legions of the death master

Originally published in the July, 1935 issue of Operator 5TM

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Copyright 1935 by Popular Publications Inc. Copyright renewed © 1963 and assigned to Argosy Communications, Inc.All rights reserved. Licensed to Vintage New MediaOperator 5 is a trademark of Argosy Communications, Inc.

Legions of the Death MasterBy Curtis Steele

Crimson mayhem… struck down one after another of the champions ofpreparedness, as demagogues screamed in the streets, rousing mobs toserve the scurrilous ends of an insidious scheme to decimate the nation.Against the unholy alliance— the masters of deceit and their well-intentioneddupes— alone and in deadly peril stood Jimmy Christopher, known to allwho loved freedom as. . . Operator 5, agent extraordinary of the U.S.Intelligence Service. Steadfastly he pitted his skill and loyalty against the...Legions of the Death Master!

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CHAPTER ONEAMBASSADOR'S DOOM

WITHIN HEARING of the capitol building, inWashington, D.C., the voice of a mob rose to anominous and belligerent roar.

Anger rang from the throats of the hundredsof men crowding around the open truck on whicha wild-eyed man was shouting and gesturing,exhorting them with passionate fervor. Theyraised shaking fists and muttered surly agreementto the speaker's rousing plea. From thesurrounding streets scores of other men came tostrengthen the mounting emotional furor. Overthe gathering dark cloud of malevolent faces, theinciting voice shrilled again and again.

"We are Americans who go hungry, whosefamilies starve, who beg for pennies to buy bread,while millions pour into the war-chests of themilitarists! The last war is not yet paid for, and thebloody generals are emptying our Treasury tofinance the next. There, in that building, lies thegreatest store of gold in the world— gold to buy usthe food we're starving for, gold denied us butstuffed into the pockets of the war-makers fortheir asking! Americans, we must stand togetherin the war against war!"

Again the wrathful voice of the mob roared.Again and again men hurried to listen, drawn intothe maelstrom of rising, black fury. Within theshadow of the Capitol the voices beat like asurf— waves of wrath rolling in from the sea ofpublic opinion.

"Fight the war against war!""Stand together for peace!""Gold for the hungry— no gold for guns!"

"Feed the starving— not the cannon!"A young man strode quietly toward the edge

of the growing crowd while the howl dinned in hisears. Clean-cut, sharp-eyed, alert, he paused tostudy those giving growling support to theinflammatory speaker. His face was that of anAmerican, while in the mob were scores of facesof foreign cast. His features were finely turned,but among the hundreds were many faces thatwere evil and malevolent. He had a mind thatfunctioned coolly, keenly; theirs were mindsswayed by the florid eloquence of any speakerlast to address them.

They were a mere mob. He was the aceundercover agent of the United StatesGovernment— Operator 5.

A dark light came into his eyes as helistened. He saw eyes reflecting threats, heardmouths muttering surly maledictions, and sensedsavage ruthlessness in the air. He looked uponmen whom he knew to be without mercy, withoutscruples— men as merciless as barbarians in ajungle.

Killers— cheering the plea for peace at anyprice!

Operator 5— Jimmy Christopher to thosewho knew him— turned thoughtfully from the mobas an angry mutter swept through it again. Theresentful outbreak was caused by the voice of asecond speaker carrying through the night,conflicting with the snarling pronouncements ofthe wild-eyed man on the truck. Not a hundredyards away another crowd was gathered, listeningto another plea. Operator 5 moved quietly towardthe second crowd, disturbed by the tighteningtension in the air.

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Operator 5 LEGIONS OF THE DEATH MASTER July 1935_______________________________________________________________________________________________

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The second group was smaller and quieter.Within it, Jimmy Christopher noted serious-facedmen listening with grave attention. Many of themwere well dressed businessmen, or underlingsconnected with federal works, who had paused ontheir way from a long day to give seriousconsideration to the speaker's message. Therewas no fanaticism in the voice of the alert-eyedman who was speaking to them so earnestly.

"We face a crisis and we must face facts! Letthose who wish to remain blind turn from the ideathat steel is the magic wand of peace. Let usrealize that steel must be our strength!"

Jimmy Christopher noted that the speaker'shands were gripped white on the staff of a scythe.Its long, curved, gleaming blade sparkled sharp inthe streetlights. The solemn eyes of the crowdturned toward the glinting point of steel.

"With steel, we harvest the grain that makesour daily bread. In the fields, scythes swing—blades of steel— working to feed us. In the mills,wheels of steel grind the grain into flour. On thesteel rails of America, steel cars speed to carry itinto our homes. Our food comes of steel, ourshelter comes of steel— our national safety comesof steel. We must arm ourselves with steel! Withweapons of steel for defense, we must saveourselves from the scorn of the world— saveourselves from becoming a weakling amongstrong nations!"

Now, to the surprise of Operator 5, an angrymutter swept through the crowd. Turning, he sawmen shouldering toward the platform. They werenot the quiet mannered, serious-faced audiencedrawn by an intelligent consideration of thespeaker's message. They were ugly, burly,sinister figures whose very presence brought asense of danger. They had come, JimmyChristopher realized, from the other crowd, andthey brought again to his mind a sinister word—killers.

"It means war!" one of them snarled."Buying arms means war!""Cannon for legal murder!""Bayonets for butchering our families!""It's our money— we say no!"His nerves tensing, Operator 5 realized that

this was a manifestation of a strife that wassweeping across the nation. This conflict ofvoices and clashing of purposes symbolized avital issue confronting the American people— aproblem on which the very destiny of the nation

rested, and at this very hour. At a thousand pointsin the capital, the minds of men were battling withthe issue clashing at this spot tonight. In everyhome was reflected the bitter controversy dealingwith weapons of war— a war hanging imminenttonight over the entire world.

Snarling voices rising out of the crowd spokea threat of spreading national turmoil.

"The United States has got to lead the worldand disarm!"

"Fatten the munitions-makers while westarve? No!"

"Steel for ploughshares— not swords!"On the platform, the speaker faced the

heckling grimly, his hands curled around the staffof the scythe. He raised it high, and its long,curved blade glittered again in the lights of thestreet.

"Let us forge honor and peace out of steel!""Steel— means— death!" came the retort.The hoarse, shouted answer brought a hush

over the crowd. On its outer edges men began todrift away warily. Operator 5 stood his ground,sensing rising danger. The cry was echoedgutturally in the crowd as more and more of theevil-faced men pushed toward the platform.

"Steel means death!""Get down!""You're through talking!""We'll show you what steel's for!""Steel means death!"Startled, Operator 5 glimpsed a glitter of

steel— an ominous glint which did not come fromthe scythe in the grasp of the speaker. It reflectedfrom a long-bladed knife in the big hand of one ofthe advancing, malevolent-eyed men. Anotherflash followed— the street light striking a reflectionfrom a drawn gun. Quickly, anxiously, Operator 5began shouldering toward the platform. His voicerang clearly:

"Go to your homes! You're in danger!Withdraw before— "

A roar of wrath rose to drown out his words—a thunderstorm of voices which broke suddenly.Out of the tempest of snarling words, lightningflashed— the lightning of gunfire. Flame spat, abullet whined across the platform and glasscrashed across the street. The report was a signalwhich transformed the crowd into a stampeding

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mob stirred into terror by the threatening snarlsand thrusts of the evil-faced men.

Onto the small, portable platform of thespeaker, these savage destroyers crowded. Againa revolver spat. Keen-bladed knives flashed inseveral upraised hands. Out of the turmoil camea groan, as a blade swept downward. Among thetrampling feet, sounded a cry of mortal agony—as a well-dressed man fell with blood spurtingacross his face from a bullet hole in his forehead.Shrilly, in the surrounding darkness, a policewhistle blasted— and the storm of voices brokeanew.

Operator 5 sprang close to the platform. Hishand darted to a raised arm driving a knife. Hisfingers clamped tightly on hard muscles, andtwisted sharply.

A savage snarl tore from the thick lips of theman with the knife as Operator 5's quick strategywrested it away. He sidestepped a powerful blowand drove out a straight-armed answer: knuckleswhich smacked between glaring eyes. He leapedagain, snatched at a gun, swiftly, desperately— hetore it loose and leaped back.

Now the corner was a turmoil of terror. Menwere running every which way. On the farsidewalks, women screamed as they sawfear-whitened faces streaked with blood. Againand again the police whistles shrilled, and thecapital police came rushing toward the spot.

Operator 5 saw the evil-faced menscattering, echoing warnings to each other asthey fled. He glanced back and saw that the othercrowd had dispersed. Police revolvers glinted,police whistles rattled their warnings as officerscrowded to restore order where fury had struck.

Slipping back, keeping in the shadows,Operator 5 turned darkened- eyes on the bodiesof two men lying in the gutter. His gaze shiftedgrimly to another still figure sprawled on thespeaker's small platform. It was a ghastly horrorin red. Blood marked it with the crimson color ofdeath— and beside the body of the speaker, laythe scythe he had held. Torn from his hands inthe stampede, its blade had been swung viciouslyagainst him; so that now his body, half severed,lay beside the scarlet blade.

Quickly, grimly, Operator 5 hurried from thescene where jungle savagery had overwhelmedsincere intelligence. His lips pressed hard as hehastened past lighted store windows. He pausedinside a door and looked back, realizing with a

chill that the barbaric power that had struck was aportent of the crisis facing the United Statestonight.

He sidled into a telephone booth. Thenumber he called was one known to only a few ofthe most trusted undercover agents of the UnitedStates Intelligence Service. It connected him withthe central Intelligence headquarters, WDC-13;and his quick request brought over the line thevoice of the chief known only as Z-7.

"Operator 5 reporting," Jimmy Christophersaid quickly. In terse detail he narrated the bloodyepisode in the street, and added briskly: "Chief,I'm positive we're facing a new danger which sofar has been keeping itself far beneath thesurface. I've been studying the situation forweeks— and now I wish your permission to beginan active investigation."

"You have it, Operator 5!" Z-7 answeredtightly. "Please give me your full report as soonas possible. If you believe this incident wasdeliberately planned and provoked by thosemen— "

"Men hired— brought killers— using terror asa weapon in the crisis we're facing now, Chief! I'msure of it!"

"Then go ahead, by all means— in your ownway. You must be right— there's some uncannypower at work against us. Only half an hour ago,Senator Grover— leader of the armament bloc inCongress— was taking a bill to the White Housefor the President's signature. The bill is not animportant one in itself, but it's the first small steptoward strengthening our defenses. As SenatorGrover's car turned into the White Housegrounds, he was shot through the head!"

"Good Lord, Chief!""The man who fired escaped. Senator

Grover's condition is extremely serious— his lifedespaired of. If this is a hint of the power whichhas been acting beneath the surface against us,Operator 5— "

"It is, Chief! Tonight we must face that fact.Tonight I'm sure other steps are being takenagainst us. I'm going to begin my investigation,Chief, at the Embassy Ball. You'll be able toreach me there shortly— as soon as I'veformulated plans."

"Very well— and good luck!"Operator 5 left the phone quickly. Once in

the street, he peered toward the spot where deathhad struck. "Steel means death!" echoed

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ominously in his mind as his heart quickened withdread. Death! It had been carried to a manadvocating national armed strength— and on theblade of a scythe!

The Embassy Ball was the gala social eventof the nation's capital. It filled the greatInternational Hall with notables representing allthe Powers of a world made restless by threats ofimpending war. The splendor of military uniformsblended with the colors of beautiful women'sgowns. The glitter of prized governmentaldecorations mixed with the sparkle of pricelessjewels. A babble of conversations, constantripplings of laughter, subdued the soft music ofthe orchestra. Here, tonight, nation bantered withnation, belligerents exchanged smiles. Theuninitiated might have believed that during thesefew festive hours all the strife and discord ofinternational enmities were forgotten.

Yet, beneath the laughter and the music, atide of hatred flowed. A flood of relentless,imperialistic intrigue was rising.

