.</p> + +<p>“There is a ship sailing at four this afternoon—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span> +<i>Oriental Star</i>—from Dearborn Slip. It is the fastest +ship on the Pacific run. It should easily dock in Hawaii +a day in advance of the <i>Eastern Clipper</i>’s arrival. I suggest +that we be waiting for Dragomiloff when he arrives +in Honolulu. And that we be more careful than our +predecessors when we meet him.”</p> + +<p>“It is an excellent idea,” Hanover agreed enthusiastically. +“He will feel himself safe.”</p> + +<p>“The Chief never feels himself safe,” Starkington commented. +“It is only that he does not allow his feeling of +un-safety to disturb him. Well, gentlemen; does Haas’s +suggestion sit well with you?”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence. Then Lucoville shook +his head.</p> + +<p>“I do not believe it necessary that we all travel. Haas +has still not recovered fully from his wound. Also, I do +not believe it well to put all our eggs in one basket. I +suggest that Haas remain. There may well be need for +some action from the mainland.”</p> + +<p>This suggestion was carefully considered by the other +three. Starkington nodded.</p> + +<p>“I agree. Haas?”</p> + +<p>The small intense man smiled ruefully.</p> + +<p>“I should, of course, enjoy being in at the kill. But I +must bow to the logic of Lucoville’s argument. I also +agree.”</p> + +<p>Hanover nodded his acceptance.</p> + +<p>“We have sufficient funds?”</p> + +<p>Starkington reached over and extracted an envelope +from his desk.</p> + +<p>“This was delivered by messenger this morning. Hall +has signed a paper giving me power of withdrawal of our +funds.”</p> + +<p>Hanover raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“He has traveled with Dragomiloff, then.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span></p> + +<p>“With the daughter, rather,” Haas corrected with a +smile. “Poor Hall! Trapped by love into acquiring a +father-in-law he has paid to have killed!”</p> + +<p>“Hall’s logic is tainted by emotion,” Starkington commented. +“The fate of the emotional is not only predictable, +but usually deserved.” He arose. “Well, then, +I shall arrange for our passage.” He stared at Lucoville +in sudden concern. “Why do you frown?”</p> + +<p>“The food aboard ship,” Lucoville sighed unhappily. +“Do you suppose they will be able to provide fresh vegetables +for the entire trip?”</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> + +<p>The edge of the sun was breaking evenly over the eastern +horizon. Winter Hall, enjoying the warm breeze of +the Pacific morning, was suddenly aware of a presence at +his elbow. He turned to find Dragomiloff staring off into +the distance.</p> + +<p>“Good morning!” Hall smiled. “Did you sleep +well?”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff was forced to return the smile.</p> + +<p>“As well as could be expected,” was his dry reply.</p> + +<p>“When I find it difficult to drop off to sleep,” Hall offered, +“I usually walk the deck. I find that exercise aids +me in falling asleep.”</p> + +<p>“It was certainly not lack of exercise.” Dragomiloff +suddenly swung his gaze fully upon the tall, handsome +young man at his side. “I had a visitor last night before +the ship sailed.”</p> + +<p>Memory returned to Hall like a blow.</p> + +<p>“Gray! He was to investigate this ship!”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Gray dropped in to see me.”</p> + +<p>“Is he aboard?” Hall glanced about; his pleasant +smile had disappeared.</p> + +<p>“No. He did not sail with us. He remained.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span></p> + +<p>Hall stared at the small sandy-haired man beside him +with growing comprehension.</p> + +<p>“You killed him!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I killed him. I was forced to.”</p> + +<p>Hall turned back to his contemplation of the sunrise. +A sternness had settled over his strong face.</p> + +<p>“You say you were forced to. Do I recognize in this +admission a change in your beliefs?”</p> + +<p>“No.” Dragomiloff shook his head. “Although all +beliefs must be amenable to change if thinking man is to +merit his ability to reason. I say forced to, because Gray +was my friend. In a way you might say he was my protégé. +It was in following my teachings that he attempted +my life. It was in recognition of the purity of his motives +that I took his.”</p> + +<p>Hall sighed wearily.</p> + +<p>“No, you have not changed. Tell me, when will this +madness end?”</p> + +<p>“Madness?” Dragomiloff shrugged his shoulders. +“Define your terms. What is sanity? To allow those +to live whose course of action leads to the taking of innocent +lives? At times, thousands of innocent lives?”</p> + +<p>“You certainly cannot be referring to John Gray!”</p> + +<p>“I am not. I am merely justifying the basis of my +teachings, which John Gray believed in, and which you +choose to call madness.”</p> + +<p>Hall stared at the other hopelessly.</p> + +<p>“But you have already admitted the fallacy of that philosophy. +Man cannot judge; he can only be judged. +And not by the individual. Only by the group.”</p> + +<p>“True. It was on this basis that you convinced me +that the aims of the Assassination Bureau were unworthy. +Or possibly a better word would be ‘premature.’ For +the Bureau itself, you must remember, is a group, representative<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> +of society itself. Picture a Bureau, if you +would, encompassing all mankind. Then the arguments +you used to convince me would no longer be valid. But +no matter. In any event, you did convince me, and I +did undertake the task of having myself assassinated. +Unfortunately, the very perfection of the organization has +worked against me.”</p> + +<p>“Perfection!” Hall cried in exasperation. “How can +you use that word? They have failed to kill you in at +least six or eight attempts!”</p> + +<p>“That failure is proof of the perfection,” Dragomiloff +stated gravely. “I see you do not understand. Failures +are calculable; for the Bureau contains within it certain +checks and balances. The failures prove the rightness +of these checks and balances.”</p> + +<p>Hall stared at the small man at his side in amazement.</p> + +<p>“You are unbelievable! Tell me, when will this—very +well, I shall not use the word ‘madness’—when will +this adventure, then, end?”</p> + +<p>To his surprise Dragomiloff smiled in quite a friendly +manner.</p> + +<p>“I like that word ‘adventure.’ All life is an adventure, +but we do not appreciate it until life itself is in jeopardy. +When will it end? When we end, I suppose. When our +brains cease to function; when we join the worms and the +non-thinkers. In my particular case,” he continued, noting +Hall’s barely concealed impatience, “at the end of a +period of one year from the time of my original instructions +to Haas.”</p> + +<p>“And that time is well along. In less than three +months your contract will have expired. What then?”</p> + +<p>To his surprise Dragomiloff’s smile suddenly faded.</p> + +<p>“I do not know. I cannot believe that the organization +I have built up so painstakingly will allow me to live<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> +the full period. That would be a negation of its perfection.”</p> + +<p>“But certainly you do not want them to succeed?”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff clasped his hands tightly. His face was +frowning and serious.</p> + +<p>“I do not know. It is something that has been bothering +me more and more as the weeks and months have +passed.”</p> + +<p>“You are an amazing person! In what way has it +been bothering you?”</p> + +<p>The small light-haired man faced his larger companion.</p> + +<p>“I am not sure that I wish to be saved by the expiration +of a time limit. Time should be the master of +people, and not the servant. Time, you see, is the one +perfect machine, whose gears are set by the stars, whose +hands are controlled by the infinite. I have also built a +perfect machine, the Bureau. But the Bureau must depend +upon itself to demonstrate that perfection. It must +not be saved from its shortcomings by the inexorable function +of another, and greater, machine.”</p> + +<p>“But yet you are attempting to take advantage of the +time element for your own salvation,” Hall pointed out, +intrigued as always by the workings of the other’s mind.</p> + +<p>“I am human,” Dragomiloff replied sadly. “Possibly, +in the long run, this may prove to be the fatal weakness +of my philosophy.”</p> + +<p>Without further comment he turned and walked slowly +and heavily to the doors leading to the inner parts of the +ship. Hall stared after the man a moment, and then felt +his arm touched from the other side. He swung about +to face Grunya.</p> + +<p>“What have you been saying to my father?” she demanded. +“He looked quite shaken.”</p> + +<p>“It is what your father has been saying to himself,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> +Hall replied. He took her arm and they began strolling +along the deck. “There is an instinct within each of us +to fight to retain life. But there is also within each of +us a hidden death-wish, which uses many excuses for justification. +We have yet to see which dominates in the +life of your strange father.”</p> + +<p>“Or in his death,” she murmured, and clung fiercely +to the protective arm of her loved one.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XVI"><i>Chapter XVI</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>The days aboard the <i>Eastern Clipper</i> passed swiftly +and pleasantly. Grunya basked each day in the warm +sun, lying in her deck-chair, and acquired a deep tan, as +did Hall. Dragomiloff, however, although spending an +equal number of hours on the sun-swept deck, seemed +immune to the power of the burning rays and remained +as pale as ever. Hall and Dragomiloff seemed to have +declared a moratorium on philosophical discussion; their +talk now ran more to the schools of bonito and albacore +that often played in the wake behind the ship, or to the +excellent cuisine served aboard, or even at times to their +respective deck-tennis scores.