by Lee Falk
"It better," Otto said. He went back to his crossword puzzle while Cringle smoked silently on.
Presently Koch threw the paper down with a curse.
"We'll be here all night," he said. "Let's see how good you are."
He led the way up to the attic. In the boarded room he sat down comfortably in his customary chair by the couch and waited for the blond man to complete his preparations. Cringle went to the bench and shifted his chair farther along, away from the Morse key.
He flipped a row of switches on the front of a grey-painted metal bank of receivers. He turned a dial, frowning in the dim light of the overhead lamps, his face a mask of concentration. A low hissing noise began to come out of the grill of the large loudspeaker on top of the bank of equipment
He turned to Koch with satisfaction.
"It's alive," he said. "I put a miniature microphone in every room of the house."
He grinned.
"Including the bathrooms."
Otto said nothing. He did not share Cringle's distorted sense of humor.
"I hear nothing," he said mildly.
Cringle smiled again.
"That's because I'm tuned into an empty bedroom," he said. "I wanted to make sure I was up to strength first."
He flipped another switch and the speaker went dead. Koch frowned. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then appeared to change his mind.
Cringle turned on another microphone. Mixed with the static, Koch could hear the faint rumble of traffic, the barking of a dog; somewhere feet were rat-tatting across a parquet floor.
"I got this one in the hall," said Cringle. "What did I tell you. A first-class job."
Koch grunted.
"What do you want, the Congressional Medal of Honor?" he demanded. "This is what I pay you for."
He sucked in his breath.
"For the money you get, Center expects first-class work."
He moved his chair nearer the speaker.
"What's happening?"
"Nothing right now," Cringle replied. "We won't hear anything until someone comes home. Diana Palmer's mother's alone in the house until early evening."
Koch glanced at his watch.
"It's nearly five-thirty," he said.
"If we don't get anything positive tonight, we'd better take turns listening in. It could take days."
Cringle suddenly sucked in his breath. He had heard a change in the sounds being monitored on the speaker. He fiddled with the dials, bringing up the volume. A loud hissing noise filled the loft. Then there came a loud bang that almost made Koch jump. Cringle hastily turned the volume control down. Koch realized the explosion had been the closing of a door.
A voice both men recognized boomed through the room.
"Hello, Mama. Have a busy day?"
Cringle turned to Koch in triumph. He lowered the volume a little more to get rid of the distortion.
"That's Diana Palmer's voice," he said. "We hit the jackpot."
He fell silent as Koch's imperious forefinger quelled him. The speaker was full of sound again.
"Yes, a man from the phone company was here, the up- 70
holsterer called. There've been nothing but interruptions all afternoon. I didn't even get a chance to go shopping."
"Never mind," said Diana's voice. "I'll go out for you in the morning if you want me to."
Koch listened for an hour. It was an hour of small talk. He finally stood up.
"I'm going to get something to eat," he said. "I'll bring you some coffee."
Cringle nodded. He was evidently pleased with his toy.
"I'll make a note if anything important happens," he said.
He flipped a row of switches and inclined his head toward the hissing speaker as the other man went out. The door slammed heavily behind him.
Koch came back in half an hour with coffee and sandwiches. Cringle held up his hand for silence. He was scribbling rapidly on a pad. Diana Palmer's voice was coming through on the speaker.
"I've got more research to do tonight."
"Diana, I do wish you'd forget that Scorpia nonsense," said her mother.
"But Mama, I don't think it's nonsense," Diana replied.
"That's just it," said Mrs. Palmer's voice. "I don't like it at all. You've been warned. It may be dangerous to go on."
"But don't you see, Mother, that is just why I must go on," the girl replied. "There must be something in it. Otherwise, why would anyone want to stop my investigations?"
"Uncle David thinks it's a crank," Mrs. Palmer went on.
"In that case, it won't do any harm to complete my thesis," Diana said.
Otto's cigar burned steadily in his mouth as he fixed his grey eyes on the ceiling. He sat impassively, as though the conversation meant no more than a casual radio program he'd happened to tune into. The noise of the door slamming came through the loudspeaker. Cringle took the opportunity of the lull to pass his notes over to Koch. Otto studied them without saying anything.
David Palmer's voice was coming through the speaker now.
"You're still on that, Lily, are you?"
There was a brief silence, then his voice continued.
"The more I think about that Scorpia business, the more it baffles me."
"Me too, David," said Mrs. Palmer. "But it's frightening as well. I wish she wouldn't go on with this."
"You know Diana," said David Palmer.
"You're both the same, but you realize I've made up my mind," Diana went on.
"Maybe I'm on a wild-goose chase, but I intend to find out what Scorpia really is, Uncle Dave."
"Well, my dear, I'll back you in everything you want to do," said David Palmer. "But I think that it's simply an isolated crank trying to grab a little of your limelight."
"I'm not saying you're wrong, Uncle Dave," the girl answered. "But I've got to go on until I find the answer, or until I've proved that the entire business is nonsense."
"Well, there's obviously no more to be said," came Lily Palmer's voice.
"I think we've had enough of Scorpia for one evening. We'd better go into dinner, Diana, if you want to go down to the library later."
