by Unknown
* * * * *
It seemed impossible that in the year 1940 the peace of the civilizedworld could be threatened by an international conspiracy bent onrestoring absolutism, and yet each day showed more clearly the immenseramifications of the plot. Each day, too, brought home to theinvestigating governments more clearly the fact that the things theyhad discovered were few in number in comparison with those they hadnot.
The headquarters of the conspirators had never been discovered, and itwas suspected that the powerful mind behind them was intentionallyleading the investigators along false trails.
The conspiracy was world-wide. It had been behind the revolution thathad recreated an absolutist monarchy in Spain. It had plunged Italyinto civil war. It had thrown England into the convulsions of asuccession of general strikes, using the communist movement as a cloakfor its activities.
But nobody dreamed that America could become a fertile field for itsinsidious propaganda. Yet it was behind the millions of adherents ofthe so-called Freemen's Party, clamoring for the destruction of theconstitution. Upon the anarchy that would follow the absolutist regimewas to be erected.
Already the mysterious powers had struck. Departments of State hadbeen entered and important papers abstracted. The Germania hadmysteriously disappeared in mid-Atlantic, and a shipping panic hadensued. There were tales of mysterious figures materializing out ofnothingness. It was known that the conspirators were in possession ofcertain chemical and electrical devices with which they hoped toachieve their ends.
The Superintendent of the penitentiary had had in his pocket anauthorization to stop the execution of Von Kettler after he stood onthe trap. Dead, he would be a mere mark of vengeance: alive, he mightbe persuaded to furnish some clue to the headquarters of themiscreants.
* * * * *
And behind the conspirators loomed the unknown figure that signeditself the Invisible Emperor--in the communications that poured in tothe White House and to the rulers of other nations. In the threatsthat were materializing with stunning swiftness.
Who was he? Rumor said that a former European ruler had not died aswas supposed: that a coffin weighted with lead had been buried, andthat he himself in his old age, had gone forth to a mad scheme ofworld conquest with a body of his nobles.
It had been practically a state of war since the shipment of gold,guarded by a detachment of police, had been stolen in broad daylightoutside Baltimore, the police clubbed and killed by invisibleassailants--as they claimed. The press was under censorship, troopsunder arms, and it was reported that the fleet was mobilizing.
In the midst of it all, Washington shopped, danced, feasted, flirted,like a swarm of may flies over a treacherous stream.
Intelligence was alert. As Dick started to drive away from theSlovakian Embassy, a man stepped quickly to the side of the car andthrust an envelope into his hand. Dick opened it quickly. He waswanted by Colonel Stopford at once, not at the camouflagedHeadquarters at the War Department, but at the real Headquarters whereno papers were kept but weighty decisions were made. And to thatdevious course the Government had already been driven.
Dick parked his car in a side street--it would have been underespionage in any of the official parking places--and set off at asmart walk toward his destination. Nobody would have guessed, from theappearance of the streets, that a national calamity was impending. Theshopping crowds were swarming along the sidewalks, cars tailed eachother through the streets; only a detachment of soldiers on the WhiteHouse lawn lent a touch of the martial to the scene.
* * * * *
The building which Dick entered was an ordinary ten-story one in thebusiness section; the various legal firms and commercial concerns thatoccupied it would have been greatly surprised to have known theidentity of the Ira T. Graves, Importer, whose name appeared in modestletters upon the opaque glass door on the seventh story. Inside aflapper stenographer--actually one of the most trusted members ofIntelligence's staff--asked Dick's name, which she knew perfectlywell. Not a smile or a flicker of an eyelid betrayed the fact.
"Mr. Rennell," said Dick with equal gravity.
The girl passed into an inner room, and a buzzer sounded. In a fewmoments the girl came back.
"Mr. Graves will be here in a few minutes, Mr. Rennell, if you'llkindly wait in his office," she said.
Dick thanked her, and walked through into the empty office. He waitedthere till the girl had closed the door behind him, then went out byanother door and found himself again in the corridor. Opposite him wasa door with the words "Entrance 769" and a hand pointing down thecorridor to where the Intelligence service had established anotherperfectly innocent front. Dick tapped lightly at this door, and a keyturned in the lock.