</p> + +<p>And then one morning, as if it had never been, the trip +was over. They awoke this day and came on deck to +find themselves in the shadow of towering Diamond Head +at the entrance to the island of Oahu, with the port city +of Honolulu lying white and glistening in the background. +Small canoes with lei-laden natives were already racing +towards the ship. Below, in the bowels of the giant liner, +stokers were leaning quietly upon their blackened shovels; +the great engines had slowed and the ship was barely +making way.</p> + +<p>“Beautiful!” Grunya murmured, and turned to Hall. +“Is it not beautiful, Winter?”</p> + +<p>“Almost as beautiful as you are,” Hall replied jocularly, +and turned to Dragomiloff. “Ten weeks,” he said lightly.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> +“In just ten weeks, sir, our relationship will change. You +shall become my father-in-law.”</p> + +<p>“And no longer your friend?” Dragomiloff laughed.</p> + +<p>“Always my friend.” Hall frowned slightly. “By the +way, what are your plans now? Do you think the other +members of the Bureau will follow you here?”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff’s smile did not lessen in the least.</p> + +<p>“Follow me? They are here now. Or most of them. +They would leave at least one on the mainland, of course.”</p> + +<p>“But how could they arrive sooner than we?”</p> + +<p>“By faster ship. I would judge they took the <i>Oriental +Star</i> the afternoon after we sailed. The discovery of +Gray’s body would tell them our ship, and hence our destination. +They will have docked last evening. They +will be on hand when we disembark, do not fear.”</p> + +<p>“But how can you be so sure?” Grunya demanded.</p> + +<p>“By placing myself in their position and calculating +what I would do under the same circumstances. No, my +dear, I am not wrong. They will be on hand to greet me.”</p> + +<p>Grunya reached over to grasp his arm, fear growing in +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“But, Father, what will you do?”</p> + +<p>“Do not worry, my dear. I shall not fall victim to +them, if that is what you fear. Now pay close heed: several +days before sailing I sent a letter on the mail packet +making reservations for the two of you at the Queen Anne +Inn. There will also be a car and driver available whenever +you wish. I myself will not be able to join you, but +as soon as I am settled you shall hear from me.”</p> + +<p>“For the two of us?” Hall was surprised. “But you +did not even know I would be coming!”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff smiled broadly.</p> + +<p>“I said I always put myself in the other fellow’s boots. +In your place I would never allow a girl as beautiful as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span> +my Grunya to escape me. My dear Hall, I knew you +would be aboard this ship.”</p> + +<p>He turned back to the rail. The native-filled canoes +were now bobbing alongside the ship; young boys dressed +only in the native <em>molo</em> were diving for coins flung by the +passengers into the clear water of the harbor entrance. +The white buildings along the quay reflected back the +morning sun. The giant liner stopped; a slim cruiser +flashed from shore carrying the pilot and the Chinese +porters who would take off the luggage.</p> + +<p>A loud hoot broke the silence as the ship’s whistle announced +their proud arrival. The pilot boat slipped +alongside and the officials, neat in their peaked caps and +white shorts, clambered aboard. They were followed by +a string of blue-clad, pig-tailed porters who scampered +up the Jacob’s ladder, their sloping straw hats bobbing +in unison, and disappeared into the inner passageway.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff turned to the other two.</p> + +<p>“If you will pardon me, I must finish my packing,” he +said lightly, and with a wave disappeared into the interior +of the ship.</p> + +<p>The pilot appeared on the bridge and the <i>Eastern Clipper</i>’s +engines began to rumble, changing to a higher pitch +as the ship proceeded landwards.</p> + +<p>“We had best get below and see to our luggage,” Hall +remarked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Winter, must we so soon? This is so lovely! +See how the mountains seem to sweep up from the city. +The clouds are like puff-balls hanging over the peaks!” +She paused and the animation died upon her face. “Winter; +what will Father do?”</p> + +<p>“I should not worry about your father, dear. They +may not be here. And even if they are, it is doubtful that +they would attempt anything in this crowd. Come.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span></p> + +<p>They went below as the steamer edged closer to the +pier. Lines were cast ashore and willing hands linked +them to stanchions set in the dock. The ship’s winches +began turning, winding in the cable, pulling the liner into +position along the dock. A band broke into music, playing +the famous “Aloha.” Screams of recognition broke +out as passengers and friends found each other in the +crowd; handkerchiefs were waved frantically. The gangplank +edged downwards; the band played louder.</p> + +<p>Hall, returning to deck after assigning his luggage to +a porter, came to stand at the rail staring down at the +animated faces strung out behind the railing below. Suddenly +he came erect with a start; staring him in the eye +was Starkington!</p> + +<p>The head of the Chicago branch of the Bureau smiled +delightedly and waved his hand. Hall’s glance slid along +the upturned faces and stopped at another. Hanover +was also there, closer to the exit. The rest, Hall was +sure, were placed at equally strategic positions.</p> + +<p>The gangplank fell into place and the barriers were +dropped. Friends and passengers swarmed up and down +the gangplank, pushing past heavily laden porters struggling +down, swaying perilously beneath their loads. +Starkington was mounting the gangplank, shoving his +way through the throng. Hall came forward to meet him.</p> + +<p>Starkington was smiling happily.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Hall! It’s nice to see you. How have you +been?”</p> + +<p>“Starkington! You must not do this thing!”</p> + +<p>Starkington raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“Must not do what thing? Must not keep our sacred +word? Must not remain true to a promise? A commitment?” +His smile remained, but the eyes behind the +smile were deadly serious. They swung over Hall’s shoulder, +searching the face of each passenger surging towards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> +the gangplank. “He has no escape this time, Hall. +Lucoville came aboard with the pilot boat; he is below +at this moment. Hanover is guarding the dock. The +Chief made a grave mistake to corner himself in this +manner.”</p> + +<p>Hall gritted his teeth.</p> + +<p>“I shall not permit it. I shall speak to the authorities.”</p> + +<p>“You will speak to no one.” Starkington’s tone was +pedantic; he might have been a professor explaining some +obvious point to a rather dull student. “You have given +your word of honor. To the Chief himself, as well as +to all of us. You did not speak to the authorities before, +and you will not speak to them now....”</p> + +<p>He broke off as a Chinese porter, burdened beneath +a mountain of suitcases, stumbled into him with a sing-song +excuse. Lucoville appeared at their side. He +smiled happily at the sight of Hall.</p> + +<p>“Hall! This is a pleasure. How was the trip? Did +you enjoy it? Tell me,” he continued, lowering his voice, +“how were the vegetables aboard this ship? For the return +voyage I should prefer a cuisine more in keeping +with my tastes. The <i>Oriental Star</i> was pitifully short on +both vegetables and fruit. Meat, and more meat! I +suppose they thought they were doing the passengers a +favor....”</p> + +<p>He seemed to realize that Starkington was waiting, for +he dropped the subject and turned to the other.</p> + +<p>“Dragomiloff is below. He booked cabin No. 31 under +a different name; I have placed an outside latch on +the cabin to prevent his escape. However, there is still +the porthole....”</p> + +<p>“Hanover is watching for that.” He turned to the +white face of Hall beside him. “Hadn’t you better go +ashore, Hall? Believe me, there is nothing you can do +to prevent this.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span></p> + +<p>“I shall remain,” Hall exclaimed, and then wheeled +as a hand clutched his arm convulsively. “Grunya! +Grunya, my dear!”</p> + +<p>“Winter!” she cried, and faced Starkington with burning +eyes. “What are you doing here? You shall not +harm my father!”</p> + +<p>“We have discussed this before,” Starkington replied +smoothly. “You are familiar with our mission, and you +are also familiar with your father’s instructions. I would +suggest, Miss Dragomiloff, that you go ashore. There is +nothing you can do.”</p> + +<p>“Go ashore?” Suddenly she lifted her head in resolution. +“Yes, I shall go ashore! And I shall return with +the police! I do not care what my father’s instructions +were; you shall not kill him!” She swung to Hall, her +eyes flashing. “And you! You stand there! What +kind of a man are you? You are worse than these madmen, +for they believe themselves right, while you know +they are wrong. And yet you make no move!”</p> + +<p>She tore her arm loose from Hall’s grip and ran for the +gangplank, pushing her way through the thinning crowd. +Starkington looked after her, nodding his head sagely.</p> + +<p>“You have made a very good choice, Hall. She is a +spirited girl. Ah, well, I’m afraid our schedule must be +accelerated a bit. I had hoped to wait until the ship was +deserted. However, most of the passengers seem to have +left. Are you coming?”</p> + +<p>This last was said in such a polite voice that Hall could +scarcely believe he was being invited to witness the execution +of a man, and that man Grunya’s father. Starkington +smiled at him quite congenially and took his arm.</p> + +<p>Hall walked beside the other as if in a dream. It was +not believable! One might think he was merely being +taken to visit a friend for an afternoon’s game of whist!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span> +Beside him as they descended the broad carpeted staircase +Starkington was chattering quite pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Travel by ship is really delightful, don’t you think? +We all enjoyed it very much. Lucoville here, of course, +constantly complained about the food, but.... Ah, here +we are.”