helplessly.

"What use rule over Karak to me then . . . how could
I hold the people?"

"Nevertheless�I will destroy the gate of Khalk'ru."

She whispered:

"Gods�if I had Yodin's ring ..."

I smiled at that.

"Witch-woman, you know as well as I that Khalk'ru
comes to no woman's call."

The witch-lights flickered in her eyes ; a flash of green
shone through them.

"There is an ancient prophecy. Yellow-hair, that
Dwayanu did not know�or had forgotten. It says that
when Khalk'ru comes to a woman's call, he�stays !
That was the reason no woman in ancient Ayjilrand
might be priestess at the sacrifice."

I laughed at that.

"A fine pet, Lur�to add to your wolves."

She walked toward the door, paused.

"What if I could love you�as I loved Dwayanu ?
Could make you love me as Dwayanu loved me ? And
more! Send the dark girl to join her people and take
the ban of death from them on this side of Nanbu.
Would you let things be as they are�rule with me over
Karak ?"

I opened the door for her.

"I told you I no longer care for power, Lur."

She walked away.

I went back to the window, drew a chair to it, and sat
thinking. Suddenly from somewhere close to the citadel
I heard a wolf cry. Thrice it howled, then thrice again.

"Leif!"

I jumped to my feet. Evalie was beside me. She
peered at me through the veils of her hair ; her clear eyes
shone upon me�no longer doubting, hating, fearing.
They were as they were of old.

"Evalie !"

My arms went round her ; my lips found hers.

"I listened, Leif!"

"You believe, Evalie !"

She kissed me, held me tight.

"But she was right�Leif. You could not go with
me again into the land of the Little People. Never,
never would they understand. And I would not dwell
in Karak."

"Will you go with me, Evalie�to my own land?
After I have done what I must do ... and if I am not
destroyed in its doing ?"

"I will go with you, Leif !"

And she wept awhile, and after another while she fell
asleep in my arms. And I lifted her, and carried her
into her chamber and covered her with the sleep silks.
Nor did she awaken.

I returned to my own room. As I passed the table I
picked up the locket, started to put it round my neck.
I threw it back. Never would I wear that chain again,
I dropped upon the bed, sword at hand. I slept.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN KHALK'RU'S TEMPLE

TWICE I awakened. The first time it was the
howling of the wolves that aroused me. It was as
though they were beneath my window. I listened
drowsily, and sank back to sleep.

The second time I came wide awake from a troubled
dream. Some sound in the chamber had roused me, of
that I was sure. My hand dropped to my sword lying
on the floor beside my bed. I had the feeling that there
was someone in the room. I could see nothing in the
green darkness that filled the chamber. I called, softly :

"Evalie ! Is that you ?"

There was no answer, no sound.

I sat up in the bed, even thrust a leg out to rise. And
then I remembered the guards at my door, and Dara and
her soldiers beyond, and I told myself that it had been
only my troubled dream that had awakened me. Yet
for a time I lay awake listening, sword in hand. And
then the silence lulled me back to sleep.

There was a knocking upon my door, and I struggled
out of that sleep. I saw that it was well after dawn. I
went to the door softly so that I might not awaken
Evalie. I opened it, and there with the guards was Sri.
The little man had come well armed, with spear and
sickle-sword and between his shoulders one of the small,
surprisingly resonant talking drums. He looked at me
in the friendliest fashion. I patted his hand and pointed
to the curtains.

"Evalie is there, Sri. Go waken her."

He trotted past me. I gave greeting to the guards,
and turned to follow Sri. He stood at the curtains, look-
ing at me with eyes in which was now no friendliness at
all. He said:

"Evalie is not there."

I stared at him, incredulously, brushed by him and
into that chamber. It was empty. I crossed to the
pile of silks and cushions on which Evalie had slept,
touched them. There was no warmth. I went, Sri at
my heels, into the next room. Dara and a half dozen of
the women lay there, asleep. Evalie was not among
them. I touched Dara on the shoulder. She sat up,
yawning.

"Dara�the girl is gone !"

"Gone !" she stared at me as incredulously as I had at
the golden pygmy. She leaped to her feet, ran to the
empty room, then with me through the other chambers.
There lay the soldier women, alseep, but not Evalie.

I ran back to my own room, and to its door. A bitter
rage began to possess me. Swiftly, harshly, I questioned
the guards. They had seen no one. None had entered;

none had gone forth. The golden pygmy listened, his
eyes never leaving me.

I turned toward Evalie's room. I passed the table on
which I had thrown the locket. My hand fell on it, lifted
it; it was curiously light ... I opened it. ...
The ring of Khalk'ru was not there !
I glared at the empty locket�and like a torturing
flame realization of what its emptiness and the vanish-
ment of Evalie might signify came to me. I groaned,
leaned against the table to keep from falling.

"Drum, Sri! Call your people! Bid them come
quickly ! There may yet be time !"

The golden pygmy hissed ; his eyes became little pools
of yellow fire. He could not have known all the horror
of my thoughts�but he read enough. He leaped to the

window, swung his drum and sent forth call upon call�
peremptory, raging, vicious. At once he was answered
�answered from Nansur, and then from all the river and
beyond it the drums of the Little People roared out.

Would Lur hear them ? She could not help but hear
them . . . but would she heed . . . would their threat
stop her ... it would tell her that I was awake and
that the Little People knew of their betrayal . . . and
Evalie's.

God!  If she did hear�was it in time to save
Evalie?

"Quick, Lord!" Dara called from the curtains. The
dwarf and I ran through. She pointed to the side of the
wall. There, where one of the carved stones jointed
another, hung a strip of silk.

"A door there, Dwayanu ! That is how they took her.
They went hurriedly. The cloth caught when the stone
closed."

I looked for something to batter at the stone. But
Dara was pressing here and there. The stone swung
open. Sri darted past and into the black passage it had
masked. I stumbled after him, Dara at my heels, the
others following. It was a narrow passage, and not long.
Its end was a solid wall of stone. And here Dara pressed
again until that wall opened.

We burst into the chamber of the High-priest. The
eyes of the Kraken stared at me and through me with
their inscrutable malignancy. Yet it seemed to me that
in them now was challenge.

All my senseless fury, all blind threshing of my rage,
fell from me. A cold deliberation, an ordered purpose
that had in it nothing of haste took its place. . . . Is it
too late to save Evalie ? ... It is not too late to destroy you,
my enemy. . . .

"Dara�get horses for us. Gather quickly as many as
you can trust. Take only the strongest. Have them

ready at the gate of the road to the temple. . . . We go
to end Khalk'ru. Tell them that."

I spoke to the golden pygmy.

"I do not know if I can help Evalie. But I go to put
an end to Khalk'ru. Do you wait for your people�or
do you go with me ?"

"I go with you."

I knew where the Witch-woman dwelt in the black
citadel, and it was not far away. I knew I would not
find her there, but I must be sure. And she might have
taken Evalie to the Lake of the Ghosts, I was thinking
as I went on, past groups of silent, uneasy, perplexed and
saluting soldiers. But deep in me I knew she had not.
Deep within me I knew that it had been Lur who had
awakened me in the night. Lur, who had stolen through
the curtains to take the ring of Khalk'ru. And there was
only one reason why she should have done that. No,
she would not be at the Lake of the Ghosts.

Yet, if she had come into my room�why had she not
slain me ? Or had she meant to do this, and had my
awakening and calling out to Evalie stayed her ? Had
she feared to go further ? Or had she deliberately
spared me ?

I reached her rooms. She was not there. None of
her women was there. The place was empty, not even
soldiers on guard.

I broke into a run. The golden pygmy followed me,
shrilling, javelins in left hand, sickle-sword in right. We
came to the gate to the temple road.

There were three or four hundred soldiers awaiting
me. Mounted�and every one a woman. I threw myself
on a horse Dara held for me, swung Sri up on the saddle.
We raced toward the temple.