"I promise I won't talk any more about it—tonight," said Diana mischievously.
There was a burst of laughter on the speaker and then the faint sound of a door slamming.
Cringle turned off the switch and silence descended again.
"Well, that's it," he said to the silent walls. "She's obviously determined to go on with it. The girl's a nut."
Koch turned his strange grey eyes on his subordinate with that penetrating gaze that filled Cringle with such foreboding.
"Here, I strongly disagree with you, Cringle," Otto said. "This girl has courage, tenacity, resilience, many qualities you lack. Above all, she is highly educated and intelligent. The two do not necessarily go together. That is what makes her dangerous."
He bent over the message pad Cringle had given him and read the contents through once more.
A brief smile flickered across his plump face.
"So the Baron thinks the situation deserves only an Amber, does he?"
He looked sharply at Cringle, who brought his chair up opposite the Morse key.
"Prepare another transmission to Center." He smiled again as he bent over a signal pad, composing his message.
"And make it Red Alert!"
10
THE BARON MAKES A DECISION
Castle Toeplitz frowned above an azure sea. Baron Sojin stood staring intently out the great curved window until Colonel Crang began to feel that he had forgotten his presence. His silence was so profound that the ruler of Scorpia seemed oblivious to time and place..It was only when the Colonel coughed discreedy that he turned and came back to his desk.
Today he wore a sky blue uniform from the neck of which hung the blue Maltese cross of the Order of Scorpia, the highest honor the kingdom could bestow. Naturally, the Baron was the only man to hold it. Now his blue eyes looked even more startlin
g beneath his short chestnut hair as he smiled his crooked smile at the commander of his security forces. He sat down at his desk and stared at the blank television screen that was turned like an eye toward him.
"So this Diana Palmer persists in her efforts to find out what Scorpia is?" he said.
Colonel Crang shifted uneasily from his position beside the great globe of the world on its mahogany stand. He glanced across at the Baron's disposition map, where little winking lights spelled out the nefarious activities of Scorpia all over the world.
"Koch was quite emphatic on that point, sir," he said crisply.
He glanced down again at the signal sheet in his hand.
"It seems that his Red Alert may have been correctly designated this time."
Sojin smiled again.
"Perhaps," he said softly.
He drammed quietly on the surface of his desk with his thin, restless fingers.
"What is Diana Palmer like, apart from being an Olympic athlete and an explorer?"
He turned his gaze up to the bulky form of the Colonel.
"These are the only two things which the news bulletins seem to know about her. There must be more information."
"There is," Colonel Crang said quickly. "I have her picture here. We've built up quite a dossier on Miss Palmer."
He crossed to the end of the desk and picked up a brown leather briefcase that was lying there. He rummaged around in it, and then came up with a large envelope, emitting a grant of satisfaction. He took a glossy photograph from it and passed it across to the ruler of Scorpia.
The Baron studied the studio portrait with great interest.
"She is beautiful," he said, involuntarily. He shot Crang an approving glance.
"I am obliged for this visual proof of the lady's charms, Colonel."
He turned back to examine the picture again.
"The face has courage, intelligence and tremendous personality," he said.
"Please sit down."
He indicated a leather armchair and Colonel Crang sank gratefully into it. He stared impassively at Sojin who continued to drink in the details of the picture. There was silence in the room for a long time. The faint hum of the air-conditioning seemed an intrusion.
Then Sojin slid the picture to one side.
"I'll keep this," he said.
His blue eyes were on the Colonel again.
"What would be your advice in these circumstances—as Chief of my security arrangements, of course?"
The Colonel leaned forward in the armchair.
"You want my frank opinion?"
Sojin spread his hands wide on the desk.
"Naturally, Colonel."
Crang frowned. He knew he had to speak cautiously at this stage.
"If I were in your position, sir, I would send Signal Black back to Koch," he said.
His words seemed to echo and linger unnaturally under the great oak beams of the ceiling.
The Baron sat as impassive as a statue, his hands firm and relaxed on the blotter.
"Go on, Colonel."
"It would be the best way, sir," Crang went on.
"Within twenty-four hours Diana Palmer would have disappeared forever. Quietly and without a trace."
Sojin was silent for a moment. Then he smiled his crooked smile.
"Without a trace—and quietly—such a famous personality as Miss Palmer?"
He turned to study the picture again.
"An Olympic swimmer? An explorer? Oh, come now, Colonel Crang. You don't really mean what I think you mean."
Crang stirred uncomfortably in the chair.
"You make it sound difficult, sir."
The Baron inclined his head toward his Chief of Security.
"You have hit the exact point, Colonel. It is difficult."
He held the picture up to the light spilling in from the window.
"Don't you think the world press will make a fuss if Miss Palmer disappears? Not to mention television and the other news media?"
Colonel Crang coughed discreetly for the second time that afternoon.
"You have mistaken my meaning, sir. Perhaps my choice of the word 'disappear' was a clumsy one. But if Miss Palmer were to die . . ."
He lifted his stubby hands toward the silent figure of Baron Sojin at the desk before him.