</p> + +<p>He bent and listened at the door. Faint sounds could +be heard from within. He removed the mechanism +Lucoville had placed upon the latch and turned to the +others.</p> + +<p>“Lucoville, stand to that side. Hall, I would suggest +you leave the alcove. The Chief is certain to be prepared +to defend himself, and I should not like to see harm +come to you.”</p> + +<p>“But you may be killed!” Hall cried.</p> + +<p>“Assuredly. However, between Lucoville and myself, +one of us should be able to complete the assignment. +And that is all that counts.”</p> + +<p>He withdrew a revolver from his pocket and held it in +readiness. To his side Lucoville had done the same. +Hall stared at the two in awe; neither exhibited the slightest +fear. Starkington took a key from his pocket and +inserted it in the lock, making no attempt to mask the +sound.</p> + +<p>“Back, Hall,” he commanded, and in the same moment +swung the door wide and charged within. At the sight +that faced them Starkington paused, mouth agape, while +Hall burst into laughter.</p> + +<p>There on the bunk, twisting and squirming, lay a Chinese, +stripped to his underwear and lashed to the bunk. +His mouth was firmly gagged, and his eyes were flashing +with anger. Even as he twisted his head, frantically imploring +his discoverers to free him, they could see the +ragged edges where his pig-tail had been severed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span></p> + +<p>“Dragomiloff!” Lucoville gasped. “He must have +been one of the porters that passed us!” He sprang for +the door, but Starkington’s arm barred his way.</p> + +<p>“It is too late,” he said evenly. “We must begin our +search anew.”</p> + +<p>There was a commotion in the corridor and Grunya +appeared, accompanied by several of the island police, +night-sticks poised. At the sight of Hall’s convulsed +shouts of laughter, Grunya paused uncertainly. The determination +of her attitude withered in face of that hilarity. +Starkington raised his eyebrows politely.</p> + +<p>The police took in the scene at once and then, hastening +forwards, released the poor Chinese, who immediately +broke into a gale of chatter, pointing first to his severed +pig-tail, then to his nearly nude body, and then demonstrated +with waving arms the means by which he had been +overcome and bound. This all was accompanied by a +constant barrage of language. The sergeant of police +broke in several times to ask questions in the same tongue, +and then turned to Starkington sternly.</p> + +<p>“Where is the man responsible for this outrage?” he +demanded in English.</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” Starkington avowed. But then his +sense of propriety came to his aid. He reached into his +pocket and extracted a fistful of notes, stripping several +from the top.</p> + +<p>“Here,” he said in a kindly voice to the still-outraged +Chinese. “You have been no less victimized than ourselves. +This will partially compensate for your disgrace. +But,” and his voice changed to encompass deep regret, +“I do not know what will compensate for ours!”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XVII"><i>Chapter XVII</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>Two weeks passed before Grunya and Hall received instructions +which were to lead to meeting Dragomiloff. +The time had been spent in taking advantage of the car +and driver to visit the lovely vistas of the tropical city. +The driver had appeared at the Queen Anne Inn the +morning after their arrival bearing a note which read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot ti"> + +<p>“My children, This will introduce Chan, an old and trusted +employee of S. Constantine & Co. He will drive you where +you want and when you want, save for the few errands I +shall require of him. Do not ask him any questions, for he +will not answer them. I am well and happy, and will contact +you when conditions are ripe. My love to my dear +Grunya and a firm handclasp to my friend Hall.”</p> +</div> + +<p>There had been no signature, but none was needed. +Satisfied that Dragomiloff was safe, they were able to relax. +Their time was spent in typical tourist fashion. +They swam at Waikiki, and watched the intrepid surf-riders +come sweeping down the foaming ridges of the +ocean, racing bent-kneed for the palm-lined shore. They +strolled the colorful streets of the city, marveling at the +many sights. They enjoyed visiting the fish market on +King Street with the vendors crying their wares in eight +different languages, or sitting beside Kewolo Basin while +the Japanese sampans came wallowing in, loaded to the +rail with their catch. Chan, imperturbable, neither offered +suggestions nor comment; he drove where he was +told and nothing more.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span></p> + +<p>Quite often their evenings were joined by Starkington, +Hanover, and Lucoville. Grunya, despite herself, could +not help but like the three. Their minds and their attitudes +reminded her so much of her father. She was secretly +ashamed of her scene aboard ship; she felt it had +demonstrated a lack of faith in her father. Somehow, +her camaraderie with the trio seemed to her to partially +compensate for this failing. Too, each day that passed +brought the end of the contract closer, and lessened the +danger of the Bureau’s success.</p> + +<p>One evening this time element had arisen in discussion +with the three congenial assassins.</p> + +<p>“There are less than two months remaining,” Hall mentioned +as the five sat at dinner. He laughed. “Believe +me, I do not object to your passing the days in this pleasant +fashion. In fact, it pleases me to see the funds of +the Bureau dissipated in this innocuous way. But I am +curious. How does it happen that you are not searching +for Dragomiloff?”</p> + +<p>“But we are searching,” Starkington corrected him +gently. “In our own manner. And our search will be +successful. I cannot, of course, disclose our plan, but +this much I can say: he spent two days at Nanakuli, and +the following three days at Waianae. Lucoville investigated +in one case, and Hanover in the other. But he +had already left.”</p> + +<p>Hall’s eyebrows lifted mockingly.</p> + +<p>“You did not investigate yourself?”</p> + +<p>“No.” There was no embarrassment in Starkington’s +tone. “I was busy keeping an eye on you and Miss +Dragomiloff, although I am sure that you know no more +about his whereabouts than we do.”</p> + +<p>He lifted his glass.</p> + +<p>“Let us drink a toast. To the end of this business.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span></p> + +<p>“I will be happy to drink to that,” Hall remarked +evenly. “Though we mean different things.”</p> + +<p>“It is the difficulty of all language,” Starkington admitted +with a rueful smile. “Definition.”</p> + +<p>“It is not a difficulty,” Hanover objected. “Definition +is the very basis of language. It is the skeleton upon +which the sound-forms are hung that make a language.”</p> + +<p>“You are speaking about the same language,” Lucoville +stated solemnly, although his eyes were twinkling. +“I am sure that Starkington and Hall are speaking about—or +at least are speaking—different languages.”</p> + +<p>“I thought I was speaking, not about language, but +about a toast,” Starkington corrected mildly. He lifted +his glass. “If there are no more interruptions....”</p> + +<p>But there was one more.</p> + +<p>“In my opinion,” Grunya said archly, her eyes reflecting +her enjoyment of the repartee, “the important point +is that each be true to his own definition.”</p> + +<p>“I agree!” Lucoville cried.</p> + +<p>“And I,” added Hanover.</p> + +<p>“I....” Starkington, who had set down his glass, +raised it once more. “I ... am thirsty.” With no further +ado he drank. With a laugh, the others joined him.</p> + +<p>As they strolled homeward in the balmy night air beneath +the giant hibiscus that lined their way, Hall took +Grunya’s hand in his and felt her fingers tighten.</p> + +<p>“How could they have known where Father has been?” +she inquired worriedly. “Certainly these islands are too +large and too numerous for them to have accidentally +stumbled upon his trail.”</p> + +<p>“They are very clever men,” Hall replied thoughtfully. +“But your father is also clever. I do not think you need +worry.”</p> + +<p>They swung into the large entrance to the hotel. Beyond,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> +in the bougainvillea-covered courtyard, a <em>luau</em> was +being held and the soft music of guitars could be heard. +At their entrance the receptionist moved away from the +door where he had been watching the festivities and came +forwards. With their keys, Hall received a sealed note; +he tore it open and read it as Grunya waited.</p> + +<div class="blockquot ti"> + +<p>“Dear Hall: My haven is ready at last; my haven and my +trap. It has taken time but it has been worth it. Go to +your rooms and then descend the rear staircase. Chan will +be waiting behind the hotel. Your luggage can be picked +up later, although where we shall be staying we shall require +few of the symbols of so-called civilization.”</p> +</div> + +<p>There was a strange postscript, underlined for emphasis:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“<em>It is vital that your time-piece be exact when you meet me.</em>”</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall thanked the clerk politely and carelessly thrust the +note into his pocket. A slight shake of his head discouraged +Grunya from asking questions until they were on +the upper floor away from prying eyes.</p> + +<p>“What can Father mean by a haven and a trap?” +Grunya asked anxiously. “Or by his request that your +time-piece be exact when we meet?”</p> + +<p>But Hall could offer no suggestion. They swiftly +packed their suitcases and left them within the confines +of their rooms. A telephone call to the island observatory +confirmed the accuracy of Hall’s pocket-watch, and +moments later they had descended the rear staircase and +were peering through the darkness of the moonless night.</p> + +<p>A deeper shadow delineated the car. They slid into +the rear seat while Chan put the automobile into motion. +Without lights they crept through the obscure alley until +they came upon a cross-street. Chan flicked on the head-lamps +and swung into the deserted avenue. A mile or so +from the beach he turned again, this time into a wide +highway, maintaining his speed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span></p> + +<p>Until now Hall had remained silent. Now he leaned +forwards, speaking quietly into the chauffeur’s ear.