We were half-way there when out from the trees that
bordered the temple road poured the white wolves.
They sprang from the sides like a white torrent, threw

themselves upon the riders. They checked our rush,
our horses stumbled, falling over those the fangs of the
wolves had dropped in that swift, unexpected ambuscade ;

soldiers falling with them, ripped and torn by the wolves
before they could struggle to their feet. We milled among
them�horses and men and wolves in a whirling,
crimson-flecked ring.

Straight at my throat leaped the great dog-wolf,
leader of Lur's pack, green eyes naming. I had no time
for sword thrust. I caught its throat in my left hand,
lifted it and flung it over my back. Even so, its fangs
had struck and gashed me.

We were through the wolves.  What was left of them
came coursing behind us. But they had taken toll of
my troop.

I heard the clang of an anvil . . . thrice stricken
. . . the anvil of Tubalka!

God! It was true . . . Lur in the temple . . . and
Evalie ... and Khalk'ru!

We swept up to the door of the temple. I heard voices
raised in the ancient chant. The entrance swarmed. . . .
It bristled with swords of the nobles, women and men.

"Ride through them, Dara ! Ride them down !"

We swept through them like a ram. Sword against
sword, hammers and battleaxes beating at them, horses
trampling them.

The shrill song of Sri never ceased. His javelin thrust,
his sickle-sword slashed.

We burst into Khalk'ru's temple.  The chanting
stopped. The chanters arose against us; they struck
with sword and axe and hammer at us; they stabbed
and hacked our horses ; pulled us down. The amphi-
theatre was a raging cauldron of death. . . .

The lip of the platform was before me. I spurred my
horse to it, stood upon its back and leaped upon the plat-
form. Close to my right was the anvil of Tubalka;

beside it, hammer raised to smite, was Ouarda. I heard
the roll of drums, the drums of Khalk'ru's evocation.
The backs of the priests were bent over them.

In front of the priests, the ring of Khalk'ru raised
high, stood Lur.

And between her and the bubble ocean of yellow
stone that was the gate of Khalk'ru, fettered dwarfs
swung two by two in the golden girdles. . . .

Within the warrior's ring�Evalie !

The Witch-woman never looked at me; she never
looked behind her at the roaring cauldron of the amphi-
theatre where the soldiers and nobles battled.

She launched into the ritual!

Shouting, I rushed on Ouarda. I wrested the great
sledge from her hands. I hurled it straight at the yellow
screen . . . straight at the head of Khalk'ru. With
every ounce of my strength I hurled that great hammer.

The screen cracked! The hammer was thrown back
from it ... fell.

The Witch-woman's voice went on ... and on ...
never faltering.

There was a wavering in the cracked screen. The
Kraken floating in the bubble ocean seemed to draw
back ... to thrust forward . . .

I ran toward it ... to the hammer.

An instant I halted beside Evalie. I thrust my hands
through the golden girdle, broke it as though it had been
wood. I dropped my sword at her feet.

"Guard yourself, Evalie !"

I picked up the hammer. I raised it. The eyes of
Khalk'ru moved . . . they glared at me, were aware
of me . . . the tentacles stirred ! And the paralysing
cold began to creep round me. ... I threw all my
will against it.

I smashed the sledge of Tubalka against the yellow
stone . . . again . . . and again��

The tentacles of Khalk'ru stretched toward me !

There was a crystalline crashing, like a lightning bolt
striking close. The yellow stone of the screen shattered.
It rained round me like sleet driven by an icy hurricane.
There was an earthquake trembling. The temple rocked.
My arms fell, paralysed.  The hammer of Tubalka
dropped from hands that could no longer feel it. The
icy cold swirled about me ... higher . . . higher
. . . there was a shrill and dreadful shrieking. . . .

For an instant the shape of the Kraken hovered where
the screen had been. Then it shrank. It seemed to be
sucked away into immeasurable distances. It vanished.

And life rushed back into me !

There were jagged streamers of the yellow stone upon
the rocky floor . . . black of the Kraken within
them ... I beat them into dust. . . .

"Leif!"

Evalie's voice, shrill, agonized. I swung round. Lur
was rushing upon me, sword raised. Before I could
move Evalie had darted between us, flung herself in
front of the Witch-woman, struck at her with my own
sword.

The blade of Lur parried the stroke, swept in ...
bit deep . . . and Evalie fell. . . .

Lur leaped toward me ... I watched her come, not
moving, not caring . . . there was blood upon her
sword . . . Evalie's blood. . . .

Something like a flash of light touched her breast.
She halted as though a hand had thrust her back.
Slowly, she dropped to her knees. She sank to the
rock.

Over the rim of the platform leaped the dog-wolf,
howling as it ran. It hurled itself straight at me. There
was another flash of light. The dog-wolf somersaulted
and fell�in mid-leap.

I saw Sri, crouching. One of his javelins was in Lur's
breast, the mate to it in the dog-wolf's throat. ... I saw the
golden pygmy running to Evalie . . . saw her rise, holding a
hand to a shoulder from which streamed blood. . . .

I walked toward Lur, stiffly, like an automaton. The white
wolf tried to stagger to its feet, then crawled to the Witch-
woman, dragging itself on its belly. It reached her before I did.
It dropped its head upon her breast. It turned its head, and lay
glaring at me, dying.

The Witch-woman looked up at me. Her eyes were soft and
her mouth had lost all cruelty. It was tender. She smiled at me.

"I wish you had never come here, Yellow-hair!"

And then�

"Ai�and�Ai! My Lake of the Ghosts!"

Her hand crept up, and dropped on the head of the dying
wolf, caressingly. She sighed�

The Witch-woman was dead.

Stiffly I walked to Evalie. I took her hands in mine. They
were cold . . . cold . . .

I had closed the gate to Khalk'ru ... I had beaten the
Kraken. . .

But the touch of Khalk'ru was on my heart. . . forever. . .

Dara said: "Dwayanu�it is finished! There are few of us
left. What is your command?"

I laughed.

"Shall I lead Karak against the Rrrllya? I hear the drums of
the Little People�and they are no longer on Nanbu's farther
side. They are close. Or say, Sri�shall I give myself to your
yellow manikins as a sacrifice? Answer . . . either of you . . .
for I do not care."

The golden pygmy looked away from me, to hide the pity in
his eyes; Dara looked at me, frank tears in hers. She said:

"What you have done has ended war between Karak and
the Little People. Stay and rule us."

Sri said: "After I have told my people they will cling to
you�though Evalie be dead."

I said: "I have closed Khalk'ru's Gate. Yet Khalk'ru has
touched my heart. I do not care whether I live or die. I will
fight with you, Dara, against the Rrrllya. I will fight with you,
Sri, against Karak. I do not care�except that I would choose
that side which holds for me the swifter death."

Dara said: "Stay�and rule us both, Dwayanu."

Sri trilled: "We will obey you."

I looked at dead Evalie. I looked at dead Lur, the white
wolf's head on her breast. I thought of Jim. I said:

"There would be too many ghosts here."

Sri bent my head down to him. He thrust his hand into my
breast, and dropped his head to listen to the beat of my heart.
He said to Dara:

"He is right. He must go."

Dara asked: "Will you come back to us, Dwayanu?"

"Never!"

She thought over that answer long. She said at last to Sri:

"How may he go?"

Sri answered: "There is a way ... at the head of Nanbu. I
will take him. . ."

I asked, "Is it past the Lake of the Ghosts, Little Man?"

"Yes."

"That is good. I go into a country where the clothes I wear
would be hardly fitting, Sri. Laugh with me at such a
thought�but after all, if my heart is dead my body has its
claims. And my feet need covering ..."

Ai. . . Evalie! Ai. . . Lur! Ai. . . Jim!. . . And my feet need
covering!

