The War Terror | Page 9

odor of stale
tobacco. No time was to be lost, however, and while Craig set to work
rapidly going through the contents of a desk in the corner, I glanced
over the contents of a drawer of a heavy mission table.
"Here's some of Annenberg's literature," I remarked, coming across a
small pile of manuscript, entitled "The Human Slaughter House."
"Read it," panted Kennedy, seeing that I had about completed my part
of the job. "It may give a clue."
Hastily I scanned the mad, frantic indictment of war, while Craig
continued in his search:
"I see wild beasts all around me, distorted unnaturally, in a life and
death struggle, with bloodshot eyes, with foaming, gnashing mouths.
They attack and kill one another and try to mangle each other. I leap to
my feet. I race out into the night and tread on quaking flesh, step on
hard heads, and stumble over weapons and helmets. Something is
clutching at my feet like hands, so that I race away like a hunted deer
with the hounds at his heels--and ever over more bodies--breathless...
out of one field into another. Horror is crooning over my head. Horror
is crooning beneath my feet. And nothing but dying, mangled flesh!
"Of a sudden I see nothing but blood before me. The heavens have
opened and the red blood pours in through the windows. Blood wells
up on an altar. The walls run blood from the ceiling to the floor and... a
giant of blood stands before me. His beard and his hair drip blood. He
seats himself on the altar and laughs from thick lips. The black
executioner raises his sword and whirls it above my head. Another
moment and my head will roll down on the floor. Another moment and
the red jet will spurt from my neck.
"Murderers! Murderers! None other than murderers!"

I paused in the reading. "There's nothing here," I remarked, glancing
over the curious document for a clue, but finding none.
"Well," remarked Craig contemplatively, "one can at least easily
understand how sensitive and imaginative people who have fallen
under the influence of one who writes in that way can feel justified in
killing those responsible for bringing such horrors on the human race.
Hello--what's this?"
He had discovered a false back of one of the drawers in the desk and
had jimmied it open. On the top of innumerable papers lay a large linen
envelope. On its face it bore in typewriting, just like the card on the
drawer at Fortescue's, "E-M GUN."
"It is the original envelope that contained the final plans of the
electro-magnetic gun," he explained, opening it.
The envelope was empty. We looked at each other a moment in silence.
What had been done with the plans?
Suddenly a bell rang, startling me beyond measure. It was, however,
only the telephone, of which an extension reached up into the
attic-arsenal. Some one, who did not know that we were there, was
evidently calling up.
Kennedy quickly unhooked the receiver with a hasty motion to me to
be silent.
"Hello," I heard him answer. "Yes, this is it."
He had disguised his voice. I waited anxiously and watched his face to
gather what response he received.
"The deuce!" he exclaimed, with his hand over the transmitter so that
his voice would not be heard at the other end of the line.
"What's the matter?" I asked eagerly.
"It was Mrs. Annenberg--I am sure. But she was too keen for me. She

caught on. There must be some password or form of expression that
they use, which we don't know, for she hung up the receiver almost as
soon as she heard me."
Kennedy waited a minute or so. Then he whistled into the transmitter.
It was done apparently to see whether there was anyone listening. But
there was no answer.
"Operator, operator!" he called insistently, moving the hook up and
down. "Yes, operator. Can you tell me what number that was which
just called?"
He waited impatiently.
"Bleecker--7l80," he repeated after the girl. "Thank you. Information,
please."
Again we waited, as Craig tried to trace the call up.
"What is the street address of Bleecker, 7180?" he asked. "Five
hundred and one East Fifth--a tenement. Thank you."
"A tenement?" I repeated blankly.
"Yes," he cried, now for the first time excited. "Don't you begin to see
the scheme? I'll wager that Baron Kreiger has been lured to New York
to purchase the electro-magnetic gun which they have stolen from
Fortescue and the British. That is the bait that is held out to him by the
woman. Call up Miss Lowe at the laboratory and see if she knows the
place."
I gave central the number, while he fell to at the little secret drawer of
the desk