</p> + +<p>“Where are we to meet Mr. Constantine?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The Chinese shrugged. “My instructions are to take +you beyond Nuuanu Pali pass,” he said in his clipped but +accurate English. “There we will be met. Beyond this +I can tell you nothing.”</p> + +<p>Hall leaned back; Grunya clasped his hand, her eyes +sparkling at the thought of seeing her father once again. +The car rode smoothly along the deserted road, its head-lamps +cutting a wedge in the hazy darkness. Higher and +higher they mounted into the hills as the lights of the city +grew smaller in the distance below and then finally disappeared. +A sharpness sprang into the air. Without +warning Chan increased the speed of the car and they +were flung back against the seats, the wind rushing against +their faces.</p> + +<p>“What...?” Hall began.</p> + +<p>“The car behind,” Chan explained calmly. “It has +been following us since we left. Now is the time to increase +our lead, I believe.”</p> + +<p>Hall swung about. Below them, twisting and turning +on the winding road, twin head-lamps marked the passage +of a vehicle behind. There was sudden bumping as their +car left the macadam; a swirl of dust blocked his vision.</p> + +<p>“They will have marked our turn-off!” Hall cried.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Chan replied smoothly. “My instructions +are not to lose them.”</p> + +<p>He handled the automobile expertly along the winding +dirt road. Dust swirled about them; Hall wished they +had put the side-curtains in place. They had passed the +ridge of the pass and were now descending. As their +vehicle made sharp turns Hall could look back and note, +higher on the mountain, the twin shafts of light that +marked their pursuers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span></p> + +<p>Without warning Chan applied the brake; both Grunya +and Hall were flung forwards. The car came to a stop; +the door was thrown wide and a small figure sprang inside. +Immediately they were in motion once again, accelerating +through the darkness.</p> + +<p>“Who...?”</p> + +<p>There was a low chuckle.</p> + +<p>“Whom did you expect?” Dragomiloff inquired. He +leaned over and flicked on a small lamp set in the back +seat of the swaying car. Grunya gasped at his appearance. +Dragomiloff was wearing a jersey and trousers, +both once white, but now tattered and marked by the +brush. On his feet were a pair of stained tennis-shoes. +He kissed his daughter fondly and clasped Hall’s outstretched +hand. Then, switching off the lamp, he leaned +back smiling in the darkness.</p> + +<p>“How do you like my costume?” he asked. “Away +from the large cities there is no need for formal clothing. +Once we are settled, we may even assume the native <em>molo</em>. +Hall and I, that is. Grunya, you shall have your choice +of a <em>muumuu</em> or a <em>pa-u</em>, as you wish.”</p> + +<p>“Father,” Grunya exclaimed. “You should see yourself! +You look like a beachcomber! Where is that dear +old solemn Uncle Sergius that I used to tickle and fling +pillows at?”</p> + +<p>“He is dead, my dear,” replied Dragomiloff with a twinkle. +“Your Mr. Hall killed him with a few quiet thrusts +of logic. The second deadliest weapon that I have ever +encountered.”</p> + +<p>“And the deadliest?” Hall inquired.</p> + +<p>“You shall see.” Dragomiloff turned to his daughter. +“Grunya, my dear, you had best sleep. Explanations can +wait. We still have several hours until we reach our destination.”</p> + +<p>Their car continued down the winding road, leading<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span> +now towards the eastern shore of the island. The clouds +had swept away; to the east the first faint strands of dawn +began to appear. Hall leaned towards Dragomiloff.</p> + +<p>“You know that we are being followed?”</p> + +<p>“Of course. We shall allow them to keep us in sight +until we pass the village of Haikuloa. From then on +there are no more turn-offs and they cannot mistake our +destination. After Haikuloa we can go our way.”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand this.” Hall stared at the small +man in frowning contemplation. “Are you the hare or +the hound in this weird chase?”</p> + +<p>“I am both. Throughout life, every man is both. The +chase is constant; only a man’s control of the elements +of the chase determines whether he be hare or hound.”</p> + +<p>“And you feel that you control these elements?”</p> + +<p>“Completely.”</p> + +<p>“And yet, you know,” Hall said, “they knew you were +in Nanakuli and Waianae.”</p> + +<p>“I wished them to. I planted the evidence that led +them there. I laid a trail to the west so they would follow +when you and Grunya headed east.”</p> + +<p>He laughed at the expression on Hall’s face.</p> + +<p>“Logic comes in many degrees, my friend. If I hold +a stone in one hand and you guess that hand correctly, +the following time I may switch hands. Or I may retain +it in the same hand, calculating you might think I would +switch. Or I might switch hands on the basis that you +would expect me to reason as I did. Or....”</p> + +<p>“I know,” Hall acknowledged. “It is an old theory +of the scales of intelligence. But I fail to see how it applies +here.”</p> + +<p>“I shall explain. First, as to how I marked my passage +west to Starkington’s satisfaction. I simply ordered +books in Russian from the largest bookstore in Honolulu +with instructions to deliver them to me at certain small<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> +villages along the western coast. Starkington and the +others know I would not forego my studies under any circumstances. +Had I left a less subtle trail he might not +have been taken in, but I knew he would consider this an +unconscious gesture on my part.”</p> + +<p>“But he claimed you had actually visited those places!”</p> + +<p>“And I did. There is little bait in an empty hook. +However, once he felt he had marked me traveling west, +I was ready to lead him east. You and Grunya did this +excellently; I am sure that you sneaked down the rear +steps of the hotel quite dramatically. And I am equally +sure that Starkington watched you do so.”</p> + +<p>Hall stared at the smaller man.</p> + +<p>“You are amazing!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you.” There was no false modesty in the +tone. Dragomiloff lapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>The car had passed Haikuloa, and Chan was now intent +upon losing those in the following car. The car +raced along the narrow dirt road. Suddenly the ocean +was just below them, spreading out to the horizon and +the rising sun. With a swerve Chan swung off into the +brush, drove for several hundred yards, and braked. The +silence of the early morning surrounded them.</p> + +<p>“One other thing ...” Hall began.</p> + +<p>“Hush! They will be passing soon!”</p> + +<p>They waited in silence. Moments later the roar of a +heavy car came to their ears. It passed their hiding place +with a rush and disappeared on the road leading below. +Dragomiloff descended from the car with Hall and led +the way to the edge of the cliff upon which they had +stopped. Below them a line of thatched huts marked a +beach village. Dragomiloff pointed into the distance.</p> + +<p>“There. Do you see it? That small island off shore? +That is our haven.”</p> + +<p>Hall stared across the narrow expanse of water that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> +separated the island from the shore. The island was +quite small, less than a mile in length and something less +than half as much in width. Palm trees ringed the white +sand beach; on a small hummock in the center lay a large +thatched cottage. No sign of life could be discerned.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff’s finger shifted.</p> + +<p>“That stretch of water between here and the island is +called the <em>Huhu Kai</em>—the angry sea.”</p> + +<p>“I have never seen water as calm,” Hall stated. “The +name appears to be some sort of joke.”</p> + +<p>“Do not think so. The floor of the ocean between the +shore and the island has a very strange configuration.” +He broke off this line of thought. “You remembered to +check the accuracy of your watch?”</p> + +<p>“I did. But why....”</p> + +<p>“Good! What hour do you have now?”</p> + +<p>Hall checked his watch.</p> + +<p>“Six forty-three.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff made a rapid calculation.</p> + +<p>“There is about one hour yet. Well, we can relax for +a bit.”</p> + +<p>But he did not seem to be able to relax. He paced +back and forth restlessly, and finally came to stand beside +Hall, peering down at the small thatched village beneath +them.</p> + +<p>“It will take them some time to descend by car; the +road is winding and often dangerous.” And then, apropos +of nothing in their previous conversation, he murmured, +“Righteousness. Morality and righteousness. +It is all that we have, but it is enough. Do you know, +Hall, that the motto of these islands is <em>Ua mau ke ea o ka +aina i ka pono</em>? It means: ‘The life of the land is preserved +in righteousness.’”</p> + +<p>“You’ve been here before?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; many times. S. Constantine & Co. have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> +been importing from Hawaii for many years. I had +hoped....” He did not finish the thought but turned to +Hall almost fiercely. He seemed to be in the grip of some +sudden excitement.</p> + +<p>“What is the hour?”</p> + +<p>“Seven-oh-three.”</p> + +<p>“We must start. We shall leave Grunya here with +Chan; it is best. Leave your jacket, it will be warm. +Come; we go by foot.”</p> + +<p>Hall turned for one last glance at the sleeping girl +curled in a corner of the car. Chan was sitting imperturbably +in the front seat, his eyes staring straight ahead. +With a sigh the tall young man wheeled and followed +Dragomiloff through a narrow passage in the trees.