the horror begotten in that laboratory, is coveted by the governments of the United States, of England, and of Russia.”
Michael Frobisher stood up. His craggy brows struggled to meet over a deep vertical wrinkle.
“Who says so?”
“I say so. Agents of all those governments are watching every move we make here.”
“I knew there was a leak! Do you know those agents?”
“Sir Denis Nayland Smith has arrived from London.”
“Who in hell is Sir Denis Nayland Smith?”
“An old friend of mine. Formerly a commissioner of Scotland Yard. But I don’t know the Washington agent and I don’t know the Soviet agent. I only know they’re here.”
“Oh!” said Michael Frobisher, and sat down again. “Any more troubles?”
“Yes.” Craig found his cigarettes and lighted one. “Dr. Fu-Manchu.”
Silence fell between them like a curtain. Craig had turned again to the desk. He swung back now, and glanced at Frobisher. His expression was complicated. But fear was in it. He looked up at Craig.
“You’re sure there
is
such a person?”
“Yes—moderately sure.”
For some reason this assurance seemed to bring relief to Frobisher. A moment later an explanation came.
“Then I’m not crazy—as that damned Pardoe thinks! Those Asiatic snoopers really exist. They seem to have quit tailing me around town, but queer things happen out at Falling Waters. Whoever went through my papers one night a way back must have been working with inside help—”
“But I thought you told me that some yellow character—”
“
He
was outside. Saw him from my dressing-room window. No locks broken. Then, only last night, my private safe was opened!”
“What’s that?”
“Plain fact. I was awake. Sleep badly. Guess I interrupted him. But the door of the safe was wide open when I got down!”
“See anybody?”
“Not a one. Nothing taken. Doors and windows secure. Craig”—Frobisher’s deep voice faltered—“I was beginning to wonder—”
“If you walked in your sleep? Did these things yourself?”
“Well—”
“Quite understand, and sympathize.”
Michael Frobisher executed a shaking movement with his head, rather like that of a big dog who has something in his ear.
“Listen—but not a word to Mrs. F. I have had a gadget fixed up to record any movement around the house, and show just where it’s coming from. I want you to look it over this week-end.”
“Delightful prospect. I am the gadget king. And this brings me to my main misgiving. You may recall the bother we had fitting up the plant in the lab?”
“Don’t be funny! Didn’t we import workmen from Europe to make it in sections—”
“We did. And I have been my own draughtsman.”
“Then send ’em home again and assemble the sections ourselves?”
“‘Ourselves’ relating to Shaw, Regan and me? I fall to recall any instance when you put your Herculean but dignified shoulder to the wheel. Still, you were highly encouragin’. Yes—well—to be brief, we shall have to do likewise once more.”
“What’s that?”
“I cannot be responsible for tests carried out in the heart of New York City. Some of my experiments already are slightly alarming. But when I’m all set to tap the juice in quantities, I want to be where I can do no harm.” Craig was warming to his subject; the enthusiasm of the specialist fired his eyes. “You see, the energy lies in successive strata—like the skins of an onion. And you know what the middle of a raw onion’s like!”
The tip of Frobisher’s cigar glowed ominously.
“Conveying what?” he growled through closed lips.
“Conveying that a site must be picked for an experimental station. Somewhere in wide-open spaces, far from the madding crowd. Little by little and bit by bit we shall transfer our monster there.”
“You told me you needed some high place.”
“There are high places other than the top of the Huston Building. I wish to avoid repeating, in the Huston Building, the story of the
Michael Frobisher stood up. His craggy brows struggled to meet over a deep vertical wrinkle.
“Who says so?”
“I say so. Agents of all those governments are watching every move we make here.”
“I knew there was a leak! Do you know those agents?”
“Sir Denis Nayland Smith has arrived from London.”
“Who in hell is Sir Denis Nayland Smith?”
“An old friend of mine. Formerly a commissioner of Scotland Yard. But I don’t know the Washington agent and I don’t know the Soviet agent. I only know they’re here.”
“Oh!” said Michael Frobisher, and sat down again. “Any more troubles?”
“Yes.” Craig found his cigarettes and lighted one. “Dr. Fu-Manchu.”
Silence fell between them like a curtain. Craig had turned again to the desk. He swung back now, and glanced at Frobisher. His expression was complicated. But fear was in it. He looked up at Craig.
“You’re sure there
is
such a person?”
“Yes—moderately sure.”
For some reason this assurance seemed to bring relief to Frobisher. A moment later an explanation came.
“Then I’m not crazy—as that damned Pardoe thinks! Those Asiatic snoopers really exist. They seem to have quit tailing me around town, but queer things happen out at Falling Waters. Whoever went through my papers one night a way back must have been working with inside help—”
“But I thought you told me that some yellow character—”
“
He
was outside. Saw him from my dressing-room window. No locks broken. Then, only last night, my private safe was opened!”
“What’s that?”
“Plain fact. I was awake. Sleep badly. Guess I interrupted him. But the door of the safe was wide open when I got down!”
“See anybody?”
“Not a one. Nothing taken. Doors and windows secure. Craig”—Frobisher’s deep voice faltered—“I was beginning to wonder—”
“If you walked in your sleep? Did these things yourself?”
“Well—”
“Quite understand, and sympathize.”
Michael Frobisher executed a shaking movement with his head, rather like that of a big dog who has something in his ear.
“Listen—but not a word to Mrs. F. I have had a gadget fixed up to record any movement around the house, and show just where it’s coming from. I want you to look it over this week-end.”
“Delightful prospect. I am the gadget king. And this brings me to my main misgiving. You may recall the bother we had fitting up the plant in the lab?”
“Don’t be funny! Didn’t we import workmen from Europe to make it in sections—”
“We did. And I have been my own draughtsman.”
“Then send ’em home again and assemble the sections ourselves?”
“‘Ourselves’ relating to Shaw, Regan and me? I fall to recall any instance when you put your Herculean but dignified shoulder to the wheel. Still, you were highly encouragin’. Yes—well—to be brief, we shall have to do likewise once more.”
“What’s that?”
“I cannot be responsible for tests carried out in the heart of New York City. Some of my experiments already are slightly alarming. But when I’m all set to tap the juice in quantities, I want to be where I can do no harm.” Craig was warming to his subject; the enthusiasm of the specialist fired his eyes. “You see, the energy lies in successive strata—like the skins of an onion. And you know what the middle of a raw onion’s like!”
The tip of Frobisher’s cigar glowed ominously.
“Conveying what?” he growled through closed lips.
“Conveying that a site must be picked for an experimental station. Somewhere in wide-open spaces, far from the madding crowd. Little by little and bit by bit we shall transfer our monster there.”
“You told me you needed some high place.”
“There are high places other than the top of the Huston Building. I wish to avoid repeating, in the Huston Building, the story of the
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