I rode from the Temple with the pygmy on my saddle, and
Dara riding beside me. By now, the drums of the Little People
were in Karak. They were calling:

"Ev�ah�lee! . . . Ev�ah�lee! . . . Evah�lee!"

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<����Ŝ$�nj�p�i�Seven Footprints to Satan

A. Merritt




CHAPTER ONE

The clock was striking eight as I walked out of the doors of the Discoverers' Club and stood for a moment looking down lower Fifth Avenue. As I paused, I felt with full force that uncomfortable sensation of being watched that had both puzzled and harassed me for the past two weeks. A curiously prickly, cold feeling somewhere deep under the skin on the side that the watchers are located; an odd sort of tingling pressure. It is a queer sort of a sensitivity that I have in common with most men who spend much of their lives in the jungle or desert. It is a throwback to some primitive sixth sense, since all savages have it until they get introduced to the white man's liquor.

Trouble was I couldn't localize the sensation. It seemed to trickle in on me from all sides. I scanned the street. Three taxis were drawn up along the curb in front of the Club. They were empty and their drivers busy talking. There were no loiterers that I could see. The two swift side-rubbing streams of traffic swept up and down the Avenue. I studied the windows of the opposite houses. There was no sign in them of any watchers.

Yet eyes were upon me, intently. I knew it.

The warning had come to me in many places this last fortnight. I had felt the unseen watchers time and again in the Museum where I had gone to look at the Yunnan jades I had made it possible for rich old Rockbilt to put there with distinct increase to his reputation as a philanthropist; it had come to me in the theater and while riding in the Park; in the brokers' offices where I myself had watched the money the jades had brought me melt swiftly away in a game which I now ruefully admitted I knew less than nothing about. I had felt it in the streets, and that was to be expected. But I had also felt it at the Club, and that was not to be expected and it bothered me more than anything else.

Yes, I was under strictest surveillance. But why?

That was what this night I had determined to find out.

At a touch upon my shoulder, I jumped, and swept my hand halfway up to the little automatic under my left armpit. By that, suddenly I realized how badly the mystery had gotten on my nerves. I turned, and grinned a bit sheepishly into the face of big Lars Thorwaldsen, back in New York only a few days from his two years in the Antarctic.

"Bit jerky, aren't you, Jim?" he asked. "What's the matter? Been on a bender?"

"Nothing like it, Lars," I answered. "Too much city, I guess. Too much continual noise and motion. And too many people," I added with a real candor he could not suspect.

"God!" he exclaimed. "It all looks good to me. I'm eating it up�after those two years. But I suppose in a month or two I'll be feeling the same way about it. I hear you're going away again soon. Where this time? Back to China?"

I shook my head. I did not feel like telling Lars that my destination was entirely controlled by whatever might turn up before I had spent the sixty-five dollars in my wallet and the seven quarters and two dimes in my pocket.

"Not in trouble, are you, Jim?" he looked at me more keenly. "If you are, I'd be glad to�help you."

I shook my head. Everybody knew that old Rockbilt had been unusually generous about those infernal jades. I had my pride, and staggered though I was by that amazingly rapid melting away of a golden deposit I had confidently expected to grow into a barrier against care for the rest of my life, make me, as a matter of fact, independent of all chance, I did not feel like telling even Lars of my folly. Besides, I was not yet that hopeless of all things, a beachcomber in New York. Something would turn up.

"Wait," he said, as some one called him back into the Club.

But I did not wait. Even less than baring my unfortunate gamble did I feel like telling about my watchers. I stepped down into the street.

Who was it that was watching me? And why? Some one from China who had followed after the treasure I had taken from the ancient tomb? I could not believe it. Kin-Wang, bandit though he might be, and accomplished graduate of American poker as well as of Cornell, would have sent no spies after me. Our, well�call it transaction, irregular as it had been, was finished in his mind when he had lost. Crooked as he might be with the cards, he was not the man to go back on his word. Of that I was sure. Besides, there had been no need of letting me get this far before striking. No, they were no emissaries of Kin-Wang.

There had been that mock arrest in Paris, designed to get me quickly out of the way for a few hours, as the ransacked condition of my room and baggage showed when I returned. A return undoubtedly much earlier than the thieves had planned, due to my discovery of the ruse and my surprise sally which left me with an uncomfortable knife slash under an arm but, I afterwards reflected pleasantly, had undoubtedly left one of my guards with a broken neck and another with a head that would not do much thinking for another month or so. Then there had been the second attempt when the auto in which I was rushing to the steamer had been held up between Paris and the Havre. That might have been successful had not the plaques been tucked among the baggage of an acquaintance who was going to the boat by the regular train, thinking, by the way, that he was carrying for me some moderately rare old dishes that I did not want to trust to the possible shocks of fast automobile travel, to which the mythical engagement on the day of sailing had condemned me.

Were the watchers this same gang? They must know that the jades were now out of my hands and safe in the museum. I could be of no further value to these disappointed gentlemen, unless, of course, they were after revenge. Yet that would hardly explain this constant, furtive, patient watching. And why hadn't they struck long before? Surely there had been plenty of opportunities.

Well, whoever the watchers were, I had determined to give them the most open of chances to get at me. I had paid all my bills. The sixty-six dollars and ninety-five cents in my pocket comprised all my worldly goods, but no one else had any claim on it. Whatever unknown port I was clearing for with severely bare sticks and decks, it was with no debts left behind.

Yes, I had determined to decoy my enemies, if enemies they were, out into the open. I had even made up my mind as to where it should be.

In all New York the loneliest spot at eight o'clock of an October night, or any night for that matter, is the one which by day is the most crowded on all the globe. Lower Broadway, empty then of all its hordes and its canyon-like cleft silent, its intersecting minor canyons emptier and quieter even than their desert kin. It was there that I would go.

As I turned down Fifth Avenue from the Discoverers' Club a man passed me, a man whose gait and carriage, figure and clothing, were oddly familiar.

I stood stock still, looking after him as he strolled leisurely up the steps and into the Club.

Then, queerly disturbed, I resumed my walk. There had been something peculiarly familiar, indeed disquietingly familiar, about that man. What was it? Making my way over to Broadway, I went down that street, always aware of the watchers.

But it was not until I was opposite City Hall that I realized what that truly weird familiarity had been. The realization came to me with a distinct shock.

In gait and carriage, in figure and clothing, from light brown overcoat, gray soft hat, to strong Malacca cane that man had been�Myself!





CHAPTER TWO

I stopped short. The natural assumption was, of course, that the resemblance had been a coincidence, extraordinary enough, but still�coincidence. Without doubt there were at least fifty men in New York who might easily be mistaken for me at casual glance. The chance, however, that one of them would be dressed precisely like me at any precise moment was almost nil. Yet it could be. What else could it be? What reason had any one to impersonate me?

But then, for that matter, what reason had any one to put a watch on me?

I hesitated, of half a mind to call a taxi, and return to the Club. Reason whispered to me that the glimpse I had gotten had been brief, that perhaps I had been deceived by the play of light and shadow, the resemblance been only an illusion. I cursed my jumpy nerves and went on.

Fewer and fewer became the people I passed as I left Cortlandt Street behind me. Trinity was like a country church at midnight. As the cliffs of the silent office buildings hemmed me I felt a smothering oppression, as though they were asleep and swaying in on me; their countless windows were like blind eyes. But if they were blind, those other eyes, that I had never for an instant felt leave me, were not. They seemed to become more intent, more watchful.

And now I met no one. Not a policeman, not even a watchman. The latter were, I knew, inside these huge stone forts of capital. I loitered at corners, giving every opportunity for the lurkers to step out, the invisible to become visible. And still I saw no one. And still the eyes never left me.

It was with a certain sense of disappointment that I reached the end of Broadway and looked out over Battery Park. It was deserted. I walked down to the Harbor wall and sat upon a bench. A ferryboat gliding toward Staten Island was like some great golden water bug. The full moon poured a rivulet of rippling silver fire upon the waves. It was very still�so still that I could faintly hear Trinity's bells chiming nine o'clock.