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XVIII"><i>Chapter XVIII</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>They came silently through the tall grass to the edge +of the palm fringe that bordered the white sand. The +water beyond was smooth as silk, the tiny wavelets breaking +on the shore in little ripples. In the clear air of +morning the tiny island stood sharp and white against +the green background of the sea. The sun, now well +above the horizon, hung like an orange ball in the east.</p> + +<p>Hall was panting from the exertion of their descent; +Dragomiloff showed no signs of effort. He swung about +to his companion, his eyes bright with anticipation.</p> + +<p>“The time!” he demanded.</p> + +<p>Hall stared at him, breathing deeply.</p> + +<p>“Why this constant attention to the hour?”</p> + +<p>“The time!” There was urgency in the smaller man’s +tone. Hall shrugged.</p> + +<p>“Seven-thirty-two.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff nodded in satisfaction and peered down +the beach. The row of thatched huts was spread out +below them. On the sand a line of hollowed-out canoes +was drawn up. The tide was rising, tugging at the canoes. +Even as they watched, a native emerged from one +of the huts, dragged the outermost canoes higher onto the +sand, and disappeared once again into the shadowed +doorway.</p> + +<p>The car used by their pursuers was stationed before +the largest of the huts, its wheels half-buried in the sand.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> +There was no one in sight. Dragomiloff studied the scene +with narrowed eyes, a calculating frown upon his face.</p> + +<p>“The time!”</p> + +<p>“Seven-thirty-four.”</p> + +<p>The smaller man nodded.</p> + +<p>“We must leave in exactly three minutes. When I +start to run across the sand, you will follow. We shall +launch that small canoe lying closest to us. I will enter +and you will push us off. We will paddle for the island.” +He paused in thought. “I had planned on their being in +sight, but no matter. We shall have to make some sort +of outcry....”</p> + +<p>“Outcry?” Hall stared at his companion. “You wish +to be caught?”</p> + +<p>“I wish to be followed. Wait—all is well.”</p> + +<p>Starkington had appeared from the large hut, followed +by Hanover and Lucoville. They stood scuffing their +feet in the sand, speaking with a native who stood tall +and majestic in the open doorway of the hut.</p> + +<p>“Excellent!” Dragomiloff’s eyes were glued upon the +trio. “The time?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly seven-thirty-seven.”</p> + +<p>“The hour! Now!”</p> + +<p>He dashed from their refuge, his feet light on the brilliant +sand. Hall, running hastily behind, almost tripped +but recovered himself in time. Dragomiloff had the small +canoe in the water; without hesitation he sprang inside. +With a heave Hall set them free and swung aboard, his +trouser legs dripping from their immersion. Dragomiloff +had already grasped a paddle and was sending them shooting +across the calm water. Hall lifted a paddle from the +bottom of the boat and joined the smaller man in propelling +their slight craft across the smooth sea.</p> + +<p>There was a loud shout from the trio on shore. They +came hurrying to the edge of the water. A moment later<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> +they had clambered aboard a larger canoe and were bent +to the paddles. The native ran after them, calling something +in a loud voice, waving his hands frantically and +pointing seawards, but they paid him no heed. Dragomiloff +and Hall increased their efforts; their light canoe +momentarily widened the gap.</p> + +<p>“This is insane!” Hall gasped, the sweat pouring down +his face. “They are three! They will be on us long before +we reach the island! And even then that barren +rock is no refuge!”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff offered no refutation. His strong back +bent and straightened as he lifted and lowered his paddle +steadily. Behind them the larger canoe was beginning +to gain ground; the distance between the two shallow +boats was lessening.</p> + +<p>Then, suddenly, Dragomiloff ceased paddling and +smiled grimly.</p> + +<p>“The hour,” he asked quietly. “What is the hour?”</p> + +<p>Hall paid no attention. His paddle was digging fiercely +into the smooth sea.</p> + +<p>“The hour,” Dragomiloff insisted calmly.</p> + +<p>With a muffled curse Hall threw down his paddle.</p> + +<p>“Then let them have you!” he cried in exasperation. +He dug into his pocket. “You and your ‘what is the +hour’! It is seven-forty-one!”</p> + +<p>And at that moment there was a slight tremor that ran +through their canoe. It was as if some giant hand had +nudged it gently. Hall looked up in surprise; the tremor +was repeated. Dragomiloff was leaning forwards intently, +his hands loose in his lap, staring in the direction +of the mainland. Hall swung about and viewed with +amazement the sight behind him.</p> + +<p>The canoe in pursuit had ceased to make headway. +Despite the power of the paddle-strokes of its occupants +it remained fixed, as if painted upon the broad ocean.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> +Then, slowly, it began to swing away in a wide circle, a +light wake behind it. The trio in the canoe dug more +desperately with their paddles, but to no avail. Hall +stared. Dragomiloff sat relaxed, viewing the sight with +graven face.</p> + +<p>On all sides of the restricted arena upon which this +drama was being played, the sea remained calm. But +in the center, less than four hundred yards from where +they lay rocking gently on the bosom of the ocean, the +great forces of nature were at work. Slowly the shining +waters increased their colossal sweep; the ripples on the +surface took on a circular shape. The large canoe rode +the current evenly, hugging the rim of the circle tightly; +the Lilliputian efforts of the paddlers were lost against +that vast array of strength.</p> + +<p>The motion of the sea increased. It circled with ever-increasing +velocity. Before Hall’s horrified eyes the +smooth surface began slowly to dip towards the center, +to begin the formation of a gigantic flat cone with smooth, +shining sides. The canoe coasted free along the green +walls, tilted but locked in place by the giant centrifugal +force. The occupants had ceased paddling; their hands +were fastened to the sides of the vessel while they watched +their certain death approach. One paddle suddenly +slipped from the canoe; it accompanied their dizzying +path, lying flat and rigid upon the firm waters at their +side.</p> + +<p>Hall turned to Dragomiloff in wrath.</p> + +<p>“You are a devil!” he cried.</p> + +<p>But the other merely continued to watch the frightful +scene with no expression at all upon his face.</p> + +<p>“The tide,” he murmured, as if to himself. “It is the +tide. What force can compare with the power of nature!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span></p> + +<p>Hall swung back to the dreadful sight, his jaws +clenched.</p> + +<p>Deeper and deeper the cone pitched, faster and faster +the glassy walls rushed around, the canoe held fixedly +against the glistening slope. Hall’s eyes raised momentarily +to the cliff above the village. The sun, reflected +from some heliographic point, located some part of their +automobile. For one brief instant he wondered if +Grunya were watching; then his eyes were drawn back +to the sight before him.</p> + +<p>The faces of the three were clearly visible. No fear +appeared, nor did they cry out. They seemed to be discussing +something in an animated fashion; probably, Hall +thought with wonder, the mysteries of the death they +would so soon encounter, or the beauty of the trap into +which they had fallen.</p> + +<p>The vortex deepened. A sound seemed to come from +the depths of the racing cone, a tortured sound, the sound +of rushing water. The canoe was spinning at an incredible +rate. Then it suddenly seemed to slip lower on the +burnished slope, to be seeking the oblivion of the depths +of its own will. Hall cried out unconsciously. But the +slim vessel held, lower in the pit of speeding water, whirling +madly. Swifter and swifter it fled along the green +shining walls. Hall felt his sight sucked into the abyss +before him; his hands were white on the sides of their +rocking canoe.</p> + +<p>Starkington raised a hand in a brave salute; his head +lifted with a smile in their direction. Instantly he was +thrown from the canoe. His body raced alongside the +small craft, spread-eagled upon the hard water. Then, +before Hall’s eyes, it slid into the center of the vortex and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>Hall swung about, facing Dragomiloff.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span></p> + +<p>“You are a devil!” he whispered.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff paid no attention. His eyes were fixed +pensively upon the maelstrom. Hall turned back, unable +to keep his eyes from the gruesome sight before them.</p> + +<p>The large canoe had slipped lower along the sides of +the whirling death. Lucoville’s mouth was open; he appeared +to be shouting some triumphant greeting to the +fate that was reaching out with damp fingers to gather +them in. Hanover sat calmly.</p> + +<p>The boat slid the last few feet; the bow touched the +vortex. With a shriek of rending wood the canoe twisted +in the air and then disappeared, sucked into the oily maw, +crushed by the enormous forces pressing in upon it. Its +two occupants were still seated bravely within; they +seemed to swirl into the air and then were swallowed by +the voracious sea.</p> + +<p>The growling of the rushing ocean began to abate, as +if sated by this sacrifice of flesh given it. Slowly the +huge cone flattened; the vortex rose evenly as the sides +assumed horizontal shape. A low wave traveled from +the calming waters, rocking their canoe gently, reminding +them of their salvation. Hall shuddered.</p> + +<p>Behind him there was a stirring.</p> + +<p>“We had best return now.” Dragomiloff’s tone was +even.</p> + +<p>Hall stared at his companion with loathing.</p> + +<p>“You killed them! As surely as if you had struck +them down with a knife or a gun!”</p> + +<p>“Killed them? Yes. You wished them killed, did +you not? You wanted the Assassination Bureau wiped +out.”</p> + +<p>“I wanted them disbanded! I wanted them to cease +their activities!”