There was a light in the room that seemed to be the library. The rest of the house, save for the servant’s quarters, was dark.
Agent “X” again took his chromium tools from his pocket. He had not forgotten the words of the man who had spoken to him through the desk — the man who had summoned him to Washington. “Your task is greater than the mere pursuit of a murderer — a thousand times greater.”
The threat of murder was a side issue. He was here to battle an unseen threat to a nation.
With swift, tense movements he came close to the house. A light showed over the vestibule of the front door. He went to a side entrance where no light showed in or out.
Silently, deftly, utilizing all the skill he possessed, he used his steel implement to pick the lock and enter the house. He found himself in a narrow hall that seemed for the use of servants alone. He moved along it, remembering where the lighted library was. He heard servant’s voices in a room at his left. He passed through a door at his right, the dining room. He crossed a hall, saw the library ahead. The door of that was ajar. Voices came from behind it. Agent “X” crept close.
The voices came plainly now. Risking the possibility of being seen he moved closer still. The door of a writing room showed near by. He would duck into that if a servant should come.
There were three persons in the library — Suzanne Blackwell, a young man, and the senator, her father. Von Helvig was not there. He had apparently taken Suzanne only as far as the door.
There was tense drama in this expensively appointed room. The Agent’s eyes snapped. The girl, Suzanne, was speaking, her face still white, her slim hands clenched. She was talking fiercely to her father.
“It was the ray, I tell you,” she was saying. “The ray you told us about. Senator Cobb said so. I heard him. If you had been there to see Senator Dashman you would believe me. It was horrible. I remembered what you had said and I was afraid — for you.”
THE ruddy face of Senator Blackwell was contorted. A cigar was clamped in his mouth. He was pacing the room. There was a strange, haunted look in his eyes. His daughter’s words seemed to be affecting him strangely, but he spoke with explosive emphasis.
“What you say is impossible! Do you hear? I should never have told you about the ray. It put silly ideas into your head. The plans of it only were stolen — just a few hours ago.”
“They were stolen, then?”
“Yes — but you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone. No hint of it must reach the papers.”
The young man in the room spoke suddenly. Agent “X” had been watching him. He looked like Suzanne in feature, but he hadn’t her spirit or haughtiness. There was weakness in his mouth, lines of dissipation around his eyes. His complexion was bad. The muscles of his face were twitching. His hands shook, and the tones of his voice had an hysterical quaver.
“They’ll get us all,” he said shrilly.
The senator turned on him fiercely. “You’re a fool, Ferris. As a son you disgrace me. If you can’t talk sense, shut up. Don’t frighten your sister more than she is. I want both of you to forget this thing. You’re going away, Ferris — back to the sanatorium for another treatment.”
It was painful to see the twitching of the young man’s face now. To the eyes of Agent “X” the evidence was plain, Ferris Blackwell was a drug addict of some sort. Here was tragedy in a high place.
“I can’t go yet,” said Ferris. “Not until I’ve seen someone!”
The senator answered sternly. “Doctor Claude says that one more treatment is necessary. I spoke to him today. He’s coming for you — and you are going with him tonight.”
The eyes of the two men clashed strangely. Ferris Blackwell’s lips began quivering violently. Then he cried out and hunched back as though trying to escape his father’s penetrating stare. Suzanne Blackwell suddenly straightened her shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll buck up. It’s bad enough to have one weakling in the family. I was scared tonight — that’s all. I left right away after Senator Cobb mentioned the ray. Otto von Helvig brought me home.”
“You didn’t tell him your fears?”
“No.”
“Well don’t. I don’t like him, Suzanne. He asks too many questions. He’s the last person in the world who should hear about any of this.”
“Why?”
“Because he works for a foreign government, and because I don’t trust him as an individual. Stick to Barkley — if you must have a man hanging around. He may be a loafer — but he’s harmless.”
“And you don’t think Otto is?”
“No — I tell you I don’t trust him.”
Senator Blackwell jerked his watch from his pocket.
“It’s ten-thirty now,” he said. “Doctor Claude will be here any minute. Get your things packed, Ferris. You’ve got to go with him. Try to behave like a man.”
Agent “X” withdrew quietly. He had heard enough. He was determined now to trace Otto von Helvig and see whether this man was still engaged in espionage activities. If so, the stolen blueprints of Browning’s hideous mechanism might have passed through his hands.
Chapter VII
THE eyes of the Secret Agent were gleamingly bright. A desperate plan had occurred to him. Not to confront von Helvig at the legation. That would be futile. Disguised, he could interview the man. But there was an infinitely better way.
He would get at the very heart of Washington’s espionage activities, find the center of that spider web of spy work which is spun about every capital in the world, even Washington. Along its threads would travel whatever whispers there were concerning von Helvig and Lili Damora.
The Agent deliberated a moment, frowning. There was no one in Washington to help him; no one upon whom he could depend for information concerning the movements of the five who had sat on the senatorial committee.
Beneath the peaceful surface life of Washington lay a dark underworld of espionage, a dank, unwholesome labyrinth. While he investigated this, he needed someone to contact the stratum above. The future safety of America hinged on the return of the Browning plans.
Yet in all the world there was only one person who could help him. Only one whom he could completely trust. That one was Betty Dale. Blonde and lovely, daughter of a police captain who had fallen victim to underworld bullets, Betty hated criminals as much as “X” did.
She was a lady of the press now, a society reporter, forging ahead by her own hard efforts. She would come to Washington if he asked her to. The paper would give her leave.
It would be a simple matter, too, for her to move in the very circles “X” wanted watched. For Betty had invested her father’s life insurance money in a college education — and at college Suzanne Blackwell had been her roommate. When in Washington Betty always stayed with Suzanne. There was nothing more natural than that she should come to Washington now, to cover for her paper the ball that Senator Marvin Foulette was giving tomorrow night. A wire from “X” would bring her.
But Agent “X” had qualms. What right had he to ask her? The theft of the plans had brought horrible forces into play. Was he justified in risking Betty’s safety in the slightest degree?
It was minutes before he could decide this question. He knew that if she ever found he had needed her and not called her, she would be hurt. She’d asked him to promise once that he would always tell her when she could be of use to him. Often in the past she had helped him. At the times when he took money from crooks she distributed it for him among the helpless victims of crime; among the innocent children of men sent to prison; among widows left by assassin’s bullets.