The Plot Master

CHAPTER XVIII WEDNESDAY BEFORE TWO

WEDNESDAY afternoon found Harry Vincent in the office of Senator Releston’s apartment. Vic Marquette was there; so was Stollart. Only Senator Releston was absent.

Morning hours had drifted by. No word had come from Commander Dadren. These waiting men had discussed the matter; both Harry and Stollart had agreed with Vic Marquette when the Secret Service operative had proclaimed that the commander would not show up before to-morrow morning.

Two o’clock was nearing. Harry was due to leave shortly for the Navy Department. The footsteps from the hallway broke the monotony. The three men turned, to see Senator Releston enter.

Releston’s quizzical look was answered by a shake of Vic Marquette’s head.

“No word from Commander Dadren,” mused the senator, seating himself at the desk. “I am inclined, Marquette, to believe that we are the victims of a hoax. We may have made a grave mistake by giving our acquiescence to that note from Dadren.”

“Don’t make any change until to-morrow noon,” put in Vic. “We’d better play the game the way we started it, senator.”

“Certainly,” agreed Releston. “Nevertheless, I—”

He paused. Smedley had entered to announce that a caller was in the waiting room. He handed a card to the senator. Releston came up from his chair and made a gesture with both hands. Smedley, understanding, hurried out to call the visitor.

“Is it Dadren?” demanded Vic.

Releston nodded. He was too excited to speak. Then Harry Vincent, looking toward the door saw Commander Dadren enter.

SENATOR RELESTON recognized the visitor’s face. He came around the desk to shake hands with the rugged-faced commander.

A smile appeared upon Dadren’s lips as the freed prisoner spied a box of cigars upon the senator’s desk. Without a word, he released his hand from Releston’s and helped himself to a perfecto. He lighted the cigar, delivered a grunt of satisfaction and seated himself in a chair. Puffing contentedly, he began to speak.

“I can talk now,” declared Dadren. “I haven’t had a smoke for a week. Those rascals left me without a cent in my pockets, otherwise I would have stopped at a cigar store on my way here.”

“Where were you held prisoner?” questioned Releston.

“I don’t know,” replied Dadren. “Today, I was blindfolded and placed in an automobile. The car seemed to drive in circles. Men on both sides of me — ruffians with revolvers.

“They brought me into Washington. I guessed, from the sound of traffic, that we were in the city. Then they shoved me from the car. I ripped away the blindfold. I was in an alleyway a block below this hotel.”

“What kind of a place did they have you in?” inquired Vic Marquette.

Dadren stared suspiciously at the Secret Service operative. Releston introduced Vic. Then Dadren spied Harry Vincent and came to his feet to shake hands with his secretary. After that, he remembered Vic’s question.

“We can talk about that later,” declared the commander. “Another matter is more important. Tell me, senator, are the plans safe? The ones that Vincent brought?”

“They are here in my vault,” declared Releston.

“Let me see them,” suggested Dadren.

Releston waved his hand toward the door. While Dadren looked puzzled, Harry explained that the senator allowed no one in the office while he turned the combination of the vault. Harry led the way into the front living room. Marquette and Stollart followed. Dadren sank comfortably in a chair and puffed deeply at his cigar.

Soon Senator Releston joined them. He gave the diagrammed sheets to Dadren. The commander studied them and nodded in satisfaction.

“All is well,” he declared.

“You have the tracings?” questioned Releston.

“No,” answered Dadren. “I destroyed them.”

“What! You mean—”

“They were unnecessary. That is, I can copy them from memory. I destroyed them as a gesture.”

“For the benefit of your captors?”

“Yes. They thought the tracings were duplicates. They let me go because they could not get the originals, which were necessary to their game. So I tore up the tracings after they handed them to me. A bluff. It was a good policy.”

Harry Vincent happened to glance at his watch. Dadren noticed the move and shot an inquiring glance toward his secretary. Harry explained that he was due at the Navy Department. He gave the reason.