I had heard no one approach, but suddenly I was aware of a man sitting beside me and a pleasant voice asking me for a match. As the flame flared up to meet his cigarette, I saw a dark, ascetic face, smooth-shaven, the mouth and eyes kindly and the latter a bit weary, as though from study. The hand that held the match was long and slender and beautifully kept. It gave the impression of unusual strength�a surgeon's hand or a sculptor's. A professional man certainly, I conjectured. The thought was strengthened by his Inverness coat and his soft, dark hat. In the broad shoulders under the cloak of the coat was further suggestion of a muscular power much beyond the ordinary.

"A beautiful night, sir," he tossed the match from him. "A night for adventure. And behind us a city in which any adventure is possible."

I looked at him more closely. It was an odd remark, considering that I had unquestionably started out that night for adventure. But was it so odd after all? Perhaps it was only my overstimulated suspicion that made it seem so. He could not possibly have known what had drawn me to this silent place. And the kindly eyes and the face made me almost instantly dismiss the thought. Some scholar this, perhaps, grateful for the quietness of the Park.

"That ferryboat yonder," he pointed, seemingly unaware of my scrutiny. "It is an argosy of potential adventure. Within it are mute Alexanders, inglorious Caesars and Napoleons, incomplete Jasons each almost able to retrieve some Golden Fleece�yes, and incomplete Helens and Cleopatras, all lacking only one thing to round them out and send them forth to conquer."

"Lucky for the world they're incomplete, then," I laughed. "How long would it be before all these Napoleons and Caesars and Cleopatras and all the rest of them were at each other's throats�and the whole world on fire?"

"Never," he said, very seriously. "Never, that is, if they were under the control of a will and an intellect greater than the sum total of all their wills and intellects. A mind greater than all of them to plan for all of them, a will more powerful than all their wills to force them to carry out those plans exactly as the greater mind had conceived them."

"The result, sir," I objected, "would seem to me to be not the super-pirates, super-thieves and super-courtesans you have cited, but super-slaves."

"Less slaves than at any time in history," he replied. "The personages I have suggested as types were always under control of Destiny�or God, if you prefer the term. The will and intellect I have in mind would profit, since its house would be a human brain, by the mistakes of blind, mechanistic Destiny or of a God who surely, if he exists, has too many varying worlds to look after to give minute attention to individuals of the countless species that crawl over them. No, it would use the talents of its servants to the utmost, not waste them. It would suitably and justly reward them, and when it punished�its punishments would be just. It would not scatter a thousand seeds haphazardly on the chance that a few would find fertile ground and grow. It would select the few, and see that they fell on fertile ground and that nothing prevented their growing."

"Such a mind would have to be greater than Destiny, or, if you prefer the term, God," I said. "I repeat that it seems to me a super-slavery and that it's mighty lucky for the world that no such mind exists."

"Ah!" he drew at his cigarette, thoughtfully, "but, you see�it does."

"Yes?" I stared at him, wondering if he were joking. "Where?"

"That," he answered, coolly, "you shall soon know�Mr. Kirkham."

"You know me!" for one amazed moment I thought that I could not have heard aright.

"Very well," he said. "And that mind whose existence you doubt knows�all of you there is to know. He summons you! Come, Kirkham, it is time for us to go!"

So! I had met what I had started out to find! They, whoever they were, had come out into the open at last.

"Wait a bit," I felt my anger stir at the arrogance of the hitherto courteous voice. "Whoever you may be or whoever he may be who sent you, neither of you knows me as well as you seem to think. Let me tell you that I go nowhere unless I know where it is I'm going, and I meet no one unless I choose. Tell me then where you want me to go, who it is I'm to meet and the reason for it. When you do that, I'll decide whether or not I'll answer this, what did you call it�summons."

He had listened to me quietly. Now his hand shot out and caught my wrist. I had run across many strong men, but never one with a grip like that. My cane dropped from my paralyzed grasp.

"You have been told all that is necessary," he said, coldly. "And you are going with me�now!"

He loosed my wrist, and shaking with rage I jumped to my feet.

"Damn you," I cried. "I go where I please when I please�" I stooped to pick up my cane. Instantly his arms were around me.

"You go," he whispered, "where he who sent me pleases and when he pleases!"

I felt his hands swiftly touching me here and there. I could no more have broken away from him than if I had been a kitten. He found the small automatic under my left armpit and drew it out of its holster. Quickly as he had seized me, he released me and stepped back. "Come," he ordered.

I stood, considering him and the situation. No one has ever had occasion to question my courage, but courage, to my way of thinking, has nothing whatever to do with bull-headed rashness. Courage is the cool weighing of the factors of an emergency within whatever time limit your judgment tells you that you have, and then the putting of every last ounce of brain, nerve and muscle into the course chosen. I had not the slightest doubt that this mysterious messenger had men within instant call. If I threw myself on him, what good would it do? I had only my cane. He had my gun and probably weapons of his own. Strong as I am, he had taught me that my strength was nothing to his. It might even be that he was counting upon an attack by me, that it was what he hoped for.

True, I could cry out for help or I could run. Not only did both of these expedients seem to me to be ridiculous, but, in view of the certainty of his hidden aides, useless.

Not far away were the subway stations and the elevated road. In that brilliantly lighted zone I would be comparatively safe from any concerted attack�if I could get there. I began to walk away across the Park toward Whitehall Street;

To my surprise he made neither objection nor comment. He paced quietly beside me. Soon we were out of the Battery and not far ahead were the lights of the Bowling Green Station. My resentment and anger diminished, a certain amusement took their place. Obviously it was absurd to suppose that in New York City anyone could be forced to go anywhere against his will, once he was in the usual close touch with its people and its police. To be snatched away from a subway station was almost unthinkable, to be kidnapped from the subway once we got in it absolutely unthinkable. Why then was my companion so placidly allowing each step to take me closer to this unassailable position?

It would have been so easy to have overpowered me just a few moments before. Or why had I not been approached at the Club? There were a dozen possible ways in which I could have been lured away from there.

There seemed only one answer. There was some paramount need for secrecy. A struggle in the Park might have brought the police. Overtures at the Club might have left evidence behind had I disappeared. How utterly outside the mark all this reasoning was I was soon to learn.

As we drew closer to the Bowling Green entrance of the subway, I saw a policeman standing there. I admit without shame that his scenic effect warmed my heart.

"Listen," I said to my companion. "There's a bluecoat. Slip my gun back into my pocket. Leave me here and go your way. If you do that, I say nothing. If you don't I'm going to order that policeman to lock you up. They'll have the Sullivan Law on you if nothing else. Go away quietly and, if you want to, get in touch with me at the Discoverers' Club. I'll forget all this and talk to you. But don't try any more of the rough stuff or I'll be getting good and mad."

He smiled at me, as at some child, his face and eyes again all kindness. But he did not go. Instead, he linked his arm firmly in mine and led me straight to the officer. And as we came within earshot he said to me, quite loudly:

"Now come, Henry. You've had your little run. I'm sure you don't want to give this busy officer any trouble. Come, Henry! Be good!"

The policeman stepped forward, looking us over. I did not know whether to laugh or grow angry again. Before I could speak, the man in the Inverness had handed the bluecoat a card. He read it, touched his hat respectfully and asked:

"And what's the trouble, doctor?"

"Sorry to bother you, officer," my astonishing companion answered. "But I'll ask you to help me a bit. My young friend here is one of my patients. War case�aviator. He hurt his head in a crash in France and just now he thinks he is James Kirkham, an explorer. Actually, his name is Henry Walton."

The bluecoat looked at me, doubtfully. I smiled, in my certain security.

"Go on!" I said. "What else do I think?"