Among the ambassadors, consuls andmilitary officers waltzing over the glassy floor, ayoung man danced with a pretty girl. He wasgarbed in impeccable evening dress, but wore nodecorations of any kind. His face was clean-cut,his blue eyes strinkingly keen. The gazes ofgorgeous women followed him as he wound hisway through the crowd with his companion. A fewof them noted a strange scar that marked theback of his right hand.

It was a thing of black and white and gray—formed, surprisingly, into a spread-wingedAmerican eagle.

Every man and woman who glanced at himknew instinctively that this young man was one ofrare distinction; yet none of them could dreamthat he was the ace secret agent of America'sundercover system— Operator 5 of the UnitedStates Intelligence Service.

Smiling, the very pretty girl with whom hewas dancing said quietly: "Jimmy, what are youlooking at?"

"I've been wondering, Di," he answeredsoftly, "about that strange decoration on the wall.I've never noticed it before. I'm sure it's new."

The girl studied the huge mural for amoment, before she discovered the emblemwhich had caught Jimmy Christopher's attention.It was almost indistinguishable in the blendedcolors of the painted scene; yet, once noticed, it

stood out in startling relief. Its strangeness was allthe more marked because it was no part of thedecoration— a long-bladed scythe.

"It is strange, Jimmy," Diane Elliot observed."What does it mean?" She sensed somethingunusual, something that might make news. As aspecial correspondent for the far-flungAmalgamated Press Service, she had won herselfremarkable distinction. In the past, too, she hadaided Operator 5 signally in a number ofimportant Intelligence cases. She knewimmediately that the omen on the wall bore somesecret meaning.

"Strange," he whispered. "There are hints ofmany strange things here tonight, Di. An unusualundercurrent, as though something momentouswere about to happen. The capital never stopsthinking and talking of affairs of State, but duringthe past few weeks— "

"What do you mean, Jimmy? What do youthink is going to happen?"

"No man can guess," Operator 5 answeredquietly, "but it's a certainty that somethingextremely important is in the mind of everydiplomat and military man here tonight. I have anuncanny feeling there's more dangerous spyactivity hidden beneath the surface here at thismoment than any time since the World War."

He broke off as an impressive man in aperfectly fitting uniform touched his arm. MajorGeneral Falk, Chief of Staff, smiled and bowed."May I?" he asked.

Operator 5 returned the bow as the officer'sarm encircled Diane Elliot. General Falk whirledthe girl away and Jimmy Christopher left theshining floor quickly. He paused in an archwayand again glanced at the huge, strangely markedmural. Tonight, but never before, he was sure— ithad been marked with the mysterious symbol ofthe scythe.

About to leave the ballroom, he pausedabruptly. A man and a woman just entering,stopped, facing him. Their eyes were suddenlysharp. Their smiles vanished. Then the featuresbecame masks— the woman's an emotionlesspicture of striking beauty. The tension lasted foronly a moment, then the lean man bowed andmurmured:

"If monsieur pleases— we may enter?"Operator 5 bowed. But he did not step aside.

"My pardon," he answered suavely. "Forgive me

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for my rudeness. It is only because I feel that wehave met somewhere before, perhaps."

"I am distressed that I do not recall thepleasure," the lean man said suavely. "I am PaulFiore, attached to the consular service of Urakia.May I present Senorita Rosita Alban, Mr.— " Ashadow of a frown darkened his face whenOperator 5 deliberately chose not to respond witha name. "I do not remember— "

"It is an error, then," Jimmy Christopheranswered, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Ithought, for a moment, that you were TomasZastrow, and that the senorita was Mayla Lazare.If I may suggest it— a striking resemblance."

The eyes of M. Fiore sharpened. "Zastrow,"he said. "The name is known to me. I have heardhim spoken of as— perhaps I do not rememberrightly— an international espionage agent."

"Your recollection is quite correct." Operator5's smile thinned. Mayla Lazare is a Balkarian,also an international spy— and a very charmingone."

M. Fiore laughed dryly, mirthlessly. "I ambeginning to remember that perhaps we havebeen introduced. Is it not that you are Mr.Christopher— Mr. James Christopher, monsieur?"

The eyes of Operator 5 darkened. "I amsorry our memories confuse us. My name isWalsh— Huntley Walsh." He stepped aside. Myapologies, senorita, monsieur."

They bowed, and passed on. Operator 5paused beyond the archway to see them dancingslowly on the floor, each searching the other withstartled eyes. His lips tightened again as theybecame lost in the colorful crowd.

"Tomas Zastrow. Mayla Lazare. Yes, wehave met before," he whispered to himself. "Andwe shall meet again!"

Operator 5 passed a group of uniformed menstanding at the head of a broad flight of stairs,which led downward. He recognized them asprominent officers of the Joint Board of the Armyand the Navy— though he himself was unknownto all, save a few. As he started down, he heardthe voice of Captain Jarrell, Representative, WarPlans Division, Office of Naval Operations:

"Harreth is coming here tonight. I've just hada telephone call from Bolling Field. He's bringingit with him."

The officer who answered was MajorGeneral Mortman, Deputy Chief of Staff. "Excuse

me, gentlemen," he said huskily. "I feel a littleunwell— damnably thirsty for some reason. I'vehad only coffee, but let me know when Harrethcomes and— "

Jimmy Christopher pushed open theswinging doors below as General Mortman starteddown. He entered the luxuriously appointed foyerof the men's lounge. Immediately, a boy in page'suniform stepped close, glancing aroundcautiously.

"No one else is here, Jimmy. We're alone.""Good! Keeping your eyes and ears open,

Tim? Anything to report?""Nothing definite, Jimmy— but there's

something strange going on. I can feel it. Do youknow what it is, Jimmy? There must be a goodreason why you put me on this job tonight—watching the men who come down here."

"There is a reason, Tim— an excellent one."Operator 5 said no more and the boy asked

no further questions. Tim Donovan knewOperator 5 never voiced incomplete theories. Hespoke when he was sure of his position, neverearlier. The tough little Irish lad had executedmany instructions from Jimmy Christopher beforethis without knowing their import, and had workedat Operator 5's side through many importantcases, loyally and courageously. Only his agebarred him from the secret roster of U. S.Intelligence agents, yet he had distinguishedhimself in service above many active I-men. Astrong bond of affection bound him to Operator5— a bond which only death would ever break.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "The PostmasterGeneral was down here a little while ago andgave me these!" Proudly, the boy removed froma pocket of his page's uniform a sheet of postagestamps. As he displayed them his eyes twinkledbrightly in his freckled face.

"See here, Jimmy? They're air-mail stamps,but the plane is upside down. It's an engraver'smistake. The Postmaster General promised mesome of these a long time ago. They're worth alot, and I'm afraid of losing 'em. Will you keep 'emfor me tonight?"

"Certainly, Tim." Jimmy Christopher slippeda leather case from a pocket. "They'll be perfectlysafe in this." He tucked the stamps into the case,and slipped it through a slit on his hip. The slitvanished as he pulled a thread to close it. Tim,I've just spotted two of the most dangerousinternational spies in the world— here, tonight! It

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means that something even more important than Isuspected is— "

A choking sound startled him. Operator 5turned quickly. Fast steps took him to the doorsand he pushed them wide. With Tim Donovan athis side, he peered up the stairs at a uniformedman who was slumped against the wall, his facecontorted with pain— it was Major GeneralMortman, Deputy Chief of Staff!

One hand gripped the chrome rail, as theother tore frantically at his swollen throat. Theveins of his neck stood out in ghastly relief as hebegan to stumble downward. "Water! For God'ssake, give me water!" He groped toward theswinging doors, lurching. Then he lost his balanceand plunged down the steps, spilling loosely untilhe sprawled and lay still at the feet of Operator 5.

Jimmy Christopher saw the startled eyes ofthe other officers at the head of the stairs as heslapped the doors shut. He stooped over thefallen man and loosened his collar as TimDonovan hurried into the lavatory. He waspressing an ear to Mortman's chest, when thedoors banged apart and bewildered officerscrowded in. They stopped short as Operator 5rose, and Tim Donovan rushed back with abrimming tumbler.

"It's too late, Tim," Jimmy Christopher spokeinto a tense Hush. "He's dead."

Captain Jarrell stared. "Dead? Impossible!""Dead," Jimmy Christopher repeated grimly,

"and poisoned. General Mortman has beenmurdered."

The dead man's fellow officers looked at himaghast. He turned briskly, placing his back to thedoor. His glittering eyes searched their faces. Oneof them started out, and he stopped that one witha sharp voice.

"Wait!" All eyes turned to him. "Gentlemen,take care. The second most prominent officer ofthe United States Army has been murdered.Upstairs are hundreds of representatives offoreign governments. It's a certainty that one ofthem— an accredited agent or spy— is themurderer. Whatever his purpose is, we do notknow— but we may be certain that silence will notserve it."

Captain Jarrell demanded raspingly: "Whatthe devil do you mean?"

"General Mortman was killed for an excellentreason, gentlemen— a reason we can't know now.But why was he killed here? We can guess at the

answer to that. I suspect the murderer wants hisdeath to have some effect on the crowd. PerhapsI'm wrong— but I urge you to keep it a strict secretamong yourselves, at least for tonight, thatGeneral Mortman is dead."

One of the officers blurted: "Yes! This isbest!"

"Good!" Operator 5's eyes became evensharper. "Gentlemen, do everything possible toremove General Mortman's body without beingseen. Get him out of the building, away from thiscrowd. There's a rear entrance through thebasement, which connects with this lounge— Isuggest you use that. Tonight, gentlemen, you'llfind it to our national advantage to conductyourselves with the utmost discretion!"

The officers stared as Operator 5 steppedbackward through the swinging doors. His gestureto Tim Donovan warned the boy to remain. Onceat the top of the flight, once the resplendentscene of the great Embassy Ball lay before himagain, Operator 5 forced himself to appear casualand unruffled. He walked slowly to the edge of thedance floor and his darkened eyes searched thefaces of the throng.

Death had struck among them. But they didnot suspect— and they must not know.

He glimpsed the thin face of TomasZastrow— the man who claimed to be M. PaulFiore— dancing with the woman spy, MaylaLazare— she whose secret was hidden behind thefalse name of Senorita Rosita Alban. Their sharpeyes turned to him. His held as theirs dartedaway. Smiling grimly, he made his way across thefloor until he felt a tug at his arm.

Diane Elliot, dancing now with a Major in theAir Corps, whispered to him delightedly. "Jimmy!The Chief of Staff has promised to give me anexclusive interview about strengthening ournational defenses. I'm going to make it mybiggest story!"

"Go after it, Di." Operator 5 said it quietlyand kept moving. "I think you'll find it highlyimportant."

He was aware that she gazed after him inmystification, bewildered by his strange tone.Disregarding that, he walked straight to thecommanding figure of Major General Falk, Chiefof Staff. Reassuring himself that no one couldhear, he whispered:

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"General Falk, prepare yourself for shockingnews. General Mortman has been poisoned—murdered."

"What! Good God, you can't— ""Careful, sir! Officers are now removing his

body from the men's lounge. I suggest that thematter be kept strictly under cover. Your wisheswill decide that, of course, but there are powerfulsubversive interests at work here tonight, GeneralFalk. Some diabolical plan is in operation at thismoment, and we must not unwittingly further it.These governmental emissaries must not knowGeneral Mortman has been cut down by— "Operator 5 was gazing up at the strange deviceon the mural— " by Death's scythe."

Major General Falk stood rigid, stunned.Suddenly he strode stiffly away, toward the stairsleading to the men's lounge. Quietly then,Operator 5 circled the dance floor, toward acorner where men and women were gatheredunder a balcony.

They were sipping from demi-tasses,chatting and laughing, while page boys filled othercups from a huge silver urn. Into Operator 5'smind echoed one of the last phrases uttered bythe dead man: "I've had only coffee . . ."

He stopped short near the group when heglimpsed the beautiful Mayla Lazare on the armof Tomas Zastrow. They were approaching theurn; a page boy was turning a glittering traytoward them. Operator 5's eyes sharpened. Hesaw Zastrow glance meaningfully at another manthen approaching— a prominent Americanstatesman, Randolph Morten, Assistant Secretaryof State.

