by Jack London
“We have sufficient funds?”
Starkington reached over and extracted an envelope from his desk.
“This was delivered by messenger this morning. Hall has signed a paper giving me power of withdrawal of our funds.”
Hanover raised his eyebrows.
“He has traveled with Dragomiloff, then.”
“With the daughter, rather,” Haas corrected with a smile.
“Poor Hall! Trapped by love into acquiring a father-in-law he has paid to have killed!”
“Hall’s logic is tainted by emotion,” Starkington commented. “The fate of the emotional is not only predictable, but usually deserved.” He arose. “Well, then, I shall arrange for our passage.” He stared at Lucoville in sudden concern. “Why do you frown?”
“The food aboard ship,” Lucoville sighed unhappily. “Do you suppose they will be able to provide fresh vegetables for the entire trip?”
The edge of the sun was breaking evenly over the eastern horizon. Winter Hall, enjoying the warm breeze of the Pacific morning, was suddenly aware of a presence at his elbow. He turned to find Dragomiloff staring off into the distance.
“Good morning!” Hall smiled. “Did you sleep well?”
Dragomiloff was forced to return the smile.
“As well as could be expected,” was his dry reply.
“When I find it difficult to drop off to sleep,” Hall offered, “I usually walk the deck. I find that exercise aids me in falling asleep.”
“It was certainly not lack of exercise.” Dragomiloff suddenly swung his gaze fully upon the tall, handsome young man at his side. “I had a visitor last night before the ship sailed.”
Memory returned to Hall like a blow.
“Gray! He was to investigate this ship!”
“Yes. Gray dropped in to see me.”
“Is he aboard?” Hall glanced about; his pleasant smile had disappeared.
“No. He did not sail with us. He remained.”
Hall stared at the small sandy-haired man beside him with growing comprehension.
“You killed him!”
“Yes, I killed him. I was forced to.”
Hall turned back to his contemplation of the sunrise. A sternness had settled over his strong face.
“You say you were forced to. Do I recognize in this admission a change in your beliefs?”
“No.” Dragomiloff shook his head. “Although all beliefs must be amenable to change if thinking man is to merit his ability to reason. I say forced to, because Gray was my friend. In a way you might say he was my protégé. It was in following my teachings that he attempted my life. It was in recognition of the purity of his motives that I took his.”
Hall sighed wearily.
“No, you have not changed. Tell me, when will this madness end?”
“Madness?” Dragomiloff shrugged his shoulders. “Define your terms. What is sanity? To allow those to live whose course of action leads to the taking of innocent lives? At times, thousands of innocent lives?”
“You certainly cannot be referring to John Gray!”
“I am not. I am merely justifying the basis of my teachings, which John Gray believed in, and which you choose to call madness.”
Hall stared at the other hopelessly.
“But you have already admitted the fallacy of that philosophy. Man cannot judge; he can only be judged. And not by the individual. Only by the group.”
“True. It was on this basis that you convinced me that the aims of the Assassination Bureau were unworthy. Or possibly a better word would be ‘premature.’ For the Bureau itself, you must remember, is a group, representative of society itself. Picture a Bureau, if you would, encompassing all mankind. Then the arguments you used to convince me would no longer be valid. But no matter. In any event, you did convince me, and I did undertake the task of having myself assassinated. Unfortunately, the very perfection of the organization has worked against me.”
“Perfection!” Hall cried in exasperation. “How can you use that word? They have failed to kill you in at least six or eight attempts!”
“That failure is proof of the perfection,” Dragomiloff stated gravely. “I see you do not understand. Failures are calculable; for the Bureau contains within it certain checks and balances. The failures prove the rightness of these checks and balances.”
Hall stared at the small man at his side in amazement.
“You are unbelievable! Tell me, when will this—very well, I shall not use the word ‘madness’—when will this adventure, then, end?”
To his surprise Dragomiloff smiled in quite a friendly manner.
“I like that word ‘adventure.’ All life is an adventure, but we do not appreciate it until life itself is in jeopardy. When will it end? When we end, I suppose. When our brains cease to function; when we join the worms and the non-thinkers. In my particular case,” he continued, noting Hall’s barely concealed impatience, “at the end of a period of one year from the time of my original instructions to Haas.”
“And that time is well along. In less than three months your contract will have expired. What then?”
To his surprise Dragomiloff’s smile suddenly faded.
“I do not know. I cannot believe that the organization I have built up so painstakingly will allow me to live the full period. That would be a negation of its perfection.”
“But certainly you do not want them to succeed?”
Dragomiloff clasped his hands tightly. His face was frowning and serious.
“I do not know. It is something that has been bothering me more and more as the weeks and months have passed.”
“You are an amazing person! In what way has it been bothering you?”
The small light-haired man faced his larger companion.
“I am not sure that I wish to be saved by the expiration of a time limit. Time should be the master of people, and not the servant. Time, you see, is the one perfect machine, whose gears are set by the stars, whose hands are controlled by the infinite. I have also built a perfect machine, the Bureau. But the Bureau must depend upon itself to demonstrate that perfection. It must not be saved from its shortcomings by the inexorable function of another, and greater, machine.”