"He's quite harmless," he gently patted my shoulder, "but now and then he manages to slip away from us. Yes, harmless, but very ingenious. He evaded us this evening. I sent my men out to trace him. I found him myself down there in the Battery. At such times, officer, he believes he is in danger of being kidnapped. That's what he wants to tell you�that I am kidnapping him. Will you kindly listen to him, officer, and assure him that such a thing is impossible in New York. Or, if possible, that kidnappers do not conduct their captives up to a New York policeman as I have."

I could but admire the deftness of the story, the half humorous and yet patient, wholly professional manner in which he told it. Safe now as I thought myself, I could afford to laugh, and I did.

"Quite right, officer," I said. "Only it happens that my name really is James Kirkham. I never even heard of this Henry Walton. I never saw this man here until tonight. And I have every reason in the world to know that he is trying to force me to go somewhere that I have no intention whatever of going."

"You see!" My companion nodded meaningly to the policeman, who, far from answering my smiles, looked at me with an irritating sympathy.

"I wouldn't worry," he assured me. "As the good doctor says, kidnappers don't hunt up the police. Ye couldn't be kidnapped in New York�at least not this way. Now go right along wit' the doctor, an' don't ye worry no more."

It was time to terminate the absurd matter. I thrust my hand into my pocket, brought out my wallet and dipped into it for my card. I picked out one and with it a letter or two and handed them to the bluecoat.

"Perhaps these identifications will give you another slant," I said.

He took them, read them carefully, and handed them back to me, pityingly.

"Sure, lad," his tone was soothing. "Ye're in no danger. I'm tellin' ye. Would ye want a taxi, doctor?"

I stared at him in amazement, and then down to the card and envelopes he had returned to me. I read them once and again, unbelievingly.

For the card bore the name of "Henry Walton," and each of the envelopes was addressed to that same gentleman "in care of Dr. Michael Consardine" at an address that I recognized as a settlement of the highest-priced New York specialists up in the seventies. Nor was the wallet I held in my hand the one with which I had started this eventful stroll a little more than an hour before.

I opened my coat and glanced down into the inner pocket for the tailor's label that bore my name. There was no label there.

Very abruptly my sense of security fled. I began to realize that it might be possible to force me to go where I did not want to, after all. Even from a New York Subway station.

"Officer," I said, and there was no laughter now in my voice, "you are making a great mistake. I met this man a few minutes ago in Battery Park. I give you my word he is an utter stranger to me. He insisted that I follow him to some place whose location he refused to tell, to meet some one whose name he would not reveal. When I refused, he struggled with me, ostensibly searching for weapons. During that struggle it is now plain that he substituted this wallet containing the cards and envelopes bearing the name of Henry Walton in the place of my own. I demand that you search him for my wallet, and then whether you find it or not, I demand that you take us both to Headquarters."

The bluecoat looked at me doubtfully. My earnestness and apparent sanity had shaken him. Neither my appearance nor my manner was that of even a slightly unbalanced person. But on the other hand the benign face, the kindly eyes, the unmistakable refinement and professionalism of the man of the Battery bench were as far apart as the poles from the puzzled officer's conception of a kidnapper.

"I'm perfectly willing to be examined at Headquarters� and even searched there," said the man in the Inverness. "Only I must warn you that all the excitement will certainly react very dangerously on my patient. However� call a taxi�"

"No taxi," I said firmly. "We go in the patrol wagon, with police around us."

"Wait a minute," the bluecoat's face brightened. "Here comes the Sergeant. He'll decide what to do." The Sergeant walked up.

"What's the trouble, Mooney?" he asked, looking us over. Succinctly, Mooney explained the situation. The Sergeant studied us again more closely. I grinned at him cheerfully.

"All I want," I told him, "is to be taken to Headquarters. In a patrol wagon. No taxi, Dr. ��� what was it? Oh, yes, Consardine. Patrol wagon with plenty of police, and Dr. Consardine sitting in it with me�that's all I want."

"It's all right, Sergeant," said Dr. Consardine, patiently. "I'm quite ready to go. But as I warned Officer Mooney, it means delay and excitement and you must accept the responsibility for the effect upon my patient, whose care is, after all, my first concern. I have said he is harmless, but tonight I took from him�this."

He handed the Sergeant the small automatic.

"Under his left arm you will find its holster," said Consardine. "Frankly, I think it best to get him back to my sanatorium as quickly as possible."

The Sergeant stepped close to me and throwing back my coat, felt under my left arm. I knew by his face as he touched the holster that Consardine had scored.

"I have a license to carry a gun," I said, tartly.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"In the wallet that man took from me when he lifted the gun," I answered. "If you'll search him you'll find it."

"Oh, poor lad! Poor lad!" murmured Consardine. And so sincere seemed his distress that I was half inclined to feel sorry for myself. He spoke again to the Sergeant.

"I think perhaps the matter can be settled without running the risk of the journey to Headquarters. As Officer Mooney has told you, my patient's present delusion is that he is a certain James Kirkham and living at the Discoverers' Club. It may be that the real Mr. Kirkham is there at this moment. I therefore suggest that you call up the Discoverers' Club and ask for him. If Mr. Kirkham is there, I take it that will end the matter. If not, we will go to Headquarters."

The Sergeant looked at me, and I looked at Consardine, amazed.

"If you can talk to James Kirkham at the Discoverers' Club," I said at last, "then I'm Henry Walton!"

We walked over to a telephone booth. I gave the Sergeant the number of the Club.

"Ask for Robert," I interposed. "He's the desk man."

I had talked to Robert a few minutes before I had gone out. He would still be on duty.

"Is that Robert? At the desk?" the Sergeant asked as the call came through. "Is Mr. James Kirkham there? This is Police Sergeant Downey."

There was a pause. He glanced at me.

"They're paging Kirkham," he muttered�then to the phone�"What's that? You are James Kirkham! A moment, please�put that clerk back. Hello�you Robert? That party I'm talking to Kirkham? Kirkham the explorer? You're certain? All right�all right! Don't get excited about it. I'll admit you know him. Put him back� Hello, Mr. Kirkham? No, it's all right. Just a case of�er�bugs! Man thinks he's you�"

I snatched the receiver from his hand, lifted it to my ear and heard a voice saying:

"�Not the first time, poor devil�"

The voice was my very own!





CHAPTER THREE

The receiver was taken from me, gently enough. Now the Sergeant was listening again. Mooney had me by one arm, the man in the Inverness by the other. I heard the Sergeant say:

"Yes�Walton, Henry Walton, yes, that's the name. Sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Kirkham. Goo'-by."

He snapped up the 'phone and regarded me, compassionately.

"Too bad!" he said. "It's a damned shame. Do you want an ambulance, doctor?"

"No, thanks," answered Consardine. "It's a peculiar case. The kidnapping delusion is a strong one. He'll be quieter with people around him. We'll go up on the subway. Even though his normal self is not in control, his subconscious will surely tell him that kidnapping is impossible in the midst of a subway crowd. Now, Henry," he patted my hand, "admit that it is. You are beginning to realize it already, aren't you�"

I broke out of my daze. The man who had passed me on Fifth Avenue! The man who had so strangely resembled me! Fool that I was not to have thought of that before! "Wait, officer," I cried desperately. "That was an impostor at the Club�some one made up to look like me. I saw him�"

"There, there, lad," he put a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. "You gave your word. You're not going to welch on it, I'm sure. You're all right. I'm telling you. Go with the doctor, now."

For the first time I had the sense of futility. This net spreading around me had been woven with infernal ingenuity. Apparently no contingency had been overlooked. I felt the shadow of a grim oppression. If those so interested in me, or in my�withdrawal, wished it, how easy would it be to obliterate me. If this double of mine could dupe the clerk who had known me for years and mix in with my friends at the Club without detection�if he could do this, what could he not do in my name and in my guise? A touch of ice went through my blood. Was that the plot? Was I to be removed so this double could take my place in my world for a time to perpetrate some villainy that would blacken forever my memory? The situation was no longer humorous. It was heavy with evil possibilities.

