Part 1 (2/2)

”Sometimes,” said he, ”we are even more anxious to spare an enemy than a friend. And the reason usually is that we do not care to force the said enemy into such a position that his only resource would be an open blow.”

”Ah!” Fuller's eyes widened. ”They hesitate because they fear to bring about a war.” He looked at the secret agent, the question in his face growing. ”But with whom?”

Ashton-Kirk put aside the pipe and got up.

”For years,” said he, ”the specialists of the Navy Department have been secretly working upon a gun designed to throw a tremendous explosive.

That it was delicate work was shown by the quality of the men employed upon it; and that it was dangerous was proven by the lives lost from time to time in the experiments. Six months ago the invention was completed. The news leaked out, and naturally the powers were interested. Then to the dismay of the heads of the department it was learned that a most formidable plan to obtain possession of the secret had been balked by the merest chance. The agents of the government were at once put to work; not satisfied with this, the secretary wired me to come to Was.h.i.+ngton at once. But I was in no haste to do so, because I foresaw what would happen.”

The questioning look in Fuller's eyes increased.

”I knew that the agents of a foreign government laid the plan,”

proceeded Ashton-Kirk. ”Who else would desire information upon such a point? And at this time there is but one government sufficiently interested in us to go so far.”

”You mean----”

Ashton-Kirk yawned widely and then asked:

”Have you seen the morning papers?”

”Yes.”

”Perhaps you noticed a speech by Crosby, the Californian, in Congress.

Rather a slas.h.i.+ng affair. He continues to demand a permanent fleet for the Pacific and increased coast defenses.”

The windows were open; the high-pitched complaint from the mean street drifted up and into the room. A bar of sunlight shot between two up-rearing brick bulks across the way; it glittered among the racks of polished instruments, slipped along the shelves of books and entered at the door of the laboratory; here the vari-colored chemicals sparkled in their round-bellied prisons; the grotesque retorts gleamed in swollen satisfaction.

A knock came upon the door, and Stumph, Ashton-Kirk's grave-faced man servant, entered with a card.

”It is the gentleman who called yesterday while you were out,” said Stumph.

The secret agent took the card and read:

”Mr. Philip Warwick.”

”He asked me to say,” proceeded Stumph, ”that his business is urgent and important.”

”Let him come up.”

Stumph went out. Fuller began fingering a packet of doc.u.ments which he took from the table.

”I suppose,” said he, ”that I may as well file these Schofield-Dempster papers away.”

”Yes, the matter is finished, so far as we are concerned. It was interesting at first, but I'm rather glad to be rid of it. The piquancy of the situation was lost when the 'forgeries' were found to have been no forgeries at all; and the family despair is a trifle trying.”

<script>