Astounding Stories of Super-Science, May, 1930 Page 3

  Murder Madness

  BEGINNING A FOUR-PART NOVEL

  _By Murray Leinster_

  _The heads leveled the revolver in spite of him, whilehe flung his head from side to side in a frantic attempt to disturbtheir aim._]

  [Sidenote: Murder Madness! Seven Secret Service men had completelydisappeared. Another had been found a screaming, homicidal maniac,whose fingers writhed like snakes. So Bell, of the secret "Trade,"plunges into South America after The Master--the mighty, unknownoctopus of power whose diabolical poison threatens a continent!]

  CHAPTER I

  The engines of the _Almirante Gomez_ were going dead slow. Away upbeside her monster funnels her siren blew dismally, _Whoo-oo-oo-oo!_and was silent for the regulation period, and blew desolately againinto the clinging gray mist that ringed her all about.

  Her decks were wet and glistening. Droplets of water stood upon thedeck-stanchions, and dripped from the outer edge of the roof above thepromenade deck. A thin, swirling fog lay soggily upon the water andthe big steamer went dead slow upon her course, sending dismal anddepressing blasts from her horn from time to time. It was barelypossible to see from one side of the ship to the other. It was surelyimpossible to see the bow from a point half astern.

  Charley Bell went forward along the promenade deck. He passed SenorOrtiz, ex-Minister of the Interior of the Argentine Republic. Ortizbowed to him punctiliously, but Bell had a sudden impression that theArgentine's face was gray and ghastly. He checked himself and lookedback. The little man was climbing the companion-ladder toward thewireless room.

  * * * * *

  Bell slipped on toward the bow. He did not want to give an impressionof furtiveness, but the _Almirante Gomez_ was twelve days out of NewYork and Bell was still entirely ignorant of why he was on board. Hehad been called into the office of his chief in the State Departmentand told curtly that his request for leave of absence had beengranted. And Bell had not asked for a leave of absence. But at justthat moment he saw a rubber band on the desk of his immediatesuperior, a fairly thick rubber band which had been tied into acertain intricate knot. And Bell had kept quiet. He went to hisapartment, found his bags packed and tickets to Rio via the _AlmiranteGomez_ in an envelope on his dressing-table, and went out and caught atrain to the ship.

  And that was all he knew. The siren up above blared dolefully into thefog. It was damp, and soggy, and depressing. The other passengers wereunder cover, and the decks seemed to be deserted. From the saloon camethe sound of music. Bell pulled the collar of his light topcoat abouthis throat and strolled on toward the bow.

  He faced a row of steamer chairs. There was a figure curled up in oneof them. Paula Canalejas, muffled up against the dampness and staringsomberly out into the mist. Bell had met her in Washington and likedher a great deal, but he swore softly at sight of her in his way.

  The afternoon before, he had seen a stoker on the _Almirante Gomez_pick up a bit of rope and absently tie knots in it while he exchangedRabelasian humor with his fellows. He had not looked at Bell at all,but the knots he tied were the same that Bell had last seen tied in arubber band on a desk in the State Department in Washington. And Bellknew a recognition signal when he saw one. The stoker would be offwatch, just now, and by all the rules of reason he ought to be outthere on the forecastle, waiting for Bell to turn up and receiveinstructions.

  * * * * *

  But Bell paused, lit a cigarette carefully, and strolled forward.

  "Mr. Bell."

  He stopped and beamed fatuously at her. It would have been logical forhim to fall in love with her, and it is always desirable to seemlogical. He had striven painstakingly to give the impression that hehad fallen in love with her--and then had striven even morepainstakingly to keep from doing it.

  "Hullo," he said in bland surprise. "What are you doing out on deck?"

  Brown eyes regarded him speculatively.

  "Thinking," she said succinctly. "About you, Mr. Bell."

  Bell beamed.

  "Thinking," he confided, "is usually a bad habit, especially in agirl. But if you must think, I approve of your choice of subjects.What were you thinking about me?"

  The brown eyes regarded him still more speculatively.

  "I was wondering--" said Paula, glancing to either side, "I waswondering if you happen to be--er--a member of the United StatesSecret Service."

  Bell laughed with entire naturalness.

  "Good Lord, no!" he said amusedly. "I have a desk in the StateDepartment building, and I read consular reports all day long andwrite letters bedeviling the consuls for not including unavailablestatistics in their communications. That's my work. I'm on leave now."

  * * * * *

  She looked skeptical and, it may be, disappointed.

  "You look as if you didn't believe me," said Bell, smiling. "I giveyou my word of honor I'm not a member of the United States SecretService. Will that do to relieve your suspicions?"

  "I believe you," she said slowly, "but it does not relieve my mind. Ishall think about other people. I have something important to tell amember of the United States Secret Service."

  Bell shrugged.

  "I'm sorry," he said amiably, "that I can't oblige you by tipping oneof them off. That's what you wanted me to do, isn't it?"

  She nodded, and the gesture was very much like a dismissal. Bellfrowned, hesitated, and went on. He was anxious to meet the stoker,but this....

  The siren droned dismally over his head. Fog lay deep about the ship.The washing of the waves and dripping of water on the decks wasdepressing. It seemed to be getting thicker. Four stanchions ahead,the mist was noticeable. He found that he could count five, six,seven.... The eighth was indefinite. But a bar materialized in the fogbefore him, and the grayness drew away before him and closed inbehind. When he was at the forward end of the promenade, looking downupon the forecastle deck, he was isolated. He heard footsteps somedistance overhead. The watch officer up on the bridge. Bell glanced upand saw him as an indistinct figure. He waited until the officer pacedover to the opposite side of the bridge. The air throbbed and shookwith the roaring of the siren.

  Bell slipped over the edge of the rail and swung swiftly down thelittle ladder of iron bars set into the ship's structure. In secondshe had landed, and was down upon that terra incognita of allpassengers, the deck reserved for the use of the crew.

  * * * * *

  A mast loomed overhead, with its heavy, clumsy derrick-booms. A winchwas by his side. Oddments of deck machinery, inexplicable to alandsman, formed themselves vaguely in the mist. The fog was thicker,naturally, since the deck was closer to the water's edge.

  "Hey!" growled a voice close beside him. "Passengers ain't alloweddown here."

  An unshaven, soot-smeared figure loomed up. Bell could not see the mansave as a blur in the mist, but he said cheerfully:

  "I know it, but I wanted to look. Seafaring's a trade I'd like to knowsomething about."

  The figure grunted. Bell had just given his word of honor that hewasn't a member of the Secret Service. He wasn't. But he was in theTrade--which has no official existence anywhere. And the use of theword in his first remark was a recognition signal.

  "What is your trade, anyways?" growled the figure skeptically.

  "I sharpen serpents' teeth from time to time," offered Bell amiably.He recognized the man, suddenly. "Hullo, Jamison, you look like thedevil."

  * * * * *

  Jamison drew nearer. He grunted softly.

  "I know it. Listen closely, Bell. Your job is getting some informationfrom Canalejas, Minister of War in Rio. He sent word up to Washingtonthat he'd something important to say. It isn't treachery to Brazil,because he's a decent man. Seven Secret Service men have disappearedin South America within three months. They've found the eighth, andhe's crazy. Something has driven him mad, and they say it's a devilishpoison. He's a homi
cidal maniac, returning to the United States in astraight-jacket. Canalejas knows what's happened to the Service men.He said so, and he's going to tell us. His daughter brought the newsto Washington, and then instead of going on to Europe as she wassupposed to do, she started back to Rio. You're to get this formationand pass it on to me, then try to keep your skin whole and actinnocent. You were picked out because, as a State Department man, hellcould be raised if you vanished. Understand?"

  Bell nodded.

  "Something horrible is going on. Secret Service can't do anything. Theman in Asuncion isn't dead--he's been seen--but he's cut loose. AndService men don't often do that. He don't report. That means theService code may have been turned over, and hell to pay generally.It's up to the Trade."

  "I've got it," said Bell. "Here are two items for you. Miss Canalejasjust said she suspected I was Secret Service. I convinced her Iwasn't. She says she has important information for a Service man."

  * * * * *

  The brawny figure of the stoker growled.

  "Damn women! She was told somebody'd be sent to see her father. Shewas shown a recognition-knot with the outsider's variation. Given one,for father. That'll identify you to him. But she shouldn't havetalked. Now, be careful. As nearly as we know, that chap in thestraight-jacket was given some poison that drove him insane. There arehellish drugs down there. Maybe the same thing happened to others.Look out for yourself, and give me the information Canalejas gives youas quickly as God will let you. If anything happens to you, we wantthe stuff to get back. Understand?"

  "Of course," said Bell. He carefully did not shiver as he realizedwhat Jamison meant by anything happening to him. "The other item isthat Ortiz, ex-Minister of the Interior of the Argentine, is scared todeath about something. Sending radios right and left."

  "Umph," growled Jamison. "One of our men vanished in Buenos Aires.Watch him. You're friendly?"

  "Yes."

  "Get friendlier. See what he's got. Now shoo."

  Bell swung up the ladder again. Mist opened before him and closedagain behind. He climbed over the rail to the promenade deck, and felta little flare of irritation. There was a figure watching him.

  He slipped to the deck and grinned sheepishly at Paula Canalejas. Shestood with her hands in the pockets of her little sport coat,regarding him very gravely.

  * * * * *

  "I suppose," said Charley Bell sheepishly, "that I look like a fool.But I've always wanted to climb up and down that ladder. I supposeit's a survival from the age of childhood. At the age of seven Ilonged to be a fireman."

  "I wonder," said Paula quietly. "Mr. Bell"--she stepped close tohim--"I am taking a desperate chance. For the sake of my father, Iwish certain things known. I think that you are an honorable man, andI think that you lied to me just now. Go and see Senor Ortiz. Yourgovernment will want to know what happens to him. Go and see himquickly."

  Bell felt the same flare of irritation as before. Women do not followrules. They will not follow rules. They depend upon intuition, whichis sometimes right, but sometimes leads to ungodly errors. Paula wasright this time, but she could have been wholly and hopelessly wrong.If she had talked to anyone else....

  "My child," said Bell paternally--he was at least two years older thanPaula--"you should be careful. I did not lie to you just now. I am notSecret Service. But I happen to know that you have a tiny piece ofstring to give your father, and I beg of you not to show that toanyone else. And--well--you are probably watched. You must not talkseriously to me!"

  He lifted his hat and started astern. He was more than merelyirritated. He was almost frightened. Because the Trade, officially,does not exist at all, and everybody in the Trade is working entirelyon his own; and because those people who suspect that there is a Tradeand dislike it are not on their own, but have plenty of resourcesbehind them. And yet it is requisite that the Trade shall succeed inits various missions. Always.

