his whereabouts had been unknown for several days.
Berlin had been the pilot's objective. He had confided that fact to his companion in the plane, early in the
flight.
Everything had gone well until they had reached Germany; then, for some unknown reason, Branson had
been forced to make a landing. He had brought the ship to earth not far from a large town, and had
immediately left the plane.
When his weary companion had climbed from the ship, Branson was nowhere around.
The man who had accompanied Branson had been completely bewildered by the disappearance of his
chief. He was unable to speak German. It had been some hours before he had been able to convince
people that this was a plane from America, and that the pilot had vanished.
Branson's picture had been printed on the front pages of thousands of newspapers. Then, while wild
theories were being advanced to account for his absence, the missing man revealed himself in Berlin.
The strain of the flight had told on him, he said. His failure to reach Berlin had made him frantic. He had
hastened from the plane, and had gone to the town near which he had landed.
From there he had taken a train to Berlin. He had gone to a hotel, and had slept intermittently for three
days and nights.
Then he had realized that his disappearance might have caused consternation. In this he was entirely
correct. It had.
WHILE Raymond Branson was being idolized in Berlin, two men were traveling to America on an ocean
liner. They were inconspicuous passengers on the boat, and they saw each other only occasionally during
the voyage.
One of these men was a wealthy New Yorker named Lamont Cranston. The other was registered on the
passenger list as Victor Marquette.
Although these men appeared to be merely acquaintances, they had held a very short though important
conference in Marquette's stateroom, the night the boat had left Cherbourg.
During the course of that brief meeting, Lamont Cranston had delivered two envelopes into the hands of
Vic Marquette.
The same day that the liner reached New York, Harry Vincent came downstairs from his room on the
second floor of Professor Whitburn's house. He walked outdoors rather unsteadily, and reached a
steamer chair that had been prepared for him. There he sat looking at the lake.
Death Island was a beautiful place to-day. The aspect of gloom had left It.
Some one approached. Harry turned and saw Arlette. The girl seated herself beside him.
"Arlette," said Harry, "you promised to tell me your story -"
The girl nodded.
"My father was an American," she said. "He died in Russia. My mother, who was a Russian, brought me
to New York to escape the revolution. Her health weakened and she went to California. I remained in
New York, sending her most of the money that I earned.
"I met one of the Red agents. He promised me better work. It was not until I had accepted his offer that I
realized how insidious it was. I could not turn back; but, to protect myself, I tried to learn the identities of
the other agents.
"Volovick was one. I used to go to the Pink Rat to report. One night I saw the proprietor open the secret
panel. The night you were in danger, I led you there. I came back later, but you were gone. I had been
instructed to watch Bruce Duncan, to whom I had been introduced on the boat. I purposely neglected
my duty to let him leave New York unfollowed.
"I followed a Red Agent who called himself Ernest Manion. He watched you at the Metrolite Hotel. I
overheard him repeating instructions on the telephone. I warned you. When I knew the attack was to
begin, I came here."
Professor Whitburn appeared. He held a telegram.
"Crawford will be here to-night," he said. "I mean Marquette not Crawford. He is bringing my plans. My
invention is saved for the United States government!"
Harry gave his congratulations. When he turned to speak to Arlette, the girl was gone.
Bruce Duncan appeared an hour later. He handed Harry an envelope.
"I met Arlette DeLand in the village," he explained. "She asked me to give you this."
Harry opened the envelope and found a note.
I love you, Harry, and I know that you love me. You are willing to forget my past; but I cannot forget. It
would not be fair of me to accept your love, now. I must wait—wait until you are sure that I am worthy
of your love. So I am leaving. I am going out West. I shall begin a new life. If I can forget the past, I shall
return. You will hear from me, Harry, when I feel that I have the right to accept your love.
ARLETTE.
Harry's eyes were fixed on the single word that formed the signature.
"Arlette!" He repeated the name again, and again.
But while Arlette was forgetting, Harry must remember. His love for Arlette could rightfully remain; but
he owed loyalty to the man in whose cause he had worked.
"I shall remember," said Harry, in whispered tones. "I shall be loyal. Loyal to The Shadow!"
THE END
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The Red Menace s-4 Page 22
