One of the four men was Lieutenant Governor Alvin Rice. He was talking vehemently, excitedly, to the other three.
“X” knew the others. The large man who sat heavily in a deeply upholstered chair was John Hanscom, old-time politician, boss of the Conservative Party. The well-built man with the ruddy countenance and the dangerous eyes was State Senator Anton Thane, president pro tem of the senate, the man who would become acting governor if anything should happen to both Rice and Judge Farrell. Thane was listening carefully to Rice while he extracted a cigarette from a silver case.
THE fourth man was standing near the window, his face a pasty hue, his pudgy, white hands wet with perspiration. His eyes were on Rice in fascinated horror. “X” knew him to be Cyrus Gates, the representative of the power interests that were in back of Hanscom and the Conservative Party. He was nervous, distraught, the weakest of the four. He winced every time Rice’s shoes squeaked as he walked up and down the room.
Rice was saying, “I told them to take the damn hearse out of here. I don’t think it was followed, or the police would have been here by this time. I could fix it up if they did come, but I’d rather not have to.”
Hanscom took the long cigar out of his mouth, and said in his deep voice. “You should never have used that crazy Kyle, Rice. There was no sense to it. You’ll get us all in trouble.”
Rice snarled, “What would you want — to sit back quietly till we all got ours, like Crome? I tell you, that’s what would have happened — may still happen! Slawson is a devil; and he’s got this Egyptian poison. My plan was the best. It’s not my fault that it went wrong.” He turned to the others. “What do you think, Thane? What about you, Gates?”
Thane was lighting a cigarette. He took a leisurely puff, let his eyes slide from Hanscom to Rice. “Strikes me,” he said in his cold voice, “that you’ve messed this up. Better not try to be the boss around here — one boss is plenty. Let Hanscom do the thinking for all of us.”
Hanscom rolled the cigar around in his mouth. He grumbled, “This is a nice time to let me take charge. I have a mind to let you boys worry this out by yourselves. Why didn’t you consult me in the first place?”
Gates, the utility man, had listened with growing panic. Now he burst out, “God, don’t sit and talk about it — do something! Now Kyle has failed, and the—”
“Judge,” Thane finished for him, half contemptuously. “You want to say that the judge will ruin us all, isn’t that it?”
Gates nodded, his fat face beaded with perspiration. “I’ve paid you boys plenty of money — but I never contemplated murder! Now Kyle will talk—”
Rice smiled thinly. “Don’t worry about that, Gates. I’ve arranged everything. Kyle won’t talk any more.”
Gates’s face went white. “You — you mean—”
“I’m having him put in a niche in the mausoleum — coffin and all. He’ll never be heard from again!”
Gates exclaimed, “B-but that’s — murder!”
Rice showed his teeth in a nasty smile. He came up close to the utilities man, said, “If you can think of a better way to handle it, go ahead.”
Hanscom boomed from the depths of his chair, “Never mind the quarreling. Rice’s way is the only way — now. We’ve got to get rid of Kyle, and think about something else—where is the judge now? We’ve got to find him, set to him quickly, before—” the big boss’s voice trailed off significantly.
“X” had been following the conversation carefully. It gave him a new light on many things, and made him certain of one thing more — there must be cross currents of crime here that were not apparent on the surface. Hanscom did not seem to know who had kidnaped Farrell. If any of the others knew, there must be a deep reason for withholding the information from the boss.
If Rice and Thane didn’t know where Farrell was now, then there must be some other factor in the situation — some other factor that was as dangerous to these men as it was to the judge. A hand of horror, that would crush innocent and guilty alike when its plans were perfected.
THESE men hated Farrell, were planning him harm, had indeed attempted it already, through Kyle. But “X” was convinced that even while they were thus plotting, another, more sinister force was closing in on all of them — had in fact, already closed in on Judge Farrell. “X” wondered where Slawson fitted into that conception of a sinister hand of horror. Was he that kind of man? It would have helped if he had been able to get the convict’s record from Betty Dale. As it was he had to work in the dark.
He was annoyed, more than startled, at the sound of footsteps coming around the end of the house. He had expected that some one or other of the various people who were prowling around the house that night would get to the window, too. He backed away, crouching low, and hid behind a hydrangea bush.
Then he focused his eyes to the darkness, and made out the figure of the Princess Ar-Lassi, sidling along the wall toward the window. She came up close, and listened, her face dimly illumined in the faint glow that came through the curtains.
For several minutes the Secret Agent watched her, while she, in turn, watched those in the room. Suddenly the princess turned and made her way toward the front of the house. “X” wondered if she was going in.
He made his way back to the window.
The four men were close together now, talking low. “X” could not hear all that they said, but isolated words dribbled out to him. Once he heard Hanscom say, “Get Slawson.”
He caught only the name, the rest was lost in an explosive burst of anger from Rice. They were apparently not getting on together so well.
Gates seemed to be protesting volubly against something that Rice said. He was nervous, glancing around fearfully, as if he expected some horrible death to leap upon him in that very room.
Suddenly there was a rap at the door.
Gates jumped, then smiled sheepishly. Hanscom scowled at the door. Rice called out, “Come in.”
The door opened in answer to his invitation, and the Princess Ar-Lassi walked in. There was a mocking smile on her face. She carried a handbag under her arm.
“X” could tell from the expressions of astonishment on the faces of the four men that they had not known she was on the grounds.
Rice recovered first, and bowed. “This is a pleasure, princess,” he murmured. “I didn’t know—”
Hanscom interrupted him, scowling. “How did you get here? I thought you were at the Clayton!”
The princess uttered a low laugh. She came a couple of steps farther into the room. “There was nothing to keep me at the Clayton, since my fiancée — left. So I came here. I wish to have a little talk with you four gentlemen.”
Chapter XIV
“X” saw that Rice was almost imperceptibly edging toward the desk in the corner, while he said, masking his uneasiness with a cloak of courtesy, “It is always a pleasure to talk to a beautiful woman. I, for one, am at your service.”
Hanscom and Thane were also uneasy, the Secret Agent saw, while Gates, the utility man stared from one to the other of them, and then at the princess, while he fidgeted nervously. There was something tense about the princess, something electric, that made these men realize she had not just come in to chat about the weather.
Hanscom rolled the cigar to a corner of his mouth, asked, “What do you want, lady?”