by Lee Falk
"But I felt it my duty to come straight here to report."
"Quite right, Colonel," said Baron Sojin softly.
He was a man of more than normal height, thin but with broad shoulders and a deep chest that denoted a man in fine physical condition, an athlete almost. His forehead was high and broad and his chestnut colored hair was receding. The effect was minimized, however, by the use of a razor, which cropped it fashionably short. The Baron's eyes were a startling blue with long curling lashes. He looked to be about forty years of age, though it was difficult to tell.
He had an even, deeply-tanned skin stretched smoothly
over high cheekbones. His nose was strong and broad, his teeth white and clean. It was only his mouth that gave him away. Wide and slit-like, it revealed his ruthless, tempestuous nature. The lips were bloodless and bleached, and when he smiled, which was frequently, it was like a mirthless slot opening in his face. The Baron's origin was obscure.
Colonel Crang, studying him for the hundredth time, was not inclined to question it. It was not healthy. He had no experience of the Baron's temper himself, but he had heard from others. One of his predecessors in office, he understood, had disappeared. A year later, his remains had been found impaled on the branch of a tree in the jungle far below the castle. Men of the garrison whispered that the man had been pushed from the Baron's own quarters. The Colonel did not doubt that it might well be so. But the man was probably a fool. He himself hated inefficiency and he would not tolerate it in his subordinates.
Now he stirred on his chair and came up with the typed sheet giving Otto Koch's message.
"This is from Otto Koch in District No. 84, sir," he said crisply.
"There is, apparently, a young woman named Diana Palmer, who is something of a celebrity. She lives in Westchester and is an Olympic swimmer, scholar and explorer."
He paused, aware that the Baron was smiling.
"You interest me, Colonel," he said. "This girl is young and beautiful, yes?"
The Colonel coughed and shifted in his chair.
"So I understand, sir," he said.
The Baron sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands together.
"Admirable," he said. "And this girl is likely to give us some trouble or we would not have a message about her? Correct?"
"Exactly so, sir," said the Colonel, blinking.
The Baron's intuitions were quite uncanny at times. He was a formidable opponent. The Colonel was glad that they were both working for the same side.
"The girl has, apparently, been studying seventeenth and eighteenth century history," he went on, aware that the Baron was listening intently to his every word.
"She specialized in pirate bands and other Brotherhoods of lawlessness. During her research she stumbled on some references to the Scorpia in ancient documents."
The Colonel blinked again at the Baron's reaction. His leather and steel chair creaked ominously as Sojin sat bolt upright and fixed his blue eyes on a point somewhere beyond the Colonel's right shoulder.
"Do go on, Crang," the Baron said softly.
"This is the point, sir," Crang continued. "This girl is a celebrity in America. Everything she does is news. Koch first picked up some items about her hobby in the local newspaper. Now the television people have got hold of it, and she's been speaking about Scorpia on her local station to a fairly wide audience. According to her, the Scorpia was not destroyed four hundred years ago as was believed. She hopes to prove that it survives to this day."
"As indeed it does, my dear Colonel," said the Baron in a deceptively mild voice.
The Colonel was astonished at the Baron's reaction. He had expected some violent outburst from this mercurial man. The Baron was ominously quiet, however, for such a powerful personality. He sat back in his chair again and smiled slowly at the Colonel.
"You are certain, Colonel, are you not, that the Palmer girl spoke on a local television station and not on a nationwide network?"
"Koch was quite specific on that point, Baron," said Crang stiffly. He prided himself on his exactitude, and even the Baron could not criticize him on that score.
"You do see the importance, Colonel?" the Baron continued.
He got up; his tall, thin figure looking even taller. He wore a red, silk robe over blue, uniform trousers and a white, silk shirt, and the robe emphasized his height. He went to look silently out of one of the curved windows at the magnificent vista of sea and jungle below him.