But the next step in my involuntary journey was to be the subway. As Consardine had said, no sane person would believe a man could be kidnapped there. Surely there, if anywhere, I could escape, find some one in the crowds who would listen to me, create if necessary such a scene that it' would be impossible for my captor to hold me, outwit him somehow.

At any rate there was nothing to do but go with him. Further appeal to these two policemen was useless.

"Let's go�doctor," I said, quietly. We started down the subway steps, his arm in mine.

We passed through the gates. A train was waiting. 1 went into the last car, Consardine at my heels. It was empty. I marched on. In the second car was only a nondescript passenger or two. But as I neared the third car I saw at the far end half a dozen marines with a second lieutenant. My pulse quickened. Here was the very opportunity I had been seeking. I made straight for them.

As I entered the car I was vaguely aware of a couple sitting in the corner close to the door. Intent upon reaching the leathernecks, I paid no attention to them.

Before I had gone five steps I heard a faint scream, then a cry of�

"Harry! Oh, Dr. Consardine! You've found him!"

Involuntarily, I halted and turned. A girl was running toward me. She threw her arms around my neck and cried again:

"Harry! Harry! dear! Oh, thank God he found you!"

Two of the loveliest brown eyes I had ever beheld looked up at me. They were deep and tender and pitying, and tears trembled on the long black lashes. Even in my consternation I took note of the delicate skin untouched by rouge, the curly, silken fine bobbed hair under the smart little hat�hair touched with warm bronze glints, the nose a bit uplifted and the exquisite mouth and elfinly pointed chin. Under other circumstances, exactly the girl I would have given much to meet; under the present circumstances, well�disconcerting.

"There! There, Miss Walton!" Dr. Consardine's voice was benignly soothing. "Your brother is all right now!"

"Now, Eve, don't fuss any more. The doctor found him just as I told you he would."

It was a third voice, that of the other occupant of the corner seat. He was a man of about my own age, exceedingly well dressed, the face rather thin and tanned, a touch of dissipation about his eyes and mouth.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" he asked me, and added, somewhat gruffly, "Devil of a chase you've given us this time, I must say."

"Now, Walter," the girl rebuked him, "what matter, so he is safe?"

I disengaged the girl's arms and looked at the three of them. Outwardly they were exactly what they purported to be�an earnest, experienced, expensive specialist anxious about a recalcitrant patient with a defective mentality, a sweet, worried sister almost overcome with glad relief that her mind-sick runaway brother had been found, a trusty friend, perhaps a fiance, a bit put out, but still eighteen-carat faithful and devoted and so glad that his sweetheart's worry was over that he was ready to hand me a wallop if I began again to misbehave. So convincing were they that for one insane moment I doubted my own identity. Was I, after all, Jim Kirkham? Maybe I'd only read about him! My mind rocked with the possibility that I might be this Henry Walton whose wits had been scrambled by some accident in France.

It was with distinct effort that I banished the idea. This couple had, of course, been planted in the station and waiting for me to appear. But in the name of all far-seeing devils how could it have been foretold that I would appear at that very station at that very time?

And suddenly one of Consardine's curious phrases returned to me:

"A mind greater than all to plan for all of them; a will greater than all their wills�"

Cobwebs seemed to be dropping around me, cobwebs whose multitudinous strands were held by one master hand, and pulling me, pulling me�irresistibly� where� and to what?

I turned and faced the marines. They were staring at us with absorbed interest. The lieutenant was on his feet, and now he came toward us.

"Anything I can do for you, sir?" he asked Consardine, but his eyes were on the girl and filled with admiration. And at that moment I knew that I could expect no help from him or his men. Nevertheless, it was I who answered.

"You can," I said. "My name is James Kirkham. I live at the Discoverers' Club. I don't expect you to believe me, but these people are kidnapping me�"

"Oh, Harry, Harry!" murmured the girl and touched her eyes with a foolish little square of lace.

"All that I ask you to do," I went on, "is to call up the Discoverers' Club when you leave this car. Ask for Lars Thorwaldsen, tell him what you have seen, and say I told you that the man at the Club who calls himself James Kirkham is an impostor. Will you do that?"

"Oh, Dr. Consardine," sobbed the girl. "Oh, poor, poor brother!"

"Will you come with me a moment, lieutenant?" asked Consardine. He spoke to the man who had called the girl Eve�"Watch; Walter�look after Harry�"

He touched the lieutenant's arm and they walked to the front of the car.

"Sit down, Harry, old man," urged Walter.

"Please, dear," said the girl. A hand of each of them on my arms, they pressed me into a seat.

I made no resistance. A certain grim wonder had come to me. I watched Consardine and the lieutenant carry on a whispered conversation to which the latter's leathernecks aimed eager ears. I knew the story Consardine was telling, for I saw the officer's face soften, and he and his men glanced at me pityingly; at the girl, compassionately. The lieutenant asked some question, Consardine nodded acquiescence and the pair walked back.

"Old man," the lieutenant spoke to me soothingly, "of course I'll do what you ask. We get off at the Bridge and I'll go to the first telephone. Discoverers' Club, you said?"

It would have been wonderful if I had not known that he thought he was humoring a lunatic.

I nodded, wearily.

" 'Tell it to the marines,' I quoted. "The man who said that knew what he was talking about. Invincible but dumb. Of course, you'll not do it. But if a spark of intelligence should miraculously light up your mind tonight or even tomorrow, please phone as I asked."

"Oh, Harry! Please be quiet!" implored the girl. She turned her eyes, eloquent with gratitude, to the lieutenant. "I'm sure the lieutenant will do exactly as he has promised."

"Indeed I will," he assured me�and half winked at her.

I laughed outright, I couldn't help it. No heart of any marine I had ever met, officer or otherwise, could have withstood that look of Eve's�so appealing, so grateful, so wistfully appreciative.

"All right, lieutenant," I said. "I don't blame you a bit. I bet myself I couldn't be kidnapped under a New York cop's eye at a subway entrance. But I lost. Then I bet myself I couldn't be kidnapped in a subway train. And again I've lost. Nevertheless, if you should get wondering whether I'm crazy or not, take a chance, lieutenant, and call up the Club."

"Oh, brother," breathed Eve, and wept once more.

I sank back into my seat, waiting another opportunity. The girl kept her hand on mine, her eyes, intermittently, on the leatherneck lieutenant. Consardine had seated himself at my right. Walter sat at Eve's side.

At Brooklyn Bridge the marines got out, with many backward looks at us. I saluted the lieutenant sardonically; the girl sent him a beautifully grateful smile. If anything else had been needed to make him forget my appeal it was that.

Quite a crowd piled on the car at the Bridge. I watched them hopefully, as they stampeded into the seats. The hopefulness faded steadily as I studied their faces. Sadly I realized that old Vanderbilt had been all wrong when he had said, "The public be damned." What he ought to have said was "The public be dumb."

There was a Hebraic delegation of a half dozen on their way home to the Bronx, a belated stenographer who at once began operations with a lipstick, three rabbit-faced young hoods, an Italian woman with four restless children, a dignified old gentleman who viewed their movements with suspicion, a plain-looking Negro, a rather pleasant-appearing man of early middle age with a woman who might have been a school teacher, two giggling girls who at once began flirting with the hoods, a laborer, three possible clerks and a scattering dozen of assorted morons. The typical New York subway train congregation. A glance at right and left of me assayed no richer residue of human intelligence.

There was no use in making an appeal to these people. My three guardians were too far ahead of them in gray matter and resourcefulness. They could make it abortive before I was half finished. But I might drop that suggestion of calling up the Club. Someone, I argued, might have their curiosity sufficiently developed to risk a phone call. I fixed my gaze on the dignified old gentleman�be seemed the type who possibly would not be able to rest until he had found out what it was all about.

