“Has he studied the submarine plans?” inquired Dadren.
“No,” replied Releston.
“But you two have?” asked Dadren, indicating Vic along with the senator.
“Yes,” answered Releston.
“Then I must request privacy,” asserted Dadren. “My plans, senator, are something like your vault. They have a combination which must be kept secret. If I dictated to a person who has not examined the plans, he will know nothing. I should like you and Mr. Marquette to be absent.”
So speaking, Dadren picked up the plans that Releston had brought from the vault. He began to look over the diagrams.
Senator Releston suggested that Dadren and Stollart go in the office. The commander smiled and shook his head.
“This room will do,” he said. “After I have finished the dictation, I shall be ready to go to the Navy Department.”
“I’ll go with you,” offered Vic.
“Very well,” agreed Dadren.
Releston arose and went toward the office. Marquette followed. Dadren motioned to Stollart to close the door. The secretary did so. He was alone with Commander Dadren in that single room which extended out from Senator Releston’s spacious apartment.
WHEN Senator Releston reached his office, he seated himself behind the desk. Vic Marquette, however, remained standing. The operative began to pace, restlessly. Silent minutes passed. At the end of ten, the door opened and Stollart appeared.
“Where is Commander Dadren?” questioned Releston.
“He departed, sir,” replied Stollart, seriously. “He took the plans and my shorthand notes. He said he would have the notes typed at the Navy Department.”
“He departed!” cried Vic Marquette. “Which way did he go?”
“Through the outer door of the living room,” replied Stollart. “He ordered me to bolt it after him. I did. Then it struck me as rather peculiar that he should choose that exit—”
Vic Marquette leaped for the telephone. He called the desk. He learned that several persons had just come down on an elevator. The clerk had seen them go out; he could not say, however, if any answered Dadren’s description.
“Call the Navy Department,” suggested Senator Releston. “Perhaps they—”
“No use,” growled Vic. “That’s the last place we’d find him. That man was an impostor. I was beginning to suspect it. He’s taken the diagrams with the tracings. He’s landed the works!”
With this statement, Vic became glum. He stared at the senator, whose face reflected the same expression. Only Stollart was unperturbed. Unnoticed, the secretary was wearing a smile of satisfaction.
By skillful stratagem, an impersonator of Commander Joseph Dadren had boldly walked into Senator Releston’s abode. He had asked for the plans that had been brought by Harry Vincent. He had received them.
Coolly, this crafty worker had followed up his deception. Such was the aftermath of the letter from the real Commander Dadren. A keen brain had designed a simple but effective method to gain the priceless plans that had lain behind the formidable door of Senator Releston’s impregnable vault.
CHAPTER XIX
WEDNESDAY AFTER TWO
TWO o’clock.
Vic Marquette, pacing nervously, noted the time. Senator Releston was at his desk, deep in thought. Stollart stood inconspicuously at one side.
“I thought of calling Vincent,” said Marquette, savagely. “But that wouldn’t do any good. He’s over at that inquiry; it would be a tough job to get hold of him.”
“There is still a chance,” declared Releston, “that we have not been deceived. I still think that a call to the Navy Department—”
“Would ruin everything,” broke in Vic. “Listen, senator. If that was really Dadren who came here, all we’ve got to do is wait. Let him handle the matter the way he wants. But if the fellow was a faker, we could call every department in Washington and it wouldn’t bring him back.”
“You are right, Marquette,” admitted Releston, with a solemn nod.
“Dumb work on your part, Stollart,” accused Vic, whirling to the silent secretary. “If you hadn’t let him get away; if you’d only come in here to tell us he was going—”
Protest showed on Stollart’s face; it was Releston, however, who intervened.
“Save criticism for yourself, Marquette,” he said, sternly. “Do not shift the blame to Stollart.”
Vic subsided glumly. He resumed his pacing. Two minutes passed; then came footsteps. Vic turned to see Smedley enter. The servant looked puzzled.
“What is it, Smedley?” inquired Releston.
“Commander Dadren has arrived, sir,” returned the servant. “He is in the waiting room. But — I don’t understand—”
“Dadren has returned?” exclaimed Releston.
“But he hasn’t, sir,” protested Smedley. “He announced himself as if he had never seen me before. And he looks a bit different, sir.”
“The real Dadren!” shouted Vic, pouncing toward the door.
Before Vic reached the portal, Dadren himself appeared. He had heard the cries; he had come to learn the trouble. Under his arm he carried a portfolio. Smedley was right; this Dadren looked different from the other.
SENATOR RELESTON recalled a definite appearance of the first visitor’s face. Firm features, so well molded that they had been almost masklike. This man looked less like Dadren than Releston had expected. Had the two been side by side, the senator would have chosen the first Dadren as the genuine. Circumstances, however, made him decide in favor of the newcomer.
Vic Marquette had denounced the first visitor as an impostor. Releston had given accord. Both took it for granted that Commander Dadren stood before them. In fact, the naval officer looked bewildered at the excitement which his arrival had created. Looking past Releston and Marquette, he caught sight of Stollart.
A warning signal from the secretary. It was Stollart, at present, who was troubled. While Releston and Marquette had been registering elation, Stollart had lost his smug satisfaction. Sight of this new face; a glimpse of the portfolio — both were enough to tell bad news to Stollart.
“At last.” Dadren appeared relieved as he forced a smile, yet all the while his eyes were watchful. “Here I am, senator, with the missing portions of the plans.”
Advancing to the desk, he opened the portfolio. From it, he drew forth the sheets of tracings and spread them out that all could see.
“Give me the other drawings,” suggested the commander. “I shall show you how they fit.”
“We have bad news, commander,” interjected Releston, going back to his desk. “The plans — the ones Vincent brought — are gone!”
“Gone!” exclaimed Dadren.
Looking about, he caught Stollart’s eye. Again a danger signal came from the troubled secretary. Dadren looked to Releston for an explanation.
“More than a half hour ago,” stated the senator, “a man came here and announced himself as you. He looked like you, commander. He wanted the plans. We gave them to him.”
“What! Without demanding proof of his identity?”
“Vincent was here. He took the man for you.”
“But did the rogue have tracings?”
“No. He said that he had destroyed them; that they were unnecessary. He was in the living room with Stollart, dictating notes. He left by the outer door.”
“Is this Stollart?” demanded Dadren, looking at the secretary.
Releston nodded.
“What did the impostor dictate?” inquired Dadren, looking steadily at the secretary.
“Odd references that I could not understand,” was the reply. “It sounded like a rigmarole. But I thought—”
“Of course.” Dadren’s tone was caustic. “Nobody thought. What kind of a story did this fellow tell you?”