"This is a sight I never tire of, Crang," he said over his shoulder. "When the affairs of Scorpia are more than usually pressing, then I come to stand here, and the world and its problems fall into proper perspective."
Crang did not reply and after a moment the Baron said,
with a nervous jerk of his head, "Do come and look, Colonel."
It was an order, not a request and Crang crossed swiftly to his side. It was indeed a breath-taking sight and, though Crang had seen it many times, each time seemed more spectacular than before. Both men were silent for a long minute. Then the Baron turned away.
He put his hand on the Colonel's arm.
"This matter of the girl and the Scorpia."
He went to sit back at his desk.
"It is true we exist. And it is equally true that we do not wish the world to know this. But was Koch's information really worth a Red Alert? He is a good man and we value his talents, nevertheless. A commendation then, in your reply, and a gentle hint that the situation would more correctly have been indicated by an Amber."
Crang nodded. "Noted, sir," he said.
"Excellent, Colonel Crang," the Baron went on. "Our reactions must not be too violent in this instance. The situation could be dangerous. Instruct Koch to stop the girl—in as gentle a manner as possible."
"Very good, sir."
Crang inclined his head and clicked his heels. He paused, wondering whether the Baron had any further instructions.
Sojin smiled gently. Anyone but Crang would have shuddered, the expression seemed like a smile on a dead face.
"You may leave now, Colonel," he said.
He waited until the Colonel's echoing footsteps down the hall had died away. The door closed behind his subordinate, and the ruler of Scorpia crossed to his desk. He flipped on the switch of the closed circuit TV. Crang's impassive face stared back at him as he went down in the elevator.
Sojin flipped the switch off again and went back to study the magnificent view. For the first time in his life he felt lonely amid the splendors of Castle Toeplitz and his private kingdom of Scorpia.
The girl Diana Palmer sounded interesting. A woman of spirit evidently, as her accomplishments indicated. Yes, they would have to go gently at first. He smiled again. But interesting, very interesting.
7
ORDERS FROM TOEPLITZ
Cringle's scar twitched and pulled his eyelid more to the side than usual. He sat hunched over the morse key in the boarded loft room of the old house, his hard face twisted into a knot of concentration. From the earphones, clamped to his blond hair, came the rapid high-pitched tone of the signals coming over the thousands of miles that separated receiver and transmitter. He perspired slightly as his hand faltered on the signal pad, slurring the outline of the figures.
He rapidly broke into the transmission with a series of long notes and then signalled for a repetition of the group. Otto Koch sat on a hard, wooden chair in a corner of the attic and watched him benevolently. His fat, bland face looked more like an egg than ever. The acrid, blue smoke from his cigar rose slowly toward the ceiling and he seemed oblivious to the ash which dropped on his red tie.
It was impossible to tell from his expression what he was thinking as he listened to the staccato of the morse symbols which meant nothing to him. His pudgy hand seemed to caress the thick pile of decoding books on the bench at his side. His grey eyes were entirely without emotion as he gazed patiently upward, watching the ascent of his own smoke whorls.
The transmission finally came
to an end. Cringle signalled an acknowledgment and then switched off the equipment. He gave a heavy sigh of relief and pulled the pad towards him. He started carefully recopying the letters into a more legible form for Koch to read.
"I've become a little rusty since my days in the Signal Corps, Otto," he said nervously.
Koch said nothing but continued to wait in the same patient manner until the scratching of his subordinate's pencil finally ceased. He took the sheets from Cringle's hand and gazed at the blond man pointedly. Cringle flushed, as his gaze went downward to the bench before him. He suddenly understood the other's meaning.
He tore off the top sheets of the signal pad and bundled them together with his first rough copy of the message. He set fire to the sheets with a lighter and ground the flaming mass to ashes on the floor. He made sure not a fragment of paper remained. Then he got a dustpan and brush and swept it up.