The man who stepped quickly back was one of the heads of the CivilService. The man at the flat-topped desk was Colonel Stopford. The manon a chair beside him was one of the heads of the police force.
* * * * *
The Colonel, a big, elderly man, dressed in a grey sack suit, checkedDick's commencing salutation. "Never mind etiquette, Rennell," hesaid. "Sit down. You've heard about the man Von Kettler's escape lastnight, of course?"
"Yes, sir."
"It's known, then. We can't keep things dark. He vanished from hiscell in the death house, three minutes before the time appointed forhis execution, though, as a matter of fact, he wasn't going to behanged. Apparently he walked through the walls.
"There's a sequel to it, Rennell. It seems he had told theassistant-superintendent, a man named Anstruther, that he'd meet himat a restaurant in town that night. He promised to leave him amemento. Anstruther happened to remember this boast of Von Kettler's,and he surrounded the restaurant with armed detectives, on the chancethat the fellow would show up. Rennell, Von Kettler was there!"
"He went to this restaurant, sir?"
"He walked in, just before the place was surrounded, engaged a table,and ordered a sumptuous meal. He told the waiter his name, said heexpected a friend to join him, walked into the wash-room--andvanished! Two minutes later Anstruther and his men were on the job.Von Kettler never came out of the wash-room, so far as anybody knows.
"In the midst of the hue and cry somebody pointed to the table thatVon Kettler had engaged. There was a twenty-dollar bill upon it, and ascrap of paper reading: 'I've kept my word. Von K.'"
Colonel Stopford looked at Dick fixedly. "Rennell, we may be fools,"he said, "but we realize what we're up against. It's a big thing, andwe're going to need all our fighting grit to overcome it. You're oneof the four men we're depending on. We're counting on you because ofyour record, and because of your degree in science at Heidelberg. ThePresident wishes you to take charge of the whole Eastern IntelligenceDistrict, covering the entire south-eastern seaboard of the UnitedStates. You are to have complete freedom of action, and all civil,military, and naval officials have received instructions to co-operatewith you."
"There goes Mrs. Wansleigh's ball," thought Dick, but he said nothing.
* * * * *
"We're not the hunters, Dick Rennell," went on Colonel Stopford."We're hiding under cover, and I'm counting on you to turn the tables.They even know my office is here. I had a long distance call fromSavannah this morning in mocking vein. They advised me to have theWhite House watched to-night. I warned the President, and we've postedguards all round it."
"They held the wire while you called up the President?" asked Dick.
"Damn it, no! They called me up from Scranton the instant he'dfinished speaking. They have the power of the devil, Rennell, withthat infernal invisibility invention of theirs. Rennell, we'refighting unknown forces. Who this Invisible Emperor is, we don't evenknow. But one thing we've found out. He has his headquarters somewherein your district. Somewhere along the south Atlantic seaboard. Thegreater part of his activities emanate from there. But we're fightingin the dark. The clue, the master clue that will enable us to locatehim--that's what we lack."
The sun had set, it was beginning to grow dark. Colonel Stopfordswitched
on the electric lamp beside his desk.
"What have you to say, Rennell?" he asked; and Dick was aware that thetwo other men were regarding him attentively.
"It's evident," said Dick, "that Von Kettler possessed this means ofinvisibility in his cell, and wasn't detected. He simply slipped outwhen the guard came to fetch him."
"Invisibility? Yes! But invisible's not the same thing astransparent," cried Stopford. "These folks have operated in broaddaylight. They're transparent, damn them! Not even a shadow! You knowwhat I mean, Rennell! What I'm thinking of! That crazy man you were intouch with six months ago, who prophesied this! We turned him down! Heshowed me a watch and said the salvation of the world was inside thecase! I thought him insane!"
* * * * *
"You mean Luke Evans, sir. That watch was his pocket model. He wentoff in a huff, saying the time would come when we'd want him and notbe able to find him."
"But, damn him, he wanted to produce universal darkness, or some suchnonsense, Rennell, and I told him that we wanted light, not darkness."
"It wasn't exactly that, sir." Colonel Stopford was a man of the oldschool: he had been an artillery officer in the Great War, and wascharacteristically impatient of new notions. Dick began carefully:"You'll remember, sir, old Evans claimed to have been the inventor ofthat shadow-breaking device that was stolen from him and sold inEngland."
