"Well, what did you see?" demanded Mr. Ridgeway as the man paused.
But he did not answer. He had been leaning on the edge of the massive
table that Mr. Ridgeway used as a desk, and his fingers were feeling
under the edge of the mahogany top. Suddenly he sank to his knees, and
peered under the edge. Then he beckoned Mr. Ridgeway and Lawrence.
Totally at a loss to imagine what O'Brien was doing, they too sank to
their knees and looked under the table.
After a glance Mr. Ridgeway sprang to his feet and stared at O'Brien,
who delivered a huge wink in the direction of the table. Then he started
in as though he had only stopped talking long enough to clear his
throat.
"Well, I peeked," he said, "and there was a feller mauling that
dirigible around and hacking at the propellers. I knew him at a glance;
he was a dude I had discharged last week; wasn't no good so I let him
go, an' he wanted to get even, so he done it by destroyin' that machine.
Of course I didn't see his face, but I know the looks of his back,"
added O'Brien, again winking at the table.
Mr. Ridgeway played up gallantly.
"I am glad you, found out who it was, O'Brien. Will you swear out a
warrant? I am sorry about the dirigible, but I can get along without it
for awhile. I am going out to the Golf Club now. Can I give either of
you a lift?"
It seemed to Lawrence as though the two men were acting a part. He
wondered if by any chance O'Brien had discovered one of the wonderful
listening machines under the edge of the table. If that was so, their
enemy must be close to them. He kept still, and let the others talk.
"No, sir; I am going right over to the police station and tell 'em what
I know," said O'Brien.
"I will have to go down to the Union Station and see about having my
trunk sent up," said Lawrence.
O'Brien nodded, as though pleased with the boy's quickness of
perception.
The three walked out, Mr. Ridgeway slamming the door sharply after him.
Then instead of turning to the elevator, he started toward the back of
the corridor, and reaching a small door inserted a key and opened it on
a narrow, winding stairway walled into the building. It was nothing more
than a perpendicular tunnel, with a narrow staircase winding through it.
Leading O'Brien and Lawrence into this dimly lighted burrow, Mr.
Ridgeway, with a sharp glance down the corridor, closed the door, locked
it, and motioned O'Brien, who was ahead, to ascend the stairs. He went
swiftly, the others close at his heels. Up and up he went, in obedience
to a whispered word from Mr. Ridgeway, until a ground glass skylight
marked the end of the stairway.
"Open!" whispered Mr. Ridgeway, and with a heave of his broad shoulder
O'Brien pushed the skylight up and the three emerged on the pebbled roof
of the building. Replacing the skylight, O'Brien looked at his superior
for further orders.
"Well," said Mr. Ridgeway, "I told you this morning, Lawrence, that I
never liked to talk unless I was in the middle of a ten-acre lot. So
they are listening, are they, O'Brien? Well, we are safe here, I should
think. For this time, anyway. Let us get away from these chimneys."
They walked out into the center of the great space that indicated the
size of the building, and O'Brien, picking up a pebble and tossing it as
he spoke, said:
"Well, sir, it looks as though there was more in the wind than we have
been bargaining for. At all events, they have shown us their hand. It is
not a coincidence that so many things have happened to hamper us, and
the destruction in the shops and around the hangars that has appeared
merely slovenly, sinful waste, has been the work of these same dirty
miscreants. You are spotted, sir, sure as sure! Known to be working with
the government, and instrumental in passing messages and what not along
to wherever they ought to go. What are you going to do about it? If you
will excuse me for saying it, sir, I think you ought to duck."
"Duck? Duck where?" asked Mr. Ridgeway.
"Anywhere you like, say South America, or Alaska, or there's good
shooting up at Hudson Bay or was when I was in the Mounted Police of
Canada."
"Why should I duck?" demanded Mr. Ridgeway.
"Why, sir, they have you spotted, and you are too valuable a man to this
country to take any chances. Suppose they send you West?"
"Kill me, you mean?" asked Mr. Ridgeway. "Well, O'Brien, thank you, but
of course you know that I will stay and take my chance. If they have me
spotted as you say, why, they will spend a good deal of time watching
me, and that will leave the field clear for you and Lawrence. I will
have to depend on you for a good deal. For one thing, I think we had
better stage a small scrap, when we go downstairs, and I will discharge
Lawrence, and will order you somewhere out of range. Then we will not
meet without the greatest precautions. Where are you living, O'Brien?"