While he was doing this, Koch was busy with the message and the decoding books on the bench. He sat, oblivious of Cringle's movements, until halfway through when the latter heard him give a sudden click of annoyance with his tongue.
"Well, well, Cringle," Otto said, breaking his long silence. "So Center feels my signal should have been an Amber Alert. So be it. Perhaps it looks like that from Scorpia but it's slightly more dangerous at this end."
He turned the searchlight of his piercing, grey eyes on Cringle.
"Let us hope that the Baron has his priorities right."
His pudgy fingers beat a tattoo on the bench.
"Of course, he is not often wrong. But even so, the man on the spot is usually in a far better position to evaluate the situation."
Tiny spots of red stood out on his cheeks, and Cringle guessed that his chief had been slightly wounded by the tone of the message. But caution prompted him to remain silent. So he said nothing, and after a moment or two Otto went back to his decoding. Cringle resumed his place at the bench and lit a cigarette. Presently, Otto stirred and scanned the entire message again.
"More and more curious," he told the walls.
"Meaning what?" Cringle asked.
"Meaning, Cringle, that we're to soft-pedal the entire matter." Cringle screwed up his ugly face in surprise.
"What do you mean, soft-pedal?" he said aggressively. "This dame is liable to blow Scorpia clear into the open with her running-off at the mouth."
"Are you giving the orders here, or is the Baron?" said Otto softly.
The blond man fell silent.
"I was only expressing my opinion," he said after a moment or two.
"An opinion unasked for and usually faulty," said Otto ponderously. "No, this calls for more thought."
"Am I allowed to know the message?" Cringle asked.
"I don't see why not," said Otto benevolently. "But it's difficult to see what other interpretation could be made."
He picked up the sheet and studied it again.
"The essence is in the final paragraph," he added.
"Stop her gently. Arouse no suspicion."
Cringle grimaced in disbelief.
"How can we stop her gently?" he asked in his turn.
"And without suspicion. It doesn't make sense."
"Nevertheless, Cringle, those are the instructions," said Otto Koch softly. "And who are we to question the orders of Center?"
"I didn't mean that, chief," said Cringle hastily.
Otto smiled briefly. It seemed to make his face look like that of a benevolent priest.
"I'm sure you didn't, Cringle," he said. "But you have a point. It is a rather delicate situation. And it must be handled properly. Otherwise, there might be dire consequences."
He hooded his eyes again in the way that filled Cringle with alarm.
"For you in the first instance," he warned. "And myself in the second," he added softly, turning back to study the signal sheet.
"So we must make doubly sure there are no slip-ups. What are your ideas on how to handle the situation delicately."
Cringle shifted uneasily in his chair.
"I haven't had much time to think about it," he said.
"Think about it now," said Koch patiently. "You have about thirty seconds."
"But that's unfair, Chief!" Cringle burst out involuntarily-
Otto smiled again. Cringle shuddered at his expression.
"It's an unfair world, Cringle," Otto said.
He settled himself back, his hands comfortably clasped over his stomach.
"I'm sure you'll think of something."
Diana Palmer ran lightly down the stairs as Uncle David came through the drawing-room door. He had his pipe in the corner of his mouth and he was carrying a copy of the Westchester Gazette in his right hand. Diana knew that he was on his way to her mother's sewing room to join her for an hour, a custom they invariably followed at this time of the day.
David Palmer pretended astonishment as he looked up at the hurried figure of his niece. She glanced at her wrist watch as she reached the bottom of the stairs and saw that it was already a quarter to seven. Her uncle read her thoughts.
"Would you like me to drive you over, Diana?"
"No thanks, Uncle Dave," the girl replied. "I'll walk. I'll make it easily if I don't waste time."
"Ah, well," said David Palmer with a smile. "It's all very fine for Olympic athletes! You'll prefer the car at my age."