Operator 5's blood went cold. A wordlessmessage had passed between an infamousinternational spy and an official high in the affairsof the United States!

The realization sent him hurrying to thecorner stairs. He mounted them quickly, moved tothe edge of a balcony, and looked down upon theofficers and gorgeously gowned womenassembled around the steaming urn.

Assistant Secretary Morten had accepted acup. Zastrow plied gleaming tongs and dropped asugar cube into that of Mayla Lazare. His suavevoice reached Operator 5 above the murmur ofthe crowd as he inquired of the AssistantSecretary: "Sugar, monsieur?"

"If you please," Morten said.

Again a chill coursed through the veins ofOperator 5. He saw the tongs in Zastrow's handrise again, clawed upon another white cube. Ithad not come from the bowl. It sparkledunnaturally. It disappeared in the cup held in thehand of Randolph Morten, and the two menbowed.

For a moment the international spy and theAssistant Secretary chatted about the Ball.Zastrow, the white hand of Mayla Lazare again onhis arm, returned to the dance floor. Operator 5watched the Assistant Secretary drain thedemi-tasse, then glance around furtively. Quickly,unseen by anyone around him, Morten tipped hiscup— and a white cube slipped into his hand. Itwas, apparently, a square of sugar: yet it had notdissolved. Now Morten concealed it in his handand strode quickly away.

Jimmy Christopher's eyes followed theAssistant Secretary intently along the edge of thedance floor. Beneath the rail of the balcony,Morten paused, and quick steps took JimmyChristopher that way. He saw Morten place thefake cube of sugar in his pocket, saw themovement of fingers beneath the fabric of thetailcoat; and deduced that Morten was crushingthe impervious shell. His suspicions were verifiedwhen the Assistant Secretary's hand reappeared,concealing in the fingers a tightly folded square ofpaper.

Morten unfolded it covertly. Operator 5'sresponse was quick. From an inner pocket, hebrought forth an eyeglass case from which heremoved thick-lensed spectacles. He put them onand gazed downward. The specially constructed,powerful lenses acted as strong binoculars.Through them, Jimmy Christopher saw a greatlyenlarged image of the hand of the AssistantSecretary, cupped about the bit of now-unfoldedpaper. Morten, unobserved, was reading a crypticmessage:

1300 Z 12 instant

Operator 5 tightened as he heard a stepnearby. He whisked the spectacles into hispocket, and peered at the man approaching.Immediately his eyes lighted with surprise. Notthat the appearance of the man who strodetoward him was in any way remarkable— he waswearing the usual tailcoat without anydistinguishing decorations. But just as few at the

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gala Embassy Ball could suspect the true identityof Operator 5, few could know that this man wasthe commander-in-chief of the United StatesIntelligence Service. To even his most trustedagents, he was known only by the crypticdesignation of Z-7.

Z-7 glanced around sharply. A second manpaused at his side— a man also garbed in eveningdress, whose face was sharp and chiseled— oneof the ablest agents in the service, designatedK-2.

Jimmy Christopher heard the chief saysoftly: "I must see you at once, Operator 5.Please come with me. Attract as little notice aspossible."

"Right, Chief." Operator 5, looking down, sawAssistant Secretary Morten shouldering throughthe crowd at the edge of the thronged dance floor."May I suggest orders to K-2?"

Z-7 nodded."A man by the name of Harreth is coming to

the Ball tonight on some urgent mission in whichGeneral Staff is interested. I want to know whenhe arrives. Please ask K-2 to watch for him."

Z-7 relayed the instructions to theundercover agent. K-2 turned at once, withoutspeaking, and left the balcony. Operator 5,following Z-7, saw him descending stairs near thegreat entrance of the International Hall. With thechief, Jimmy Christopher stepped into a smallroom opening off the balcony. Z-7 twisted the boltand turned sharp eyes his way.

"I've come here," he declared, "becausethere's a job of tremendous importance to bedone, and because you're the man to undertakeit. A task such as we've never tackled before. It'sespecially dangerous because it involvesinvestigation of a man high in our government."

Operator 5's eyes widened. "Go on, Chief!""Before I give you the details," Z-7

continued, "I must explain, in all fairness to you,just how dangerous the assignment is. The manwho must be investigated is a close friend of thePresident, and an even closer friend of theSecretary of State. He holds a position whichshould raise him above suspicion. His reputationis known to every American— he is a man who isconsidered high-minded and loyal, who isadmired and esteemed. He is also, I'm afraid, atraitor to his country, but anyone who attempts tosay so without overwhelming proof is bound to becrushed."

Jimmy Christopher's eyes were a question."To make it plain, my boy," Z-7 declared

tightly, "you must realize, once and for all, thatthis task is riskier, as far as you personally areconcerned, than any other you have everundertaken."

"Very good, Chief.""This man," Z-7 asserted grimly, "has sold

out his government. I've been gathering evidenceon the quiet, and I know he's a traitor workingsecretly with an international spy ring. Thewelfare of our government demands that we buildan absolutely unbeatable case against him— andyet that may not be possible. The country is in aperilous position tonight, Operator 5."

"You may count on me, Chief.""Good! The man who must be investigated is

Assistant Secretary of State Randolph Morten!"Z-7 stared, aghast. "Yes! But I thought I

alone suspected him! How did you know? Nevermind answering ... you'll take the detail, thoughyou know it may mean complete disaster foryou?"

"Chief," Operator 5 said tightly, "I've alreadyaccepted the detail. What's more, I promise youI'll see it through to the end!"

CHAPTER TWOTHE CLOUDING DEATH

OPERATOR 5 glanced past the scores onthe balcony to see K-2 returning hurriedly. Thesharp-eyed undercover agent's manner wascasual as he whispered:

"Harreth's arrived. He's gone into a roomdownstairs. General Staff is being informed."

"Wait for me there, K-2," Operator 5directed. "I'll be along in a moment. Do you knowan attaché of the Urakian consul who callshimself M. Paul Fiore? If he comes near thatroom, watch him like a hawk."

Again K-2 drifted away to fulfill orders. Z-7was studying Operator 5's face intently. Quietlyhe said: "What's forced a man like Morten to turntraitor is entirely unknown to me, but he has

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operated carefully. He is absolutely unsuspected,except by you and me."

"Morten may not consider himself traitorous,"Operator 5 remarked quietly. "He might considerthat he's actually acting in the best interests of hiscountry. "He's a rabid pacifist, isn't he?"

"Yes." Z-7's smoldering eyes sharpened. "Isit possible you already have a theory?"

"I can't say now, Chief.""In any case, no matter what you do, bear in

mind always that you're handling dynamite.Remember that one slight slip may cost youeverything you hold dear. Don't forget that whilecertain governments cover their propagandaspreaders in this country with diplomaticimmunity, the same situation is a thousand timesmore ticklish in regard to Morten. You're veryvaluable to me, my boy— I don't want to loseyou."

"And I," Jimmy Christopher answeredseriously, "don't want to be broken, Chief."

They walked to the entrance of the balcony,and down the stairs. Z-7 whispered: "You mayreach me at WDC-13 late tonight." He hurriedaway. Jimmy Christopher spotted K-2 standingnear a door, far down a heavily carpeted corridor,and knew that Harreth was hidden behind it. Hestood there for a moment, scanning familiar facesin the notable crowd.

Among the uniformed scores, he noted thoseofficers who had seen their Assistant Chief deadon the floor. Their ghastly task of spiriting awaythe body was evidently completed. Now they werestriving to join in the banter of those who did notsuspect that a human life had been mysteriouslytaken within these walls. He saw them excusethemselves from their groups and, with strainedcasualness, approach the door near which K-2was standing.

Word was being passed through the crowd tothe members of the Joint Board, to Cabinetmembers, to prominent bloc leaders in the Senateand the House of Representatives. Singly and inpairs, men disappeared through the door behindwhich the man Harreth was waiting. Soon theChief of Staff, his face drawn with the shock ofhis assistant's death, strode stiffly along thecorridor— at the side of the Assistant Secretary ofState, Randolph Morten!

Operator 5 walked briskly forward when thedoor closed behind the two men. He whispered to

K-2 "Keep watching for Fiore!" Then he twistedthe knob and stepped through.

Voices ceased as he entered. Every eyeturned toward him. The Chief of Staff lookedstartled for a moment, then addressed the othersin a low tone.

"Gentlemen, this young man is known to me,and it is my wish that he remain. You may speakwith confidence in his presence. I vouch for himabsolutely."

Jimmy Christopher noted satisfied nods fromthose in the room. Among the score of statesmenand officers present were not only the membersof the Joint Board but the Secretaries of War andNavy. Several others Operator 5 recognized asfamous military men in retirement who nowheaded national organizations of ex-service menand patriotic civilian societies. Their eyes turnedagain toward a man standing at the head of thelong table. Harreth.

Behind him the curtains of the hugecasement windows had been drawn. A shadedlight threw a greenish gleam into his eyes. He wasgarbed in a wrinkled business suit, and was inneed of a shave. He was obviously heavilyfatigued, but he was nervously alert. He lowered abriefcase which had been held carefully beneathhis arm, unstrapped it, and removed a smallcylinder of aluminum. He held it in unsteadyhands.

"Gentlemen," he said, "please pardon myappearance. I have been working night and day inthe laboratory, realizing the importance of mytask. I could not stop when I found myself so nearthe end of my researches. I have rushed toWashington by plane and asked to see you herebecause I wish to put into your hands, as soon aspossible— this!" His fingers tightened on the metaltube.

General Falk's voice rumbled. "Mr. Harreth'sresearches," he explained to the others, "havebeen known to us for months. We have beenwaiting for him to perfect his formula. He isplacing it at the disposal of the United Statesgovernment exclusively, like a true patriot. Wehope that his success will help to fortify in somedegree, the defenses of this country which manyfeel have fallen behind."

"May I ask," Assistant Secretary Morteninquired, "what this mysterious thing is?"

Harreth answered. "It is, gentlemen, anentirely new poison gas. It is called arsenopicrate.

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It is lethal in very small concentrations. It is avitally valuable weapon of warfare because nofilter now in use can completely neutralize it, andbecause it defies analysis. If the secret ofarsenopicrate is completely guarded by theUnited States, we shall possess a weapon of waragainst which no defense is possible."

Randolph Morten blurted: "I flatly oppose theacceptance of such a weapon! It is inhuman,barbaric, and unthinkable of, by decent men!"

Harreth paled. "It is my sincere hope," hestated, "that the United States will never be calledupon to use this new lethal gas. I hope that noman ever dies from breathing it. But— howeveryou may protest against it, gentlemen, the factremains that it exists. I am offering it to thisgovernment so that it may never fall into thehands of a ruthless foreign nation. I hope themere information that the United Statespossesses such a powerful weapon willdiscourage all nations from engaging us in a war."

"It is, certainly," General Falk declared, "aweapon of defense, not of attack."

"Exactly." Harreth again fingered thealuminum container thoughtfully. "Thecharacteristics of this gas, gentlemen, are mostunusual. Arsenopicrate volatilizes instantly oncontact with air, but the viscid fume it forms isextremely heavy. It is invisible, flows like water,and seeks its own level. It is ideal for laying downby means of airplanes, but excellent also forspreading from ground stations.

"When sprayed from the air, it transformsitself into a gas while falling. It creates aninvisible, lowering cloud of death. When floodedfrom ground stations, the vapor spreads in anever widening pool. In either case it settlesheavily and, if it is not disturbed, retains itsposition until stirred up. Thus, gas may be laiddays in advance in territory through which anenemy army is known to be preparing to move. Itwill lie in wait. When an army moves through,marching feet and rolling wheels will stir it up—and spread death. It is the extreme heaviness ofthe vapor which makes it a unique weapon.

"Also the vapor, as it becomes diluted withair, undergoes a chemical change. A pungentsmell will be noted at first, which soon disappears.The disappearance of the odor— which is itselfharmless— will lead the attacked to believe thedanger is past. In reality, the gas is just beginningto act. When it becomes lethal, it loses its odor.Thus it becomes a doubly effective weapon.