  * * * * *

  The Government of the United States, you understand, will admit thatit has a Secret Service, which it strives to identify solely with thepursuit of counterfeiters, postal thieves, and violators of theprohibition laws. Strongly pressed, it will admit that some members ofthe Secret Service work abroad, the official explanation being thatthey work abroad to forestall smugglers. And at a pinch, and inconfidence, it may concede the existence of diplomatic secret agents.But there is no such thing as the Trade. Not at all. The funds whichmembers of the Trade expend are derived by very devious bookkeepingfrom the appropriations allotted to an otherwise honestly conductedDepartment of the United States Government.

  Therefore the Trade does not really exist. You might say that there isa sort of conspiracy among certain people to do certain things. Someof them are government officials, major and minor. Some of them areprivate citizens, reputable and otherwise. One or two of them are injail, both here and abroad. But as far as the Government of the UnitedStates is concerned, certain fortunate coincidences that happen nowand then are purely coincidences. And the Trade, which arranges forthem, does not exist. But it has a good many enemies.

  * * * * *

  The fog-horn howled dismally overhead. Mist swirled past the ship, andan oily swell surged vaguely overside and disappeared into a grayoblivion half a ship's length away. Bell moved on toward the stern. Itwas his intention to go into the smoking-room and idle ostentatiously.Perhaps he would enter into another argument with that Brazilian airpilot who had so much confidence in Handley-Page wing-slots. Bell had,in Washington, a small private plane that, he explained, had beengiven him by a wealthy aunt, who hoped he would break his neck in it.He considered that wing-slots interfered with stunting.

  He had picked out the door with his eye when he espied a small figurestanding by the rail. It was Ortiz, the Argentine ex-Cabinet Minister,staring off into the grayness, and seeming to listen with all hisears.

  Bell slowed up. The little stout man turned and nodded to him, andthen put out his hand.

  "Senor Bell," he said quietly, "tell me. Do you hear airplane motors?"

  Bell listened. The drip-drip-drip of condensed mist. The shuddering ofthe ship with her motors going dead slow. The tinkling, muted notes ofthe piano inside the saloon. The washing and hissing of the wavesoverside. That was all.

  "Why, no," said Bell. "I don't. Sound travels freakishly in fog,though. One might be quite close and we couldn't hear it. But we're ahundred and fifty miles off the Venezuelan coast, aren't we?"

  * * * * *

  Ortiz turned and faced him. Bell was shocked at the expression on thesmall man's face. It was drained of all blood, and its look wasghastly. But the rather fine dark eyes were steady.

  "We are," agreed Ortiz, very steadily indeed, "but I--I have receiveda radiogram that some airplane should fly near this ship, and it wouldamuse me to hear it."

  Bell frowned at the fog.

  "I've done a good bit of flying," he observed, "and if I were flyingout at sea right now, I'd dodge this fog bank. It would bepractically suicide to try to alight in a mist like this."

  Ortiz regarded him carefully. It seemed to Bell that sweat was comingout upon the other man's forehead.

  "You mean," he said quietly, "that an airplane could not land?"

  "It might try," said Bell with a shrug. "But you couldn't judge yourheight above the water. You might crash right into it and dive under.Matter of fact, you probably would."

  Ortiz's nostrils quivered a little.

  "I told them," he said steadily, "I told them it was not wise torisk...."

  * * * * *

  He stopped. He looked suddenly at his hands, clenched upon the rail. Adepth of pallor even greater than his previous terrible palenessseemed to leave even his lips without blood. He wavered on his feet,as if he were staggering.

  "You're sick!" said Bell sharply. Instinctively he moved forward.


  The fine dark eyes regarded him oddly. And Ortiz suddenly took hishands from the railing of the promenade deck. He looked at his fingersdetachedly. And Bell could see them writhing, opening and closing in ahorribly sensate fashion, as if they were possessed of devils andaltogether beyond the control of their owner. And he suddenly realizedthat the steady, grim regard with which Ortiz looked at his hands wasexactly like the look he had seen upon a man's face once, when thatman saw a venomous snake crawling toward him and had absolutely noweapon.

  Ortiz was looking at his fingers as a man might look at cobras at theends of his wrists. Very calmly, but with a still, stunned horror.

  * * * * *

  He lifted his eyes to Bell.

  "I have no control over them," he said quietly. "My hands are uselessto me, Senor Bell. I wonder if you will be good enough to assist me tomy cabin."

  Again that deadly pallor flashed across his face. Bell caught at hisarm.

  "What is the matter?" he demanded anxiously. "Of course I'll helpyou."

  Ortiz smiled very faintly.

  "If any airplane arrives in time," he said steadily, "something may bedone. But you have rid me of even that hope. I have been poisoned,Senor Bell."

  "But the ship's doctor...."

  Ortiz, walking rather stiffly beside Bell, shrugged.

  "He can do nothing. Will you be good enough to open this door for me?And"--his voice was hoarse for an instant--"assist me to put my handsin my pockets. I cannot. But I would not like them to be seen."

  Bill took hold of the writhing fingers. He saw sweat standing out uponOrtiz's forehead. And the fingers closed savagely upon Bell's hands,tearing at them. Ortiz looked at him with a ghastly supplication.

  "Now," he said with difficulty, "if you will open the door, SenorBell...."

  Bell slid the door aside. They went in together. People were makingthe best of boresome weather within, frankly yawning, most of them.But the card-room would be full, and the smoking-room steward would bebusy.

  "My cabin is upon the next deck below," said Ortiz through stiff lips."We--we will descend the stairs."

  * * * * *

  Bell went with him, his face expressionless.

  "My cabin should be unlocked," said Ortiz.

  It was. Ortiz entered, and, with his hands still in his pockets,indicated a steamer-trunk.

  "Please open that." He licked his lips. "I--I had thought I would havewarning enough. It has not been so severe before. Right at thetop...."

  Bell flung the top back. A pair of bright and shiny handcuffs lay ontop of a dress shirt.

  "Yes," said Ortiz steadily. "Put them upon my wrists, please. Thepoison that has been given to me is--peculiar. I believe that one ofyour compatriots has experienced its effects."

  Bell started slightly. Ortiz eyed him steadily.

  "Precisely." Ortiz, with his face a gray mask of horror, spoke with asteadiness Bell could never have accomplished. "A poison, Senor Bell,which has made a member of the Secret Service of the United States ahomicidal maniac. It has been given to me. I have been hoping for itsantidote, but--Quick! Senor Bell! Quick! The handcuffs!"

  CHAPTER II

  The throbbing of the engines went on at an unvarying tempo. There wasthe slight, almost infinitesimal tremor of their vibration. Theelectric light in the cabin wavered rhythmically with its dynamo. Fromthe open porthole came the sound of washing water. Now and then adisconnected sound of laughter or of speech came down from the mainsaloon.

  Ortiz lay upon the bed, exhausted.

  "It is perhaps humorous, Senor Bell," he said presently, in the samesteady voice he had used upon the deck. "It is undoubtedly humorousthat I should call upon you. I believe that you are allied with theSecret Service of your government."

  Bell started to shake his head, but was still. He said nothing.

  "I am poisoned," said Ortiz. He tried to smile, but it was ghastly."It is a poison which makes a man mad in a very horrible fashion. If Icould use my hands--and could trust them--I would undoubtedly shootmyself. It would be entirely preferable. Instead, I hope--"

  He broke off short and listened intently. His forehead beaded.

  "Is that an airplane motor?"

  Bell went to the port and listened. The washing of waves. Thethrobbing of the ship's engines. The dismal, long-drawn-out moaningof the fog-horn. Nothing else.... Yes! A dim and distant muttering. Itdrew nearer and died away again.

  "That is a plane," said Bell. "Yes, It's out of hearing now."

  Ortiz clamped his jaws together.

  "I was about to speak," he said steadily, "to tell you--many things.Which your government should know. Instead, I ask you to go to thewireless room and have the wireless operator try to get in touch withthat plane. It is a two-motored seaplane and it has a wireless outfit.It will answer the call M.S.T.R. Ask him to use his directionalwireless and try to guide it to the ship. It brings the antidote tothe poison which affects me."

  Bell made for the door. Ortiz raised his head with a ghastly smile.

  "Close the door tightly," he said quietly. "I--I feel as if I shall beunpleasant."

  * * * * *

  Closing the door behind him, Bell felt rather like a man in anightmare. He made for the stairway, bolted for the deck, and fairlydarted up the ladder to the wireless room.

  "Ortiz sent me," he said to the operator. "You heard that plane justnow. See if you can get it."

  The operator looked up at him beneath a green eyeshade and grinnedcrookedly.

  "Talking to 'em now," he said.

  The key flicked up and down, and a tiny dancing spark leaped intobeing and vanished beneath its contact-point. The wireless room wasdark save for the bright, shaded light above the sending table. A fileof sent messages by an elbow. A pad for messages received was by ahand. Stray wreaths of tobacco smoke floated about the room, leapinginto view as they drifted beneath the lamp.

  "Is he bad?" asked the operator fascinatedly, his eyes fixed on hiskey.

  Bell felt his eyelids flicker.

  "Very bad," he said shortly.

  "They tell me," said the operator and shuddered, "your hands getworking and you can't stop 'em.... I'm playing, I am! I'm playing TheMaster's game!"

  * * * * *

  The key stopped. He listened.

  "They're going to try to swoop over the ship and drop it," he said amoment later. "I don't think they can. But tell Ortiz they're going totry."

  Bell's eyes were narrow. It is not customary for a radio operator on apassenger ship to speak of an ex-Cabinet Minister of the ArgentineRepublic by his surname only. It bespeaks either impertinence or acertain very peculiar association. Bell frowned imperceptibly for aninstant, thinking.

  "You've--had it?" he asked sharply.

  "God, no! I never took the chance! I saw the red spots once, and Iwent to Rib--Say! You got a password?"

  He was staring up at Bell. Bell shrugged.

  "I'm trying to help Senor Ortiz now."

  The operator continued to stare, his eyes full of suspicion. Then hegrimaced.

  "All right. Go tell him they're going to drop it."

  * * * * *

  Bell went out. Gray fog, and washing seas, and the big ship ploughingsteadily on toward the south.... The horn blared, startlingly loud andunspeakably doleful. Bell listened for other sounds. There were none.

  Down the steep ladder to the promenade deck. Paula Canalejas nodded tohim.

  "I saw you speak to Senor Ortiz," she said quietly. "You see?"

  Bell was beginning to have a peculiar, horrible suspicion. It wasincredible, but it was inevitable.

