diff options
Diffstat (limited to '75562-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 75562-0.txt | 6571 |
1 files changed, 6571 insertions, 0 deletions
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 *** |