"If this vial were spilled in this room, youwould smell the harmless odor and the gas wouldlie in a pool on the floor until it was stirred up byyour movements. That agitation would meanlightning death."

The men in the room watched in fascinationas Harreth unscrewed the top of the metalcontainer. He disclosed cotton padding inside,and from the fluffy tufts, he lifted a small glassvial. The slender bottle contained an oily,colorless liquid. Harreth raised it aloft in silence.

"A terrible weapon to be used to enforcepeace, gentlemen! Gigantic armament containedin a tiny bottle. I alone know the formula, and Ihave the only existing copy of it with me. Thearsenopicrate in this vial is all there is in the worldat this moment. I have brought it here as fast aspossible, in order to place it in your safe-keeping.This supply, General Falk, and the formula, Iherewith turn over to you, to become, withoutreserve, the property of the United States."

The Chief of Staff stared at the tiny vialhypnotically, as it glittered in the light."Gentlemen," he declared solemnly, "in somerespects, the armament of the United States isaccused of being weak. We have fallen behind inthe efficiency of some ground-defenseequipment. Mr. Harreth's work has at last placedin our hands a weapon which is the superior ofany similar one in the world. As one who devoutlyhopes that the United States will soon properlyassume armament leadership again, I accept hisoffer with the deepest gratitude and— "

Even while he spoke, the room was suddenlyplunged into complete darkness!

No man had moved. Scarcely a breath hadbeen drawn freely while Falk's hand went outtoward the shining vial.

Yet somewhere, a hand had shot to the lightswitch and snapped it. A hand, moving so quicklyno eye had followed it, had plunged the room intodarkness. And suddenly there was turmoil.

"Be careful of the bottle!""Let go of my wrist!""For God's sake, be careful!""Someone's taking the vial!""Turn on the lights! Turn on— "There was a sharp sound— and the

splintering of glass and tinkle of falling fragments.Then silence and hushed terror!

"The vial's broken!"

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"The gas!" a voice choked out of the gloom."The gas!"

Instantly, bedlam broke out in the room. Menmoved panic-stricken through the darkness,driven by a pungency that crept into the air.Chairs fell back. Feet scuffled. Glass crushedagain, under tramping heels. Men crowded towardthe door, choking, gasping, fighting blindly for aknob they could not find.

Operator 5's hand was upon it. At the firstclatter of broken glass, he had snatched for it. Hestood backed to the door in the darkness now,gripping the knob so that it would not turn,shouldering against powerful bodies whichcrushed against him. He groped toward theelectric switch and snapped it. The light threw agreenish glare into horrified eyes. Quickly, hetwisted against the jamb. His hand, flicking to hisarmpit and back, brought out a shining automatic.

"The window!" he commanded.Captain Jarrell had already snatched at the

catches. He thrust with desperate force againstthe panes, hidden by the drawn curtain. Thewindows opened and cold air gushed into theroom. Four men leaped toward it while othersgripped the edge of the table, sagging down, andwhile half a score crowded desperately uponOperator 5.

"Let us out!""For God's sake, the gas— ""You'll not go out this door!" Jimmy

Christopher snapped. "It would send gas into theballroom, flow along the floor and kill hundreds.Stay on your feet! Get out the window before it'stoo late!"

The ring in his voice brought the startlingrealization home even through their driving terror.They whirled, mobbing across the room, and oneby one leaped out, choking and coughing, asOperator 5 sent a swift glance about the floor. Henoted the shattered vial, the oily liquid tricklingout of it, being tracked by quick-moving feet. Aniridescent vapor was spreading up from it, torn bythe swirling air, from the window. The heavinessof the fumes alone had saved those in the roomfrom instant death. Now, because the air wasstirring rapidly, death threatened anew.

Two men were sagging to the floor. Operator5 sprang to Harreth, gripped his arms, draggedhim to the window and spilled him out. He heardthe door open and close swiftly, but the urgentnecessity of assisting the second man kept his

eyes from it. Captain Jarrell, his eyes streamingtears, helped him lift Rear Admiral Monroe, Chiefof Naval Operations, over the sill. As Jarrellsprang through, Operator 5 found himself aloneamid the rising viscidity of the vapor.

He sprang toward the door, scraping hisshoes on the carpet to free them of anyarsenopicrate they might have tracked. Hetwisted the key in the lock; sprang across the silland closed the casement windows. Crowding pastchoking men, he hurried to a rear entrance andstepped into the corridor which led past the roomnow filled with lethal gas.

Beyond the corridor the orchestra wasplaying a happy melody. Hundreds were dancing,and their laughter seemed endless. Again apower of death had struck into the festive hours—and no one must know!

Operator 5 found the corridor empty— until agirl hurried into it from the far end, racing towardhim. Puzzled, he hesitated as Diane Elliottouched his arm.

"I've been looking everywhere, Jimmy!What's the matter? You're as pale as death!"

"Diane— have you seen K-2? He was here,on orders— "

"I haven't seen him, Jimmy!""Stay with me, Di! Watch sharp!"Operator 5 strode toward the archway which

opened to the ballroom. As he reached it, a smallfigure in a page's uniform bounded up the loungesteps. But Tim Donovan's broad smile fadedinstantly when he glimpsed the grave darkness inOperator 5's eyes.

"Tim, watch that rear door! Look outside it. Iwant K-2!"

"Sure, Jimmy!"The boy hurried away as Operator 5 stepped

into the ballroom. Diane's hand went to his arm.They moved casually, smiling. He paused, gazingagain at the great mural in the ballroom, at themysterious symbol of the scythe.

"Death," he whispered. "It means death . . .and there is death. . ."

He gazed sharply along the crowd. He wassearching for the thin features of one TomasZastrow, known as M. Paul Fiore. He looked alsofor the beguiling beauty of one Mayla Lazare,known as Senorita Rosita Alban. He was sure,when he turned away, that neither of the craftyspies was present.

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"Diane, I suggest you find yourself a dancingpartner," he said quietly. "I've got a job ahead ofme. You can't— "

He broke off as Tim Donovan came hurryingalong the corridor. The boy's eyes were wide withdread. He stopped and spoke in a breathlesswhisper.

"Jimmy! On the court— outside the door—blood! Someone was hurt out there— but there'sno one in sight!"

Operator 5's eyes narrowed. He rememberedthat someone, in defiance of his orders, hadopened the room in which invisible death hadclouded. The rear corridor entrance offered thenearest means of escape from the building. If K-2had followed that man out that way . . . At thethought, he put his hand to Tim Donovan's arm asthey strode along the corridor.

"Tim, ring the chief at WDC-13. Tell him tosend every available man to this building at once.Tell him it must be watched inside and out, or afrightful disaster may occur. Quick!"

As Tim dashed away, toward the telephonesin the men's lounge, Operator 5 strode swiftly tothe rear entrance. Diane Elliot paced at his sideagain. He jerked the door open, peered into thedarkness of the open court outside, thenhesitated, looking concernedly into her eyes.

"Stay back, Di. The devil only knows whatforce is operating here tonight. You must— "

"It's news, Jimmy— and I'm going to take thechance!"

Operator 5 suppressed a groan. He knewwell the futility of urging caution on Diane Elliot,once she scented a sensational story.

Pressed by the urgency of the moment, heagain stepped into the darkness of the court. Themusic and laughter of the dancing crowd soundedfaintly.

He strode to the corner of the building. Pastit, he glimpsed uniformed men standing off in thedarkness. They were the officers who had fledfrom the gas-filled room. Several of them werestooping over figures on the grass. Two werecarrying another to a waiting car. The rumblingvoice of the Chief of Staff reached his earsfaintly.

"Thank God, the wind will dissipate the gasleakage before it can do any more damage!Jarrell! Can't you find it, man?"

Operator 5 strode quickly toward the group.He watched another limp man carried to a car,and paused, peering down at the dark, motionlessfigure outlined against the grass. In the gloom,the face of the chemist Harreth was vaguelyvisible. Captain Jarrell stooped over him and rosewith a sigh.

"It's not on him, General Falk!"The Chief of Staff caught sight of Operator

5. "Do you find," Jimmy Christopher askedquietly, "that the formula for arsenopicrate ismissing?"

"Yes! Harreth said it was the only existingcopy. He alone knew it— and it's gone! He alonecould reproduce it— and he's dead!"

Operator 5 turned to the man lyingmotionless on the grass. His eyes darkenedominously as he looked again toward the roomwhich had brought doom to the loyal chemist. Hehurried toward the window.

General Falk's voice grated. "This means,then, that the formula is in the hands of a foreignspy, a foreign nation— to be used against us!"

Jimmy Christopher peered through thewindow. From his waistcoat pocket he brought asmall silver case. He removed two oval-shapedwafers of unglazed porcelain from the case. Heinserted them into his nostrils. They were filters,which he had devised in his workshop, capable ofnullifying the effects of any known gas. The useof them as an antidote to arsenopicrate was agamble which might result in instant death.Unhesitantly, he opened the windows.

Diane Elliot watched in dismay as he crawledthrough, closed the casements and crouched tosearch the floor. Stinging tears came into his eyesas he moved about, breath held, examining everycorner. At last, when he was forced to breathe, hesensed a numbing of his lungs— a warning thatthe porcelain filters were not completelycounteracting the invisible poison— that to remainlonger would mean his death. Moving quickly,desperately, he reached for a tiny flake of whitewhich lay on the carpet. He picked it up. On oneside, it bore a fragment of a chemical symbol inink. He continued his search as rapidly aspossible, finding three more such fragments. Theblood was pounding in his ears when he reopenedthe windows and leaped across the sill.

Closing them, he strode into clear air whileDiane Elliot followed anxiously. The Chief of Staffmoved to his side. Operator 5 removed the filters

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from his nostrils, took a deep breath, studied thebits of paper— and lifted glinting eyes to GeneralFalk's.

"The formula, sir, has been destroyed!""What!" Falk barked it. "Destroyed! And

Harreth dead! Then that gas cannot bereproduced! It's a lost weapon— a lost defense!"

"It means," said Operator 5 grimly, "that theUnited States will never use it— but neither willany other nation."

He turned briskly, leaving the Chief of Staffstaring in bewilderment. Diane hurried at his side.They rounded the rear corner of the building. Inthe open court where the music and the lights ofthe gala ball faintly reflected, they began anotherquick search.

He paused near the door. His eyessharpened as he noted dark spots on the cementpavement. His fingers went there, and cameaway colored with blood . . . Blood still wet, spilledonly a few moments ago. An unknown man hadrushed from the poisoned room, and K-2 hadtrailed him. But K-2 had vanished, and nowcrimson marked the pavement.

Operator 5's sharp gaze caught other faintred spots, beyond. Shifting, he found a trail ofcrimson circles which led away through the night.He went their way carefully, toward a high hedgebordering the rear of the court. Diane Elliot wasstill at his side when he stepped into the deepergloom behind the hedge. Then he stopped short,peering at a small, enclosed truck which sat a fewyards away, almost invisible.

His steps toward it were slow and quiet. Atthe rear doors of the vehicle, he paused andlistened. His hand rose to the latch and loosenedit. He swung one door wide and peered into theinky darkness inside. A huddled form lay there—white face streaked with blood, eyes closed. Hesaw that, and no more, when a rush of feet camefrom behind him.

He whirled at the first sound. Black figureshad leaped from the shelter of the hedge— fourmen. Three sprang upon him, gripping automaticsby the barrels. One hurtled toward Diane andstifled her cry of alarm even as she began it.

Operator 5 stuck out swiftly, with tellingprecision, as the three pressed in upon him. Hesnatched at his own automatic, as a gun-buttslashed hard against his temple. A second clickedviciously upon his head. Brutal, savage,

merciless, the onslaught was more than any mancould battle.

The lights in the night became a spinningpinwheel as he dropped, unconscious.

In the men's lounge of the great InternationalHall, Tim Donovan wriggled from the telephonebooth. He had obeyed orders and reachedWDC-13, the central headquarters of U. S.Intelligence, and had relayed Jimmy Christopher'smessage to the astonished Z-7. Now, anxiously,he bounded up the steps, ran along the corridorand pushed out the rear door into the gloom ofthe open court.