  "I think I see," he said harshly. "But I don't dare believe it. Keepquiet and don't speak to me unless I give you some sign it's safe!It's--hellish!"

  He went inside and swiftly down the stairs. He found a stewardhesitating outside the door of Ortiz's cabi
n. He touched Bell's armanxiously as he was about to go in.

  "Beg pardon, sir," he said, and stammered. "I--I heard Mr. Ortizmaking some--very strange noises, sir. I--I thought he was sick...."

  "He is," said Bell grimly. "He told me he does not want a doctor,though. I'm looking after him."

  He closed the door behind him, and Ortiz grinned at him. It was ahorrible, a terrible grin, and Ortiz fought it from his face with aterrific effort of will. There was foam about his lips.

  * * * * *

  "_Dios!_ It was--it was devilish!" he gasped. "Senor Bell, _amigomio_, for the love of the good God get my revolver from my trunk. Giveit to me...."

  Bell said shortly: "The airplane just radioed that it's going to tryto swoop overhead and drop a package on board the steamer. It doesn'tdare alight in this fog."

  "I think," gasped Ortiz, "I think it would be well to tie my feet. Tiethem fast! If--if the package comes, if I--if I am unpleasant, knockme unconscious and pour it into my mouth. I fear it is too late now.But try it...."

  Through the port came the muttering of a seaplane's engines. The noisedied away. Almost instantly the siren boomed hoarsely.

  "Ah, _Dios!_" said Ortiz unsteadily. "There it is! Senor Bell, I thinkit is too late. Would you--would you assist me to go out on deck,where I might fling myself overboard? I--think I can control my legsso long."

  "Steady!" said Bell, wrenched by the sight of the man before himfighting against unnameable horror. "Tell me--"

  "It is poison," said Ortiz, his features fixed in a terrible effort ofwill. "A ghastly, a horrible poison of the _Indios_ of Matto Grosso,in Brazil. It drives a man mad, murder mad. It is as if he werepossessed by a devil. His hands first refuse to obey him. His feetnext. And then his body. It is as if a devil had seized hold of hisbody and carried it about doing murder with it. A part of the brain isdriven insane, and a man goes about shrieking with the horror of whatcrimes his body commits until the poison reaches that portion of hisbrain as well. Then he is mad forever. That is what I face, _amigomio_. That is why I beg you, I implore you, to kill me or assist me tothe side of the ship so that I may fling myself overboard! The Masterhad it administered to me secretly, and demanded treason as the priceof the antidote. He deman--"

  * * * * *

  Steady and strong, rising from a muttering to a steady roar, the soundof airplane motors came through the port. Bell started up.

  "Hold fast," he snapped savagely. "I'll go get that package when itlands. Hold fast, I tell you! Fight it!"

  He flung out of the cabin and raced up the stairs. The door to thedeck was open. He crowded through a group of passengers who haddiscounted the dampness for the sake of a novelty--an airplane far outat sea--and raced up to the upper deck. The roaring noise wasreceding. The siren roared hoarsely. Then the noise came back.

  For minutes, then, the ship seemed to play hide-and-seek with theinvisible fliers. The roaring noise overhead circled about, now near,now seeming very far away. And the siren sent its dismal blasts outinto the grayness all about. Then, for an instant, a swiftly scuddingshadow was visible overhead. It banked steeply and vanished, andseemed to have turned and come lower when it reappeared a momentlater. It was not distinct, at first. It was merely a silhouette ofdarker gray against the all-enveloping mist. But its edges sharpenedand became clear. One could make out struts, an aileron's trailingedge.

  "Got nerve, anyhow," said Bell grimly.

  It swept across the ship and disappeared, but the noise of its enginesdid not dwindle more than a little. The blast of the siren seemed tosummon it back again. Once more it came in sight, and this time itdived steeply, flashed across the forecastle deck amid a hideousuproar, desperately, horribly close to the dangling derrick-cables,and was gone.

  * * * * *

  Bell had seen it more clearly than anyone else on the ship, perhaps.He saw a man in the pilot's cockpit between wings and tail reach highand fling something downward, something with a long streamer attachedto it. Bell had an instant's glimpse of the goggled face. Then he wasdarting forward, watching the thing that fell.

  It took only a second. Two at most. But the thing seemed to fall withinfinite deliberation, the streamer shivering out behind it. It fellat a steep slant, the forward momentum of the plane's speed added toits own drop. It swooped down, slanting toward the rail....

  Bell groaned. It struck the rail itself, and bounced. A sailor flunghimself toward it. The streamer slipped from his fingers and slitheredover the side.

  Bell was at the railing just in time to see it drop into the water. Heopened his mouth to shout, and saw it sink. The last of the streamerfollowed the dropped object down into the green water when it wasdirectly below him.

  His hands clenched. Bell stared sickly at the spot where it hadvanished. An instant later he had whirled and was thrusting wide thewireless room door. The operator was returning to his key, grinningcrookedly. He looked up sidewise.

  "Tell them it went overside," snapped Bell. "Tell them to try itagain. Ortiz is in hell! To try again! He's dying!"

  * * * * *

  The operator looked up fascinatedly, his fingers working his key.

  "Is he--bad?" he asked with a shuddering interest.

  "He's dying!" snarled Bell, in a rage because of his helplessness. Hehad forgotten everything but the fact that a man below decks wasfacing the most horrible fate that can overtake a man, and facing itwith a steadfast gameness that made Bell's heart go out to him.

  "They don't die," said the operator. He shuddered. "They don't die ofit."

  His key stopped. He listened. His key clicked again.

  "They only had two packages," he said a moment later. "They don't darerisk the other one. They say the fog ends twenty miles farther on.They're going to land up there and taxi back on the surface of thewater. It shouldn't be more than half an hour."

  He pushed himself back from the table with an air of finality.

  "That's all. They've signed off."

  Bell felt rage sweeping over him. The operator grinned crookedly.

  "Better go down and tie him up," he said, and licked his lips with thefascinated air of one thinking of a known and terrifying thing."Better tie him up tight. It'll be half an hour more."

  * * * * *

  Bell went down the companion-ladder. The promenade was crowded withpassengers now, asking questions of each other. Some, frowningportentously, thought the plane an unscheduled ocean flier who hadlost his way in the fog.

  Paula Canalejas was close to Bell as he shouldered his way through thecrowd.

  "That was for him?" she asked, without moving her lips.

  Bell nodded.

  "Tell him," she said quietly, "I--pray for him."

  Bell nodded abruptly and went into the saloon. It was nearly empty. Hewiped the sweat off his face. It was horrible to have to go down toOrtiz and tell him that at best it would be half an hour more....

  Then there was a sudden scream below him, and then a shot. Bell jumpedfor the stairs, his heart in his throat, and saw Ortiz coming out ofhis stateroom door. His eyes were wide and agonized. His body....

  Even in the incredibly short time before he reached the bottom of thesteps, Bell had time to receive the ghastly impression that Ortiz wassane, but that his body had gone mad. Ortiz's face was white andhorrified. His hands and arms were writhing savagely, working at thehandcuffs on his wrists. His legs were carrying him at a curious,padding trot down the hallway. One of the hands held a glitteringrevolver. A steward was crouched behind a couch, his face white andfilled with stark terror. And Ortiz held his head back, as ifstruggling to hold back and control his body, which was under thecontrol of a malignant demon.

  "Out of the way!" cried Ortiz in a voice of terrible despair. "Getsomeone to shoot me! Kill me! I cannot--ah, _Dios!_"

  * * * * *

 
; The hands leveled the revolver in spite of him, while he flung hishead from side to side in a frantic attempt to disturb their aim.

  "Close your eyes!" panted Bell, and hurled himself upon--whom? It wasnot Ortiz. It was Ortiz's body, gone mad and raging. The manacled armsflailed about frenziedly. The gun went off. Again. Again....

  Bell struck. He knocked the Thing that possessed Ortiz's body off itsfeet. The hands groped for him. They clubbed at him with the revolver.The feet kicked....

  "Keep your eyes closed," gasped Bell, struggling to get the gun awayfrom those horrible hands. "It--it can't see when you keep your eyesclosed!"

  Fighting insanely as the Thing was fighting, he could not identify itwith Ortiz himself. One of the hands unclosed from about the revolverand clawed at his throat. It seemed to abandon that effort andattacked Ortiz's face in a frenzy of rage, struggling to claw his eyesopen. The other held the weapon fast with maniacal strength.

  At the horror of feeling one of his own manacled hands attacking hisface savagely as if it were itself a sensate thing, Ortiz opened hiseyes. They were wide with despair.

  The hand with the revolver made a sudden movement, and Bell flung hisweight upon it as the clutching hand pulled the trigger. There was adeafening report....

  * * * * *

  The body seemed to weaken suddenly in Bell's grip. It fought less andless terribly, though with no lessening of its savagery. He managed toget the revolver away from the hands that shook with unspeakable rage.He flung it away and stood panting.

  There was a crowd of people suddenly all about the place. Staring,stunned, incredulous people who regarded Bell with a dawning, damningsuspicion.

  Ortiz spoke suddenly. His voice was weak, but it was steady, and itwas full of a desperate relief.

  "I wish to make a statement," he said sharply. "I--I wished to commitsuicide for personal reasons. Senor Bell tried to dissuade me. Thehandcuffs upon my wrists were placed there with my consent. Senor Bellis my friend and has done me no wrong. I shot myself, with intention."

  Bell beckoned to the ship's doctor.

  "Get him bandaged up," he ordered harshly. "There's no need for him todie."

  The body was writhing only feebly, now. Ortiz looked up at him, andmanaged a smile. Again there was that incredible impression of thebody not belonging to Ortiz, or Ortiz as a sane and whole andhonorable, admirable man, and the feebly writhing body with itsclutching hands as some evil thing that had properly been defeated andkilled.

  * * * * *

  The doctor bent down. It was useless, of course. He made futilemovements.

  "I wish to speak to my friend, Senor Bell," said Ortiz weakly. "I--Ihave not long."

  Bell knelt beside him.

  "The Master's--deputy in Rio," panted Ortiz weakly, almost in awhisper, "is--is Ribiera. In Buenos Aires I--I do not know. There wasa man--the one who poisoned me--but I killed him. Secretly. I do notthink--the Master knows. I pray that--"

  He stopped. He could not speak again. But he smiled, and a few secondslater Bell clenched his hands. Ortiz was gone.

  Someone touched his arm. Paula Canalejas. He stared down at her andmanaged to smile. It was not a very successful smile. He drew a deepbreath.

  "I would like," said Bell wryly, "to think that, when I die, I willdie as well as this man did. But I'm afraid I shan't."