And just as I was opening my mouth to speak to him, the girl patted my hand and leaned across me to the man in the Inverness.

"Doctor," her voice was very clear and of a carrying quality that made it audible throughout the car. "Doctor, Harry seems so much better. Shall I give him�you know what?"

"An excellent idea, Miss Walton," he answered. "Give it to him."

The girl reached under her long sport coat and brought out a small bundle.

"Here, Harry," she handed it to me. "Here's your little playmate�who's been so lonely without you."

Automatically I took the bundle and tore it open.

Into my hands dropped out a dirty, hideous old rag-doll!

As I looked at it, stupefied, there came to me complete perception of the truly devilish cunning of those who had me in their trap. The very farcicality of that doll had a touch of terror in it. At the girl's clear voice, all the car had centered their attention upon us. I saw the dignified old gentleman staring at me unbelievingly over his spectacles, saw Consardine catch his eye and tap his forehead significantly�and so did every one else see him. The Negro's guffaw suddenly stopped. The Hebraic group stiffened up and gaped at me; the stenographer dropped her vanity case; the Italian children goggled at the doll, fascinated. The middle-aged couple looked away, embarrassed.

I realized that I was on my feet, clutching the doll as though I feared it was to be taken from me.

"Hell!" I swore, and lifted it to dash it to the floor.

And suddenly I knew that any further resistance, and further struggle, was useless.

The game was rigged up against me all the way through the deck. For the moment I might as well throw down my hand. I was going, as Consardine had told me, where the "greater intellect and will" pleased, whether it pleased me or not. Also I was going when it pleased. And that was now.

Well, they had played with me long enough. I would throw my hand down, but as I sat back I would have a little diversion myself.

I dropped into my seat, sticking the doll in my upper pocket where its head protruded grotesquely. The dignified old gentleman was making commiserating clucking noises and shaking his head understandingly at Consardine. One of the rabbit-faced youths said "Nuts" and the girls giggled nervously. The Negro hastily got up and retreated to the next car. One of the Italian children pointed to the doll and whined, "Gimme."

I took the girl's hand in both of mine.

"Eve, darling," I said, as distinctly as she had spoken, "you know I ran away because I don't like Walter there."

I put my arm around her waist.

"Walter," I leaned over her, "no man like you just out of prison for what was, God knows, a justly deserved sentence, is worthy of my Eve. No matter how crazy I may be, surely you know that is true."

The old gentleman stopped his annoying clucking and looked startled. The rest of the car turned its attention like him, to Walter. I had the satisfaction of seeing a slow flush creep up his cheeks.

"Dr. Consardine," I turned to him, "as a medical man you are familiar with the stigmata, I mean the marks, of the born criminal. Look at Walter. The eyes small and too close together, the mouth's hardness deplorably softened by certain appetites, the undeveloped lobes of the ears. If I ought not be running loose�how much less ought he to be, doctor?"

Every eye in the car was taking in each point as I called attention to it. And each happened to be a little true. The flush on Walter's face deepened to a brick red. Consardine looked at me, imperturbably.

"No," I went on, "not at all the man for you, Eve."

I gripped the girl closer. I drew her tightly to me. I was beginning to enjoy myself�and she was marvelously pretty.

"Eve!" I exclaimed. "All this time I've been away from you�and you haven't even kissed me!"

I lifted up her chin and�well, I kissed her. Kissed her properly and in no brotherly manner. I heard Walter cursing under his breath. How Consardine was taking it I could not tell. Indeed I did not care�Eve's mouth was very sweet.

I kissed her again and again�to the chuckles of the hoods, the giggles of the girls, and horrified exclamations of the dignified old gentleman.

And the girl's face, which at the first of my kisses had gone all rosy red, turned white. She did not resist, but between kisses I heard her whisper:

"You'll pay for this! Oh, but you'll pay for this!"

I laughed and released her. I did not care now. I was going to go with Dr. Consardine wherever he wanted to take me�as long as she went with me.

"Harry," his voice broke my thought, "come along. Here is our station."

The train was slowing up for the Fourteenth Street stop. Consardine arose. His eyes signaled the girl. Her own eyes downcast, she took my hand. Her hand was like ice. I got up, still laughing. Consardine at my other side, Walter guarding the rear, I walked out upon the platform and up the steps to the street. Once I looked behind me into Walter's face, and my heart warmed at the murder in it.

It had been touche for me with two of them at any rate �and at their own game.

A chauffeur in livery stood at the top of the steps. He gave me a quick, curious glance and saluted Consardine.

"This way�Kirkham!" said the latter, curtly.

So I was Kirkham again! And what did that mean?

A powerful car stood at the curb. Consardine gestured. Eve's hand firmly clasped in mine, I entered, drawing her after me. Walter had gone ahead of us. Consardine followed. The chauffeur closed the door. I saw another liveried figure on the driver's seat. The car started.

Consardine touched a lever and down came the curtains, closeting us in semi-darkness.

And as he did so the girl Eve wrenched her hand from mine, struck me a stinging blow across the lips and huddling down in her corner began silently to weep.





CHAPTER FOUR

The cab, one of expensive European make, sped smoothly over to Fifth Avenue and turned north. Consardine touched another lever and a curtain dropped between us and the driving seat. There was a hidden bulb that shed a dim glow.

By it I saw that the girl had recovered her poise. She sat regarding the tips of her shapely narrow shoes. Walter drew out a cigarette case. I followed suit.

"You do not mind, Eve?" I asked solicitously.

She neither looked at me nor answered. Consardine was apparently lost in thought. Walter stared icily over my head. I lighted my cigarette and concentrated upon our course. My watch registered a quarter to ten.

The tightly shaded windows gave no glimpse of our surroundings. By the traffic stops I knew we were still on the Avenue. Then the car began a series of turns and twists as though it were being driven along side streets. Once it seemed to make a complete circle. I lost all sense of direction, which, I reflected, was undoubtedly what was intended.

At 10:15 the car began to go at greatly increased speed and I judged we were out of heavy traffic. Soon a cooler, fresher air came through the ventilators. We might be either in Westchester or Long Island. I could not tell.

It was precisely 11:20 when the car came to a stop. After a short pause it went on again. I heard from behind us the clang of heavy metal gates. For perhaps ten minutes more we rolled on swiftly and then halted again. Consardine awoke from his reverie and snapped up the curtains. The chauffeur opened the door. Eve dropped out, and after her Walter.

"Well, here we are, Mr. Kirkham," said Consardine, affably. He might have been a pleased host bringing home a thrice-welcome guest instead of a man he had abducted by outrageous wiles and falsehoods.

I jumped out. Under the moon, grown storm-promising and watery as a drunkard's eye, I saw an immense building that was like some chateau transplanted from the Loire. Lights gleamed brilliantly here and there in wings and turrets. Through its doors were passing the girl and Walter. I glanced around me. There were no lights visible anywhere except those of the chateau. I had the impression of remoteness and of wide, tree-filled spaces hemming the place in and guarding its isolation.

Consardine took my arm and we passed over the threshold. On each side stood two tall footmen and as I went by them I perceived that they were Arabs, extraordinarily powerful. But when I had gotten within the great hall I stopped short with an involuntary exclamation of admiration.

It was as though the choicest treasures of medieval France had been skimmed of their best and that best concentrated here. The long galleries, a third of the way up to the high vaulted ceiling, were exquisite Gothic; arrases and tapestries whose equals few museums could show hung from them and the shields and arms were those of conquering kings.

Consardine gave me no time to study them. He touched my arm and I saw beside me an impeccably correct English valet.

"Thomas will look after you now," said Consardine. "See you later, Kirkham."

