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.”