"To a moving picture company!" snorted Stopford. "I asked him whatmoving pictures had to do with war."
"Evans was convinced that the invention would be applied to war. Heclaimed that it made the modern methods of military camouflage out ofdate completely. He said that by destroying shadows one could produceinvisibility, since visibility consists in the refraction of wavelengths by material objects.
"When they stole his invention, he foresaw that it would be used inwar. He set to work to nullify his own invention. He told me that hehad unintentionally given to the enemies of the United States a meansof bringing us to our knees, since he believed that British motionpicture company was actually a subsidiary of Krupp's. He worked out amethod of counteracting it."
"You must get him, Rennell. Even if it's all nonsense, we can't affordto let any chance go. If Evans's invention will counteract this damnedinvisibility business--"
The telephone on the Colonel's desk rang. He picked it up, and hisface assumed an expression of incredulity. He looked about him, like aman bewildered. He beckoned to the police official, who hurried to hisside, and thrust the receiver into his hand. The official listened.
"All right," he said. He turned to Dick and the Civil Servicerepresentative.
"Gentlemen," he said, "the President has disappeared from his officein the White House, and there are grave fears that he has beenkidnapped!"
CHAPTER III - In the White House
Colonel Stopford's car had been parked around the corner of thebuilding, and within a minute the four men were inside it, Stopford atthe wheel, and racing in the direction of the White House. A nod tothe guard at the gate, and they were inside the grounds. At theentrance a single guard, in place of the four who should have beenposted there, challenged sharply, and attempted to bar the way, notrecognizing Dick or Stopford in their civilian clothes.
"Where's your officer?" demanded Stopford sharply.
Half-cowed by the Colonel's manner, the young recruit hesitated, andthe four swept him out of the way and hurried on. The scene outsidethe main entrance to the White House was one of indescribableconfusion. Soldiers were swarming in confused groups, some trying toforce an entrance, others pouring out. Every moment civilians,streaming over the lawn, added to the number. Discipline seemed almostabandoned. From inside the building came outbursts of screams andcursing, the scuffling of a mob.
"Roscoe! Roscoe!" shouted Stopford. "Where's the President'ssecretary? Who's seen him? Let us pass immediately!"
No one paid the least attention to him. But a short, bare-headedcivilian, who was struggling in the crowd, heard, and shouted inanswer, waved his arms, and began to force his way toward the four. Itwas Roscoe, the secretary of President Hargreaves. The President was achildless widower, and Roscoe lived in the White House with him andwas intimately in his confidence.
Roscoe gained Stopford's side. "Say--they've got him!" he panted."They've got him somewhere--inside the building. They're trying to gethim out! We've got to save him--but we can't see them--or him. They'vemade him invisible too, curse them! I heard him crying, 'Help me,Roscoe!' He saw me, I tell you--and I didn't know where he was!"
* * * * *
The little secretary was almost incoherent with fear and anger. Thefive men, forming a wedge, hurled themselves forward. Out of the WhiteHouse entrance appeared a tall officer, revolver in hand. It wasColonel Simpson, of the President's staff. Half beside himself, heswept the weapon menacingly about him, shouting incoherently, andclearing a passage, into which the five hurled themselves.
Stopford seized his revolver hand, and after a brief struggle Simpsonrecognized him.
"He's in the building!" he shouted wildly. "Somewhere upstairs! I'mtrying to form a cordon, but this damned mob's in the way. Kick thosecivilians out!" he cried to the soldiers. "Shoot them if they don'tgo! Guard the windows!"
Stopford and Dick, at the head of the wedge, pushed past into theWhite House. The interior was packed, men were struggling franticallyon the staircase; it seemed hopeless to try to do anything.
Suddenly renewed yells sounded from above, a scream of anguish, howlsof terror. There came a downward surge, then a forward and upward one,which carried the two men up the stairs and into the President'sprivate apartments above.
In the large reception-room a mob was struggling at a window, beneatha blaze of electric light. A soldier was standing there like a statue,his face fixed with a leer of horror. In his hands was a rifle, with ablood-stained bayonet, dripping upon the hardwood floor at the edge ofthe rug. Upon the rug itself a stream of blood was spouting out of theair.