  But Paula said:

  "The airplane can be heard outside. It seems to be moving on thesurface."

  * * * * *

  And ten minutes later the plane loomed up out of the mist, queerlyungainly on the surface of the water. Its motors roared impatiently asif held in leash. It swung clumsily about, heading off out of sight inthe fog to turn. It came back, sliding along the top of the water withits wing-tip floats leaving alternate streaks of white foam behindthem. A man stood up in its after cockpit.

  Bell crowded to the rail. The man--goggled and masked--held up apackage as if to fling it on board. Bell watched grimly. But he sawthat the pilot checked himself and looked up at the upper deck. Bellcraned his neck. The wireless operator was waving wildly to theseaplane. He writhed his hands, and held his hand to his head is ifblowing out his brains, and waved the plane away, frantically.

  The pilot of the plane sat down. A moment later its motors roared morethunderously. It is not safe to alight on either land or water whenfog hangs low, but there is little danger in taking off.

  The seaplane shot away into the mist, its motors bellowing. The soundof its going changed subtly. It seemed to rise, and grow moredistant.... It died away.

  Bell halted at the top of the companion-ladder and saw the wirelessoperator, with a crooked, nervous grin upon his face.

  CHAPTER III

  Bell saw what he was looking for, out in the throng of traffic thatfilled the Avenida do Acre, in Rio. He'd seen it over the heads of thecrowd, which was undersized, as most Brazilian crowds are, and hemanaged to get through the perpetual jam on the mosaic sidewalk andreach the curb.

  He stood there and regarded the vehicles filling the broad avenue,wearing exactly the indifferent, half-amused air of a tourist with noplace in particular to go and a great deal of time in which to gothere. Taxis chuffed past, disputing right of way with private carswhich were engaged in more disputes with other cars, all in the ratherextraordinary bad temper and contentiousness which comes to theLatin-American when he takes the wheel of an automobile.

  As if coming to an unimportant decision, Bell raised his hand to anapproaching cab. It had two men on the chauffeur's seat. Of course.All taxis in Rio carry two men in front. One drives, and the otherlights his cigarettes, makes witty comments upon passing ladies, andhelps in collecting the fares from recalcitrant passengers. The extraman is called the "secretary," and he assists materially in giving animpression of haughty pride.

  The taxi ground to the curb. The secretary reached behind himindifferently and opened the door. Bell did not glance at him. Hestepped inside and settled down languidly.

  "The Beira Mar," he said listlessly.

  The taxi started off with a jolt. It is the invariable custom in Riode Janeiro. And besides, it reminds the passenger that he is merely acustomer, admitted to the cab on suffrance, and that he must besuitably meek to those who will presently blandly ignore the amountregistered by the meter and demand a fare of from eight totwenty-seven times the indicated amount.

  * * * * *

  The cab went shooting down the Avenida do Acre toward the harbor. TheAvenida do Acre is officially the Avenida Rio Blanco, and it should becalled by that name, only people forget. The Beira Mar, however, isnamed with entire propriety. It is actually the edge of the sea, andit is probably one of the two or three most beautiful driveways in theworld.

  The cab whirled past the crowded sidewalks. Incredible numbers ofpeople, with an incredible variation in the shades of theircomplexions, moved to and from with the peculiar aimlessness of aBrazilian crowd. A stout and pompous negro politician from Bahia,wearing an orchid in his button-hole, rubbed elbows with a strikingblonde lady of the sidewalks on his left, and forced a wizened littlesilk-hatted _parda_--approximately an octoroon--to dodge about him inorder to progress. A young and languid person, his clothes the verylast expiring gasp of fashion, fingered his stick patiently. He worethe painstakingly cultivated expression of bored disillusionment youryoung Brazilian dandy considers aristocratic. It was very probablethat he shared a particularly undesirable bedroom with four or fiveother young men in order to purchase such clothing, but then, _farendafita_--making a picture--is the national Brazilian sport.

  Bell lighted a cigarette. It was not wise to regard the secretary ofthis particular taxi too closely, but if his face had been thicklysmeared with coal dust, and if he had had a two weeks' beard, and ifhe had been seen on the forecastle of the _Almirante Gomez_, one wouldhave deduced him to be a stoker who had not used the name of Jamison.

  *
* * * *

  The cab reached the Beira Mar, and turned to take the long route aboutthe bay. It is one of the most beautiful views to be found anywhere,and tall apartment houses have been built along its whole length tocapitalize the scenery. True, the more brightly-colored ladies of thecapital have established themselves in vast numbers among theseapartment houses, but in their languid promenades they add--let ussay--the beauties of art to those of nature.

  A voice spoke from the chauffeur's seat.

  "Bell."

  "Right," said Bell without moving. His eyes flickered, however, and hefound the device Jamison had inserted. A speaking-tube of sorts. Notespecially efficient, but inconspicuous enough. He stirred listlesslyand got his lips near it.

  "All right to talk?" he asked briefly.

  "Shoot," said Jamison from the secretary's seat beside the chauffeur."This man doesn't understand English, and he thinks I'm in a smugglinggang. He expects to make some money out of me eventually."

  Bell spoke curtly, while the taxi rolled past the Morro da Gloria withits quaint old church and went along the winding, really marvelousdriveway past many beaches, with the incredibly blue water beyond.

  "Canalejas is out of town," he said. "It isn't known when he'll beback. I met his daughter at a dance at our Embassy here, and she toldme. We didn't dare to talk much, but she's frightened. Especiallyafter what happened to Ortiz. And I've met Ribiera, whom Ortiz named."

  "I've been looking him up," growled Jamison through the speaking-tube.

  * * * * *

  Bell flicked the ash from his cigarette out the door, and went onquietly.

  "He's trying to get friendly with me. I've promised to call at hishouse and have him take me out to the flying field. He has two planes,he tells me, a big amphibian and a two-seater. Uses them for commutingbetween Rio and his place back inland. He went out of his way tocultivate me. I think he suspects I'm trying to find out something."

  "Which you are," said Jamison dryly. "You've found out that Ortiz wasright at least about--"

  Bell nodded, and frowned at himself for having nodded. He spoke intothe mouthpiece by his head with an expressionless face.

  "He's practically fawned upon by a bunch of important officials andseveral high ranking army officers. Suspecting what I do, I think he'sgot hold of a devil of a lot of power."

  Jamison scowled in a lordly fashion upon a mere pedestrian whothreatened to impede the movement of the taxicab by making it run overhim.

  * * * * *

  "Ortiz," said Bell quietly, "told me he'd been poisoned, and treasonasked as the price of the antidote. I've heard that the BrazilianMinister for Foreign Affairs went insane six months ago. I heard,also, that it was homicidal mania--murder madness. And I'm wonderingif these people who fawn upon Ribiera aren't paying a pricefor--well--antidotes, or their equivalent. The Minister for ForeignAffairs may have refused."

  "You're improving," said Jamison dryly. The taxi rounded a curve anda vista of sea and sand and royal palms spread out before it. "Yes,you're improving. But Ortiz spoke of Ribiera only as a deputy of TheMaster. Who is The Master?"

  "God knows," said Bell. He stared languidly out of the window, for allthe world to see. A tourist, regarding the boasted beauties of theBiera Mar.

  "A deputy," said Jamison without emotion, "of some unknown personcalled The Master poisoned Ortiz in Buenos Aires. And Ortiz was animportant man in the Argentine. Ribiera is merely the deputy of thatsame unknown Master in Rio, and he has generals and state presidentsand the big politicians paying court to him. If deputies in twocountries that we know of have so much power, how much power has TheMaster?"

  * * * * *

  Silence. The taxi chugged steadily past unnoticed beauties andcolorings. Rio is really one of the most beautiful cities in theworld.

  "It's like this," said Jamison jerkily. "Seven Service men vanish andone goes mad. You get two tips that the fate of Ortiz is the fate ofthe seven men--eight, in fact. We find that two men dispense a certainghastly poison in two certain cities, at the orders of a man they callThe Master. We find that those two men wield an astounding lot ofpower, and we know they're only deputies, only subordinates of theMaster. We know, also, that the Service men vanished all over thewhole continent, not in just those two cities. How many deputies hasThe Master? What's it all about? He wanted treason of Ortiz, we know.What does he want of the other men his deputies have enslaved? Why didhe poison the Service men? And why--especially why--do two honorablemen, officials of two important nations, want to tip off the UnitedStates Government about the ghastly business? What's it got to do withour nation?"

  Bell flung away his cigarette.

  "That last question has occurred to me too," he observed, andcarefully repressed a slight shiver. "I have made a guess, which isprobably insane. I'm going to see Ribiera this afternoon."

  "He already suspects you know too much," said Jamison withoutexpression.

  "I am"--Bell managed the ghost of a mirthless smile--"I amuncomfortably aware of it. And I may need an antidote as badly asOrtiz. If I do, and can't help myself, I'll depend on you."

  * * * * *

  Jamison growled.

  "I simply mean," said Bell very quietly, "that I'd really rather notbe--er--left alive if I'm mad. That's all. But Ortiz knew what was thematter with him before he got bad off. I know it's a risk. I'mgoose-flesh all over. But somebody's got to take the risk. The guessI've made may be insane, but if it's right one or two lives will becheap enough as a price for the information. Suppose you chaps turnaround and take me to Ribiera's house?"

  There was a long pause. Then Jamison spoke in Portuguese to hiscompanion. The taxi checked, swerved, and began to retrace its route.

  "You're a junior in the Trade," said Jamison painstakingly. "I can'torder you to do it."

  Bell fumbled with his cigarette case.

  "The Trade doesn't exist, Jamison," he said dryly. "And besides,nobody gives orders in The Trade. There are only suggestions. Now shutup a while. I want to try to remember some consular reports I readonce, from the consul at Puerto Pachecho."

  "What?"

  "The consul there," said Bell, smiling faintly, "was an amateurbotanist. He filled up his consular reports with accounts of nativeIndian medicinal plants and drugs, with copious notes and clinicalobservations. I had to reprove him severely for taking up space withsuch matters and not going fully into the exact number of hides, wetand dry, that passed through the markets in his district. Hisinformation will be entirely useless in this present emergency, butI'm going to try to remember as much of it as I can. Now shut up."

  * * * * *

  When the taxi swung off the Biera Mar to thread its way through manytree-lined streets--it is a misdemeanor, punishable by fine, to cutdown a tree in Rio de Janeiro--it carried a young American with theair of an accomplished idler, who has been mildly bored by theincomparable view from the waterside boulevard. When it stopped at thefoot of one of the slum covered _morros_ that dot all Rio, and aliveried doorman came out of a splendid residence to ask the visitorhis name, the taxi discharged a young American who seemed to feel theheat, in spite of the swift motion of the cab. He wiped off hisforehead with his handkerchief as he was assured that the SenhorRibiera had given orders he was to be admitted, night or day. When thetaxi drove off, it carried two men on the chauffeur's seat, of whomone had lost, temporarily, the manner of haughty insolence which isnormally inseparable from the secretary of a taxicab chauffeur.