"I have a room and bath over in the southeast part of the city,"
answered O'Brien.
"And you, Lawrence?"
"Up on the heights, sir. I like to be high."
"I wish you were closer together," mused Mr. Ridgeway.
"There are twin beds in my bedroom," said Lawrence. "I wish you would
come over there if you feel like it, Mr. O'Brien."
"I accept without further parley," said O'Brien. "Have you a telephone?"
"Yes," said Lawrence.
"A regular swell, this lad," said O'Brien, smiling. "Well, give Mr.
Ridgeway our address, and let's go down and get fired."
They descended, reconnoitered the corridor carefully, and retraced their
steps. Mr. Ridgeway entered his office alone and pressed the button on
his desk. A boy appeared.
"I am expecting the young fellow who was with me this morning," he said.
"When he comes send him in."
When Lawrence entered, he said severely,
"I have looked your credentials over, young man, and I find that in one
or two regards they are not exactly what I desire. If there is anything
I can do for you, I will be glad to do it, but I think our talk this
morning will have to go for nothing!" He scuffled a few papers on his
desk, and Lawrence, in as disappointed a tone as he could muster, said,
"I am very sorry, sir. If you do not care for my services, I think I had
better go back to Louisville. I have a standing offer of a job in the
Aircraft Company's shops there."
As he spoke he noiselessly stepped forward and handed Mr. Ridgeway a
paper with his telephone number on it.
"I insist on giving you a check for your railroad fare," said Mr.
Ridgeway, and took up a pen. What he wrote however was not the few magic
words on a blank check, but the words, "Do not come here. Go to your
apartment and stay there until ten tonight. Then both of you come to my
address; skirt the wall until you find a gate. It will be unlocked.
Follow the path at the right until you come to a porch with a French
window. This will be open. Go into the room and wait there in the dark
until I come."
Lawrence nodded and handed the note back. Mr. Ridgeway touched a match
to it, at the same time lighting a cigar so that the smell of burned
paper would not be evident.
"Thank you, sir," said Lawrence as though he had received a check. "And
good-bye."
The door closed, and he was alone. He sat staring at the edge of the
table that hid the wicked little device which had handed him over into
the hands of his enemies. No wonder plans had gone wrong! And now when
so much hinged on the attitude of the country to the new Republic in
Europe, and when the question of a mammoth loan was a matter of the most
importance. As he mused, O'Brien jerked the door open and came in.
Although O'Brien knew that the listener at the end of the tiny wire
could not see him, he was by nature too much of an actor not to play the
whole part. So he came in swaggering and approaching the table said
truculently, "I come back to see you, sir, on something important."
"Speak up, my man," said Mr. Ridgeway. "I am rather busy, and hereafter
you will send in your name."
"I won't send nothing," said O'Brien, "unless I get a raise. I work
twice as hard and long as any man at the field, and there are twenty
planes to look over and keep in order, to say nothing of that dirigible
that I will have to nurse back to health. I want more money."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Ridgeway.
"No such thing!" growled O'Brien. "I know you! Take me or leave me!"
"It's the latter then, O'Brien. I won't be bullied by you or any other
man," said Mr. Ridgeway with a wink.
"Then that settles it," said O'Brien. "Belave me when I say I am glad to
be through with the likes of you, and if you will pay me what you owe I
will get me a job where I am appreciated."
He pointed toward the door with his stubby thumb, and Mr. Ridgeway,
taking the hint, said, "Wait here and I will get your money," and left
the room.
As soon as the door closed O'Brien proceeded to abuse Mr. Ridgeway with
all the fluency and fervor of his Irish tongue. Clearly and distinctly
he addressed the air with a shower of choice phrases. He abused, he
threatened, he raved, never once forgetting to hold his voice clear and
steady as though addressing a stupid central on a buzzing line.
According to his remarks, Mr. Ridgeway had insulted him. And he would
get even. Over and over, he promised himself that he would get even. And
then in the very middle of O'Brien's finest flight of fancy, the door
opened. Like turning off a top, O'Brien shut up, took what Mr. Ridgeway
offered him and with a growl went out, slamming the door.