"This way, sir, if you please," bowed the valet, and led me into a miniature chapel at the side of the hall. He pressed against its fretted back. It slid away and we entered a small elevator. When it stopped, another panel slipped aside. I stepped into a bedroom furnished, in its own fashion, with the same astonishing richness as the great hall. Behind heavy curtains was a bathroom.

Upon the bed lay dress trousers, shirt, cravat, and so on. In a few minutes I was washed, freshly shaved and in evening clothes. They fitted me perfectly. As the valet opened a closet door a coat hanging there drew my sharp attention. I peered in.

Hanging within that closet was the exact duplicate of every garment that made up my wardrobe at the Club. Yes, there they were, and as I looked into the pockets for the tailor's labels I saw written on them my own name.

I had an idea that the valet, watching me covertly, was waiting for some expression of surprise. If so he was disappointed. My capacity for surprise was getting a bit numb.

"And now where do I go?" I asked.

For answer he slid the panel aside and stood waiting for me to enter the lift. When it stopped I expected of course to step out into the great hall. Instead of that the opening panel revealed a small anteroom, oak paneled, bare and with a door of darker oak set in its side. Here was another tall Arab, evidently awaiting me, for the valet bowed me out of the elevator and re-entering, disappeared.

The Arab salaamed. Opening the door, he salaamed again. I walked over its threshold. A clock began to chime midnight.

"Welcome, James Kirkham! You are punctual to the minute," said some one.

The voice was strangely resonant and musical, with a curious organ quality. The speaker sat at the head of a long table where places were laid for three. That much I saw before I looked into his eyes, and then for a time could see nothing else. For those eyes were of the deepest sapphire blue and they were the alivest eyes I had ever beheld. They were large, slightly oblique, and they sparkled as though the very spring of life was bubbling up behind them. Gem-like they were in color, and gem-like were they in their hardness. They were lashless, and as unwinking as a bird's�or a snake's.

It was with distinct effort that I tore my gaze from them and took note of the face in which they were set. The head above them was inordinately large, high and broad and totally bald. It was an astonishing hemisphere whose capacity must have been almost double that of the average. The ears were long and narrow and distinctly pointed at the tips. The nose was heavy and beaked, the chin round but massive. The lips were full, and as classically cut and immobile as of some antique Greek statue. The whole huge, round face was of a marble pallor, and it was unwrinkled, unlined and expressionless. The only thing alive about it were the eyes, and alive indeed they were� uncannily, terrifyingly so.

His body, what I could see of it, was unusually large, the enormous barrel of the chest indicating tremendous vitality.

Even at first contact one sensed the abnormal, and the radiation of inhuman power.

"Be seated, James Kirkham," the sonorous voice rolled out again. A butler emerged from the shadows at his back and drew out for me the chair at the left.

I bowed to this amazing host of mine and seated myself silently.

"You must be hungry after your long ride," he said. "It was good of you, James Kirkham, thus to honor this whim of mine."

I looked at him sharply but could detect no sign of mockery.

"I am indebted to you, sir," I answered, as urbanely, "for an unusually entertaining journey. And as for humoring what you are pleased to call your whim, how, sir, could I have done otherwise when you sent messengers so�ah� eloquent?"

"Ah, yes," he nodded. "Dr. Consardine is indeed a singularly persuasive person. He will join us presently. But drink�eat."

The butler poured champagne. I lifted my glass and paused, staring at it with delight. It was a goblet of rock crystal, exquisitely cut, extremely ancient I judged�a jewel and priceless.

"Yes," said my host, as though I had spoken. "Truly one of a rare set. They were the drinking glasses of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid. When I drink from them I seem to see him surrounded by his beloved cup-companions amid the glories of his court in old Bagdad. All the gorgeous panorama of the Arabian Nights spreads out before me. They were preserved for me," he went on, thoughtfully, "by the late Sultan Abdul Hamid. At least they were his until I felt the desire to possess them."

"You must have exercised great�ah�persuasion, sir, to have made the Sultan part from them," I murmured.

"As you have remarked, James Kirkham, my messengers are�eloquent," he replied, suavely.

I took a sip of the wine and could not for the life of me hide my pleasure.

"Yes," intoned my strange host, "a rare vintage. It was intended for the exclusive use of King Alfonso of Spain. But again my messengers were�eloquent. When I drink it my admiration for its excellences is shadowed only by my sympathy for Alfonso in his deprivation."

I drank that wine, worshipfully. I attacked with relish a delicious cold bird. My eye was caught by the lines of a golden compote set with precious stones. So exquisite was it that I half arose to examine it more closely.

"Benvenuto Cellini made it," observed my host. "It is one of his masterpieces. Italy kept it for me through the centuries."

"But Italy would never voluntarily have let a thing like that go from her!" I exclaimed.

"No, quite involuntarily, oh quite, I assure you," he answered, blandly.

I began to glance about the dimly lighted room and realized that here, like the great hall, was another amazing treasure chamber. If half of what my eyes took in was genuine, the contents of that room alone were worth millions. But they could not be�not even an American billionaire could have gathered such things.

"But they are genuine," again he read my thoughts. "I am a connoisseur indeed�the greatest in the world. Not alone of paintings, and of gems and wines and other masterpieces of man's genius. I am a connoisseur of men and women. A collection of what, loosely, are called souls. That is why, James Kirkham, you are here!"

The butler filled the goblets and placed another bottle in the iced pail beside me; he put liqueurs and cigars upon the table and then, as though at some signal, he withdrew. He disappeared, I noted with interest, through still another wall panel that masked one of the hidden lifts. I saw that he was a Chinese.

"Manchu," observed my host. "Of princely rank. Yet he thinks to be my servant the greater honor."

I nodded casually, as though the matter were commonplace and butlers who were Manchu princes, wine lifted from King Alfonso, goblets of an Arabian Nights' Caliph and Cellini compotes everyday affairs. I realized that the game which had begun in Battery Park a few hours before had reached its second stage and I was determined to maintain my best poker face and manner.

"You please me, James Kirkham," the voice was totally devoid of expression, the lips scarcely moved as it rolled forth. "You are thinking�'I am a prisoner, my place in the outer world is being filled by a double whom even my closest friends do not suspect of being other than I; this man speaking is a monster, ruthless and conscienceless, a passionless intellect which could�and would�blow me out if he desired as carelessly as he would blow out a candle flame.' In all that, James Kirkham, you are right."

He paused. I found it better not to look into those jewel-bright blue eyes. I lighted a cigarette and nodded, fixing my attention on the glowing tip.

"Yes, you are right," he went on. "Yet you ask no questions and make no appeals. Your voice and hands are steady, your eyes untroubled. But back of all, your brain is keenly alert, poised on tiptoe to seize some advantage. You are feeling out for danger with the invisible antennae of your nerves like any jungleman. Every sense is alive to catch some break in the net you feel around you. There is a touch of terror upon you. Yet outwardly you show no slightest sign of all this�only I could detect it. You please me greatly, James Kirkham. Yours is the true gambler's soul!"

He paused again, studying me over the rim of his goblet. I forced myself to meet his gaze and smile.

"You are now thirty-five," he continued. "I have watched you for years. I was first attracted to you by your work in the French Espionage Service during the second year of the war."

My fingers stiffened involuntarily about my glass. None, I had thought, had known of that hazardous work except the Chief and myself.

"It happened that you ran counter to no plans of mine," the toneless voice rolled on. "So you�lived. You next came to my notice when you undertook to recover the Spiradoff emeralds from the Communists in Moscow. You ingeniously left with them the imitations and escaped with the originals. I did not care for them, I have much finer ones. So I allowed you to return. them to those who had commissioned you. But the audacity of your plan and the cool courage with which you carried it out entertained me greatly. I like to be entertained, James Kirkham. Your indifferent acceptance of the wholly inadequate reward showed that it had been the adventure which had been the primal appeal. It had been the game and not the gain. You were, as I had thought, a true gambler."

And now despite myself I could not keep astonishment from my face. The Spiradoff affair had