  But though he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, Bell actuallyfelt rather cold when he followed his guide through ornately furnishedrooms, which seemed innumerable, and was at last left to wait in anespecially luxurious salon.

  There was a pause. A rather long wait. A distinctly long wait. Belllighted a cigarette and seemed to become mildly bored. He regarded avoluptuous small statu
ette with every appearance of pleased interest.A subtly decadent painting seemed to amuse him considerably. He didnot seem to notice that no windows at all were visible, and thatshaded lamps lit this room, even in broad daylight.

  * * * * *

  Two servants came in, a footman in livery and the major-domo. Youraverage _Carioca_ servant is either fawning or covertly insolent.These two were obsequious. The footman carried a tray with a bottle,glass, ice, and siphon.

  "The Senhor Ribiera," announced the major-domo obsequiously, "begsthat the Senhor Bell will oblige him by waiting for the shortest ofmoments until the Senhor Ribiera can relieve himself of a businessmatter. It will be but the shortest of moments."

  Bell felt a little instinctive chill at sight of the bottle andglasses.

  "Oh, very well," he said idly. "You may put the tray there."

  The footman lifted the siphon expectantly. Bell regarded itindifferently. The wait before the arrival of this drink had beenlonger than would be required merely for the announcing of a callerand the tending of a tray, especially if such a tray were a custom ofthe place. And the sending of a single bottle only, without inquiryinto his preferences....

  "No soda," said Bell. He poured out a drink into the tinier glass. Helifted it toward his lips, hesitated vaguely, and drew out hishandkerchief again.

  He sneezed explosively, and the drink spilled. He swore irritably, putdown the glass, and plied his handkerchief vigorously. A moment laterhe was standing up and pouring the drink out afresh, from the bottlein one hand to the glass in the other. He up-tilted the glass.

  "Get rid of this for me," he said annoyedly of the handkerchief.

  * * * * *

  He saw a nearly imperceptible glance pass between the footman and themajor-domo. They retired, and Bell moved about the room exactly like ayoung man who has been discomfited by the necessity of sneezing beforeservants. Anywhere else in the world, of course, such a pose would nothave been convincing. But your Brazilian not only adopts _fazendafita_ as his own avocation, but also suspects it to be everybodyelse's too. And a young Brazilian of the leisure class would behorribly annoyed at being forced to so plebeian an exhibition inpublic.

  He moved restlessly about the room, staring at the picture. Presentlyhe blinked uncertainly and gazed about less definitely. He went ratheruncertainly to the chair he had first occupied and sat down. Hepoured--or seemed to pour--another drink. Again he sneered, and lookedmortified. He put down the glass with an air of finality. But helooked puzzledly about him. Then he sank back in his chair andgradually seemed to sink into a sort of apathetic indifference.

  * * * * *

  He looked, then, like a very bored young man on the verge of dozingoff. But actually he was very much alert indeed. He had the feeling ofeyes upon him for a while. Then that sensation ceased and he settledhimself to wait. And meantime he felt a particular, peculiar gratitudeto the late American consul at Puerto Pachecho for his interest inmedicinal plants.

  That gentleman had gone into the subject with the passionateenthusiasm of the amateur. He had described _icus_, _uirari_ and_timbo_. He had particularized upon _makaka-nimbi_ and _hervamoura_.And he had gone into a wealth of detail concerning _yague_, on accountof its probable value if used in criminology. As consul at PuertoPachecho he was not altogether a success in some ways, but he hadinvented an entirely original method of experimentation upon thosedrugs and poisons which did not require to be introduced into theblood-stream. His method was simplicity itself. An alcoholic solution"carried" a minute quantity of the drug in its vapor, just as analcoholic solution carries a minute quantity of perfuming essentialoil. He inhaled the odor of the alcoholic solution. The effect wasimmediately, strictly temporary, and not dangerous. He was enabled todescribe the odors, in some cases the tastes, and in a few instancesthe effects of the substances he listed, from personal experience.

  * * * * *

  And Bell had used his method as an unpromising but possible test for adrug in the drink that had been brought him. He inhaled the stranglingodor of the spilled liquor on his handkerchief. And there was a druginvolved. For an instant he was dizzy, and for an instant he saw theroom through a vivid blue haze. And something clicked in his brain andsaid "It's _yague_." And the relief of dealing with something which heknew--if only at second-hand--was so enormous that he felt almostweak.

  _Yague_, you see, is an extract from the leaves of a plant which isnot yet included in materia medica. It has nearly the effect ofscopolamine--once famous in connection with twilight sleep--andproduces a daze of blue light, an intolerable sleepiness, andpractically all the effects of hypnotism. A person under _yague_, asunder scopolamine or hypnosis, will seem to slumber and yet will obeyany order, by whomever given. He will answer any question withoutreserve or any concealment. And on awakening he will remember nothingdone under the influence of the potion. The effects are notparticularly harmful.

  Bell then, sat in an apparent half-daze, half-slumber, in the salon inwhich he waited for Ribiera to appear. He knew exactly what he wasexpected to do. Ribiera wanted to find out what he knew or suspectedabout Ortiz's death. Ribiera wanted to know many things, and he wouldbelieve what Bell told him because he thought Bell had taken enough_yague_ to be practically an hypnotic subject. Let Ribiera believewhat he was told!

  When he came into the room, bland and smiling, Bell did not stir. Hewas literally crawling, inside, with an unspeakable repulsion to theman and the things for which he stood. But he seemed dazed and dull,and when Ribiera began to ask questions he babbled his answers in atoneless, flat voice. He babbled very satisfactorily, in Ribiera'sview.

  * * * * *

  When Ribiera shook him roughly by the shoulder he started, and let hiseyes clear. Ribiera was laughing heartily.

  "Senhor! Senhor!" said Ribiera jovially. "My hospitality is at fault!You come to be my guest and I allow you to be so bored that you dropoff to sleep! I was detained for five minutes and came in to find youslumbering!"

  Bell stared ruefully about him and rubbed his eyes.

  "I did, for a fact," he admitted apologetically. "I'm sorry. Up latelast night, and I was tired. I dropped in to see those planes yousuggested I'd be interested in. But I daresay it's late, now."

  Ribiera chuckled again. He was in his late and corpulent forties andwas something of a dandy. If one were captious, one might object tothe thickness of his lips. They suggested sensuality. And there was ashade--a bare shade--more of pigment in his skin than the Americanpasses altogether unquestioned. And his hair was wavy.... But he couldbe a charming host.

  "We'll have a drink," he said bluntly, "while the car's coming aroundto the door, and then go out to the flying field."

  "No drink," said Bell, lifting his hand. "I feel squeamish now. I say!Haven't you changed the lamps, or something? Everything looksblue...."

  That was a lie. Things looked entirely normal to Bell. But he lookedabout him as if vaguely puzzled. If he had drunk the liquor Ribierahad sent him, things would have had a bluish tinge for some timeafter. But as it was....

  Ribiera chaffed him jovially on the way to the flying field. Andintroducing him to fliers and officials of the field, he told withgusto of Bell's falling asleep while waiting for him. A very jollycompanion, Ribiera.

  But Bell saw two or three men looking at him very queerly. Almostsympathetically. And he noticed, a little later, that a surprisingnumber of fliers and officials of the airport seemed to be concealingan abject terror of Ribiera. One or two of them seemed to hate him aswell.

  CHAPTER IV

  Bell stepped out of a tall French window to a terrace, and from theterrace to the ground. There was a dull muttering in the sky to theeast, and a speck appeared, drew nearer swiftly, grew larger, andbecame a small army biplane. It descended steeply to earth behind atall planting of trees. Bell lighted a cigarette and movedpurposelessly down an elabor
ately formalized garden.

  "More victims," he observed grimly to himself, of the plane.

  Ribiera lifted a pigmented hand to wave languidly from a shaded chair.There were women about him, three of them, and it sickened Bell to seethe frightened assiduity with which they flattered him. Bell had metthem, of course. Madame the wife of the State President of Bahia--inthe United States of Brazil the states have presidents instead ofgovernors--preferred the title of "Madame" because it was more foreignand consequently more aristocratic than Senhora. And Madame the wifeof the General--

  "Senhor," called Ribiera blandly, "I have news for you."

  Bell turned and went toward him with an air of pleased expectancy. Henoticed for the first time the third of the women. Young, in the firstflush of youthful maturity, but with an expression of stark terrorlingering behind a palpably assumed animation.

  "An acquaintance of yours, Senhor," said Ribiera, "is to be myguests."

  Bell steeled himself.

  "The Senhor Canalejas," said Ribiera, beaming, "and his daughter."

  * * * * *

  Bell seemed to frown, and then seemed to remember.

  "Oh, yes," he said carelessly, "I met her in Washington. She was onthe _Almirante Gomez_, coming down."

  The next instant he saw Ribiera's expression, and cursed himself for afool. Ribiera's eyes had narrowed sharply. Then they half-closed, andhe smiled.

  "She is charming," said Ribiera in drowsy contentment, "and I hadthought you would be glad to improve her acquaintance. Especiallysince, as my friend, you may congratulate me. A contract of marriageis under discussion."

  Bell felt every muscle grow taut. The fat, pigmented man beforehim....

  "Indeed," said Bell politely, "I do congratulate you."

  Ribiera looked at him with an expression in which a sardonicadmiration mingled with something else less pleasant.

  "You are clever, Senhor Bell," he said heavily, seeming to sink moredeeply into his chair. "Very clever." He shifted his eyes to the womenwho stood about him. "You may go," he said indifferently. His tone wasexactly that of a despot dismissing his slaves. Two of them coloredwith instinctive resentment. His eyes lingered an instant on thethird. Her face had showed only a passionate relief. "You, Senhora,"he said heavily, "may wait nearby."

  The terror returned to her features, but she moved submissively to aspot a little out of earshot. Bell found his jaws clenched. There is acertain racial taint widespread in Brazil which leads to anintolerable arrogance when there is the slightest opportunity for itsexercise. Ribiera had the taint, and Bell felt a sickening wrath atthe terrified submission of the women.

  "_Si_," said Ribiera, suddenly adverting to insolence. "You areclever, Senhor Bell. Where did you learn of _yague_?"

