The man nodded. Then he spoke in a thick voce.
"It is not you," he said, "that makes me afraid! It is someone else! The one who — I cannot tell you now! Take me where I may be safe!"
He glanced up and down the street. The cab was pulling away. No one was in sight in this side alley.
Vervick seemed a bit reassured. Grimes slapped him lightly on the back.
"We're going to see Mr. Raynor," he said. "Come right along. We'll take care of you!"
He led the way to a side entrance. They went into the building and climbed a flight of silent, dingy stairs.
They came to a locked door. Grimes knocked softly. The door opened.
Vervick blinked as they entered the office of Harlan Raynor. He seemed surprised at his surroundings.
He pulled his hat from his head and twisted it between his hands.
He did not advance after the door closed behind him. Then his eyes were fascinated by the steady gaze of the man who sat at the mahogany desk.
"What do you have to say?" asked Raynor quietly.
"I am afraid — I am afraid! I am afraid to die, and if I speak — I will die!"
"You will be safe if you speak!" returned Raynor. "We will see to that! Whom do you fear?"
"I cannot say his name! I am afraid! He strikes — and he kills!"
"He cannot strike you here!"
"He can strike anywhere! He is everywhere! I am afraid! I cannot speak!"
The man closed his lips firmly. He bowed his head and gave every sign that he intended to remain mute.
"Five thousand dollars," said Raynor quietly. "Five thousand dollars — and complete protection. Understand?"
Vervick nodded, but remained silent.
"Listen, chief," broke in Tewkson, "this man may not know everything, but he knows a lot! He told me some of it — but he's kept off the important details. He's got the story we want!"
Raynor nodded. He rose from his, chair and walked over to Vervick. Vervick looked up at him and seemed to gain confidence.
"This is the safest place in New York," said Raynor. "If you are afraid of someone, we can help you. We cannot help you unless we know your story.
"There is a car waiting below. The minute you are through talking, you will be whisked away and only I will know where you are. I have helped men like you before. I can help you now. But you must tell me everything — now!"
He walked back to the desk.
"I believe you, Mr. Raynor," said Vervick thickly. "I am going to talk to you!"
"Good," said Raynor, with a nod. He glanced quickly at Grimes. The reporter pulled a pad of paper from his pocket.
"We'll be in time for the next edition," he mumbled to Tewkson, and the red-haired reporter grinned.
"Forty minutes from now, this story will be on the street!"
"You've got to hand it to the old man," whispered Tewkson. Then he became silent and tense. Vervick was speaking.
"I have made bombs," said the Russian, in a low voice. "I do not know why I have made them. I mean, I did not know what they were for — until today.
"I have my address here—" He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a paper. "This is the place. But all my bombs were taken away last night — by the man who had made me make them."
"Who is he?" Raynor's voice was softly commanding.
"I do not know his name. He is black — all black — I mean, he is dressed in the clothes which are black, and he has talked to me only in a dark room.
"He has told me to do what he wants done — and I have called him 'The Master.' That is the name he has told me to use with him. You understand?"
"Why did you do what he told you?"
"Because I have made bombs before — I did not know why then — but there was trouble, and I would have been taken to prison if the police had known.
"It was then that The Master came to me. He gave me money. He told me all was well — but all was not well. Today—"
He stopped. His face bore signs of dread.
"Go on!" ordered Raynor.
"I am afraid!" objected Vervick. "I have talked too much now! I am afraid to die — I am afraid!"
"Come here. You will not die!"
Vervick approached the desk slowly. He looked about the room. He stared at Grimes and Tewkson. He stared suspiciously at the opposite side of the room, where the stacks of newspapers lay.
"You will not die!" Raynor repeated.
Vervick shuddered, then suddenly regained his composure. He came closer to the desk.
"I said that I did not know the name of the — of the man I call The Master! But I did not speak true! I have found out who is The Master!
"I am afraid to speak that name! But I shall give it to you — because you have promised to keep me from death!"
His fingers trembled as he reached for a piece of paper. He picked up a pencil and scrawled a name, and thrust the paper toward Raynor.
An amazing change came over the face of the editor.
"Grimes!" he exclaimed. "Look at this! Get busy right away! Look! If this is true—"
Grimes stared at the name as if he could not believe his eyes.
Raynor turned to Vervick.
"Are you sure?" he demanded.
"I am sure!" replied the Russian. "It is true — but I am afraid! What I know cannot help me. He is The Master! I am afraid."
Raynor wheeled.
"Get this man away safely!" he said to Grimes and Tewkson. "He'll talk to you now! You know where to take him! Leave this to me! I'm going to lift the lid!"
Vervick held out his hands pleadingly as the managing editor rose from his chair and moved to the side of the desk.
"I am afraid to die!" he said, in a trembling voice. "I fear death!"
Raynor placed his hands upon the man's shoulders. Curbing his impatience, he spoke in his usual reassuring tone.
"You are safe—" He pressed Vervick gently away from the desk toward the corner of the room, that he might have a clear path to the door that opened in the reporters' room. "Do not worry. Nothing can harm you here, because we—"
The sentence was never completed. As Vervick stepped back from the desk, the entire room rose and spread in all directions.
The roar of a terrific explosion burst forth. The whole wall of the Classic building crumbled — the side of the timeworn structure collapsed with a mighty crash.
The four men who stood in that doomed room were blown to atoms. The wreckage that remained poured forth into the street amid a volume of thick smoke. The blast shook the entire building.
The name that Harlan Raynor had learned would never reach the public! Harlan Raynor was dead, with his two star reporters; and with them perished Vervick, the man who feared death!
CHAPTER III. THE POLICE SEEK EVIDENCE
THREE men were seated in a luxurious apartment. They were engaged in earnest conversation. Each was a man of imposing appearance. Their expressions were serious and their consultation bore signs of vast importance.
A keen observer would have recognized two of the men as police officials. Their bearing indicated it, even though they were garbed in civilian clothes.
One was Inspector James Burke; the other was Detective Joe Cardona. They were two of the keenest men on the New York police force.
The third man in the group was evidently the owner of the apartment. He was tall and dignified, white-haired and keen-eyed. His whole bearing was impressive, even to the military mustache that formed a white line upon his upper lip.
He was a man of vast importance in New York, though unknown to most of the inhabitants of the city.
This was Doctor Heinrich Zerndorff, international criminologist.
This man was speaking, and his words carried a quiet conviction that had a marked effect upon the listeners.
"We must not be impatient," he said. His voice had a slightly guttural accent. "We are confronted with a great problem. I can see the light" — he tapped his forehead as he spoke — "and that is why I say not to be impatient."