He caught no glimpse of Jimmy Christopherand his eyes widened with concern. He peeredacross the lawn to where the officers of theGeneral Staff had stood. It was empty now. Hesearched the darkness as he moved, calling:"Jimmy!" He was positive that Operator 5 hadcome into this court. But there was no answer.

With quickening heart, he hurried into theshadows behind the hedge. The darkness therewas as empty as the court. Then his keen eyesdetected the marks of tires in the grit. The vehiclewhich had made them was gone. He was turningto hurry again into the hall when a flicker of whiteagainst the ground stopped him.

It proved to be a small oblong of paper, oneside white, the other blue, its edges ripped. Hepeered at it in dismay— then suddenly, he burstinto a headlong rush which carried him to the reardoor of the hall. His small, hard hand closedtightly on the bit of paper as be hastened into thethick of the crowd.

Grimly, anxiously, he shouldered through thedancers, searching for a face he knew. Those hestared at smiled at his evident distress, but therewas no smile on his own face. He went onsearching desperately— until he saw the man hewas hunting. Running to the man, he blurted:

"Mr. Postmaster General! Have you— haveyou given to anyone else here tonight— any of thesame stamps you gave me?"

The Postmaster General chuckled. "They'repretty rare, my boy. I venture to say you own theonly ones here tonight!"

Tim blurted, "Thank you, sir!" He broke into arun that carried him off the dance floor, whilescores watched him in amusement. He darted outthe rear door, across the court, to the spot behindthe hedge. His eyes stinging with the intensity ofhis gaze as he stumbled along the driveway,

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scanning the ground. He stopped, picked up bitsof white, impatiently tossed them aside andsearched further. It was not until he was beyondthe end of the drive that he found a second of theoblongs of blue and white paper.

A sob trembled on his lips as he examinedit— an air-mail stamp on which the plane wasengraved upside down! The stamps he had givenOperator 5 for safe-keeping! Two, dropped to theground, had marked the way a car had gonethrough the darkness. Quickly, eyes sharp, TimDonovan skirted off along the street, searchinganew.

In the great International Hall, scores ofdignitaries were dancing with beautiful women.Mingling together were ambassadors, consuls,military officers, state officials, matrons, prettyyoung girls— and spies. Death had struck amongthem— and they did not know. Above them blazeda symbol of death— the scythe of the Reaper—and they did not see. These were hours of gaietyand laughter— yet beneath the surface thereflowed a tide of sinister intrigue.

And far out of hearing of the music, alongblack streets, straining his eyes for another andanother of the little blue stamps which marked adreadful trail, Tim Donovan hastened withpounding heart...

CHAPTER THREEEVIL ALLEGIANCE

THE LIGHT truck swayed along a dark,deserted street. The three men who crowded thedriver's seat searched the gloom with glitteringeyes, their hands ready on the butts ofautomatics. Within the latched truck doors, afourth stood on guard, his gun bared, warilywatching three bound prisoners.

One lay unconscious, a cruel cut on histemple, marked with crusted blood— K-2. The girlin evening dress sat against the side, her slenderankles tied, her wrists pinioned behind her,adhesive plaster strapped across her mouth—Diane Elliot. The third, bound and hunched nearthe rattling doors, with bowed head, wasapparently only half conscious— JimmyChristopher.

But his helpless posture was a subterfuge,calculated to deceive the guard. The terrificattack had brought swirling blackness to his mind;but gradually, he had succeeded in clearing hissenses. Now, he was covertly alert. His fingers,unseen by the guard, were closed on the tornsheets of stamps.

The truck swayed as it rounded a corner. Helurched, tore a stamp from the sheet and thrust ittoward the crack at the base of the sagging doors.It whisked out in the draft. A score of times hehad done that, in the past hour.

Suddenly brakes squealed and the motorhummed lower. He closed moist hands on theremaining stamps to conceal them. Heels grittedat the rear of the truck, and the doors swungopen. Two men thrust Operator 5 aside, thenclimbed in and closed upon the unconscious K-2.They dragged him from the truck, glancing warilyaround, then lugged him away between them.

The doors closed before Operator 5 couldglimpse a single identifying feature of the gloomystreet. The men returned to the truck. The latchclicked into place again. The motor hummed. Thetruck started up, and again the armed guardwatched Jimmy Christopher alertly.

He deduced immediately that he had beenseparated from K-2 for some strange, specificpurpose. When the truck swerved past anothercorner, he once more lurched against the door.Once more, he sent a tiny square of white andblue into their swirling wake. His sensitive fingerstold him that now only a few stamps remained onthe sheet, and a cold dread filled him. If they didnot last out the journey...

Only two stamps remained when the vehicle,after climbing a short ramp, stopped again. Hestill pretended semi-consciousness as the doorsopened and four men crowded in. Two seizedDiane Elliot, and the other two gripped his ownarms. The last stamps dropped unseen fromJimmy Christopher's fingers.

Thrust from the truck, they were forcedthrough the gloom, to a high-hedged yard, andpushed through the rear door of a house.

The guards hustled them through darkrooms. When Operator 5 was brought to a stop,he felt himself pressed against a smooth, roundcolumn. His hands were loosened, drawn behindit, then tied again even more tightly than before.He heard Diane's quick breathing nearby andknew she was being treated likewise. Then the

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steps of the four men faded away in the darkness.Silence descended about the two prisoners.

The adhesive plastered across their mouthskept them from conversing. They could only waitduring a long, trying interval of uncertainty.

Finally, from some room beyond, Operator 5heard a faint rumble of voices. He recognized thetones of Assistant Secretary Randolph Morten,and his heart went cold. Presently, as thesubdued conversation ceased, an outer dooropened and closed. At last, steps came into theroom and a sharp, metallic click sounded as alight switch was pressed.

As his vision cleared, Operator 5 found thatthey had been brought into a deserted house.Evidently a rich home once, it had just asobviously fallen into disrepair. Tar paper wasnailed over the windows and plaster had fallenfrom the mouldered walls. A musty atmospherefilled the house. He found that he had been boundto a column at one side of a wide doorway, andDiane Elliot to another at the opposite side. Herwidened eyes searched his drawn face now, buthe was peering intently at the man who hadentered the room.

That man was one who called himself M.Paul Fiore— one who had been known as TomasZastrow, international espionage agent.

Zastrow's eyes glittered evilly in hishawk-like face. His smile was thin and ugly. In alow, throaty tone, he murmured:

"I have remembered. You are indeed right,monsieur. We have met before, have we not?"

Operator 5 stood straight against the pillar asZastrow stepped forward. The espionage agent'sclawlike fingers gripped the edge of adhesivecovering his mouth. With deliberate slowness, heripped it away. Sharp pain burned Operator 5'snerves. When Zastrow stepped near Diane, andtore the plaster from her mouth with the sameslow, sadistic pleasure, his eyes blazed with fury.

"Now you may speak," Zastrow declaredthroatily as he stepped back. "You may cry out,shout for help if you wish, but no one will hear.Allow me to compliment you on your cleverness,Operator 5. Perhaps you find now that you havebeen too clever— no, monsieur?"

Operator 5 smiled tightly. "I bow to yoursuperior sagacity, Zastrow," he said. "Perhaps,when you are through playing with me, you willexplain why you have brought us here."

"But yes!" Zastrow exclaimed. "I am happy toexplain, Monsieur Operator 5. 1 have brought youhere to discuss a matter of business. You are awise young man, and my proposition is one whichshould interest you."

"You're a bit too sure of yourself, Zastrow,"Jimmy Christopher observed quietly. "I'm not inthe habit of entertaining business propositionsfrom gentlemen in your profession."

"But you do not know the terms of mybargain!" the suave espionage agent retorted. "Itwill interest not only you, but the young lady— to asurprising extent, I assure you. It is, I may add, abargain which gives you a choice between richesand a deplorable death."

"In other words, a plain matter of bribery."Zastrow's eyes flashed. "Perhaps," he said in

a low tone. "Monsieur Operator 5, I do you thehonor of considering you our most dangerousenemy. Only your remarkable talents, yourprivileged position within the United StatesIntelligence, can be thanked for your being aliveat this moment. If you were an ordinaryundercover operator, I would kill you here andnow and be done with it. But you, monsieur— "

"I will give you your answer before I hearyour proposition, Zastrow," Jimmy Christopherinterrupted. "It is— no!"

Zastrow's thin smile grew. "You will notaccept from us a stipend ten times greater thanthe wage you are receiving now?"

"The pay I receive for my work is of littleimportance."

"Even when it involves merely informing usof the moves of your Intelligence against us?"

"You cannot induce me to turn traitor to theService, Zastrow!"

The spy's smile faded. "Alas!" he sighedmockingly. "Money means nothing. Loyaltymeans everything. But perhaps, MonsieurOperator 5, you owe another loyalty even greaterthan your devotion to the Service. Perhaps?"

The ominous tone held Jimmy Christophersilent. He watched as Zastrow turned back to thedoor, calling into an adjoining room. "Brom!" Theespionage agent stepped back, eyes glittering.

Through the doorway stepped a short, stockyman. Jimmy Christopher recognized his bestialface immediately as that of an internationalespionage agent as dangerous, as ruthless, asZastrow. Karl Brom, Operator 5 knew, had been

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enmeshed in political intrigues in Europe whichimperiled the peace of the entire world.

The thick lips of the man curved evilly as hedrew a stand on rollers into the room. It was acontrivance the like of which Operator 5 hadnever seen before. It consisted of a small metaltank from which a heavy hose led to a glassbottle. Tubes dipped into the yellowish, viscidcontent of the bottle, and one of them was bentinto a long nozzle. A clock arrangement wasaffixed on the tank. It was ticking slowly. WhileOperator 5's eyes filled with slow dread, Bromwheeled the apparatus to a position directly infront of Diane Elliot.

The evil-faced spy loosened a knurled nut onthe standard and raised the nozzle so that itpointed directly at the girl's eyes. He turned a dialat the back of the clock mechanism as Zastrowsaid throatily: "Ten, Brom. Ten will be quite longenough, I think." Brom turned a brass handle, anda wheezing sound resulted; the rubber hosestiffened. He withdrew, his eyes shiningmalevolently, as Zastrow came forward.

"A greater loyalty than to your belovedService— perhaps you owe to this girl, MonsieurOperator 5. She is very pretty indeed, charming,so young! You love her, do you not? Yes! I know!You will see that I am right. Your love for hermeans far more to you, Monsieur Operator 5,than your devotion to the Intelligence."

Diane Elliot blurted: "That's not true! Nothingyou can do to me will make Jimmy betray theService!"

"We shall see if I speak the truth,mademoiselle," Zastrow answered with a bow. Heturned glittering eyes upon Operator 5. "I do nothope now to enlist you to our cause. I expect onlythat you will give certain important informationtonight— that is all. Do not refuse now, MonsieurOperator 5. You will have ten minutes— exactlyten minutes in which to form your decision."

Jimmy Christopher's lips pressed tightlytogether as Zastrow gestured toward the strangecontrivance on the stand. "This device you see, isa very simple one. In this tank there is onlycompressed air. This clockwork is arrangedmerely so that, after a certain lapse of time, avalve will be tripped and the compressed air willrush through this hose. But in this bottle is acid. Apowerful acid— sulfuric, to be exact. Ah… I seeyou understand!"

Diane Elliot's eyes widened in horror. AndJimmy Christopher tugged vainly, furiously, at hisbonds.

"You see," Zastrow said in a purring voice,"the pressure of the air will force a spray of acidout through the nozzle. You are of course familiarwith the action of sulfuric on organic matter— onhuman flesh. It will burn deep, it will eat thetissues to the bone, unless the propercounteractive alkali is quickly applied. Reachingthe eyes, it will blind instantly. Only a second'sapplication to a skin so soft as this pretty girl's,will cause horrible blemishes and scars. You hearthe little clock ticking? In ten— perhaps nineminutes from now, it will release the valve."

Zastrow stepped to the side of the evillysmiling Brom. They paused on the doorsill. Againthe master spy spoke in his suave, throaty tones.

