Chapter V: Part 5

A sudden rap at the door brought immediate awareness to him. He bent swiftly, rolling the dead body out of sight beneath the bunk, and came quietly to stand beside the door.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Constantine? Could I see you a moment, sir?”

“One second.”

Dragomiloff switched on the stateroom light; a swift glance about the room revealed nothing too incriminating. He straightened a chair, threw the blanket back to conceal the torn mattress, and slipped into a dressing-gown. He glanced about once more. Satisfied that all was presentable, he opened the door a crack and yawned widely into the face of the purser.

“Yes? What is it?”

The purser looked embarrassed.

“A Mr. Gray, sir. Did he stop down to see you?”

“Oh, that. Yes, he did. But it was really too bad his bothering me, you know. He was looking for a Mr. Dragomovitch, or something. He apologized and left. Why?”

“The ship is sailing, sir. Do you suppose he might have gone ashore in the last few moments? While I was coming down here?”

Dragomiloff yawned again and stared at the purser coldly.

“I’m sure I have no idea. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really would like to get some rest.”

“Certainly, sir. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Dragomiloff locked the door and once again switched off the lights. He sat on the small chair furnished with the stateroom and stared at the locked porthole thoughtfully. Tomorrow would be too late; there would be stewards cleaning the cabins. Even morning would be too late; early strollers about the decks were not uncommon. It would have to be now, with all the attendant dangers. With patience he settled back to await the ship’s departure.

Voices came from the deck above as lines were cast off and the ship prepared to leave the dock. The rumble of the engines increased; a slight motion was imparted to the cabin. Above his head the faint pounding of feet could be heard as seamen ran back and forth, winching in the lines, obeying the exigencies of the steel monster which was to take them across the ocean.

The cries on deck abated. Dragomiloff carefully unbolted the porthole and thrust his head out. The watery gap between the pier and the ship was slowly widening; the lights strung along the warehouses were fading in distance. He listened carefully for footsteps from above; there were none. Returning to his task he rolled the body free from its hiding place and, bending, lifted it with ease to prop it on the bunk. One last searching glance indicated that the coast was clear. He thrust the flaccid arms through the porthole and fed the body into the open air. It fell with a faint splash; Dragomiloff waited quietly for any outbreak of sound from above. There was none. With graven face he latched the porthole, pulled the drapes tightly over them, and re-lit the light.

One final check was necessary before retiring, for Dragomiloff was a thorough man. The knife was stowed in a suitcase, and the bag locked. The slit in the mattress was covered with the sheet, reversed and tucked in tightly. The rug was straightened. Only when the room had regained its former appearance did Dragomiloff relax and slowly begin undressing.

It had been a busy night, but one step further along his inexorable path.

_Chapter XV_

Lucoville rapped sharply upon Starkington’s hotel-room door and when the door swung back, entered and quietly laid a newspaper upon the table. Starkington’s eye immediately caught the black headlines, and he read through the lurid account rapidly.

TWO DIE IN MYSTERIOUS EXPLOSION

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.