"We'll see, Grandpappy!" said Diana mischievously, as she swung out of the house. She crossed the boulevard and walked on the other side this evening. It was more shadowy there and the dimmer lighting was soothing after the brilliant glare of the house. There were few people about at this hour. People were either preparing for dinner or on their way home from business, and it was too early for theater or movie traffic. It was just a few minutes after the hour when Diana arrived at the college.
Miss Welch greeted her like an old friend, and they spent a few minutes before the session discussing the TV show.
"I've had letters from several people and sixteen phone calls," said Miss Welch excitedly, with just the faintest suspicion of a flush on her face. "I feel like a celebrity!"
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Miss Welch," said Diana. "I thought the broadcast was well-handled, and it certainly was an interesting experience."
"Will we be asked to do another, if you come up with any more information during your research?" questioned Miss Welch, patting a stray hair on her forehead into place. She looked ten years younger, Diana thought. "I don't see why not, if I've got fresh material," said Diana. "I'm looking forward to it. The producer said he would call me next week."
"Great!" said Miss Welch, suddenly aware that the other members of the class were watching Diana and herself closely.
"I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen," she called. "I didn't realize the time. We'll begin immediately."
Diana went to her desk and got out her notebooks and reference works. The session passed slowly tonight; the references were sparse. She seemed to have reached a stodgy period in the late nineteenth century, and when the bell rang at the end she realized that she had not gleaned a single new fact about that elusive and tantalizing band, the Scorpia. I
She glanced up, acknowledging the good-nights of her colleagues, and then became aware that Miss Welch was back at her elbow.
"How did it go tonight, Diana?" she asked.
Diana shrugged. "Slowly and rather dully," she said. "I think it's about time I got started on the term paper. It looks as though I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel."
"Well," said Miss Welch, smiling, "you've had more publicity than a Nobel prize-winner."
"I didn't mean that," Diana explained. "I've become really interested in the Scorpia now, and just when I seemed on the verge of a breakthrough, the information dried up."
"It happens to all historians, amateur and professional," said Miss Welch, following Diana to the door. "The main thing is not to get discouraged. It's usually when one's on the point of giving up that something unusual happens."
&
nbsp; "That's true," agreed Diana, switching off the library light as the two women closed the door behind them.
"The only trouble here is that I don't know how much more material there is," Diana went on as they walked to the main entrance hall of the University. "It's getting pretty sparse and I have a horrible suspicion I'm coming to the end of all the known records."
"Don't give up, Diana," said Miss Welch brightly as they picked their way down the main steps.
"Remember, all the material we sent for from the County Archives should be here soon."
"I'd forgotten that," said Diana, as the two women paused on the boulevard before parting to go their separate ways.
"Anyway, don't take it too seriously," Miss Welch added. "It's all good fun, and the University has never had so much publicity before! And our enrollment for next term has increased measurably."
"As long as it's done some good," said Diana laughing.
The two women said good-night, and Diana watched as she saw Miss Welch's sprightly form dart across the road and onto the opposite sidewalk. Her hand fluttered goodbye, and then she disappeared into a side street as Diana turned toward home. She was busily mulling over the thoughts in her mind, so that she hardly noticed where she walked. It was true that the Scorpia—and the shadowy figure of Kit Walker—had been occupying a great deal of her mind lately.
Her face softened as she thought of Kit again, and she instinctively slowed her pace.
She was on a dark section of the sidewalk, where heavily-blossomed trees sagged down toward the cement path. A sudden squealing of brakes cut through her reverie. She glanced up to see the gleaming bulk of a Cadillac blocking out the light from the opposite sidewalk.
A hard-faced man with blond hair and a scar on the side of his face rolled down the window. His eyes glittered dully in the gloom.
"Miss Palmer," he said in a harsh, dead voice. "I'd like a word with you."
8
EARLY WARNING
Cringle's face momentarily softened as he absorbed the details of Diana Palmer's appearance. He slid farther over on the seat so that he could clearly see this celebrated woman athlete.
