Inspector Clyde had a notebook in his hand. He spoke crisply: “These three friends of yours, Miss Blackwell. I haven’t had the pleasure of an introduction. Let’s get them straight. One at a time, please.”
AGENT “X” was paying close attention. The inspector’s brisk questioning was saving him trouble. Suzanne Blackwell’s next words startled him. She pointed toward the girl who stood between the two men by the door — a stunning, lithe-bodied brunette.
“Miss Lili Damora,” she said, “of New York, Budapest, and Washington.”
This was the girl Agent “X” had been asked to investigate, the black-haired beauty who had been seen in the company of Captain Nelson. She teetered self-consciously on high heels and patted her sleek coiffure with an affected gesture. She had luscious, pouty lips and the languorous air of a society belle.
Suzanne Blackwell indicated the two men next, giving the name of the dark one first, then the blond ex-spy.
“Mr. Sam Barkley, American sportsman, and Herr Otto von Helvig of the German Legation.”
Inspector Clyde wrote down these names and turned to the Agent.
“And you?”
“Captain Stewart Black — just arrived, inspector, to do a little questioning on my own account.”
In clipped sentences Inspector Clyde issued an order to the sergeant of detectives who had followed him in.
“Look around outside, Quane. See whether there’s anything on the lawn.”
The inspector himself walked across the study to the small safe that stood open, its papers strewn about. He hurled a question over his shoulder.
“What seems to be the matter, doctor?”
Doctor Stoll answered quickly. “A slight stroke, I should say. Some of you help me get him upstairs. Send for a trained nurse at once. Call this number.”
As Agent “X” stepped forward to assist, the front doorbell sounded again. There was a furious, impatient note in it this time. The Negro servant hurried to open it and two men burst into the hall.
One was short-legged, immaculately dressed, his round fat face pink with excitement. The other was taller, thinner, a gauntly saturnine look about him, a fanatical light in his eyes. Senators Josephus Cobb and Haden Eathborne.
Valerie Dashman, getting a grip on herself, went forward to meet them. Cobb spoke abruptly, words trembling from his lips.
“Rathborne and I have been arguing. We’ve come to have a talk with your father. We must see him at once, we—”
The senator’s voice ended in a fat wheeze. His eyes grew round with horror. The color slowly drained from his face and was replaced by the pallor of deep-rooted fear. For the Agent, Doctor Stoll, and Otto von Helvig were carrying the limp form of Senator Dashman out of his study.
Cobb’s eyes rested on his senatorial colleague’s sickly hued features. Then he gasped a sentence that seemed wrung from his lips.
“Good God — the ray!”
Inspector Clyde, following the procession, turned sudden, sharp eyes on Cobb.
“What was that you said, senator?”
Added fear leaped into Cobb’s eyes. He shook his head with abrupt emphasis.
“Nothing — nothing — I was only talking to myself. What on earth has happened here?”
“Robbery,” said Inspector Clyde. “And Senator Dashman has suffered a stroke.”
COBB stood speechless, swaying on his short legs as they carried Dashman upstairs. A faint sardonic smile showed on the face of Haden Rathborne. Suzanne Blackwell’s face had gone white.
The eyes of Agent “X” were tensely alive. Cross-currents of human drama had made the atmosphere of Dashman’s home electric. “X” hadn’t missed Cobb’s explosive mention of the ray.
As they laid the senator on his own bed, the Agent’s eyes rested on Dashman’s neck. A tiny red mark showed there. The skin around it was slightly swollen. The Agent pointed toward it.
“Look, doctor — what’s that?”
Doctor Stoll glanced down quickly, shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I saw it. I’m wondering. It looks as though the senator had pricked himself. His pen perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” said the Agent, but his voice sounded skeptical. Then his eyes narrowed. A sudden horrible thought flashed into his mind.
That mark was part and parcel of the ghastly mystery, the folds of which seemed to be growing deeper and denser as he went along. He had noticed something else, and he hurried downstairs after they had laid Senator Dashman on his bed. The senator was in the doctor’s care now. All that could be done for him would be done.
“X” was thinking of the strange look of terror that had come over Suzanne Blackwell’s face when Senator Cobb had mentioned the ray.
Evidently she, too, had some knowledge of Browning’s creation.
She was putting on her hat and coat when Agent “X” reached the hallway below. He saw that her fingers were trembling. She was no longer the poised, self-confident girl she had been when he first entered. Cobb’s blurted utterance had shaken her for some reason.
Sam Barkley and Otto von Helvig hovered anxiously near her. Valerie Dashman was at her elbow.
“I must go home at once,” Suzanne was saying. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Valerie? I know your father will be all right. You won’t think I’m running away?”
“No — but why—”
“I can’t tell you now — but I feel — that I ought to go home.”
Sam Barkley laid his hand on her arm. “I’ll take you,” he said. “My car’s outside.”
Von Helvig intruded himself quickly. His tones were smooth but firm. There was a challenge in his eyes as he met those of Barkley.
“I was leaving anyway. I must get back to the legation. There is much work tonight. I will take Miss Blackwell with me, if she will be so kind.”
Barkley shrugged and stepped back. Von Helvig captured the girl’s arm. With a quick good night to the others, Suzanne Blackwell left. The Agent’s eyes followed the tall figure of Karl Hummel, alias “Otto von Helvig.” The man he had known as one of Europe’s most cunning spies. Here was a lead he could not neglect in his quest of the stolen plans. He must follow it, but not immediately. There was still Lili Damora.
He turned, looked about him. The woman from Budapest was in close confab with Senator Rathborne. It seemed to the Agent that she was using her charms upon him, attempting to dazzle the senator with her exotic beauty. Her lashes rose and fell coquettishly, sweeping her delicately tinted cheeks. Every gesture she made was for effect. The lithe balancing of her body on one graceful hip. The movements of her slim, carmine-tipped hands. Admiration gleamed in Rathborne’s narrow eyes. He seemed to lean over her predatorially.
Now was no time to question the woman — not with Senator Rathborne listening. Not with so many strange cross-currents in the air. He would see her alone, later. His eyes roved again.
SAM BARKLEY and Senator Cobb were standing together by the study doorway. The senator was mopping his fat face nervously. The pinkish flush of excitement had given way to a pallor that lingered. His glance swept the stairway up which they had so lately carried Dashman. He was waiting tremblingly for the doctor’s full report — waiting with a fear that “X” could well understand.
“X” walked up and introduced himself.
“I’m told,” he said, “that Captain John Bernard Nelson was murdered tonight. He was a friend of Senator Dashman’s. But perhaps you can tell me something, senator. What was the meeting in the State, War and Navy Building from which Nelson was returning when he was killed?”