"I shall be listening for your call. I leave youto your thoughts, Monsieur Operator 5." The twoespionage agents stepped from the room, and thedoor closed.

Operator 5's eyes turned to those of theterrified girl. Her face was deathly white, her softlips trembling. Her voice was breathless as shescarcely whispered:

"Jimmy, you can't— you can't do as he asks!Don't think of me! Don't— !"

"Zastrow's not bluffing about that damnablemachine, Di! He's inhuman— merciless. It willwork exactly as he says. I can't let that happen toyou!"

"You mustn't think of me now, Jimmy! TheService— means so much— more— "

She broke off, gazing in fresh horror at thedevilish device, at the shining nozzle pointingdirectly into her eyes. In the bottle the oily, amberacid glittered. A column of it was trembling in theoutlet tube, raised by a slight leakage of air pastthe valve which the clock mechanism would soonopen to the driving pressure from the tank.

The clock mechanism had no face, nohands: it was impossible to guess accurately thelength of time that had already passed, or howmany minutes remained before the trip would fall.Jimmy Christopher struggled madly to tear hishands from the ropes. The blood throbbedthrough his swollen wrists and his breath beathotly with the effort. But the dread truth, thatescape was impossible, bore upon him!

He heard the voices of Zastrow and Brom inthe adjoining room. Suddenly, there was another

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sound, slight and furtive, which startled him. Itcame from the darkness at his back. He twistedand glimpsed a door opening slowly. A gust ofdamp air came through it, indicating that itconnected with a cellar. And in the gloom beyond,a small figure became vaguely visible. JimmyChristopher's heart gave a great bound, and aname burst in a whisper from his lips:

"Tim! Tim!"In the darkness of the cellar way, Tim

Donovan stood breathless, taking in the scenewith widened eyes. Then quickly, he slipped fromthe open door and slid along the wall. He peeredinto the room beyond as Diane turned withhopeful, imploring eyes. Operator 5 whisperedagain.

"Careful! They're in the next room! Don'ttouch that machine— you might trip it! Cut meloose, Tim! Quick!"

The little Irish lad groped in his pocket for aknife. He bared the blade and sawed hard againstthe hemp strands, listening.

"Gee, Jimmy!" he blurted under his breath. "Iwasn't sure! I spotted the truck in the garageand— "

Steps sounded in the adjoining room."Steady, Tim!" Operator 5 snapped. "Back! Getback! They're coming!"

The sibilant command retreated the alarmedboy into the gloom. He held the knife in histrembling hand and peered at the strands aroundOperator 5's wrists as the sound of an openingdoor reached him. He had not had time to severthe ropes; they still bound Jimmy Christopherinescapably.

He heard the purring voice of Zastrow."Perhaps, Monsieur Operator 5, you havereconsidered? No? There is not much time left, Iwarn you. Two minutes, that is all."

Operator 5's mind was racing. He twisted,striving to close the space between the columnand the jamb with his body. His muscles strainedand ached as he tried to cover the gap acrosswhich the arm of Tim Donovan must reach totouch knife to rope. The boy, huddled in thegloom, saw the space close. Quickly he stretched,pressed the keen edge again against the bindingropes.

Jimmy Christopher blurted: "I don't trust you,Zastrow! And how do you know I won't lie to you,once I tell you I'll talk?"

"We have arranged precautions againstthat," Zastrow answered in a low tone. "Yourinformation will be completely verified before youand the girl are released. If you trick us, you willboth be punished with the acid gun. Do notattempt it, I warn you! Now is the time when youmust decide, when you must tell the strict truth.Now is your only opportunity to spare this girllife-long disfigurement— and the seconds, myfriend, pass quickly!"

Jimmy Christopher felt the knife sawingcarefully against the ropes at his wrists. Theseconds were passing quickly. His breath caughtwhen he felt looseness at his wrists.

He straightened, eyes darkened, lips thinned.Zastrow's smile was evil, triumphant. The masterspy declared throatily: "It is not long now,monsieur. It is, indeed, less than one minute. It isonly a few seconds until— "

Operator 5 snapped: "My answer to you,Zastrow, is exactly as I promised. No!"

With one swift motion he tore away from thepost. His lightning move startled Zastrow andBrom to rigidity as he leaped across the archway.His out-thrust hand struck the glass nozzle andsent the acid gun spinning on its rollers across theroom. He whirled as a cry broke from the lips ofDiane; his hand flashed to the buckle of his belt;and at the same instant he heard a sharp, spittingsound behind him.

Oily stuff sprayed from the nozzle of the acidgun! The valve had tripped. The misty streamshot upon the frame of a window and instantly itspowerful corrosive action turned the wood black.Diane Elliot sobbed with hysterical relief; and atthat instant, the hands of Zastrow and Bromflashed toward their guns.

Operator 5's supple fingers clicked thebuckle of his belt loose. He gripped the hilt of therapier concealed in the long, narrow sheath whichencircled his waist. A sharp fling outward of hisarm and the flexible scabbard flew from awhipping blade that twinkled in the light. Heslashed it downward as automatics flashed in thehands of Zastrow and Brom.

Two shots blasted as he leaped, two bulletspuffed plaster from the walls while he struck atthe guns with the blade.

A howl of rage tore from Zastrow's lips whenthe razor-sharp blade stroked his hand. Hisfingers paralyzed, the master spy whirled towardthe connecting door. Jimmy Christopher half-spun

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as Brom's gun spat again and he lunged, his foilflashing, striking sparks on the weapon. Steelclashed steel, as the room was plunged intodarkness.

Zastrow had reached the switch near thedoor; he was leaping through. Operator 5's dartingeyes had glimpsed the swift move; had glimpsedTim Donovan springing forward to release DianeElliot. Again In the darkness, the gun in the handof Brom barked. Jimmy Christopher whirled asideand the blade of his rapier dashed the air as itplayed upon the spot where the flame hadflashed.

Brom moaned with pain as Operator 5sprang to the darkened doorway. He boundedacross the connecting room and snatched at theknob of another door, but found It locked. Zastrowhad barred the way behind him; the master spywas rushing now to the front of the house. JimmyChristopher whirled to a window, Intending to takea desperate means of heading Zastrow off; buttwo sharp reports stopped him, and a startled crywhirled him back to the far room.

"Jimmy!"Operator 5's left hand snapped the light

switch as he sprang across the sill. The glareshowed Karl Brom crouched, his gun turned uponDiane Elliot. The girl was not yet free of herbonds. Tim Donovan had been driven aside byslugs slashing through the darkness. Diane was ahelpless target before the automatic of Brom—until the sparkling rapier of Operator 5 came inplay again.

The keen edge wiped across the hand ofBrom. Red gushed upon the spy's numbedfingers. He struck savagely as the gun spilledfrom his hand. Operator 5 stood rigid, bladeposed. "Back!" The command rang from his lipssharply.

Maddened, desperate, Brom struck again—and his motions froze. His face as white as death,he peered down at his chest— at a thin strand ofsteel which his own movement had driven deepinto his heart.

Operator 5 stood motionless as Bromswayed to the floor. The reddened blade waspoised. Quickly, then, he whirled to the column towhich Diane was bound. His rapier flicked, partingthe last strands at a single lunge. The girl toreaway, sobbing with relief, as Jimmy Christophersped through the arch to the rear of the house.

He snapped back the bolt of the rear door;raced along the driveway toward the street.Bounding past the curb, he peered in bothdirections, into deep shadows that betrayed nosound or movement, Grimly he stepped back intothe gloom, as Tim Donovan and Diane Elliothurried to his side.

Zastrow had escaped. The master spy wasgone now, into the black maze of the night.Grimly Jimmy Christopher's hand whitened on thehilt of his rapier. He was determined, now, that inthe end Zastrow would find escape only in death.

CHAPTER FOURTHE POWER COMMANDS

THE CENTRAL HEADQUARTERS of theUnited States Intelligence Service, termedWDC-13, is hidden with such canny care thatlife-long residents of the nation's Capital cannotsuspect its existence. Only a selected few of theundercover agents of the service, through aseries of hidden doors and a concealed elevator,have access to it. It was here, into the windowlesssuite of rooms, that Operator 5 went with TimDonovan, later that same night.

They had hurried together from the housewhere Zastrow had confronted them, had takenDiane Elliot to her hotel and now JimmyChristopher was carrying an urgent report for hischief. He strode into an office walled with filecabinets, and paused, peering at a desk beneatha low-hanging light, the top scattered withdecoded communications. Keen disappointmentshadowed his eyes when he saw that the chairbehind it was empty.

The chief dispatcher from the adjoiningcommunications room— a clattering, bustling hiveto which enciphered reports streamed fromsub-headquarters of Intelligence scattered allover the world, by wire and radio— came out andplaced a yellow flimsy on the littered desk

"You want to see Z-7, Operator 5?" heinquired. "The chief was called to the WhiteHouse just a short time ago direct orders from thePresident. You'd better wait."

Jimmy Christopher nodded as thecommunications man withdrew and closed the

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door. He bent to read several of the topmostreports on Z-7's desk. He took grim interest in onesigned with the name of the Chief of Staff, still hotoff the wires:

WDC-13 ... THREE DEATHS HAVERESULTED FROM POISON GAS LIBERATEDAT CONFERENCE IN INTERNATIONAL HILLTONIGHT... REAR ADMIRAL MONROE CHIEFNAVAL OPERATIONS HAS SUCCUMED...RETIRED MAJOR FOLSOM PRESIDENTAMERICAN SECURITY LEAGUE A VICTIM . . .DEATH OF HARRETH MEANS FORMULA OFNEW LETHAL GAS FOREVER LOST... OTHERMEN STRICKEN BUT RECOVERING... IDEMAND COMPLETE INVESTIGATION OFTHIS DISASTER... GENERAL FALK.

"Each of those men, Tim," JimmyChristopher said quietly, "Was working tirelesslyin the cause of strengthening our nationaldefenses. They realized completely our needs atthis moment and they were doing their best toimprove conditions. Now the support is lost to us."

The Irish lad's eyes widened. "Does thatmean it may hold up our rearmament plans,Jimmy? If it does, it's serious!"

"Extremely serious, Tim." Operator 5 gazedat the electric clock on the wall impatiently."Listen, old-timer. I've got to see Z-7 as soon aspossible— but there's a valuable lead growingcold. I'd rather put you on that detail than anyman in the service. Will you take it?"

"Sure, Jimmy!""Good!" Operator 5's hand closed warmly on

the boy's shoulder. Turning away, he hesitated,reading another of the most recent reportsbrought to Z-7's desk. Its import darkened hiseyes, brought a new tightness to his lips:

WDC-13 . . . SENATOR GORSON DIEDTONIGHT HIS HOME ... POISONINGSUSPECTED… ONLY SYMPTOM VIOLENTTHIRST . . . DEATH BEING INVESTIGATEDSECRETLY ... DMI.

"Another supporter of the armamentmeasures— murdered, without a doubt!" Operator5 exclaimed. "Lord! The secret forces workingagainst us now!" He peered sharply into TimDonovan's eager eyes. "Come along, Tim!"

He strode quickly down a corridor lined withdoors. He unlocked one of them with a specialkey. Its walls were cabinets. He opened several,disclosing military uniforms on hangers, andcountless types of dress for women, as well asmen. This was a wardrobe in which there was atleast one of every official uniform in the world.Undercover agents came here when the necessityof disguise demanded it. Now, from one section,Operator 5 removed the uniform of a telegrammessenger and handed it to the surprised boy.

"Get into this, Tim— quickly!""Gee, Jimmy!" Tim spoke as he changed

clothes. "You're mighty worried— I can see that.You know you can count on me for any help."

"Tim, old-timer," Jimmy Christopher saidsolemnly, "until now the country has beenunder-strength in its defenses, due only to thecomplacency of the people. Now that we aretaking active steps to build further, there arepowerful interests at work striving to make usremain almost helpless in the face of any otherarmy that might turn against us! That, and thatalone is the reason for— "

His voice faded off as his thoughtsdeepened. Quickly, Tim Donovan completedbuttoning his tunic. At Operator 5's gesture, hefollowed into Z-7's office— a trim figure in theuniform. Jimmy Christopher crossed to atypewriter desk, rolled a telegram blank beneaththe platen, and typed rapidly. Tim watched, butsaw only meaningless symbols on the page. ThenOperator 5 sealed the strange dispatch into ayellow envelope.