“But yet you are attempting to take advantage of the time element for your own salvation,” Hall pointed out, intrigued as always by the workings of the other’s mind.
“I am human,” Dragomiloff replied sadly. “Possibly, in the long run, this may prove to be the fatal weakness of my philosophy.”
Without further comment he turned and walked slowly and heavily to the doors leading to the inner parts of the ship. Hall stared after the man a moment, and then felt his arm touched from the other side. He swung about to face Grunya.
“What have you been saying to my father?” she demanded. “He looked quite shaken.”
“It is what your father has been saying to himself,” Hall replied. He took her arm and they began strolling along the deck. “There is an instinct within each of us to fight to retain life. But there is also within each of us a hidden death-wish, which uses many excuses for justification. We have yet to see which dominates in the life of your strange father.”
“Or in his death,” she murmured, and clung fiercely to the protective arm of her loved one.
16
The days aboard the Eastern Clipper passed swiftly and pleasantly. Grunya basked each day in the warm sun, lying in her deck-chair, and acquired a deep tan, as did Hall. Dragomiloff, however, although spending an equal number of hours on the sun-swept deck, seemed immune to the power of the burning rays and remained as pale as ever. Hall and Dragomiloff seemed to have declared a moratorium on philosophical discussion; their talk now ran more to the schools of bonito and albacore that often played in the wake behind the ship, or to the excellent cuisine served aboard, or even at times to their respective deck-tennis scores.
And then one morning, as if it had never been, the trip was over. They awoke this day and came on deck to find themselves
in the shadow of towering Diamond Head at the entrance to the island of Oahu, with the port city of Honolulu lying white and glistening in the background. Small canoes with lei-laden natives were already racing towards the ship. Below, in the bowels of the giant liner, stokers were leaning quietly upon their blackened shovels; the great engines had slowed and the ship was barely making way.
“Beautiful!” Grunya murmured, and turned to Hall. “Is it not beautiful, Winter?”
“Almost as beautiful as you are,” Hall replied jocularly, and turned to Dragomiloff. “Ten weeks,” he said lightly. “In just ten weeks, sir, our relationship will change. You shall become my father-in-law.”
“And no longer your friend?” Dragomiloff laughed.
“Always my friend.” Hall frowned slightly. “By the way, what are your plans now? Do you think the other members of the Bureau will follow you here?”
Dragomiloff’s smile did not lessen in the least.
“Follow me? They are here now. Or most of them. They would leave at least one on the mainland, of course.”
“But how could they arrive sooner than we?”
“By faster ship. I would judge they took the Oriental Star the afternoon after we sailed. The discovery of Gray’s body would tell them our ship, and hence our destination. They will have docked last evening. They will be on hand when we disembark, do not fear.”
“But how can you be so sure?” Grunya demanded.
“By placing myself in their position and calculating what I would do under the same circumstances. No, my dear, I am not wrong. They will be on hand to greet me.”
Grunya reached over to grasp his arm, fear growing in her eyes.
“But, Father, what will you do?”
“Do not worry, my dear. I shall not fall victim to them, if that is what you fear. Now pay close heed: several days before sailing I sent a letter on the mail packet making reservations for the two of you at the Queen Anne Inn. There will also be a car and driver available whenever you wish. I myself will not be able to join you, but as soon as I am settled you shall hear from me.”
“For the two of us?” Hall was surprised. “But you did not even know I would be coming!”
Dragomiloff smiled broadly.
“I said I always put myself in the other fellow’s boots. In your place I would never allow a girl as beautiful as my Grunya to escape me. My dear Hall, I knew you would be aboard this ship.”
He turned back to the rail. The native-filled canoes were now bobbing alongside the ship; young boys dressed only in the native molo were diving for coins flung by the passengers into the clear water of the harbor entrance. The white buildings along the quay reflected back the morning sun. The giant liner stopped; a slim cruiser flashed from shore carrying the pilot and the Chinese porters who would take off the luggage.
A loud hoot broke the silence as the ship’s whistle announced their proud arrival. The pilot boat slipped alongside and the officials, neat in their peaked caps and white shorts, clambered aboard. They were followed by a string of blue-clad, pig-tailed porters who scampered up the Jacob’s ladder, their sloping straw hats bobbing in unison, and disappeared into the inner passageway.
Dragomiloff turned to the other two.
“If you will pardon me, I must finish my packing,” he said lightly, and with a wave disappeared into the interior of the ship.
The pilot appeared on the bridge and the Eastern Clipper’s engines began to rumble, changing to a higher pitch as the ship proceeded landwards.
“We had best get below and see to our luggage,” Hall remarked.
“Oh, Winter, must we so soon? This is so lovely! See how the mountains seem to sweep up from the city. The clouds are like puff-balls hanging over the peaks!” She paused and the animation died upon her face. “Winter; what will Father do?”
“I should not worry about your father, dear. They may not be here. And even if they are, it is doubtful that they would attempt anything in this crowd. Come.”