  * * * * *

  Bell inhaled leisurely. His muscles were tense, but he gave no outwardsign. Instead, he sat down comfortably upon the arm of a chair facingRibiera's. The only way to meet insolence is with equal insolence anda greater calm.

  "Ah!" said Bell pleasantly. "So you found out it didn't work, afterall!"

  Ribiera's eyes contracted. He became suddenly enraged.

  "You are trifling with me," he said furiously. "Do you know thepenalty for that?"

  "Why, yes," said Bell, and smiled amiably. "A dose of--er--poison ofThe Master's private brand."

  It was a guess, but based on a good deal of evidence. Ribiera turnedcrimson, then pale.

  "What do you know?" he demanded in a deadly quietness. "You cannotleave this place. You are aware of that. The people here--guests andservants--are my slaves, the slaves of The Master. You cannot leavethis place except also as my slave. I will have you bound and given_yague_ so that you cannot fail to tell me anything that I wish toknow. I will have you tortured so that you will gladly say anythingthat I wish, in return for death. I will--"

  "You will," said Bell dryly, "drop dead with seven bullets in yourbody if you give a signal for anyone to attack me."

  * * * * *

  Ribiera stared at him as his hand rested negligently in his coatpocket. And then, quite suddenly Ribiera began to chuckle. His ragevanished. He laughed, a monstrous, gross, cackling laughter.

  "You have been my guest for two days," he gasped, slapping his fatknees, "and you have not noticed that your pistol his been tamperedwith! Senhor Bell! Senhor Bell! My uncle will be disappointed in you!"

  It seemed to impress him as a victory that Bell had been dependingupon an utterly futile threat for safety. It restored his good humormarvelously.

  "It does not matter," he said jovially. "Presently you will tell meall that I wish to know. More, perhaps. My uncle is pleased with you.You recall your little talk with the wireless operator on the_Almirante Gomez_? You tried to learn things from him, Senhor. Hereported it. Of course. All our slaves report. He sent his report tomy uncle, The Master, and I did not have it until to-day. I will admitthat you deceived me. I knew you had talked with Ortiz, who was afool. I thought that in his despair he might have spoken. I gave you_yague_, as I thought, and informed my uncle that you knew nothing.And he is very much pleased with you. It was clever to deceive meabout the _yague_. My uncle has high praise for you. He has told methat he desires your services."

  Bell inhaled again. There was no question but that Ribiera was totallyunafraid of the threat he had made. His gun must have been tamperedwith, the firing-pin filed off perhaps. So Bell said placidly:

  "Well? He desires my services?"

  * * * * *

  Ribiera chuckled, in his gross and horrible good humor.

  "He will have them. Senhor. He will have them. When you observe yourhands writhing at the ends of your wrists, you will enter his service,through me. Of course. And he will reward you richly. Money, muchmoney, such as I have. And slaves--such as I have. The Senhora...."

  Ribiera looked at the terrified girl standing thirty or forty feetaway. He chuckled again.

  "My uncle desires that you should be induced to enter his service ofyour own will. So, Senhor, you shall see first what my uncle's serviceoffers. And later, when you know what pleasures you may some daypossess as my uncle's deputy in your own nation, why, then the factthat your hands are writhing at the ends of your wrists will be merelyan added inducement to come to me. And I bear you no ill will fordeceiving me. You may go."

  Bell rose.

  "And still," he said dryly, "I suspect that you are deceived. But nowyou deceive yourself."

  He heard Ribiera chuckling as he walked away. He heard him call,amusedly, "Senhora." He heard the little gasp of terror with which thegirl obeyed. He passed her, stumbling toward the gross fat man withthe light brown skin and curly hair. Her eyes were literally pools ofanguish.

  * * * * *

  Bell threw away his cigarette and began to fumble for another. He wasbeginning to feel the first twinges of panic, and fought them down.Ribiera had not lied. Bell had been at this _fazenda_ of his--whichwas almost a miniature Versailles three hundred miles from Rio--fortwo days. In all that time he had not seen one person besides himselfwho did not display the most abject terror of Ribiera. Ribiera hadmade no idle boast when he said that everyone about, guests andservants, were slaves. They were. Slaves of a terror vastly greaterthan mere fear of death. It--

  "Senhor!... _Oh, Dios!_" It was the girl's voice, in despair.

  Ribiera laughed. Bell felt a red mist come before his eyes.

  He deliberately steadied his hands and lighted his cigarette. He heardstumbling footsteps coming behind him. A hand touched his arm. Heturned to see the girl Ribiera had pointed out, her cheeks utterly,chalky white, trying desperately to smile.

  "Senhor!" she gasped. "Smile at me! For the love of God, smile at me!"

  In the fraction of a second, Bell was mad with rage. He understood,and he hated Ribiera with a corrosive hatred past conception. And thenhe was deathly calm, and
wholly detached, and he smiled widely, andturned and looked at Ribiera, and Ribiera's whole gross bulk quiveredas he chuckled. Bell took the girl's arm with an excessive politenessand managed--he never afterward understood how he managed it--to grinat Ribiera.

  "Senhora," he said in a low tone, "I think I understand. Stop beingafraid. We can fool him. Come and walk with me and talk. The idea isthat he must think you are trying to fascinate me, is it not?"

  She spoke through stiffened lips.

  "Ah, that I could die!"

  Bell had a horrible part to play while he walked the length of theformal garden with her, and found a pathway leading out of it, and ledher out of sight. He stopped.

  "Now," he said sharply, "tell me. I am not yet his slave. He hasordered you...."

  She was staring before her with wide eyes that saw only despair.

  "I--I am to persuade you to be my lover," she said dully, "or I shallknow the full wrath of The Master...."

  * * * * *

  Bell asked questions, crisply, but as gently as he could.

  "We are his slaves," she told him apathetically. "I and _miArturo_--my husband. Both of us...." She roused herself little underBell's insistent questioning. "We were guests at his house at dinner.Our friends, people high in society and in the Republic, were allabout us. We suspected nothing. We had heard nothing. But two weekslater Arturo became irritable. He said that he saw red spots beforehis eyes. I also. Then Arturo's hands writhed at the ends of hiswrists. He could not control them. His nerves were horrible. And mine.And we--we have a tiny baby.... And Senhor Ribiera called upon myhusband. He was charming. He observed my husband's hands. He had aremedy, he said. He gave it to my husband. He became normal again. Andthen--my hands writhed. Senhor Ribiera told my husband that if hewould bring me to him.... And I was relieved. We were grateful. Weaccepted the invitation of the Senhor Ribiera to this place. And heshowed us a man, in chains. He--he went mad before our eyes. He was amember of the United States Secret Service.... And then the SenhorRibiera told us that we faced the same fate if we did not servehim...."

  * * * * *

  Bell had thrust aside rage as useless, now. He was deliberately cold.

  "And so?"

  "It is a poison," she said unsteadily. "A deadly, a horrible poisonwhich drives men murder mad in two weeks from the time of itsadministration. The Senhor Ribiera has an antidote for it. But mixedwith the antidote, which acts at once, is more of the horrible poison,which will act in two weeks more. So that we are entrapped. If wedisobey him...."

  Bell began to smile slowly, and not at all mirthfully.

  "I think," he said softly, "that I shall gain a great deal of pleasurefrom killing the Senhor Ribiera."

  "_Dios_--" She strangled upon the word. "Do you not see, Senhor, thatif he dies we--we--" She stopped and choked. "We--have a tiny baby,Senhor. We--we would...."

  Again sick rage surged up in Bell. To kill Ribiera meant to drive hisslaves mad, and mad in the most horrible fashion that can be imagined.To kill Ribiera meant to have these people duplicate the death ofOrtiz, as their greatest hope, or to fill madhouses with snarlinganimals lusting to kill....

  "It is--it is not only I, Senhor," said the girl before him. She wasutterly listless, and in the agony of despair. "It is Arturo, also.The Senhor Ribiera has said that if I do not persuade you, that bothArturo and I.... And our little baby, Senhor!... Our families alsowill be entrapped some day. He has said so.... He will give thatpoison to our baby.... And it will grow up either his slave, or--"

  Her eyes were pools of panic.

  "Oh, God!" said Bell very quietly. "And he's offering me this power!He's trying to persuade me to become like him. He's offering mepleasures!"

  * * * * *

  He laughed unpleasantly. And then he went sick with helplessness. Hecould kill Ribiera, perhaps, and let only God know how many people gomad. Perhaps. Or perhaps Ribiera would merely be supplanted by anotherman. Ortiz had said that he killed The Master's deputy in BuenosAires, but that another man had taken his place. And the thing wenton. And The Master desired a deputy in the United States....

  "Somehow," said Bell very softly, "this has got to be stopped.Somehow. Right away. That devilish stuff! Can you get hold of a bit ofthe antidote?" he asked abruptly. "The merest drop of it?"

  She shook her head.

  "No, Senhor. It is given in food, in wine. One never knows that onehas had it. It is tasteless, and we have only Senhor Ribiera's wordthat it has been given."

  Bell's hands clenched.

  "So devilish clever.... What are we going to do?"

  The girl stuffed the corner of her handkerchief into her mouth.

  "I am thinking of my little baby," she said, choking. "I must persuadeyou, Senhor. I--I have been tearful. I--I am not attractive. I willtry. If I am not attractive to you...."

  * * * * *

  Bell cursed, deeply and savagely. It seemed to be the only possiblething to do. And then he spoke coldly.

  "Listen to me, Senhora. Ribiera talked frankly to me just now. Heknows that so far I am not subdued. If I escape he cannot blame you.He cannot! And I am going to attempt it. If you will follow me...."

  "There is no escape for me," she said dully, "and if he thinks that Iknew of your escape and did not tell him...."

  "Follow me," said Bell, smiling queerly. "I shall take care that hedoes not suspect it."

  He gazed about for an instant, orienting himself. The plane that hadjust landed--the last of a dozen or more that had arrived in the pasttwo days--had dipped down on the private landing field to the north.

  There was a beautifully kept way running from the landing field to thehouse, and he went on through the thick shrubbery amid a labyrinth ofpaths, choosing the turnings most likely to lead him to it.

  * * * * *

  He came out upon it suddenly, and faced toward the field. There weretwo men coming toward the house, on foot. One was a flying pilot,still in his flying clothes. The other was a tall man, for aBrazilian, with the lucent clarity of complexion that bespeaksuncontaminated white descent. He was white-haired, and his face wasqueerly tired, as if he were exhausted.

  Bell looked sharply. He seemed to see a resemblance to someone he knewin the tall man. He spoke quickly to the girl beside him.

  "Who is the man to the left?"

  "Senhor Canalejas," said the girl drearily. "He is the Minister ofWar. I suppose he, too...."