"It's a fake code, Tim— only a means ofgetting you into the house." From a metal drawerin one of the cabinets, he removed awedge-shaped bit of hardened rubber. "You knowhow to make use of that, old-timer. Now, thinkcarefully. When you were following the trail ofstamps, did you notice whether you picked one upnear the curb of a place at 1300 Avenue Z?"

"I did, Jimmy! I remember!"Operator 5 slipped another sheet into the

typewriter and tapped the keys briefly. Heproduced the message which he had seen passedto Assistant secretary Morten by Tomas Zastrow,1300 Z 12 instant. His knuckles rapped the desk.

"Then that's the meaning of the message!Morten received orders to go to 1300 Avenue Z atmidnight tonight. It's past midnight now. He maystill be there. K-2 must be there, too. If he is, Tim,

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learn as much as you possibly can, and report tome as quickly as possible. You are to try to seeMorten there with your own eyes if you canmanage it."

"I'll do my best, Jimmy!""Good luck, Tim! You can reach me here

while I'm waiting for the chief. Go to it!"Tim Donovan hurried from the chief's office,

his eyes shining eagerly. Through the secretelevator, past the secret door he went, until heemerged on the sidewalk of an avenue not farfrom the Capitol, in front of a cheap restaurant. Atthe curb, several cars were waiting. He knewthem to be Intelligence machines, always inreadiness. A bicycle was propped behind them.He mounted it and pedaled off rapidly— for 1300Avenue Z.

He wheeled through increasing darknessuntil he neared the address. He left his bicycle atthe corner and walked back to an antiquateddwelling occupied, apparently, by a family of nodistinction. Shaded lights shone through thewindows, and there was a nameplate near thedoor: Sebastian Elgar, M.D.

Tim Donovan's heart thumped as hemounted the steps with the fake message. Onehand clutched the stiff rubber device Operator 5had given him. He touched the bell-button andwaited anxiously.

A latch clicked and the door opened. An eyepeered out through a narrow crack.

"Telegram," Tim Donovan said. As a handreached for it he added: "Mr. Kyle live here?"

There was a hesitation, then an impatient:"Yes! Give me the message!"

"I've got to deliver it to Mr. Kyle," the boyinsisted. "Nobody else. It's the rule."

"Wait, then."The eye vanished and the door began to

close. Instantly Tim's hand, carrying the rubberdevice, shot to the socket of the lock, Deftly heinserted the wedge and his hand darted back asthe door closed. He stood waiting, suppressing atriumphant smile. In a moment, the doorreopened and a man's bearded face looked out.

"I'm Kyle. I'll sign for the message."Tim passed the envelope and his leather

book inward. The man scribbled a name on thepage. Without a glance, Tim took the book back,turned, and descended the steps, whistling. Thedoor closed behind him as he strode away.

Once out of sight of the windows, he dartedinto the shadow of another stoop. He crouchedthere, carefully watching the windows of 1300.

He saw shadows pass over them, then sawthe blinds drawn. He eased back, stood directlybeneath one of them, and listened. After a long,soundless interval, he crept up the stone steps tothe entrance. Under careful pressure, the dooropened. The rubber wedge had prevented the boltfrom catching in its socket. Tim darted into a darkhallway, and with breath held, he stood listening.

From the second floor, he heard a voicegrowl: "The devil! This means nothing! TellMorten I must see him at once!"

Morten! The name quickened Tim Donovan'sbreath. He ventured forward, peering into thefront room. It was shabbily furnished, glowing pinkwith the shine of a lamp. On the table with thelamp, there also was a telephone. He took a fewuncertain steps toward it then, with quickdecision, he strode forward and lifted it.

Silently, he dialed the secret number ofWDC-13— the number that would open a line forhis report to Operator 5.

The voice of the dispatcher at the WDC-13switchboard had scarcely answered when a soundin the hallway chilled him. Someone was comingdown from the second floor!

Quickly the dismayed boy replaced thetelephone and whirled away. The knob of the doorin the rear wall drew his hand swiftly. He jerked itopen and peered into the darkness of a closet.

Stepping inside, he closed the door gentlyThe next second heavy steps sounded in theroom he had so quickly left— the steps of at leasttwo men. They came close while the Irish ladstopped to peer through the keyhole. He glimpsedshadows as the two men settled into chairs. Onewas the bearded man who had received thetelegram at the door. The other was AssistantSecretary of State Randolph Morten.

Morten spoke angrily. "I know nothing of this,Keeve! I cannot understand or explain why themessage does not respond to any of our codebooks."

"You have made a slip! You have placed usunder suspicion!"

Morten smiled. "No one will ever suspectme. I have the power to crush and discredit anyman in the government who should dare breathea hint of suspicion against me. I can destroy any

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member of the intelligence with a word— evenOperator 5. Do not doubt— "

Keeve impatiently stuffed the telegram intohis pocket as Tim Donovan watched. "Very well.Zastrow will see it. I have just had a messagefrom him by phone. He is coming. He's orderedme to learn from you, why you deliberatelydestroyed Harreth's formula tonight."

"Need You ask that?" Morten snapped. "Idestroyed it because I am determined to destroythe menace of armament!"

"Fool!" Keeve blurted. "That formula wasworth millions! You held untold fortunes in yourhand tonight and you deliberately threw it away!When Zastrow hears of this he'll— "

"Do not forget," Randolph Morten interruptedin a low, ominous tone, "that I also hold in myhands the power to crush Zastrow if I please— andyou, Keeve! Do not forget that!"

The breathless Tim Donovan, peeringthrough the keyhole, saw the two men glaringdangerously at each other. He straightened, hisheart hammering. The men in the room gave noindication of intending to leave it soon. Thetelephone sat on the table almost within the boy'sreach— but unreachable. Burning with anxiety,while the voices of the two men resumed, hewaited in thick, oppressive darkness.

At the desk of Z-7, in the inner office ofWDC-13, Operator 5 sat impatiently rereading thereports on the chief's desk. A brisk step in thecorridor brought him to his feet. Relief lit his eyeswhen the door flashed open and Z-7 strode in.The chief's hand sought his as Operator 5exclaimed:

"Lord, I thought you'd never come, Chief! Ihave an important report that verifies all our fearsconcerning Randolph Morten."

Z-7's face darkened. "What is that report?"Quickly Jimmy Christopher outlined it. He

spoke of the suspicious actions of the AssistantSecretary at the Embassy Ball, of the messagepassed in the fake cube of sugar, of Morten'sdisappearance following the bursting of poisongas in the conference room.

"There's no possible doubt, Chief," he saidfinally. "Morten's actively working with Zastrow.He's the man who knocked the vial ofarsenopicrate from the Chief of Staff's hand— anact that might have resulted in the death of everyman in that room. I'm certain that Zastrow,

somehow, poisoned Major General Mortman andthat the Assistant Secretary is directly implicated."

Z-7's knuckles rapped the desk. "My boy, Iremind you again that Randolph Morten is one ofthe most highly esteemed men in Washington. Imust point out again that he possesses, throughhis friends and through his office, power enoughto break you in a moment. I have come to believethat any attempt on our part to impeach him mustend in failure— in disaster for you."

"But I am gathering important evidence,Chief! Tim is following a lead at this very momentwhich may bring us even more!"

Z-7 drew a deep breath. "Morten is, as youknow, a passionate disarmament advocate.During the last war he lost his wife, his son inactive service, his fortune. He's fanatical in hiszeal to disarm the world. Yet even those whooppose him on the new armament measuresrespect him highly. I say again that I consider ourattempt to prove him a traitor can only end intragedy for the man who undertakes it."

"I'm willing to run that chance, Chief,"Operator 5 declared. "I believe that Morten isdangerous enough— "

Z-7 stopped him with a gesture and leanedearnestly across the desk "I've just come from aconference with the President and the Secretaryof State at the White House. Within the past hour,the status of the Intelligence Service has radicallychanged. We are no longer an independentinvestigating unit. We are no longer answerableto the President himself. I no longer have a freecommand of the Service. The highest official ofU.S. Intelligence is now the Secretary of State."

Operator 5 stared astounded. "Chief, that'simpossible! It means— "

"It's not only possible, it's a reality at thisvery moment," Z-7 continued heavily. "ThePresident has ordered me to hold myselfresponsible to the Secretary of State. TheSecretary intends to give orders. What's more,he's already giving them— orders which meanhamstringing the Service. He's demanded that Icut my force by half!"

"What! Why, we have too few operators nowfor the work facing us, Chief! The Secretary willwreck the Service if he— "

"He has the power," the chief declaredsolemnly, "and he is using it. I pleaded with thePresident, but it was hopeless. The move's beenunder consideration for months. The Secretary of

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State's already been given complete copies of ourrecords, and a full roster of our men. I havehere— " the chief drew a thick, folded sheaf fromhis pocket— "a checked list. Every man whosename is marked is to be discharged from theService at once."

Stunned, Operator 5 took the roster andpeered at it. His extensive experience hadbrought him into personal contact with everymajor operative in the Service. He knew scores ofthem as able, untiring soldiers of secrecy towhom payment for their work meant nothing, towhom service to their nation was an undyingdevotion. Now he saw checkmarks against thedesignations of many of the most skilled of them.In bewilderment, his eyes sought the smolderingblack ones of Z-7.

"The men oldest in the Service will remain,the newest must be discharged at once,regardless of their abilities," Z-7 declared. "Oursecret funds are being cut in half, which meansour activities will be drastically restricted." Hemade a gesture of anger. "This move on the partof the Secretary of State is even more drasticthan the abolition of the O.S.S. after the war."

"Good Lord, Chief!" Operator 5 protested."K-2's name is checked. One of our best men—and even now in the hands of a dangerousespionage ring, a prisoner! That man can't bekicked out of the Service!"

"He will be discharged," Z-7 said with agroan, "because the Secretary of State hasordered it, and there's no appealing theSecretary's decision. A dozen other restrictionsare being clamped down on us immediately,Operator 5. The worst of them is the Code ofIntelligence which the Secretary had drawn up—rules under which we will be obliged to work asthough it is possible for us to carry on our taskunder a set of rigid regulations!"

Dryly, Operator 5 demanded: "What possiblereason can the Secretary have for this action,Chief?"

"A reason which might be considered anexcellent one by those not familiar with our work,"was the answer. "We, you and I, know that thewhole world has a bad case of spy-phobia today.Every nation is hunting hostile spies— andsending their own across the borders of theirpotential enemies. The United States is under asgreat a suspicion in this regard as any other majorpower. The espionage activities of which the

United States is suspected may easily, theSecretary of State declares, plunge us into war."

"But the United States is literally infestedwith foreign spies— and crippling our service willgive them free rein to work against us, Chief!"

"The Secretary of State refuses to considerthat a great danger, my boy— though we knowvery much better. I tried to convince him, but hewouldn't listen. His one aim is to remove thenation from the danger of foreign suspicion, toalleviate foreign hostility curtailing our espionagework. He'll succeed in his aims, no doubt— but atwhat cost, God knows!"

"At this moment, Chief, the nation is more inneed of the full power of our Service than everbefore!"

Z-7 sighed and sank wearily into his chair."The situation is hopeless. I am now merely anassistant to the Secretary of State, and his ordersmust stand. My loyalty to my country, my vow tothe Service, makes that my only possibleposition. It devolves upon me to execute theorders of the Secretary— and I shall, of course,execute them to the best of my ability."

"I admire you for that, Chief!""That's why," Z-7 went on, eyes smoldering

once more, "I'm ordering you, now, off theinvestigation of Randolph Morten."

Operator 5 jerked with astonishment."Ordering me off? You can't mean that, Chief!"

"If the Secretary of State were not now mysuperior in command, I would not do so," Z-7answered. "Since he is, I cannot be guilty ofsecret insubordination. It would amount totreachery. Somehow— I don't know how— wemust get at this thing from another angle. But nowyour direct investigation of Morten must stop!"