Dick looked at the sight and choked. There was something appalling inthe sight: it was the quintessence of horror, that widening pool ofblood, staining the rug, and flowing from an invisible body thatwrithed and twisted, while moans of anguish came from unseen lips.
Colonel Stopford leaped back, livid and staring. "God, it's goteyes--two eyes!" he shouted.
Dick saw them too. The eyes, which alone were visible, were about sixinches from the floor, and they were appearing and disappearing, asthey opened and shut alternately. It was a man lying there, a dyingman, pierced by the soldier's bayonet by pure accident, dying and yetinvisible.
* * * * *
The mob had scattered with shrieks of terror, but a few bolder spiritsremained in a thin circle about that fearful thing on the rug. Dickbent over the man, and felt the outlines of the writhing body. It wasa man, apparently dressed in some sort of uniform, but this wascovered, from the top of the head to the feet, with a sort of sheersilken garment, bifurcating below the waist, and resembling a cocoon.It seemed to appear and alternately to vanish.
Dick seized the filmy stuff in his fingers, rent it, and stripped itaway. Yells of terror and amazement broke from the throats of all.Instantly the thin circle of spectators had become reinforced by astruggling mass of men.
The half-visible cocoon clung to Dick's body like spider webs. But theman who had been wearing it had sprung instantly into view beneath thecluster of electric lights. He was a fair-haired young fellow of aboutthirty years, his features white and set in the agony of death.
He was dressed in a trim uniform of black, with silver braid, and onhis shoulders were the insignia of a lieutenant. He opened his eyes,blue as the skies, and stared about him. He seemed to understand whathad happened to him.
"Dogs!" he muttered.
Shrieks of fury answered him. The mob surged toward him as if to grindhis face to pieces under their feet--and then recoiled, mouthing andgibbering. But it was at Dick that they were looking, not at the dyingman.
He raised himself upon one el
bow with a mighty effort. "His Majestythe Invisible Emperor! Long be his reign triumphant!" he chanted. Itwas his last credo. The words broke from his lips accompanied by atorrent of red foam. His head dropped back, his body slipped down; hewas gone. And no one seemed to observe his passing. They were allscreaming and gibbering at Dick.
"Rennell! Rennell!" yelled Stopford. "Where are you, Rennell? God,man, what's happened to your legs?"
Dick looked down at himself. For a moment he had the illusion that hewas a head and a trunk, floating in the air. His lower limbs hadbecome invisible, except for patches of trousering that seemed todrift through space. The mob in the room had fallen back gaping at himin horror.
Then Dick understood. It was the invisible garment that had coileditself about him. He tore it from him and became visibly a man oncemore.
Shouts from another room! A surging movement of the crowd toward it.The muffled sounds of an automatic pistol, fitted with a silencer!Then screams:
"The devils are in there! They're murdering the soldiers!"
There followed a panic-stricken rush, more muffled firing, and thenthe sharp roar of rifles, and the fall of plaster. Some one wasbawling the President's name. The rooms became a mass of milling humanbeings, lost to all self-control.
A bedlam of noise and struggle. Men fought with one another blindly,cursing soldiers fired promiscuously among the mob, riddling thewalls, stabbing at the air. The plaster was falling in great chunkseverywhere, filling the rooms with a heavy white cloud, in which allchoked and struggled. The yells of the civilian mob below, strugglinghelplessly in the packed crowd that wedged the great stairway, madebabel. Outside the White House a dense mob that filled the lawns wasyelling back, and struggling to gain admittance. Suddenly the lightswent out.
"They've cut the wires!" rose a wild, wailing voice. "The devils havecut the wires! Kill them! Kill everybody!"
His cry ended in a gurgle. Somewhere in that dark hell a struggle wasgoing on, a well defined struggle, different from the random, aimlessbattling of the half-crazed soldiers and the civilians. PresidentHargreaves was still within the walls of the White House, it wasknown; it was physically impossible for him to have been carried awaywhen every foot of space was packed. And through that darkness theinvisible assailants were edging him, foot by foot, toward theoutside.