  Bell drew a deep breath. He walked on, confidently. As the two othersdrew near he said apologetically:

  "Senhores."

  They halted with the instinctive, at least surface, courtesy of theBrazilian. And Bell was fumbling with his handkerchief, rathernervously tying a knot in it. He held it out to Canalejas.

  "Observe."

  It was, of course, a recognition-knot such as may be given to anoutsider by one in the Trade. The tall man's face changed. And Bellswung swiftly and suddenly and very accurately to the point of theother man's jaw.

  He collapsed.

  * * * * *

  "Senhor Canalejas," said Bell politely, "I am about to go and steal anairplane to take what I have learned to my companion for transmission.If you wish to go with me...."

  Canalejas stared for the fraction of a second. Then he said quietly:

  "But of course."

  He turned to retrace his steps. Bell turned to the girl.

  "If you are wise," he said gently, "you will go and give the alarm. Ifyou are kind, you will delay it as much as you dare."

  She regarded him in agonized doubt for a moment, and nodded. She fled.

  "Now," said Bell casually, "I think we had better hasten. And I hope,Senhor Canalejas, that you have a revolver. We will need one. Mine hasbeen ruined."

  Without a word, the white-haired man drew out a weapon and offered itto him.

  "I had i
ntended," he said very calmly, "to kill the Senhor Ribiera.His last demand is for my daughter."

  They went swiftly. The plane Bell had seen alight some fifteen ortwenty minutes before was just being approached by languid mechanics.It was, of course, still warm. Canalejas shouted and waved his armimperiously. It is probable that he gave the impression of a manreturning for some forgotten thing, left in the cockpit of the plane.

  * * * * *

  What happened then, happened quickly. A few crisp words in a low tone.A minor hubbub began suddenly back at the house. Canalejas climbedinto the passenger's seat as if looking for something. And Bellpresented his now useless automatic pleasantly at the head of thenearest staring mechanic, and while he froze in horror, scrambled upinto the pilot's cockpit.

  "Contact!" he snapped, and turned on the switch. The mechanic remainedfrozen with fear. "Damnation!" said Bell savagely. "I don't know thePortuguese for 'Turn her over'!"

  He fumbled desperately about in the cockpit. Something whirred. Thepropeller went over.... Canalejas shot with painstaking accuracy,twice. The motor caught with a spluttering roar.

  As a horde of running figures, servants and guests, running with thesame desperation, came plunging out on the flying field from theshrubbery. Bell gave the motor the gun. The fast little plane's tailcame up off the ground as she darted forward. Faster and faster, withmany bumpings. The bumpings ceased. She was clear.

  And Bell zoomed suddenly to lift her over the racing, fear-riddencreatures who clutched desperately at the wheels, and then the littleship shot ahead, barely cleared the trees to the east of the field,and began to roar at her topmost speed toward Rio.

  CHAPTER V

  The Trade--which does not exist--has its obligations and its code, butalso it has its redeeming features. When a man has finished his job,he has finished it. And as far as the Trade was concerned, Bell hadbut little more to do. But after that--and his eyes burned smokily intheir depths--there was much that he intended to do. He sat in one ofthe _bondes_ of the Botanical Garden half of the street railway systemof Rio, and absent mindedly regarded the scenery. This particular_bonde_ was headed out toward the Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas, by whichsalty mass of water Bell would meet Paula Canalejas. He would receivea package from her, which he would deliver to Jamison. And then hewould be free, and it was his private intention to engage in anenterprise which was very probably a form of suicide. But there aresome things one cannot dismiss with a sage reflection that they arenot one's business. This matter of Ribiera was definitely one of them.

  * * * * *

  The escape from Ribiera's _fazenda_ had been relatively easy, becauseso thoroughly unexpected. The little plane had climbed to fivethousand feet and found a stratum of cloud that stretched for verymany miles. Bell had emerged from it only twice in the first hour offlight, and the second time the sky was clear all about him. That hewas pursued, he had no doubt. That Ribiera had wireless communicationswith Rio, he knew. And he knew that instant, and imperative orderswould have gone out for his capture.

  Rio would not be a healthy place for him. If Ribiera had power overhigh government officials, he had surely indirect power over thepolice, and a search for Bell would be in order at once. Yet Canalejasassuredly expected to return to Rio.

  A shouted question with the motor cut out, and a nodded answer. Bellheaded for Petropolis, which is Rio's only real summer resort and ishigh in the hills and only an hour and a half from it by train. It wassurprisingly satisfactory to be handling a swift plane again, and Bellallowed himself what he knew was about the only pleasure he was likelyto have for some time to come.

  Something of his hatred of Ribiera, however, came back as he preparedto land. He managed to crack the plane up very neatly, so that itwould be of no use to Ribiera any more. And at the same time, ofcourse, the cracking-up provided an excellent excuse for Canalejas tocontinue on by train.

  * * * * *

  They talked very briefly by the puffing engine.

  "It is best," said Canalejas, "for you, Senhor, to remain hereovernight. I believe Senhor Ribiera has given orders for us both to belooked for, yet as a Cabinet Minister I am still immune from arrest bythe ordinary police. If I reach my home I shall be able to do all thatis necessary."

  "And you will prepare a message for me to carry," said Bell.

  "It is ready," said Canalejas. He smiled faintly. "No, Senhor. I haveinstructions to give my daughter. She will deliver the information toyou to-morrow. Let me see. At the edge of the Lagao Rodrigo deFeitas, at nine o'clock. She is the only messenger I can trust. Ithink that is all."

  Bell hesitated uncomfortably.

  "But you, sir," he said awkwardly. "You have been poisoned, as SenorOrtiz was."

  "But certainly," said Canalejas. His smile was ironic as before. "But,unlike Senor Ortiz, I have no hope. I have arranged for my daughter toconceal herself and escape from Brazil. I have prepared foreverything, Senhor. As you know, I had intended to kill SenhorRibiera. In returning with you I have merely delayed my own death by afew hours."

  Still smiling, and with the air of one entering a train for the mostcasual of journeys, Canalejas entered the coach.

  * * * * *

  And Bell, sitting in the _bonde_ next morning, saw with an uncannyclarity the one weak point in Ribiera's hold upon his subjects. Whenthey had courage to fear nothing more than death, they could defy him.And not many could attain to that courage. But a few....

  "I'll have some help, anyway," muttered Bell savagely to himself.

  It is a long ride to the Botanical Gardens, from which one half thesurface lines of Rio take their name. On the way out to the LagaoRodrigo de Feitas, which, is close by the Garden itself, Bell had timeto work over for the thousandth time the information he possessed, andrealize its uselessness. Two things, only, might be of service. Onewas that Ribiera was the nephew of the person referred to as TheMaster, and yet was evidently as much subjected to him as his ownvictims to himself. The other was that the ultimate end of all theghastly scheme was in some fashion political. If wealth alone had beenRibiera's aim, the gathering of his slaves would have had a differentaspect. The majority of them would have been rich men, men ofbusiness, men who could pay out hundreds of thousands a month in thedesperate hope of being permitted to remain sane. There would not havebeen politicians and officials and officers of the army.

  "The key men of the country," growled Bell inaudibly, "enslaved toRibiera. They give him the power he's after more than cash. And it'sthose key men who have more to lose than money. There's such a thingas honor...."

  Three times the conductor stopped beside him and suggestively rattledthe coins in his box. Three times Bell absent mindedly paid the farefor the zone. But the ride is a long one, and he had had time torealize the hopelessness of any single-handed attack upon the thing hefaced long before the end.

  Then he absently moved through the amazing collection of tropic andnear tropic growths that is the Botanical Garden until he came at onceto Paula and the Lagoa Rodrico de Freitas.

  * * * * *

  It was alive with birds, and they hopped and pecked and squabbledwithout acrimony within feet of her seated figure. Bell knew that shehad been waiting for a long time. He looked quickly at her face. Itwas quite pale, but entirely tearless.

  "Here is the message, Senhor Bell," she said quietly, "but I think Ihave been followed."

  Bell growled in his throat.

  "I did not discover it until I reached this spot," she said evenly."And I did not know what to do. If I left, I would be seized and themessage taken--and I think that someone would have waited here foryou. So, in part to gain time, and in part because I hoped you mighthave some resource, I remained."

  "How many of them?" asked Bell shortly.

  "Two," she said quietly. She looked at him, her large eyes entirelycalm and grave.

  "Give me
the package," said Bell briefly. "They'll be more anxious toget it back than to bother you. And I'll either knock them cold orhold them in a scrap until you get away."

  She reached in her pocket and handed him a small thick envelope. Hestuffed it in the side pocket of his coat.

  "I will walk away," he observed, "and they'll follow me. Can youarrange to give me some sign that you're safe?"

  "By the gateway," she told him. "My handkerchief. I shall start assoon as you have vanished. If I am followed, I will drop thishandkerchief, as it is. If I am not followed, I will tie a knot. Butwhat can you do?"

  "I'll do something," said Bell coldly. "Something!"

  * * * * *

  She smiled, with the same odd bitterness her father had shown.

  "My father--shot himself," she said briefly. "I have no particularhope of doing better. But I shall not be Ribiera's slave."

  She remained quite still. Bell moved away. He hurried. There was thickjungle ahead, a section of the Gardens that is painstakingly preserveduntouched and undisturbed, that visitors to the capital of Brazil mayobserve a typical sample of the virgin interior. He dived into thatjungle as if in flight.

  And very shortly after, two men dived in after him. They hesitated,these men, because your policeman of Rio does not like to injure hisuniform, and there are many thorns in jungle growths. But they enteredit, having first drawn small glittering weapons. And then from thejungle came silence.

  * * * * *

  It seemed to be silence. But there may have been some small unusualnoises. It would not be easy to tell if they were unusual or not,because there are peculiar flashes of charm in certain Brazilianinstitutions. The preservation of the spot of jungle itself is one.Another is the fact that in the Gardens all manner of wild thingslive at large and provide unexpected and delightful surprises to theusually foreign visitors.

  So there were noises, after a bit. Such noises as some grunting wildthing might have made, perhaps. But they might also have been thegasping of a man as breath was choked out of him.... And there was acracking sound a little later, which might--of course--have been anyone of any number of accidental and perfectly natural causes. And itmight have been a man upon whom another man had hurled himself, whenthe second man landed on his jaw. And thrashing noises a little latermight have been anything.

  But after what seemed a long time, Bell emerged. Alone. He wasbreathing quickly, and there were scratches on his face and handswhich--well, which might have been made by thorns. He went swiftlyback toward the spot where Paula had waited. He looked cautiously. Shewas gone.

