The Plot Master

CHAPTER XXIII HIGH WATER MARK

A SOLEMN group was gathered in Senator Releston’s office. In this quiet room of the large apartment, Releston was listening to comments that came from Vic Marquette. Harry Vincent, also present, was puzzled by the situation.

“It’s got me beat,” admitted Vic. “I don’t know which one of those birds was phony. It looked like both. No Commander Dadren at the Navy Department. Nothing down at that siding in Virginia. Fifty men on the job; they covered the entire territory around that station called Alora. They haven’t found the shack; not even the siding, for that matter.”

“We have been hoaxed,” agreed Releston. “But I cannot understand what has become of Stollart. Do you think that he has met with harm?”

“Probably,” declared Vic, “The whole mess is black as ink. Tougher than anything I’ve ever encountered. Suppose, for instance, that the first man here was really Dadren—”

Vic paused as Smedley entered. The servant had come to announce that Mr. Eric Hildrow was calling. Senator Releston nodded.

“Does he have an appointment?” he inquired.

“He says so,” replied Smedley.

“He must have made it by telephone,” mused Releston. “While Stollart was here. I leave all that to Stollart. I shall see him, Smedley.”

“But listen, senator,” began Vic, “we’ve got other matters—”

“I can make the interview short,” interposed Releston. “We have discussed all points and have arrived nowhere. We can wait until Mr. Hildrow leaves.”

“But we ought to be here, Vincent and I.”

“That will be quite all right.”

Smedley returned with Hildrow. Pale-faced, almost weary of manner, the visitor shook hands with Releston. He seated himself beside the desk and refused a cigar that the senator offered him.

“I always smoke these,” declared Hildrow, smiling wanly. He drew a small case from his pocket and extracted a panatela. “Will you try one, senator? They are a special brand I picked up in Cuba.”

Releston accepted. Hildrow settled back in his chair. He began to mention shipping conditions; then looked about questioningly, noting Harry and Vic.

“Mr. Vincent is my new secretary,” explained the senator. “Stollart has gone on vacation. You have seen Vincent here before. Mr. Marquette is his assistant. Go on, Vincent. Arrange those files of the Congressional Record, as I told you.”

Harry took the tip. He went to a corner where the publications were stacked and began to make a pretense of sorting them. Vic came over to aid him. Hildrow resumed his talk.

THE master plotter had played one card, a subtle suggestion that Harry and Vic would leave. Releston, unsuspecting his visitor’s real purpose, had balked the game without knowing it.

Hildrow had another card up his sleeve. It was a better bet if he played it right. He came quickly to the point that he was after.

“Senor Danzola of Havana is a man of high intelligence,” stated Hildrow. “He has an excellent connection with the steamship lines. He believes that the export of sugar cane has been retarded by certain persons in New York.”

“Did he name them?”

“Yes. He stated that—”

Hildrow paused. He looked over to the corner. Then, in a confidential tone, he leaned forward on the desk.

“I do not like to mention the names that Danzola gave,” he said, in a confidential tone. “I promised him that I would mention them to no one but you, senator.”

“Do not mind Vincent or Marquette.”

“On my previous calls,” reminded Hildrow, with a disarming smile, “you usually talked with me alone. Not even Stollart, your regular secretary, remained with us.”

“Those Congressional Records must be filed,” said the senator. “I must refer to them for a speech that I intend to prepare to-night. Suppose, Hildrow, that we postpone this conference until to-morrow.”

“I am leaving for New York, senator, this evening. I require only a few minutes to give you this important information. Could we retire to another room since your secretaries are busy here?”

“Certainly,” replied Releston, seeing an easy solution that would leave Vic and Harry guarding the vault. “We can go into the front living room, Hildrow.”

Releston arose. Hildrow repressed a smile. He shot a wary glance toward the corner, then got up from his chair to follow the senator. At that moment the telephone rang.

“Answer it, Vincent,” ordered Releston, pausing at the door. “Tell me who it is.”

