The War Terror | Page 8

from
his penetrating gaze, "Professor Annenberg's home--out on Long
Island."
"We must act swiftly if we are to succeed," considered Kennedy, his
tone betraying rather sympathy with than triumph over the wretched
girl who had at last cast everything in the balance to outweigh the
terrible situation into which she had been drawn. "To send Miss Lowe
for that fatal list of assassinations is to send her either back into the
power of this murderous group and let them know that she has told us,
or perhaps to involve her again in the completion of their plans."
She sank back into a chair in complete nervous and physical collapse,
covering her face with her hands at the realization that in her

new-found passion to save the Baron she had bared her sensitive soul
for the dissection of three men whom she had never seen before.
"We must have that list," pursued Kennedy decisively. "We must visit
Annenberg's headquarters."
"And I?" she asked, trembling now with genuine fear at the thought that
he might ask her to accompany us as he had on our visit to Fortescue's
laboratory that morning.
"Miss Lowe," said Kennedy, bending over her, "you have gone too far
now ever to turn back. You are not equal to the trip. Would you like to
remain here? No one will suspect. Here at least you will be safe until
we return."
Her answer was a mute expression of thanks and confidence.
CHAPTER III
THE MURDER SYNDICATE
Quickly now Craig completed his arrangements for the visit to the
headquarters of the real anarchist leader. Burke telephoned for a
high-powered car, while Miss Lowe told frankly of the habits of
Annenberg and the chances of finding his place unguarded, which were
good in the daytime. Kennedy's only equipment for the excursion
consisted in a small package which he took from a cabinet at the end of
the room, and, with a parting reassurance to Paula Lowe, we were soon
speeding over the bridge to the borough across the river.
We realized that it might prove a desperate undertaking, but the crisis
was such that it called for any risk.
Our quest took us to a rather dilapidated old house on the outskirts of
the little Long Island town. The house stood alone, not far from the
tracks of a trolley that ran at infrequent intervals. Even a hasty
reconnoitering showed that to stop our motor at even a reasonable
distance from it was in itself to arouse suspicion.

Although the house seemed deserted, Craig took no chances, but
directed the car to turn at the next crossroad and then run back along a
road back of and parallel to that on which Annenberg's was situated. It
was perhaps a quarter of a mile away, across an open field, that we
stopped and ran the car up along the side of the road in some bushes.
Annenberg's was plainly visible and it was not at all likely that anyone
there would suspect trouble from that quarter.
A hasty conference with Burke followed, in which Kennedy unwrapped
his small package, leaving part of its contents with him, and adding
careful instructions.
Then Kennedy and I retraced our steps down the road, across by the
crossroad, and at last back to the mysterious house.
To all appearance there had been no need of such excessive caution.
Not a sound or motion greeted us as we entered the gate and made our
way around to the rear of the house. The very isolation of the house
was now our protection, for we had no inquisitive neighbors to watch
us for the instant when Kennedy, with the dexterity of a yeggman,
inserted his knife between the sashes of the kitchen window and turned
the catch which admitted us.
We made our way on cautious tiptoe through a dining room to a living
room, and, finding nothing, proceeded upstairs. There was not a soul,
apparently, in the house, nor in fact anything to indicate that it was
different from most small suburban homes, until at last we mounted to
the attic.
It was finished off in one large room across the back of the house and
two in front. As we opened the door to the larger room, we could only
gaze about in surprise. This was the rendezvous, the arsenal, literary,
explosive and toxicological of the "Group." Ranged on a table were all
the materials for bomb-making, while in a cabinet I fancied there were
poisons enough to decimate a city.
On the walls were pictures, mostly newspaper prints, of the assassins of
McKinley, of King Humbert, of the King of Greece, of King Carlos and

others, interspersed with portraits of anarchist and anti-militarist
leaders of all lands.
Kennedy sniffed. Over all I, too, could catch the faint