  And then Bell went leisurely, in the studious fashion of a persongoing through the Botanical Gardens because it was the thing to do,toward the gateway and the surface cars. As he neared the gate hiseyes roved with apparent casualness all about. He saw a tiny speck ofwhite on the edge of the roadway. It looked as if it had been flungfrom a car. Bell picked it up. It was Paula's handkerchief, and therewas no knot whatever in it. In fact, its lacy edge was torn.

  "They've got her," said Bell, apparently unmoved.

  * * * * *

  He waited for a car. A bulky figure wearing thick spectacles cameplacidly from the Gardens. It waited, also, for the car. The cararrived, in its two sections of first and second class; the firstreserved for _cavalhieros_, which is to say persons wearing coat,shirt, collar, necktie, hat, shoes and socks, and carrying no parcellarger than a brief case. Lesser folk who lacked any of the sartorialrequirements for admission to the first class section, or wore_tomancos_ instead of shoes, heaped themselves into the second sectionand paid one-third of the fare in the first.

  Bell took his seat in the first section. It was comfortably filled.The bulky person with the thick spectacles wedged himself carefullyinto the space beside Bell. He unfolded a copy of the _Jornal doCommercio_ and began to regard the advertisements. Presently he foundwhat he was looking for. "_O Bicho_," said medium-sized type. Besideit was a picture of a kangaroo. The gentleman with the thickspectacles resignedly fished into his pockets and found a lotteryticket. He tore it into scraps and threw them away. Then he began togaze disinterestedly at the scenery and the other passengers in thecar.

  * * * * *

  Bell drummed on his knee. With one's forefinger representing a dot,and one's second finger serving as a dash, it is surprising hownaturally and absentmindedly one may convey a perfectly intelligiblemessage to a man sitting within a reasonable distance. When the man isalongside, the matter is absurdly simple.

  Presently the man with the thick lenses got out his paper again, as ifbored by vistas such as no other city in the world can offer. Hispaper was in the pocket which pressed against Bell. If in getting outhis newspaper he also abstracted a thick fat envelope from Bell'spocket and placed it in his own, and if all this took place under asign--even in the section reserved for _cavalhieros_ of approvedraiment--solemnly warning passengers against "_batadores decarteiras_," or pickpockets--well, it was an ironical coincidencewhose humor Bell did not see.

  He was busily tapping out on his knee the briefest possible account ofwhat he had learned at Ribiera's _fazenda_ up country.

  "_One chance for me_," he tapped off at the end. "_If I can kidnapRibiera I can make him talk. Somehow. He has big amphibian plane keptfueled and ready for long trip. I think he is back in Rio to directhunt for me. Paula kidnapped. My job finished. On my own now._"

  The man with thick spectacles did not nod. He seemed to be lookingidly at his paper, but it was folded at an article very discreetlyphrased, beneath a photograph of Senhor Teixeira Canalejas, Ministerof War, who had very unfortunately been found dead that morning. Hehad been depressed, of late, but there were certain circumstanceswhich made it as yet impossible to determine whether he had killedhimself or was the victim of an assassin.

  "_Getting set for me_," tapped Bell grimly on his knee. "_Ribiera toldme too much._"

  * * * * *

  The man with thick spectacles yawned and turned the paper over. Undera smaller headline--which would only find a place on a Braziliansheet--"A Regrettable Incident"--an item of more direct importance wasprinted. It told of an unnamed Senhor from the United States of theNorth America, who as the guest of a widely known Brazilian gentlemanhad behaved most boorishly, had stolen an airplane from his host andbroken it to bits on landing unskilfully, and had vanished withpriceless heirlooms belonging to his host. It read, virtuously:

  No names are mentioned because the American Senhor has been widely introduced in Rio society as a person with an official status in Washington. It is understood that an inquiry is to be made of the Ambassador as to the status of the young man, before any action is taken by the police. It is to be expected, however, that he will at least be requested to leave the country.

  Bell managed the barest flicker of a smile. Arrest, of course.Detention, most courteously arranged, while the Ambassador wascommunicated with. And Ribiera.

  "_Give me dismiss_," he tapped on his knee.

  The gentleman in the thick spectacles ran his finger thoughtfullyabout the edge of his collar. In the Trade that is a signal of manyvaried meanings. A hand across the throat in any fashion means, "Clearout, your job is finished," "Save your skin as best you can," and "Getaway without trying to help me," according to circumstances. In thiscase it relieved Bell of all future responsibility.

  He yawned, tapping his lips with the back of his hand, signaled for astop of the car, and got out. Five minutes later he had signaled ataxicab and given Ribiera's address. In six minutes he was beingwhirled toward the one house in all Rio de Janeiro from which hischance of a safe departure was slightest. In little more than half anhour he had dismissed the cab and was gazing placidly into thestartled eyes of the doorman. The doorman, like all of Rio whereRibiera was known and feared, knew that Bell was being hunted.

  Bell handed over his
card with an inscrutable air.

  "The Senhor Ribiera," he said drily, "returned to the city last night.Present my card and say that I would like to speak to him."

  * * * * *

  The doorman ushered him inside and summoned the major-domo, stillblinking his amazement. And the major-domo blinked again. But Bellfollowed with the air of an habitue, as he was again ushered into theluxurious salon in which he had once been offered a drugged drink.

  Again he sank down in a softly padded chair and surveyed the picturesand the minor objects of decadent art about him. Again he lighted acigarette with every appearance of ease, and again had the impressionof eyes upon him. The major-domo appeared, somewhat agitated.

  "The Senhor Ribiera," he said harshly, "will see you only if you arenot armed. He requires your word of honor."

  Bell smiled lazily.

  "I'll do better than that," he said languidly. "I haven't had time tobuy a revolver. But the automatic he had put out of commission is inmy pocket. Present it to him with my compliments."

  He handed over the weapon, butt first. The major-domo blinked, andtook it. Bell sat down and smiled widely. He had been expected to beuproarious, to attempt to force the major-domo to lead him to Ribiera.And, of course, he would have been led past a perfectly planned ambushfor his capture--but he might have killed the major-domo. Which wouldnot disturb Ribiera, but had disturbed the servant.

  * * * * *

  Bell smoked comfortably. And suddenly hangings parted, and Ribieracame into the room. He smiled nervously, and then, as Bell blew a puffof smoke at him and nodded casually, he scowled.

  "I came," said Bell deliberately, "to make a bargain. Frankly, I donot like to break my word. I was under obligations to deliver apackage from Senhor Canalejas to a certain messenger who will take itto my government. I have done it. But I am not, Senhor Ribiera, amember of the Secret Service. I am entirely a free agent now, and I amprepared to consider your proposals, which I could not in honor dobefore."

  He smiled pleasantly. Effrontery, properly managed, is one of the mostvaluable of all qualities. Especially in dealing with people whothemselves are arrogant when they dare.

  * * * * *

  Ribiera purpled with rage, and then controlled it.

  "Ah!" he rumbled. "You are prepared to consider my proposals. Thereare no proposals. The Master may be amused at your cleverness inescaping. I do not know. I do know that I am ordered to make you myslave and send you to The Master. That, I shall do."

  "Perhaps," said Bell blandly: "but I can go without food and drink forseveral days, which will delay the process. And while I cannothonorably tell you how to stop the man bearing Senhor Canalejas'package to my government, still ... If I willingly accepted a dose of_yague_ in token of my loyalty to The Master...."

  Ribiera's good humor returned. He chuckled.

  "You actually mean," he said jovially, "that you think you were givensome of The Master's little compound, and that you wish to make termsbefore your hands begin to writhe at the ends of your wrists. Is notthat your reason?"

  Bell's eyes flickered. He had been horribly afraid of just that. ButRibiera's amusement was reassuring.

  "Perhaps," said Bell. "Perhaps I am."

  * * * * *

  Ribiera sat down and stretched his fat legs in front of him. Hesurveyed Bell with an obscene, horrible amusement.

  "Ah, Senhor," he chuckled, "some day we will laugh together over this!You yet hope, and do not yet know how much better it will be for youif you cease to hope, and cultivate desires! The Master is pleasedwith you. You have just those qualities he knows are necessary indealing with your nation. He is not angry with you. It is hisintention to use you to extend his--ah--influence among the officialsof your nation. You know, of course, that in but a little more time Iwill hold all Brazil--as I now hold this city--in the hollow of myhand. Four of the republics of this continent are already completelyunder the control of The Master's deputies, and of the rest, Brazil isnot the most nearly subdued. A year or two, and The Master willbecome Emperor, and his deputies viceroys. And it is his whim to giveyou the opportunity of becoming the first deputy and the first viceroyof North America. And you come to me and offer--you, Senhor!--to maketerms! I believe even The Master will laugh when he hears of it."

  "But," said Bell practically, "do you accept my terms?"

  Ribiera chuckled again.

  "What are they, Senhor?"

  "That you release the daughter of the Senhor Canalejas and pledge yourword of honor that she will not be enslaved."

  * * * * *

  Ribiera's word of honor, of course, would be worth rather less thanthe breath that was used to give it. But his reception of the proposalwould be informative.

  He chuckled again.

  "No, Senhor. I do not accept. But I will promise you as a favor,because my uncle The Master admires you, that within a few weeks youshall enjoy her charms. I do not," he added with amused candor, "findthat any one woman diverts me for a very long time."

  "Oh," said Bell, very quietly.

  He sat still for an instant, and then shrugged, and looked about as iffor an ash tray in which to knock the ashes from his cigarette. Hestood up, carrying the tube of tobacco gingerly, and moved toward oneby Ribiera's elbow. He knocked off the ash, and crushed out the tinycoal. He fumbled in his pockets.

  The next instant Ribiera choked with terror.

  "Let me explain," said Bell softly. "I did not give your major-domo myword that I was unarmed. I merely gave him a weapon. I got these fromtwo policemen who tried to arrest me an hour or so ago. And I alsoremind you, Senhor, that if the armed men you have posted to preventmy escape try to shoot me, that the inevitable contraction of mymuscles will send two bullets into your heart--even if I am dead. Iam a dead man, Senhor, if you give the word, but so are you if yougive it."

  Ribiera gasped. His eyes rolled in his head.

  "Send for her," said Bell very gently. "Send for her, Senhor. Iestimate that she has been in this house for less than half an hour.Have her brought here at once, and if she has been harmed the three ofus will perish very promptly, and half of Rio will go mad after ourdeath."

  And the muzzles of two revolvers bored into the fat flesh of Ribiera'sbody, and a gasp that was almost a wail of terror came from thewatchers--armed watchers--who dared not kill the man they had beenposted to guard Ribiera against.

  Ribiera lifted his hand and croaked an order.

  (_To be continued._)

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