"Good riddance!" growled Mr. Ridgeway in his turn, then shaking his fist
at the table, he too went out, springing the lock.
The rest of the afternoon he spent at the Chevy Chase golf course but it
is likely that a worse game was never played over that course. The
Honorable Theodore Miller, who had asked him to play, went through one
fit of amazement and remorse into another. Amazement that such tops and
foozles could come from a sane man, and remorse that he was obliged to
waste the afternoon with such a being. Mr. Ridgeway did not notice that
he was playing badly, but thumped and whacked away at the ball with a
frowning look that Senator Miller took for an earnest desire to mend his
stroke, but which in fact indicated utter absent-mindedness. Mr.
Ridgeway knew that if he was being watched, he must put up an appearance
of unconcern, and so the Golf Club.
But that night soon after dinner he spoke a few words over a private
wire that led to the private room of a Certain Great Person, and soon
Mr. Ridgeway was with him in close consultation. He came away looking
more anxious than ever. He had learned that an answer had been drawn up
for the young republic which needed help, and that another country close
on its borders was ready to declare war if there seemed to be anything
in the way of affiliation with the United States. Besides this, there
reposed in the strongest of the strong boxes at the Treasury the crown
jewels of a monarch who had sent them across for safe keeping six years
ago, and who now wanted them returned at once to figure at the
introduction of the Crown Prince on his twenty-first birthday.
The jewels and the state papers all must be delivered safely within two
months. Otherwise.... Mr. Ridgeway did not like to think of the
otherwise.
The jewels had no business in the country at all. They had been allowed
to come over piecemeal, by the ill-advised judgment of one who should
have known enough to keep clear of everything to do with little
principalities with their many entanglements and jealousies. However,
the deed was done.
Walking along Pennsylvania Avenue, Mr. Ridgeway called at The Willard to
see a man who was then in Bolivia, and took a taxi to the Army and Navy
Club. Then he went home, and to his own room, where he lighted all the
lights and for a moment stood looking out the window before pulling down
the blinds.
Then hastily he slipped off his shoes and felt his way down to the
library, where he seated himself in his favorite chair beside the big
table and, leaning back, gave himself up to his thoughts. He knew that
it would be fifteen minutes or so before he could expect his visitors.
Suddenly a draft of air struck the back of his head. He knew that he had
closed the door leading into the hall. He turned and half rose in his
chair, but too late. Something descended with a sickening thud and
without a groan he rolled over on the floor, a dead weight.
When later O'Brien and Lawrence entered by the window, as they had been
told, they sat down on a couple of chairs that they were able to find in
the darkness and proceeded to wait. But O'Brien was like a hound. He
_sensed_ disaster. Leaning close to Lawrence, he whispered, "There is
something wrong here. I can smell it. I am going to light up." With the
words, he pressed on his electric searchlight, and slowly turned the
brilliant ray about the room. What he saw caused him to leap to the
window, lower the blind, and then switch on the big ceiling light.
Half under the table lay a tumbled figure. All the drawers were dragged
out and ransacked and scattered papers which had been hastily unfolded
and read were scattered everywhere.
"Is he dead?" gasped Lawrence.
O'Brien listened to Mr. Ridgeway's heart. "Niver a bit! Sure he's coming
round pretty quick belike. What's in that vase of posies? Wather?
Gimme!"
He turned the big vase over on the unconscious man, and while nearly
drowning him, it brought him to consciousness with a gasp. He looked up.
"Don't rise, sir!" begged O'Brien. "Lay still now and collect your
thoughts. Golly, that was a crack! I told you what would happen, didn't
I then? You are needing a nurse, and a steel jacket and a tin lid like
the good old times of the late war if so be you are going to get tapped
like this."
In a few minutes Mr. Ridgeway was able to sit up, and with a rueful look
gazed around at the disordered room. With a little help he got into his
chair, and sighed. O'Brien, as though he had always been an inmate of
the house, went through the dining-room, and beyond in a little
breakfast room found a percolator all ready for breakfast. In a jiffy he
had the coffee ready, and returned to Mr. Ridgeway with a steaming cup
which he insisted on him drinking. The hot liquid seemed to revive Mr.
Ridgeway, and presently he sat up, asking:
"Well, O'Brien and Lawrence, what part did you play in the late
unpleasantness?"