The Plot Master

CHAPTER XIX WEDNESDAY AFTER TWO

TWO o’clock.

Vic Marquette, pacing nervously, noted the time. Senator Releston was at his desk, deep in thought. Stollart stood inconspicuously at one side.

“I thought of calling Vincent,” said Marquette, savagely. “But that wouldn’t do any good. He’s over at that inquiry; it would be a tough job to get hold of him.”

“There is still a chance,” declared Releston, “that we have not been deceived. I still think that a call to the Navy Department—”

“Would ruin everything,” broke in Vic. “Listen, senator. If that was really Dadren who came here, all we’ve got to do is wait. Let him handle the matter the way he wants. But if the fellow was a faker, we could call every department in Washington and it wouldn’t bring him back.”

“You are right, Marquette,” admitted Releston, with a solemn nod.

“Dumb work on your part, Stollart,” accused Vic, whirling to the silent secretary. “If you hadn’t let him get away; if you’d only come in here to tell us he was going—”

Protest showed on Stollart’s face; it was Releston, however, who intervened.

“Save criticism for yourself, Marquette,” he said, sternly. “Do not shift the blame to Stollart.”

Vic subsided glumly. He resumed his pacing. Two minutes passed; then came footsteps. Vic turned to see Smedley enter. The servant looked puzzled.

“What is it, Smedley?” inquired Releston.

“Commander Dadren has arrived, sir,” returned the servant. “He is in the waiting room. But — I don’t understand—”

“Dadren has returned?” exclaimed Releston.

“But he hasn’t, sir,” protested Smedley. “He announced himself as if he had never seen me before. And he looks a bit different, sir.”

“The real Dadren!” shouted Vic, pouncing toward the door.

Before Vic reached the portal, Dadren himself appeared. He had heard the cries; he had come to learn the trouble. Under his arm he carried a portfolio. Smedley was right; this Dadren looked different from the other.

SENATOR RELESTON recalled a definite appearance of the first visitor’s face. Firm features, so well molded that they had been almost masklike. This man looked less like Dadren than Releston had expected. Had the two been side by side, the senator would have chosen the first Dadren as the genuine. Circumstances, however, made him decide in favor of the newcomer.

Vic Marquette had denounced the first visitor as an impostor. Releston had given accord. Both took it for granted that Commander Dadren stood before them. In fact, the naval officer looked bewildered at the excitement which his arrival had created. Looking past Releston and Marquette, he caught sight of Stollart.

A warning signal from the secretary. It was Stollart, at present, who was troubled. While Releston and Marquette had been registering elation, Stollart had lost his smug satisfaction. Sight of this new face; a glimpse of the portfolio — both were enough to tell bad news to Stollart.

“At last.” Dadren appeared relieved as he forced a smile, yet all the while his eyes were watchful. “Here I am, senator, with the missing portions of the plans.”

Advancing to the desk, he opened the portfolio. From it, he drew forth the sheets of tracings and spread them out that all could see.

“Give me the other drawings,” suggested the commander. “I shall show you how they fit.”

“We have bad news, commander,” interjected Releston, going back to his desk. “The plans — the ones Vincent brought — are gone!”

“Gone!” exclaimed Dadren.

Looking about, he caught Stollart’s eye. Again a danger signal came from the troubled secretary. Dadren looked to Releston for an explanation.

“More than a half hour ago,” stated the senator, “a man came here and announced himself as you. He looked like you, commander. He wanted the plans. We gave them to him.”

“What! Without demanding proof of his identity?”

“Vincent was here. He took the man for you.”

“But did the rogue have tracings?”

“No. He said that he had destroyed them; that they were unnecessary. He was in the living room with Stollart, dictating notes. He left by the outer door.”

“Is this Stollart?” demanded Dadren, looking at the secretary.

Releston nodded.

“What did the impostor dictate?” inquired Dadren, looking steadily at the secretary.

“Odd references that I could not understand,” was the reply. “It sounded like a rigmarole. But I thought—”

“Of course.” Dadren’s tone was caustic. “Nobody thought. What kind of a story did this fellow tell you?”

“None,” growled Vic. “That’s just why I began to suspect him. He said he was brought blindfolded into Washington; that—”

“You have told me enough,” interposed Dadren. “Listen to my story. You will know then why the rogue came here. In a sense, I am to blame for what has happened. Yet, do not be alarmed. We are better off than we were before.”

RELESTON settled back in his chair. Vic Marquette looked tensely interested. Stollart was listening carefully.

“My captors,” explained Dadren, “were holding me in an old shack somewhere near a railroad. I feel sure that it was on the Richmond line. South of Washington. I could hear trains going by at night.

“Their leader, a black-bearded villain, could make nothing of the plans I carried. He thought they were duplicates of those that you received from Vincent. He wanted the originals. So he politely returned me these duplicates and suggested a compromise, through the letter that he made me write.