They went below as the steamer edged closer to the pier. Lines were cast ashore and willing hands linked them to stanchions set in the dock. The ship’s winches began turning, winding in the cable, pulling the liner into position along the dock. A band broke into music, playing the famous “Aloha.” Screams of recognition broke out as passengers and friends found each other in the crowd; handkerchiefs were waved frantically. The gangplank edged downwards; the band played louder.
Hall, returning to deck after assigning his luggage to a porter, came to stand at the rail staring down at the animated faces strung out behind the railing below. Suddenly he came erect with a start; staring him in the eye was Starkington!
The head of the Chicago branch of the Bureau smiled delightedly and waved his hand. Hall’s glance slid along the upturned faces and stopped at another. Hanover was also there, closer to the exit. The rest, Hall was sure, were placed at equally strategic positions.
The gangplank fell into place and the barriers were dropped. Friends and passengers swarmed up and down the gangplank, pushing past heavily laden porters struggling down, swaying perilously beneath their loads. Starkington was mounting the gangplank, shoving his way through the throng. Hall came forward to meet him.
Starkington was smiling happily.
“Hello, Hall! It’s nice to see you. How have you been?”
“Starkington! You must not do this thing!”
Starkington raised his eyebrows.
“Must not do what thing? Must not keep our sacred word? Must not remain true to a promise? A commitment?” His smile remained, but the eyes behind the smile were deadly serious. They swung over Hall’s shoulder, searching the face of each passenger surging towards the gangplank. “He has no escape this time, Hall. Lucoville came aboard with the pilot boat; he is below at this moment. Hanover is guarding the dock. The Chief made a grave mistake to corner himself in this manner.”
Hall gritted his teeth.
“I shall not permit it. I shall speak to the authorities.”
“You will speak to no one.” Starkington’s tone was pedantic; he might have been a professor explaining some obvious point to a rather dull student. “You have given your word of honor. To the Chief himself, as well as to all of us. You did not speak to the authorities before, and you will not speak to them now . . .”
He broke off as a Chinese porter, burdened beneath a mountain of suitcases, stumbled into him with a sing-song excuse. Lucoville appeared at their side. He smiled happily at the sight of Hall.
“Hall! This is a pleasure. How was the trip? Did you enjoy it? Tell me,” he continued, lowering his voice, “how were the vegetables aboard this ship? For the return voyage I should prefer a cuisine more in keeping with my tastes. The Oriental Star was pitifully short on both vegetables and fruit. Meat, and more meat! I suppose they thought they were doing the passengers a favor . . .”
He seemed to realize that Starkington was waiting, for he dropped the subject and turned to the other.
“Dragomiloff is below. He booked cabin No. 31 under a different name; I have placed an outside latch on the cabin to prevent his escape. However, there is still the porthole . . .”
“Hanover is watching for that.” He turned to the white face of Hall beside him. “Hadn’t you better go ashore, Hall? Believe me, there is nothing you can do to prevent this.”
“I shall remain,” Hall exclaimed, and then wheeled as a hand clutched his arm convulsively. “Grunya! Grunya, my dear!”
“Winter!” she cried, and faced Starkington with burning eyes. “What are you doing here? You shall not harm my father!”
“We have discussed this before,” Starkington replied smoothly. “You are familiar with our mission, and you are also familiar with your father’s instructions. I would suggest, Miss Dragomiloff, that you go ashore. There is nothing you can do.”
“Go ashore?” Suddenly she lifted her head in resolution. “Yes, I shall go ashore! And I shall return with the police! I do not care what my father’s ins
tructions were; you shall not kill him!” She swung to Hall, her eyes flashing. “And you! You stand there! What kind of a man are you? You are worse than these madmen, for they believe themselves right, while you know they are wrong. And yet you make no move!”
She tore her arm loose from Hall’s grip and ran for the gangplank, pushing her way through the thinning crowd. Starkington looked after her, nodding his head sagely.
“You have made a very good choice, Hall. She is a spirited girl. Ah, well, I’m afraid our schedule must be accelerated a bit. I had hoped to wait until the ship was deserted. However, most of the passengers seem to have left. Are you coming?”
This last was said in such a polite voice that Hall could scarcely believe he was being invited to witness the execution of a man, and that man Grunya’s father. Starkington smiled at him quite congenially and took his arm.
Hall walked beside the other as if in a dream. It was not believable! One might think he was merely being taken to visit a friend for an afternoon’s game of whist! Beside him as they descended the broad carpeted staircase Starkington was chattering quite pleasantly.
“Travel by ship is really delightful, don’t you think? We all enjoyed it very much. Lucoville here, of course, constantly complained about the food, but . . . Ah, here we are.”
He bent and listened at the door. Faint sounds could be heard from within. He removed the mechanism Lucoville had placed upon the latch and turned to the others.
“Lucoville, stand to that side. Hall, I would suggest you leave the alcove. The Chief is certain to be prepared to defend himself, and I should not like to see harm come to you.”
“But you may be killed!” Hall cried.
“Assuredly. However, between Lucoville and myself, one of us should be able to complete the assignment. And that is all that counts.”
He withdrew a revolver from his pocket and held it in readiness. To his side Lucoville had done the same. Hall stared at the two in awe; neither exhibited the slightest fear. Starkington took a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock, making no attempt to mask the sound.