"To die in a manner which suggested, unequivocally, that her death was an accident"
The words appeared to hover in the air between the two men.
"Then the world would have to accept the facts of her death as an 'accident,' " concluded the Colonel with quiet triumph.
The Baron put the picture down abruptly at his elbow.
"What other information do you have on Miss Palmer,
Crang? I understood you to say there was a dossier."
"I have it here, sir."
Crang slid the folder across the desk to the Baron. He opened the cover with his thin, strong fingers and proceeded to examine its contents. Crang sat at ease in the chair, busy with his own thoughts. Half an hour passed without cither man speaking. It was a silence compounded of mutual respect and trust. Finally, the Baron closed the folder with a grunt of satisfaction. He glanced at the picture again and put it in the folder with the other material.
"As I said, the girl has not only beauty, but brains and courage," he told Crang.
"An unusual combination in this modern age."
He got up and went to the window and stared moodily down at the panorama of cliff, sea and jungle. Crang watched him without expression.
The Baron turned to face him once more.
"She doesn't frighten easily," he said. "That is most unusual in itself. I don't care how you do it. Bring her here!"
Crang was on his feet, almost without knowing it. Dark blood suffused his cheeks as he replied.
"Do I understand you correctly, sir? We've never done anything like that before. Surely, it would be more politic to get rid of her quietly as I suggested?"
Baron Sojin's blue eyes were suddenly drilling into the Colonel's own. He lapsed into silence. An oppressive atmosphere seemed to have descended on the great room. Crang felt a rivulet of sweat run down his collar. He stood at attention.
"I prefer to believe that you did not make those remarks, Colonel Crang," said the Baron icily. "Do not let me have occasion to refer to it again."
He came up closer to the Colonel.
"You have your orders. See that they are carried out. Bring her here safely and without a scratch."
He crossed over to his desk and sat down on the edge of
it.
"She's a pilot," he said. "I will dictate the method to be used. One that will convince the world of its genuineness."
"Very good, sir," said Crang crisply. "I await your instructions."
Once again he was a loyally functioning machine.
He saluted and went out.
The Baron hardly heard him go. He reached over and opened up the folder. He studied the photograph for the third or fourth time.
"Brains, breeding and courage," he breathed to himself. "Things I've waited for for a long time ... all in one person, Diana Palmer."
He smiled his crooked smile. He felt strangely content
11
NIGHT KIDNAP
Rain was coming down steadily. Mrs. Palmer looked with surprise as Diana came to the drawing-room door. She had on a white slicker and a head-scarf. Mrs. Palmer frowned. She put down the expensive, color volume on flower arranging and shook her head.
"You're surely not going out tonight, Diana? You haven't a class this evening."
Diana Palmer smiled. "No, that's true, Mama, but I thought I'd go down to the library for an hour or two. I'm taking a car."
"That's all right, then," said Mrs. Palmer, slightly mollified. "You'd certainly get drowned if you were walking."
She picked up the book, thought better of it and laid it on the couch beside her. She smiled at her daughter.
"I suppose there's no point in asking y
ou to forget Scorpia for one evening?" she said gently.
Diana shook her head, but there were sparks of amusement in her eyes.
"Don't worry, Mama," she said. "This may come to an end sooner than you think."
Mrs. Palmer got up.
"Meaning what, dear?"
"Meaning that I'm getting frustrated," Diana replied. "I haven't uncovered a thing since my late nineteenth-century references to Scorpia."
"Maybe there isn't anything else to find, dear," said her mother. "Much as I hate to discourage you. . ."
She stopped, but Diana supplied the answer.
"You hope that there is no more to find out," she replied.
"I'm not saying you aren't right. It's just that I hate to leave any job half-finished."
"I know, dear."
Her mother bent forward to kiss Diana on the cheek.
"Have a good evening, anyway. Don't be late and don't get too wet."
"I won't, Mother," said Diana, walking across the hall and closing the door behind her. Once out of the shelter of the house, the wind buffeted her and she was glad to turn into the angle of the garage wing.
"Maybe there isn't anything else to find out about Scorpia," she told herself. "Maybe it's all my imagination."
Then her thoughts strayed to Kit Walker again, and she wished for the hundredth time that he were back in Westchester; he would know what to do in such a situation. She slid back the big doors of the garage and went around the bulk of the gleaming blue Mercedes toward the light-switch. She stopped with a shock of surprise as a harsh voice sounded from the darkness.
"Don't turn on that light, lady, unless you want to get hurt."
Diana whirled to find the dim form of a man in the interior of her car. The window was rolled down and the courtyard lights of the Palmer house, shining in through the open door of the garage disclosed the familiar hard face of the blond man Diana had seen before. He wore a dark raincoat and a dark hat, but the light from outside shone on the scar on the right-hand side of his face. It shone too, on the blue steel barrel of an automatic pistol which he trained unswervingly on her midriff.
"You're the man who stopped me on the street," gasped Diana. Her eyes widened. "You warned me off Scorpia!"
"That's right, Miss Palmer," the blond man said evenly. "Now just get in behind the wheel. Nice and slow or this just might go off."