“To-day, the bearded man went away. I suspected a ruse. I managed to talk with the guard whom he had set over me. That fellow, like others on duty at the shack, seemed discontented. Talking with the guard, I explained the terms that I had made. I learned something.

“The black-bearded rascal had told his crew that he was getting fifty thousand dollars for my release. He was to split half of the money with them. My guard saw — from what I had told him — that he and the others would he left holding the bag. That was my wedge.”

“I begin to get it,” affirmed Vic Marquette.

“I told my guard that I wanted to escape,” resumed Dadren. “I said that the bearded chief was double-crossing me as well as his own men. I offered amnesty to all and added that I would pay them the twenty-five thousand that I had promised to their leader.

“I impressed the dissatisfied guard. He was going to talk it over with his companions. I told him to wait, until they had proof of their leader’s perfidy. The guard came in the cell where they were holding me. He aided me in wrenching away the bars, a job that I had failed to do alone.

“Then he locked the door and remained outside while I escaped. I made for the railroad. A freight was coming from a siding. I clambered into an open box car and rode into Washington. I came here at once.

“This being Wednesday” — the speaker paused deliberately — “I figured that I could anticipate any game that our enemy was playing. Bringing the tracings with me, I was sure that all was safe. I thought that to-morrow, Thursday, would bring the crisis. But I was wrong.”

DADREN paused. Then, in a sour tone, he added:

“The crook came here ahead of me. In disguise. Something that I had not expected. What a terrible mistake — to let him get away with those plans. Nevertheless, we can defeat him.”

“How?” queried Vic.

“Here are the tracings,” responded Dadren. “The villain does not know their value. He has merely reversed the situation. He has the plans, we have the tracings, instead of the other way about.”

“Say” — Vic Marquette had a sudden thought — “that fellow seemed to know what the tracings were for. How do you explain that, commander?”

“I can answer it.” The unexpected statement came from Stollart. The secretary was speaking earnestly. “Remember, sir” — Stollart turned to Releston — “that the impostor stalled a bit when the tracings were mentioned?”

“I do,” recalled the senator.

“That’s when he realized their importance,” added Stollart. “He was bluffing, feeling us out. He caught on without our knowing it.”

“Stollart is right!” shot Vic Marquette, pounding the desk. “That guy’s headed back for the shack in Virginia, to get these tracings that he had returned to Commander Dadren.”

“We can trap him there,” added Senator Releston. “With Commander Dadren free and safe with us, we can move at once. This is a job for the Secret Service, Marquette.”

“You’re right it is, senator,” chimed Vic. “I’m calling the chief right away. We’ll have a squad down there to grab the whole outfit. How close can you give us the trail, commander?”

“I paced five hundred and fifty steps from the shack to the siding,” declared Dadren. “I came in from the east side of the railroad, on a direct line. While in the box car, I counted sixty-three telegraph posts until we reached a little station called Alora.”

“That’s enough,” decided Vic. “Let me have the telephone, senator—”

“Just a moment,” interrupted Dadren. Vic stopped. “These plans” — Dadren picked up the tracings — “must go in the vault at once.”

“I shall place them there as soon as Marquette calls,” promised Releston.

“And I’ll stay here with the senator,” added Vic. “The chief will handle the squad.”

“I must see Vincent,” declared Dadren. “Furthermore, I should report at once to the Navy Department.”

“Vincent is down there,” put in Stollart, “at an inquiry that concerns Cedar Cove—”

“What!” exclaimed Dadren. “I must go there, at once. This is important, senator. I can report to the department, see Vincent and talk at that inquiry, all at once.”

“Shall I go with him, senator?” questioned Vic.

“You belong here,” insisted Dadren. “You represent the Secret Service. I have placed the tracings in your charge. I may have to mention that at the inquiry. Otherwise, the Navy Department might demand the tracings.

“You should stay here also, senator. Nevertheless, I should like to have some one accompany me. I shall be safe, for I am sure that my abductor has not yet learned of my escape. At the same time, I prefer to have some one with me—”

“Take Stollart,” interposed Releston, indicating the secretary.

“Good!” A faint smile began on Dadren’s lips. Stollart, too, showed repressed satisfaction. “Very well, senator” — Dadren waved his hand toward the desk — “you have the all important tracings. You know me to be the real Commander Dadren.

“Come, Stollart. We must start. I shall call you from the Navy Department, senator.”

Turning on his heel, the second visitor strode from the office. Stollart followed close behind him. Vic Marquette grabbed the telephone, while Senator Releston remained at his desk.

While Vic was telephoning, Releston heard the outer door slam as token of a departure. The gray-haired senator smiled. Not for a moment did he suspect that he and Marquette — for the second time within an hour — had become the dupes of a clever game.