Betty tactfully passed on to the next subject. “And now,” smilingly, “if you will permit me, I should like to go to a more personal matter—”
Farrell said, “Yes, yes. I know. I suppose you all want to know about myself and the Princess Ar-Lassi.”
They all nodded eagerly. All except the tall man, who stood behind the rest with veiled eyes, as if he were considering a matter far removed from this room. He seemed hardly to hear as Farrell explained, “The princess and I will be married on the evening of my inauguration. We will make that day the date of a double celebration. I am sure that the princess will lend dignity and grace to the gubernatorial mansion. She has already proved invaluable, acting as my secretary since poor Michael was murdered.”
Betty said, “Would you care to tell us how you met—”
Farrell held up a hand. His mouth drew into a stubborn line. “We will not go into that now, if you please. The details of our romance are more or less private property. Even a public official is entitled to some degree of privacy in some matters.”
Betty shrugged. “Just as you say, governor. I know how you feel. I’m sure I’d feel as you do.” She extended a finger, pointed to the governor’s ring. “That ring — I’ve never seen you wear it before.”
“That,” said Farrell, looking affectionately at the princess, “was a gift from my fiancée. It was an heirloom of the family of her former husband, Mehemet Ar-Lassi, Prince of Egypt. She acquired it upon his death. It is said to possess strange properties—” he eyed it speculatively—“which I am testing out.” He raised his head suddenly, tapped on the glass desk top with his open hand. “I’m sorry, but your time is up. Now, if any of you have another question or two, I’ll answer if I can, and then I must ask you to excuse me.” He rose, but remained behind the desk.
One of the reporters demanded eagerly, “Look here, governor, isn’t there any way in which control of the state could get to the Liberal Party, your opponents, if Killer Kyle had been successful?”
Farrell started, then bowed his head reflectively. After a while he said slowly, “There is one way — but it means almost wholesale murder. I hesitate to consider it as a possibility. You see, if I were killed, if Lieutenant Governor Rice were killed, and if State Senator Thane were killed, then the Speaker of the Assembly would become the acting governor. He, as you know, is Assemblyman Linton, of the Liberal Party. He has been fighting for years for public ownership of utilities. But Linton would never turn to murder!”
And then the drawling voice of the hitherto silent man with the piercing eyes startled them all by the depth of its quiet assurance. “If I may ask a question, sir—” though he spoke to Farrell, his gleaming eyes rested on the darkly beautiful princess—“you mentioned the death of Prince Mehemet Ar-Lassi. Is it not true, if my memory serves me, that he was murdered, about three years ago; and in a manner similar to the way your secretary, Michael Crome, met his death? That is, his body swelled to tremendous proportions, and he was throttled by the expansion of his throat muscles?”
Chapter III
IF a bombshell had been exploded in the room it could not have created a greater sensation. All color ebbed from the face of the princess. Her white face, set off by the coral necklace and the jet hair became as a mask of death. She put a hand to her throat and gasped, “How — how did you know that?”
The keen-eyed man smiled slowly. “It happens that — er — a friend of mine was traveling in Africa on a very confidential mission at the time of the prince’s death. He related all the peculiar particulars to me.”
The governor-elect took a step forward from the desk, fists clenched at his sides, his lips set grimly. “Your impertinent insinuation, sir—”
The keen-eyed man held up a placating hand. “I assure you, sir, that I meant to insinuate nothing. I am as interested in probing to the bottom of Michael Crome’s murder as you are. I am merely in search of anything that may help.”
The governor suddenly appeared to wilt. He put an arm across the shoulder of the Princess Ar-Lassi. “It is no use, my dear. Secrets cannot be kept from the press. Perhaps it will be better to tell them.” He turned to the small group of excited news people. “This, gentlemen, must be strictly off the record!” He looked from one to the other of them, and they all nodded in turn, including the keen-eyed man.
Farrell took a deep breath and went on. “It is true,” he said, “that the Prince Ar-Lassi was murdered in the same way as Michael Crome. At the time that the prince was killed, the princess here, narrowly escaped the same fate. But the murderers have not given up. For some reason they have seemed to feel that the entire family of Mehemet must be exterminated. The princess has felt constantly in danger for the last three years. She somehow knew that the doom that caught her former husband would sooner or later overtake her, and she feared for me as well.
“That is why she insisted that I wear this Egyptian ring. It is supposed to guard its wearer against death. I wanted her to keep it, but she became almost hysterical in her insistence, so I had to put it on.” He laughed in a sheepish sort of way. “It seems to have worked with Kyle today.”
He suddenly became serious again. “But — this doom that the princess feared has apparently caught up with her. Whether by accident or design, it was poor Michael Crome who suffered first.” He looked around at all of them. “I am telling you this, my friends, for your own information. It is strictly off the record. Publicity will not help us in combating these fiendish murderers.”
Farrell leaned against the desk, and lit a cigarette with a shaking hand.
Betty Dale had listened wide-eyed to his story. Now she impulsively went forward and put her arm around the princess’s waist. “My dear,” she said, softly. “If there is anything I can do for you—”
She was interrupted by the cool voice of the keen-eyed man. “May I ask you, sir, if you heard the news broadcast this evening?”
FARRELL seemed to have found some solace in his cigarette. He shook his head through a cloud of smoke. “I did not. What—”
“It mentioned,” the other told him, “that another convict had escaped from Riker Penitentiary a week before Killer Kyle. I wonder if you ever heard of him. His name is — Sam Slawson.”
Judge Farrell started. “Yes,” he said, “I’ve heard of him. I’m wondering — if he’ll be the next to make some sort of attempt against me. It seems as if some powerful influence has caused the release of these criminals so that they may commit murder. I trust that the police will be able to give sufficient protection, not only to myself, but to the other officials who have been placed in office by the recent election. Somehow, I have a feeling that they are all in danger.” The governor-elect stopped, looked squarely at the tall man. “I don’t recall you, sir. Are you one of the regular reporters?”
The tall man shook his head. “No, judge. My name is Anderson. I am the editor of the Northtown Examiner. Perhaps you will recall that the police commissioner phoned you for permission to include me in those to be granted an interview.” While he talked he extracted a card from his wallet, and handed it to Farrell.
The governor-elect glanced at the card, and nodded. “Yes, yes. I do recall it.” He turned to the others. “I regret, now, that the time is up. If you will all excuse me—”
They said good-by to him, and filed out, Mr. Anderson bringing up the rear.
The princess accompanied them to the outer door, and sped them on their way graciously. As Mr. Anderson, of the Northtown Examiner, stepped past her, he said, “I hope, madam, that you have not taken offense at anything I said.”