</p> + +<p>“One cannot disband ideas. Convictions.” His voice +was cold. His eyes roamed the empty sea where the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> +large canoe had been sucked into eternity. Sadness entered +his tone. “They were my friends.”</p> + +<p>“Friends!”</p> + +<p>“Yes.” Dragomiloff picked up his paddle and set it +in the water. “We had best return now.”</p> + +<p>Hall sighed and dipped his paddle into the sea. The +canoe moved sluggishly and then gained speed. They +passed over the spot where Starkington and the others +had met death. Dragomiloff paused for one brief moment, +as if in salute to the lost members of the Bureau.</p> + +<p>“We shall have to cable Haas,” he remarked slowly, +and resumed the even rhythm of his paddling.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_XIX"><i>Chapter XIX</i></h2> +</div> + +<p>Haas, in San Francisco, waited impatiently for word +from the three who had sailed in pursuit of the ex-Chief +of the Assassination Bureau. The days passed swiftly, +each day bringing closer the end of the compact. Then, +at long last, a letter arrived via the mail packet.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +“Dear Haas: +</p> + +<p class="ti">“I can see you pacing your room, muttering to yourself +in Greek and Hebrew, wondering if we have fallen victim to +the lazy charm of this beautiful island. Or if we have fallen +victim to D. You can relax; we have done neither.</p> + +<p class="ti">“But the task has not been easy. D. laid a very neat +trail to the west; we are convinced his true flight will be to +the east. We are watching his daughter and Hall carefully. +The first move they make in this direction will place us on +the scent.</p> + +<p class="ti">“We realize that time is running out, but do not fear. The +Bureau has never failed and will not fail now. You can +expect a coded cable any day.</p> + +<p class="ti">“By the way, some incidental intelligence: D. has also +used the name Constantine in his travels. We discovered +this when we located him aboard the <i>Eastern Clipper</i>. Yes, +he escaped. When we get together, after this is all over, we +will tell you the whole story.</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Starkington. +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="hang">“P.S. Lucoville has fallen in love with <em>poi</em>, an unpalatable +mess made from taro root. We shall have even +greater trouble with him and his diet once we return.”</p> +</div></div> + +<p class="in0">Haas laid down the letter with a frown. The mail<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> +packet had sailed from Honolulu nine days earlier; certainly +there should have been a cable from Starkington +by this time. The trio had been in Hawaii nearly a +month; less than six weeks remained to complete the assignment. +He picked up the letter again, studying it +carefully.</p> + +<p>Constantine, eh? It rang some faint bell. There was +a large export and import firm with that name. They +had offices in New York, he knew; possibly they also had +offices in Honolulu. He sat in the quiet of the room, +the letter dangling from his fingers, while his tremendous +brain calculated all of the possibilities.</p> + +<p>In sudden resolve he arose. If there were no cable +within the next two days he would catch the first steamer +to the islands. And in the meantime he would prepare +himself, for there would be precious little time once he +arrived there. Folding the letter, he slipped it into his +pocket and left the room.</p> + +<p>His first stop was at the public library. A willing librarian +furnished him with a large map of the Hawaiian +Islands, and he spread it out upon a table and hunched +over it, studying the details of Oahu with care. The trail +had been to the west; his finger traced a spidery line that +ran along the coast from Honolulu through Nanakuli and +Waianae to a small finger of land marked Kaena Point. +He nodded. That had been the false trail; Starkington +would make no mistake on that score.</p> + +<p>The roads to the east were more complex. Some ran +over Nuuanu Pali pass and ended in the bush, or meandered +down to unnamed beaches. Another thin line +marked a road running up and back of Diamond Head, +and then coming to the coast at a curved spit marked +Mokapu Point. He pushed aside the map and leaned +back, thinking.</p> + +<p>He tried to put himself in Dragomiloff’s place. Why<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span> +remain on Oahu? Why not leave for one of the many +islands like Niihau or Kauai that spread out to the west; +some deserted, some so sparsely inhabited as to make discovery +virtually impossible in the little time left to the +Bureau? Why remain on the one island that offered the +greatest possibility for discovery?</p> + +<p>Only, of course, if discovery were desired. He sat up, +his brain racing. And why would discovery be desired? +Only for a trap! His eye flashed once again to the map +before him, but it told him nothing. He knew too little +of the terrain. He leaned back once more, employing +his giant intelligence.</p> + +<p>A trap to catch three people with certainty was difficult. +An accident? Too uncertain; one might always remain +alive. An ambush? Almost impossible against three +trained men such as Starkington, Hanover, and Lucoville. +If he were Dragomiloff, faced with the problem, in what +manner would he attempt to resolve it?</p> + +<p>Not on land. There was always cover available; the +conditions were never certain. For one man, yes; but +never three. If he were Dragomiloff he would set his +trap on the sea, where escape and cover were unavailable. +He bent over the large map once again, his heart beating +faster.</p> + +<p>The eastern coast wound about tenuously, marked by +little coves and scattered offshore islands. An island? +Possibly. But again there would be the problem of possible +cover, although escape would be more difficult. +No; it would be the sea. But how do you trap three men +on the barren sea? Three men of extraordinary intelligence, +each highly trained in assassination, and also in +self-protection?</p> + +<p>He sighed and folded the map. Further investigation +was necessary. He returned the chart to the librarian, +thanking her, and left the cool building. One additional<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span> +possibility occurred to him and he turned his steps in the +direction of the Court House.</p> + +<p>The clerk of land records nodded pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said. “We do have copies of land transactions +in Hawaii. That is, if they are more than six +months old. It takes that long to have them registered +and filed here.” He peered at the thin, intense man +facing him. “What would the purchaser’s name be, +please?”</p> + +<p>“Constantine,” Haas replied. “S. Constantine & Co.”</p> + +<p>“The importers? If you will wait one moment....”</p> + +<p>Haas stared through the dusty window facing the Bay +and the constant passage of small and large ships in the +distance, but he saw none of this. In his mind’s eye he +saw a beach, and a boat—no, two boats—bobbing on +the ocean off the shore. In one boat Dragomiloff sat +quietly, while the other contained Starkington and the +others. They remained there, fixed upon his mind, while +he searched the scene for some indication of the trap, +some means to explain why Dragomiloff was luring them +there.</p> + +<p>The clerk returned.</p> + +<p>“Here we are, sir. S. Constantine & Co. purchased an +office block on King Street in 1906. Five years ago. +The details are all here, if you would care to examine +them.”</p> + +<p>Haas shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No. I am speaking about another land purchase. +More recent. On the eastern coast....” He hesitated, +and suddenly the picture became clear. Suddenly he was +sure. Dragomiloff had been planning this coup since +the very first day. He straightened, speaking more positively. +“The land was bought between ten and eleven +months ago.”</p> + +<p>The clerk disappeared into his files once again. This<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> +time when he returned Haas could not repress a small +smile of triumph, for again the clerk was carrying a +folder.</p> + +<p>“I think this is what you are looking for, sir. But the +purchase was not effected by the company. It was made +in the name of Sergius Constantine, and comprises a small +island off the eastern coast of Oahu.”</p> + +<p>Haas read the details swiftly. His magnificent memory, +recalling the chart of the coastline with perfect clarity, +instantly located the small island. Thanking the +clerk, he left, his footsteps faster, his mind flying as he +reviewed the many possibilities.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt that it was a trap, planned +for months, and now in the process of execution. The +victims had not been known; fate had selected them. He +must send a cable at once; Starkington would need to be +warned.</p> + +<p>He turned into his hotel, forming the words for the +telegram in his mind, picturing his code-book lying in his +suitcase hidden beneath his shirts. With his key he was +handed a small envelope. He slit it open as he walked +towards the stairway, and then stopped short. The message +was brief and conclusive:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Haas: Regret to inform you that Starkington, Hanover, and +Lucoville died as the result of an unfortunate boating accident. +Knew you would want to know. Hall.”</p> +</div> + +<p>For a moment he remained, his fingers grasping the +cable tightly as his mind encompassed the disaster. Too +late! No time now for warnings; little time for anything. +He must take the first boat. The first boat was—the +<i>Amberly</i>, sailing at dusk. He would need to go to their +offices to arrange passage; they were just a few blocks +away.</p> + +<p>He rushed to the door and into the street, jostling people +as he forced his way through the noon-day crowd.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span> +Poor Starkington, he had always liked him so much! +Hanover, gentle and scholarly, always so excited at the +thought of wrong-doing in this naughty world! And +Lucoville; he would never again grouse over his food!