Hildrow stopped beside the senator. Harry went to the telephone. He gave his name in brisk fashion, announcing himself as the senator’s secretary. The voice that came over the wire stopped Harry short.

THE speaker at the other end was Commander Joseph Dadren.

Instantly, Harry stopped the exclamation that was coming to his lips. The presence of the stranger, Eric Hildrow, was the reason why he curbed himself. Yet Harry did not fully succeed in covering his surprise.

Vic Marquette had noted it. The Secret Service operative was watching from the corner. So had Releston. The senator was stepping in from the door, eyes on Harry. He passed Hildrow, who was looking on in an apparently indifferent fashion.

Brief, terse statements were coming from the commander. Harry was mentally registering each phrase. Then came the startling finish. The name of the master plotter.

“Eric Hildrow.”

This time, Harry managed to repress his new surprise. With assuring words that ended the call, he replaced the double-ended desk phone on its stand. He had the instrument in his left hand; that side of his body was toward the door. Harry let his right hand drop to his coat pocket.

“Hold it!” came a fierce warning from the door. “You’re a dead man, Vincent, if you pull that gun! Up with your hands! Make it quick!”

HARRY obeyed. He found himself facing Hildrow. The man’s face showed evil in the light. Twisted lips were forming a snarl. The master crook had drawn two revolvers. One was trained on Harry. The other was swaying back and forth between Marquette and Releston.

“All hands up!” ordered Hildrow. “Line over here. If it wasn’t for the servants being around, I’d blot out the three of you. Make it fast, or I’ll start the works anyway!”

Three men followed the order. Herding the trio with the senator in the lead, Hildrow ordered the procession into the living room. No other alternative offered. The men marched forward.

Hildrow forced them into the living room. The servants were on the other side of the apartment. Neither Smedley nor Williston appeared to make trouble, which was fortunate, considering Hildrow’s threat.

Ordering Vic and Harry to back into a corner, Hildrow covered them with one gun and motioned to Releston with the other. He snarled an order that none had expected.

“Open the door of the closet,” voiced Hildrow. “You’ll find Stollart there. Release him.”

Releston obeyed. He found the missing secretary bound and gagged on the floor.

Harry and Vic stared in amazement. Hildrow became impatient. He kicked the door to the inner hallway. It slammed shut. This was to offset discovery by the servants.

Prompted by Hildrow’s threatening voice, Senator Releston produced a pocketknife and managed to cut the cords that bound Stollart so tightly. The secretary came to his feet. He recognized that Hildrow must be his chief.

The plotter barked an order. Stollart came to action. He frisked Harry Vincent and Vic Marquette, finding one automatic on each man. Hildrow ordered him to cover the two with the guns.

Keeping an eye on Senator Releston, Hildrow went to the shelf that The Shadow had mentioned. Pocketing one revolver, he reached up and found the missing plans that The Shadow had left there.

FROM far away — outside the Hotel Barlingham — came the whine of sirens. Stollart, his voice quavering, asked:

“What’s that, chief?”

“A fire somewhere,” returned Hildrow. “Keep those men covered, Stollart. Fire if they move an inch.”

The wailing noises were coming closer. Hildrow ignored them. Holding the plans in his free hand, the master plotter sneered his victory.

“No need to open that safe, senator,” he chuckled. “Those tracings are not needed. I have photostats. I do not care if a portion of the plans exist. I, alone, have the complete diagrams, now that I have gained these underlying sheets.

“All that remains is to make sure Commander Dadren dies. That call that Vincent answered indicates that he is still alive. His rescuer — The Shadow — is probably dead. I shall trap Dadren.

“But first, the lot of you will die.” Nearer sirens blared as Hildrow paused. “Prepare for death, the three of you. I have stationed competent aids about this hotel. My getaway is assured. Then will come the final search for Dadren.”

Pocketing the plans, the master plotter deliberately drew his second revolver. Four guns were covering the doomed men. Hildrow seemed to relish his plan of murder. He had reason. For Eric Hildrow’s fortunes — evil though they were — had reached high water mark.

Despite the intervention of The Shadow!