“I can call them,” he added. “Perhaps they would delay the inquiry—”

“You don’t know the department,” interposed Dadren. “You must go there at once, Vincent. By the way, don’t mention that I am back. I prefer to announce that fact myself.”

“Very well, sir.”

AS soon as Harry was gone, Senator Releston and Vic Marquette were ready with new questions. Commander Dadren waved his hand in an annoyed fashion. He turned to Stollart.

“I left my suitcase in the waiting room,” said Dadren to Releston’s secretary. “It contains a few papers that my captors returned to me. Nothing pertaining to the plans” — this was to Releston — “but there are letters to which I must refer. Could you get it for me?”

The final remark was to Stollart. The secretary nodded and started for the little hall. Dadren called after him, asking him to bring in the box of cigars from the senator’s desk.

“I could smoke steadily for a week,” laughed Dadren. “It’s funny, now that it’s past, but it’s hard to go without tobacco, when a man is a heavy smoker like myself.”

Stollart arrived with the suitcase. Dadren placed it beside his chair, but did not open it. He stretched one leg upon the heavy bag; with cigar between his fingers, he spoke to Releston and Marquette.

“Let’s leave the questions until later,” he decided. “Only one thing is on my mind right now: Those diagrams that I destroyed. I want to reconstruct them. I can do it by making notes to begin with. Is this man your secretary, senator?”

He indicated Stollart. Releston nodded.

“Has he studied the submarine plans?” inquired Dadren.

“No,” replied Releston.

“But you two have?” asked Dadren, indicating Vic along with the senator.

“Yes,” answered Releston.

“Then I must request privacy,” asserted Dadren. “My plans, senator, are something like your vault. They have a combination which must be kept secret. If I dictated to a person who has not examined the plans, he will know nothing. I should like you and Mr. Marquette to be absent.”

So speaking, Dadren picked up the plans that Releston had brought from the vault. He began to look over the diagrams.

Senator Releston suggested that Dadren and Stollart go in the office. The commander smiled and shook his head.

“This room will do,” he said. “After I have finished the dictation, I shall be ready to go to the Navy Department.”

“I’ll go with you,” offered Vic.

“Very well,” agreed Dadren.

Releston arose and went toward the office. Marquette followed. Dadren motioned to Stollart to close the door. The secretary did so. He was alone with Commander Dadren in that single room which extended out from Senator Releston’s spacious apartment.

WHEN Senator Releston reached his office, he seated himself behind the desk. Vic Marquette, however, remained standing. The operative began to pace, restlessly. Silent minutes passed. At the end of ten, the door opened and Stollart appeared.

“Where is Commander Dadren?” questioned Releston.

“He departed, sir,” replied Stollart, seriously. “He took the plans and my shorthand notes. He said he would have the notes typed at the Navy Department.”

“He departed!” cried Vic Marquette. “Which way did he go?”

“Through the outer door of the living room,” replied Stollart. “He ordered me to bolt it after him. I did. Then it struck me as rather peculiar that he should choose that exit—”

Vic Marquette leaped for the telephone. He called the desk. He learned that several persons had just come down on an elevator. The clerk had seen them go out; he could not say, however, if any answered Dadren’s description.

“Call the Navy Department,” suggested Senator Releston. “Perhaps they—”

“No use,” growled Vic. “That’s the last place we’d find him. That man was an impostor. I was beginning to suspect it. He’s taken the diagrams with the tracings. He’s landed the works!”

With this statement, Vic became glum. He stared at the senator, whose face reflected the same expression. Only Stollart was unperturbed. Unnoticed, the secretary was wearing a smile of satisfaction.

By skillful stratagem, an impersonator of Commander Joseph Dadren had boldly walked into Senator Releston’s abode. He had asked for the plans that had been brought by Harry Vincent. He had received them.

Coolly, this crafty worker had followed up his deception. Such was the aftermath of the letter from the real Commander Dadren. A keen brain had designed a simple but effective method to gain the priceless plans that had lain behind the formidable door of Senator Releston’s impregnable vault.