</p> + +<p>The shipping offices were there across the street. +Without looking he sprang into the pavement, never noting +the huge brewery wagon bearing down upon him. +There was a scream from someone along the sidewalk; a +startled curse from the driver pulling madly and vainly +on the reins. The twin span of grays, frightened by the +apparition of the small figure before them, and frenzied +by the violent tug of the bit, lashed out wildly. Haas +fell beneath the flailing hooves, his last thoughts a recognition +of unbearable pain, and the wonder that he should +die so far from the palm-fringed beach and the end of +his quest.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> + +<p>By mutual consent it was agreed to pass the final days +of the fateful year upon the island. Here Dragomiloff, +Grunya, and Hall lived in simple fashion, doing their own +cooking, drawing their own water, finding their food in +the sea as the natives before them had done for years. +Surprisingly, they found it pleasant, a relaxing change +from the flurry of their lives upon the mainland. But +each knew it to be an escape from their problems, and +one which could last but a short time.</p> + +<p>To his own amazement, Hall found his liking for +Dragomiloff returning daily, despite the frightful recollection +of Starkington’s death. The memory was fading; it +slid further into the recesses of his mind until it appeared +as a remembered scene from a book long since read, or +a panel of a mural viewed in some obscure gallery long +forgotten.</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff never shirked his share of the chores, nor +did he attempt by reason of his position or his age to direct<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span> +or command. He was always ready with a helping +hand at the fishing and the cooking, and the evenness of +his temper often led Hall to wonder if the dreadful scene +of the whirlpool had actually existed. Yet daily, as the +calendar flew, the small man kept more and more to himself. +He sat at meals silent and increasingly thoughtful; +the tasks he selected were now those suitable to one person. +And daily he spent more and more time along the +beach, staring across the empty expanse of the sea towards +the mainland, as if waiting.</p> + +<p>It was in the late afternoon of the penultimate day that +he approached Hall, who was crouching in the surf sifting +the shallows for the succulent crabs that hid there. His +face was taut, although his voice remained even.</p> + +<p>“Hall, you are certain that you cabled to Haas?”</p> + +<p>Hall looked up, surprised.</p> + +<p>“Of course. Why do you ask?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot imagine why he has not come.”</p> + +<p>“Possibly some circumstance beyond his control.” +Hall stared at his companion. “You know, he is the last +of the Assassination Bureau.”</p> + +<p>Dragomiloff’s face was expressionless as he contemplated +the brown face of the crouching man.</p> + +<p>“Except for me, of course,” he stated quietly, and +turned in the direction of the hut.</p> + +<p>Hall’s eyes followed Dragomiloff’s figure for a moment +and then, with a shrug, he returned to his crabbing. +When the small wicker basket was sufficiently full to insure +a good evening meal he straightened up, rubbing +the cramped muscles of his back. We are all on edge, +but there is but one last day, he thought with satisfaction, +and then frowned. There was no doubt but that he +would miss the island.</p> + +<p>The sun was sinking into the green hills of the mainland +as he came back to the hut. He placed the basket<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span> +of squirming crabs in the small kitchen and padded +through into the living room. Grunya was bent in deep +conversation with her father; they both stopped short as +soon as he entered. It was evident they did not wish to +be disturbed. Feeling a bit hurt, Hall left the scene +abruptly and walked down to the beach. Secrets? he +thought a bit bitterly as he tramped the damp sand. Secrets +at this late stage?</p> + +<p>It was dark when he returned. Dragomiloff was in +his room, bent over his writing table, his lamp casting the +shadow of his profile sharply against the thatched wall. +Grunya was sitting by a small lamp weaving a small mat +from palm-fronds. Hall dropped into a chair opposite +her and watched the play of her strong hands silently for +a few moments. Her usual smile at sight of him was +missing.</p> + +<p>“Grunya.”</p> + +<p>She looked up inquiringly, her face set.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Winter?”</p> + +<p>“Grunya.” He kept his voice low. “We are at the +end of our days here. Soon we shall return to civilization.” +He hesitated, somewhat frightened by the solemnity +of her face. “Will you—still wish to marry me?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.” Her eyes dropped once again to the work +in her lap; her fingers picked up their chore. “I want +nothing more than to marry you.”</p> + +<p>“And your father?”</p> + +<p>She looked up, no muscle of her face moving. Not +for the first time Hall noted the sharp resemblance to the +blond man in the strong, fine lines of her face.</p> + +<p>“What about my father?”</p> + +<p>“What will he do? The Assassination Bureau will be +no more. It was a large part of his life.”</p> + +<p>“It was all of his life.” Then her eyes came up, unfathomable. +They slid over Hall’s shoulder and stopped.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span> +Hall swung about. Dragomiloff had come into the room +and was standing quietly. Grunya’s eyes came back to +Hall. She attempted a smile.</p> + +<p>“Winter, we ... we need water. Would you...?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>He rose, took the bucket, and walked in the direction +of the small spring at the northern end of the island. The +moon had risen, large and white, and lit his path with +dancing shadows from the stirring flowers along the way. +His heart was heavy; Grunya’s strange sternness—almost +coldness—weighed upon him. But then a lighter +thought came. Each of us, he thought, has been subject +to strain these past few days. Lord knows how I +must have appeared to her! Just a few more days and +they would find themselves aboard ship, and the captain +could marry them. Man and wife! He filled the bucket +and started back, whistling softly to himself.</p> + +<p>The water butt was in the kitchen. He up-ended the +bucket and poured; water overflowed, washing against his +bare feet. The butt had been full. In sudden fear he +threw the bucket down and dashed for the living room. +Grunya was still working silently, but her cheeks were +wet with tears. A sheaf of papers lay upon the table +before her, curled and heavy under the lamp.</p> + +<p>“Grunya, my dear! What....”</p> + +<p>She attempted to continue her work but the tears +streamed faster and faster until she flung the weaving +from her and fell into his waiting arms.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Winter...!”</p> + +<p>“What is it? What is it, my darling?” Sudden suspicion +came to him and he turned in the direction of +Dragomiloff’s room. The room was dark, but the moonlight, +streaming in at the open window, fell across the +empty bed. He sprang for the door, but Grunya clutched +his arm.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span></p> + +<p>“No! You must not! Read this!”</p> + +<p>He paused irresolutely, but the pressure of her hand +upon his arm was demanding. Her eyes, raised to his, +were filled with tears, but they were filled, also, with determination. +Slowly he relaxed and reached for the +sheaf of papers. Grunya watched his face as he read, +her eyes roving from the broad forehead to the stern jaw, +noting the marks of the man who would be her only refuge +forever.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +“Dear Children: +</p> + +<p class="ti">“I can wait no longer. Haas has not come and my hours +are running out.</p> + +<p class="ti">“You must try and understand me and—as Hall would +call it—my madness. I speak now of the action I must take. +As head of the Assassination Bureau I accepted a commission; +this commission will be fulfilled. The Bureau has never failed +and it will not fail now. To do so would negate everything +it has ever stood for. I am sure that only death could have +prevented Haas from accomplishing his mission, but in our organization +the duty always passes to another. As the last +member, I must accept it.</p> + +<p class="ti">“But I do not accept it with sadness. The Bureau was my +life, and as it vanishes, so must Ivan Dragomiloff vanish. Nor +am I accepting it with shame; pride marks the step I shall +take this night. Possibly we were wrong—at one time you, +Hall, convinced me that we were. But we were never wrong +for the wrong reasons—even in our wrongness there was a +rightness.</p> + +<p class="ti">“That we killed, and that many times, we do not deny. +But the terrible thing in killing is not the quantity of victims, +but the quality. The death of one Socrates is a far greater +crime against humanity than the slaughter of endless hordes +of the savages that Genghis Khan led on the brutal rape of +Asia; but who truly believes it? The public—were they to +know—would scream imprecation down at our Bureau, even +as, with the same breath, they glorified to the heavens all +forms of thoughtless and needless slaying.</p> + +<p class="ti">“You doubt me? Walk through the parks of our great +cities, and our squares, and our plazas. What monuments<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> +do you find to Aristotle? Or to Paine? Or Spinoza? No; +these spaces are reserved for the demigods, sword in hand, +who led us in all our slaughtering crusades since we raised +ourselves from the apes. The late war with Spain will doubtless +fill the few remaining spots, both here and in Spain, with +horsed heroes, arms raised in bloody salute, commemorating +in deathless bronze the victory of violence in the battle for +men’s minds.</p> + +<p class="ti">“Yet I allowed myself to be convinced that we were wrong. +Why? Because in essence we <em>were</em> wrong. The world must +come to recognize the joint responsibility for justice; it can +no longer remain the aim of a select—and self-selected—few. +Even now, the rumblings that come from Europe foreshadow +a greater catastrophe than mankind has yet endured, +but the salvation must come from a larger morality than even +we could offer. It must come from the growing moral fibre +of the world itself.