Another fragment. Karlov's agent sought his chief and found him in the

cellar of the old house, sinisterly engaged. The wall bench was littered

with paraphernalia well known to certain chemists. Had the New York bomb

squad known of the existence of this den, the short hair on their necks

would have risen.

"Well?" greeted Karlov, moodily.

"I have found the man in the dress suit."

"He and the Conover girl left that office building together this

morning, and I followed them to Park Row. This man uses the loft of the

building for his home. No elevator goes up unless you have credentials.

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Our man is hiding there, Boris."

Karlov dry-washed his hands. "We'll send him one of the samples if we

fail in regard to the girl. You say she arrives daily at the newspaper

office about nine and leaves between five and six?"

"Every day but Sunday."

"Good news. Two bolts; one or the other will go home."

About the same time in Cutty's apartment rather an amusing comedy took

place. Professor Ryan, late physical instructor at one of the aviation

camps, stood Hawksley in front of him and ran his hard hands over the

young man's body. Miss Frances stood at one side, her arms folded, her

expression skeptical.

"Nothin' the matter with you, Bo, but the crack on the conk."

"Right-o!" agreed Hawksley.

"Lemme see your hands. Humph. Soft. Now stand on that threshold. That's

it. Walk t' the' end o' the hall an' back. Step lively."

"But," began Miss Frances in protest. This was cruelty.

"I'm the doctor, miss," interrupted Ryan, crisply. "If he falls down he

goes t' bed, an' you stay. If he makes it, he follows my instructions."

When Hawksley returned to the starting line the walls rocked, there were

two or three blinding stabs of pain; but he faced this unusual Irishman

with never a hint of the torture. A wild longing to be gone from this

kindly prison--to get away from the thought of the girl.

"All right," said Ryan. "Now toddle back t' bed."

"Bed?"

"Yep. Goin' t' give you a rub that'll start all your machinery workin'."

Docilely Hawksley obeyed. He wasn't going to let them know, but that bed

was going to be tolerably welcome.

"Well!" said Miss Frances. "I don't see how he did it."

"I do," said the ex-pugilist. "I told him to. Either he was a false

alarm, or he'd attempt the job even if he fell down. The hull thing

is this: Make a guy wanta get well an' he'll get well. If he's got any

pride, dig it up. Go after 'em. He hasn't lost any blood. No serious

body wound. A crack on the conk. It mighta killed him. It didn't. He

didn't wabble an' fall down. So my dope is right. Drop in in a few days

an' I'll show yuh."




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