</p> + +<p class="ti">“Yet, one doubt; one question. If that moral fibre be not +forthcoming? Then, in some distant age, the Assassination +Bureau may well be re-born. For of the deaths that can be +laid at our doors, the following may be said: No man died +who did not deserve it. No man died whose death did not +benefit mankind. It is doubtful if the same will be said of +those whose statues rise from the squares after the next ‘final’ +war is fought.</p> + +<p class="ti">“But time runs out. I ask you, Hall, to guard Grunya. +She is the life I bequeath to this earth, the proof that no man, +right or wrong, can pass without leaving his mark.</p> + +<p class="ti">“One last kiss to my Grunya. One final handclasp to you, +my friend.</p> + +<p class="right"> +“D.” +</p> +</div> + +<p>Hall lifted his eyes from the papers between his fingers; +they sought the beautiful face of his loved one.</p> + +<p>“You did not attempt to stop him?”</p> + +<p>“No.” Her gaze was steady and brave. “All my life +he has done everything for me. My slightest wish was +granted.” Her eyes misted; her mouth quivered with an +effort for control. “I love him so much! I had no other +means of repaying him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span></p> + +<p>Hall gathered her in his arms, wonder at her great +strength flooding him. Suddenly the strain was too +much; she burst into violent tears, clutching his arms with +all her force.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Winter, was I wrong? Was I wrong? Should +I have begged him for his life?”</p> + +<p>He held her tightly, soothingly. Through the open +doorway his eyes sought the smooth sea reflected brightly +in the brilliant moonlight. A shadow crossed his vision, +a slight figure in the distance, bent easily over a paddle, +moving quietly to the center of the channel to await the +<em>Huhu Kai</em>. He did not know whether he saw it or imagined +it, but suddenly one arm seemed to rise from the +dwindling canoe in a happy salute.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said fiercely, holding her tighter. “No, my +darling. You were not wrong.”</p> + +<p class="p2 center wspace smaller">THE END</p> + +<p class="p4 in0">[<em>Jack London stops and Mr. Fish begins on page 122</em>]</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="JACK_LONDONS_NOTES_FOR">JACK LONDON’S NOTES FOR +THE COMPLETION OF THE BOOK</h2> +</div> + +<p>You “sped the blow” before the truce up. Drago finds +this out.</p> + +<p>Alarm of Breen when he sees the point. “But I can’t +stop it. Any attempt to stop it will immediately explode +it.”</p> + +<p>Drago: “I’ll help you out,” Breen grateful.</p> + +<p>They prove to Breen that he set it in the truce.</p> + +<p>“You’re right. I almost was guilty of wrong. Disconnect +it—I can’t. That was the device I mentioned. The +beauty of this machine is that it is like a decree of the +Bureau. Once set, as it is set, no power on earth can +stop it. Automatic locking device. A blacksmith could +not now remove the clockwork.”</p> + +<p>Take it down and throw it in the Bay.</p> + +<p>“Friends, lunatics—will you permit this?”</p> + +<p>“They can’t stop it,” Hanover chuckled. “The irrefragable +logic of the elements! The irrefragable logic of +the elements!”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to stay here and be blown up?” Hall +demanded angrily.</p> + +<p>“Certainly not. But, as Breen says, there is plenty of +time. Ten minutes will remove the slowest of us outside +the area of destruction. In the meantime consider +the marvel of it!”</p> + +<p>Hall considers other people.</p> + +<p>Breen: “I broke down in my reasoning. That shows +fallibility of human reason. But, Hanover, you see no +breakdown in the reasoning of the elements. Can’t +break.”</p> + +<p>So absorbed, all forgot the flight of time, Drago stood +up, and put an affectionate hand on Lucoville’s shoulder—near +to the neck.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span></p> + +<p>Speaks pleasantly.—swift—spasmodic—hand.</p> + +<p>Death-touch of Japanese. Caught hat and coat. Slips +out—Haas springing like a tiger, collided with servant—crash +of dishes.</p> + +<p>“Dear friend Lucoville,” says Hanover, peering through +spectacles. “You will never reply.”</p> + +<p>The Chief truly had the last word.</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> + +<p>Next day’s papers—<i>San Francisco Examiner</i>—mysterious +explosion in Bay—dead fish. No clue.</p> + +<p>Drago’s message: “Going to Los Angeles. Shall remain +some time. Come and get me.”</p> + +<p>At dinner when Drago had exalted adventure path—they +accused him of being a sentimentalist, an Epicurean +(sneered).</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> + +<p>“Gentlemen!” Hall cried desperately, “I appeal to you +as mathematicians. Ethics can be reduced to science. +Why give all your lives for his?</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, fellow madmen—reflect. Cast this situation +in terms of an equation. It is unscientific, irrational. +More, it is unmoral. As high ethicists it would +be a wanton act, etc.”</p> + +<p>They debate. They give in.</p> + +<p>Drago: “Wisely done. And now, a truce. I believe +we are the only group in the United States or the world +who so trust.” Pulls out watch. “It is 9:30. Let us +go and have dinner. 2 hours truce. After that, if nothing +is determined or deranged, let the status quo continue.”</p> + +<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> + +<p>Hall loses Grunya, who saves Drago, and escapes with +him. Then Hall, telegrams, traces them through Mexico, +West Indies, Panama, Ecuador—cables big (5 times) +sum to Drago, and starts in pursuit.</p> + +<p>Arrives; finds them gone. Encounters Haas, and follows<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> +him. Sail on same windjammer for Australia. +There loses Haas.</p> + +<p>Himself, cabling, locates them as headed for Tahiti.</p> + +<p>Meets them in Tahiti. Marries Grunya. Appearance +of Haas.</p> + +<p>The three, Drago, Grunya and Hall (married) live in +Tahiti until assassins arrive. Then Drago sneaks in +cutter for Taiohae.</p> + +<p>Drago assures others of his sanity; they’re not even +insane. They’re stupid. They cannot understand the +transvaluation of values he has achieved.</p> + +<p>On a sandy islet, Dragomiloff manages to blow up the +whole group except Haas who is too avidly clever. +House mined.</p> + +<p>Drago, in Nuka Island, village Taiohae, Marquesas. +There is a wrecked cutter and assassin (Haas) is thrown +up on beach where Melville escaped nearly a century +earlier. While Drago is off exploring Typee Valley on +this island, Hall and Grunya play off the assassin Haas, +and think are rid of him.</p> + +<p>Drago dies triumphantly: Weak, helpless, on Marquesas +island, by accident of wreck is discovered by appointed +slayer—Haas. Only by accident, however. +“In truth I have outwitted organization.” Slayer and he +discuss way he is to die. Drago has a slow, painless +poison. Agrees to take. Takes. Will be an hour in +dying.</p> + +<p>Drago: “Now, let us discuss the wrongness of the organization +which must be disbanded.”</p> + +<p>Grunya and Hall arrive. Schooner lying on and off. +They come ashore in whaleboat, in time for his end.</p> + +<p>After all dead but Haas, Hall cleaned up the affairs of +the Bureau. $117,000 was turned over to him. Stored +books and furniture of Drago. Sent mute to be caretaker +of the bungalow at Edge Moor.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ENDING_AS_OUTLINED_BY_CHARMIAN_LONDON">ENDING AS OUTLINED BY CHARMIAN LONDON</h2> +</div> + +<p>The small yacht sailing, spinnaker winged out, day and +night, for many days and nights. The saturnalia of destruction—splendid +description of the bonita—by the +hundreds of thousands. The great hunting. The miles +wide swatch of destruction. The gunies, bosuns, frigate +birds, etc., increasing—tens of thousands. All after +flying fish. When flying fish come aboard, they, too, +rush to catch them. Saturnalia of killing gets on their +nerves. Birds break wings against rigging, fall overboard, +torn to pieces by bonita and attacked from above +by their fluttering kind—frigate birds, bosuns, etc. Native +sailors catch bonita to eat raw—as haul in, caught-bonita +are attacked by their fellows. Sailors catch a +shark—cut it clean open, none of its parts left. Beating +heart in a man’s hand—shark heaved overboard, +swims and swims, snapping with jaws as the bonita hosts +flit by in the sun-flooded brine—beating heart shock to +Grunya. Finally the madness of the tropic sun, etc. +Here begin to shoot birds, fish, etc., with small automatic +rifle, and she looks up and applauds. All killed or injured +are immediately eaten by others. Once the Irish +terrier goes overboard and is torn to pieces by bonita. +Once, her scarf, red, struck and dragged down, etc., etc. +Nothing can escape.</p> + +<p>And so the end, tragic foredoomed, as they go ashore, +sharks snap at their oar blades. And on the beach, a +school of small fish, discovered, rush upon the beach. +They wade ashore through this silvery surf of perished +life, and find—Dragomiloff dying.</p> + +<div class="chapter transnote"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> + +<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made +consistent when a predominant preference was found +in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.</p> + +<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced +quotation marks were remedied when the change was +obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.</p> + +<p>According to the note at the end of the story (<a href="#Page_179">page 179</a>), +the transition of authors from Jack London to Robert Fish occurs on +<a href="#Page_122">page 122</a>. The first full paragraph on that page reads: +“Do something!” Grunya entreated Hall. “You must do something.”</p> + +<p><a href="#Page_33">Page 33</a>: “you ever fail” was printed as “you every fail”. Changed here.</p> +<div> </div> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75562 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75562-h/images/cover.jpg b/75562-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e34ee38 --- /dev/null +++ b/75562-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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