"But the power behind Morten is striking atus, Chief! Morten himself is not the commandingmind of this espionage ring. Not even TomasZastrow is that. I'm convinced there is a fargreater force behind these men— a leader towhom they too are responsible, who gives themorders. If we abandon the Morten investigationnow, we'll be unable to reach that man!"

"The Morten investigation," Z-7 repeatedstonily, "must be abandoned now. Let there be noquestion of that!"

Solemnly, Operator 5 asked: "Those are yourorders to me, Chief?"

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"My order to you, yes. Operator 5, you meanfar too much to the Service— I can't risk seeingyou broken. You mean far too much to mepersonally and I can't stand the chance of seeingyour entire life destroyed. That, and the loyalty Ican't disavow, compel me to issue those orders."

Operator 5 gazed a silent moment at thehaggard eyes of Z-7. "And," he asked quietly, "if Idisobey your orders? If I persist in the Morteninvestigation, regardless?"

"If you do that," Z-7 answered deliberately,"you will oblige me to break you."

The intensity of that moment was broken bythe sudden opening of the door to thecommunications room. A dispatcher looked in tosay briskly:

"Telephone call for Operator 5 on the chief'sline. Tim Donovan reporting!"

Jimmy Christopher's hand shot to theinstrument. When he pressed the receiver hard tohis ear, the whispering voice of the little Irish ladcarried over the wire. Quickly, breathlessly, TimDonovan exclaimed:

"Jimmy! I can't talk long! I'm in 1300— thereare men here! They may come back at anyminute! I've clinched it, Jimmy! Morten's in themiddle of the spy ring, working with Zastrow!"

"Good Lord, Tim!" Jimmy Christopherexclaimed. "Watch out for yourself! You'velearned more than I hoped for. Get out of therenow— "

"Listen, Jimmy!" the anxious boy interrupted."In case I can't get out, you've got to get this now!Morten's the man who upset the poison gas anddestroyed the formula. I've been hiding in thecloset while he talked with a man named Keeve—boasting of his plans. He's sworn to do everythingpossible to prevent the arms increase. He'sdangerous, Jimmy— and he spoke of dischargingyou from the Service!"

"Easy, Tim! Try to get back to WDC-13 atonce! If they should learn you've got thatinformation— "

"Jimmy, I heard Morten say something aboutthe press association Diane works for— theAmalgamated. He spoke as though somebody bighas it under complete control. He— "

Abruptly, Tim Donovan's voice rose to afrantic cry. Jimmy Christopher tightened as heheard a growling voice behind the boy's. A sharpclatter came over the line, the distant telephone

falling. The crack of a violent blow followed, anda moan of agony. Motionless, breath stopped,Jimmy Christopher heard Tim Donovan's voicegroan his name.

"Jimmy! . . . Jimmy!..." Then a click— andthe connection was broken.

Operator 5 lowered his instrument. During amoment of mental turmoil he peered at Z-7. Thechief spoke quietly:

"Hold yourself ready for other orders,Operator 5. So far as you and the entire Serviceis concerned, the Morten investigation is ended."

Words crowded to Operator 5's lips. "So faras I'm concerned, Chief, the Morten investigationhas just begun!" he wanted to say.

He pressed the bitter statement back.Without speaking, his eyes glittering dangerously,he turned on his heel. Z-7 peered after him inamazement as he strode out of the inner officeand hurried along the secret way that would leadhim from WDC-13 into a world threatened by anunknown intrigue of vast and startlingramifications.

CHAPTER FIVESUPREME ULTIMATUM

OPERATOR 5 GRIMLY TOOK THE wheelof his high-powered roadster, at the curb in frontof the hidden central headquarters. Still clad inthe expertly tailored evening clothes, he raced thecar away from the buzzing hub of the Capital. Thewarning orders of the Washington chief still rangmockingly in his ears.

Presently he swerved to a curb. From thecar, he peered at the gilt number of the housebefore which he had stopped: 1300. His gazewent from window to window, and he listened. Asa plan formed in his mind— a plan which, becauseof Z-7's orders, he would have to executesingle-handed— he reached to the door of a metalcabinet bracketed beneath the dash. When he leftthe roadster, he was carrying three strangeobjects in his gloved hands.

Moving silently to the windows, he reachedto the sill of the first and left an oblong articlethere the size of an octavo book. At the second

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sill, he left a similar device. The third item— ablack, square box— he carried with him as heunhesitantly trod up the steps to the door.

He turned a winding key affixed to the blackbox, raised it to the upper, inner corner of theentrance and pressed it hard to the wood. Heturned two wing-screws, and sharp threads bitdeeply, holding the device in place. Hispreparations completed, and his eyes glitteringdeeply, he touched the bell button.

While he waited, his hand slipped beneathhis coat to his arm-pitted automatic. Soon, quicksteps approached and the door opened inresponse to his summons. A single eye peeredout at him from the gloom. He rested hismocha-gloved hands on his silver-capped stickand spoke quietly.

"Good evening. Two friends of mine, Ibelieve, are here. I wish to see them."

"Friends— of yours?" a husky voice asked insurprise, through the crack. "There is somemistake. I do not know you."

"There is no mistake," Jimmy Christopheranswered firmly. "The name of one of my friendsI cannot give you, but the name of the other isTim Donovan. He is a young chap, wearing theuniform of a messenger boy— a disguise, ofcourse, as you know."

A startled gasp answered Operator 5's daringstatement. Instantly, the door began to close.Jimmy Christopher's stick flipped swiftly into thecrack. He stepped forward, briskly, came to anerect standstill in the hallway as the door closedbehind him, and peered at the astounded,bearded face of the man who had attempted tokeep him out.

"Thank you very much," Operator 5 said witha biting ring in his voice, "for inviting me in. Myfriends are not expecting me, but I believe theywill welcome my call."

The bearded man blurted: "Who the devilare you?"

"Please pardon me if I withhold my name,"Jimmy Christopher answered with a tight smile,"but perhaps it will suffice if I say that I am amember of the United States Intelligence. You, Ibelieve, are one Peter Keeve, espionageagent-at-large— a gentleman I should not care toturn my back upon."

Keeve's heavy brows lowered ominously.The glitter of his shaded eyes testified to theracing of his mind.

He forced a hard smile, and attempted toequal the suave daring of Operator 5's manner—attempted it unsuccessfully.

"Quite so," he said. "At first I did notunderstand. Your friends are here. They are notexactly prepared to receive company, but— shall Itake you to them?"

"If you please," Operator 5 bowed.Keeve turned promptly, and began to climb

the stairs. Operator 5 followed with a brisk step.He noted, in the gloom of the landing, startledeyes peering down at him. A guttural commandfrom Keeve sent those who were watching intoswift retreat. When Operator 5 reached thelanding, the hallway was empty. He turned withKeeve— and stopped short.

A hoarse scream sounded through the doorthey were approaching— the cry of a man inagony. It trembled away to a moan while Operator5 stood motionless, his blood running cold.Silence returned. Keeve's heavily shadowed eyesglittered evilly.

"That was a hearty laugh, was it not?" heasked throatily. "One of our friends is enjoyinghimself greatly. You will join him?"

The chubby hand of Keeve twisted the knob.Bright light streamed outward, silhouetting thegorilla-like figure of the spy. He stepped throughquickly, uttering another guttural command, andJimmy Christopher followed with quick stride. Hepaused just inside the door as Keeve closed itbehind him and his face went hard.

The two men who had whirled to face himglared malevolently. Operator 5 had never seentheir repulsive faces before, but he recognizedthem from photographs on file at WDC-13. Stahrand Radak, both notorious spies whose allegiancewas for sale to any nation willing to pay for theprice of their services. Operator 5 gave them onlya glance. His gaze turned quickly to a cot at theside of the room.

Tim Donovan was lying on it, his hands andankles bound by twisted wire, a gag fastened intohis mouth. His eyes widened in terror, flashing awarning to Jimmy Christopher, as he strained up.Suddenly Radak turned and struck at the Irish ladsavagely. His flat palm slapped sharply acrossTim's face, and the boy fell back stunned. As amoan came from Tim's throat, Operator 5 heldhimself back and his eyes grew ominouslyblack— black as the darkness of the night whichshrouded this remote house.

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Nor did he speak when his gaze turned to thesecond of the prisoners held within this room.Bound to iron rings set in the wall, hanging tothem exhaustedly, the scalp near his temple tornby a cruel blow which had left a brown-crustedcut, was the U. S. I. man known as K-2. His facewas drawn and as pale as death. His gazeimplored Operator 5.

A noose of thin wire was circled around hisneck. The strand had been tightened by means ofa wooden handle, until now the flesh bulged overit and red trickled downward from the cuts it hadcaused. It was another twist at the noose that hadwrung from K-2's lips the strangling cry whichOperator 5 had heard in the hallway. Now Radakand Stahr stood at the sides of the panting K-2,their hands stealing toward their guns.

Operator 5 stood motionless, while thebearded Keeve said gutturally: "We have beenamusing our guest with a little game. Heendeavors to remain silent while we endeavor toinduce him to utter a few words we want to hear. Irather think that at present the odds are in ourfavor."

Jimmy Christopher stated briskly: "Yourgame is at an end, I assure you. It is, shall wesay, a draw? Please release this man and boyimmediately."

Keeve turned to face Operator 5. "We areinclined to continue amusing ourselves. You will,perhaps, care to take part? You will find yourselfgreatly entertained."

Operator 5's glance turned again to Stahrand Radak. Their guns had left their pockets. Nowtwo automatics were leveling at him. A quickmotion on the part of Keeve brought a third uglyweapon into the light. Jimmy Christopher saw thethree circles of the muzzles looking at him likedead eyes.

"You have been, if I may suggest it," Keevemuttered, "rather foolhardy to come here alone!"

Operator 5 forced a, smile. "Do youimagine," he asked, "that I have come alone?"

The eyes of the three men flickered. Theysearched the calm face of Operator 5.

With the greatest of assurance, he steppedpast Radak to the cot. While the men stared, hestooped and unwound the wires which bound TimDonovan. He turned back as the breathless boyscrambled up, and again he smiled.

"You might," he said, "succeed in killing mehere in this room, it is true. Whether or not you

choose to attempt it is strictly up to you,gentlemen. I should not advise it. It might beequivalent to committing suicide on the spot."

Fear shone in the eyes of the three men asOperator 5 stepped to K-2. Again he twisted loopsof wire. The exhausted undercover agentbreathed in torturous gulps as the noose camefree of his throat, as his hands and ankles weredetached from the rings. He sagged against thewall, his haggard gaze upon the cool one of hisrescuer.

"Those who kill members of the Intelligenceare handled, shall I say, rather roughly by theService," he said levelly. "Perhaps you would like,as much as I and my friends, to leave this housealive. If so, I urge decorum upon you, gentlemen.We're going now. Do not, I warn you, attempt tostop us."

Deliberately, his confident manner stillbewildering the three, he opened the door. Hesignaled the amazed Tim Donovan and K-2through. Just as they started for the stairs, Keevebolted out.

"It's a bluff!" he snapped. "He's alone! He'sgot no one behind him! Look out the doors, Stahr!Make sure this house is not surrounded andthen— "

A sharp rapping sounded at the door below.Loudly, insistently, the sound echoed from thefront entrance. Stahr had started to crowd pastOperator 5; the knock stopped him short. Radakhad begun to run toward the rear stairway and thetattoo brought him to a cold standstill.

Another warning burst from Keeve's thicklips: "They're at the front door!"

The sharp rap sounded again, and Operator5 bounded down. "Quick!" he ordered TimDonovan and K-2. From the landing above, camethe sounds of quick moving feet as doors opened,as unseen men crowded out of the closed rooms.He sped to the lower hallway as Keeve shoutedagain from above:

"Out the back! Shoot down anybody whotries to stop you! Don't let them get away! Don't—!"

An automatic blasted at the top of the stairs.The bullets slapped into the jamb of the frontentrance as Operator 5 reached for the knob.Instantly he whirled, as his gun flashed from hisarmpit to his gloved hand. Twice, swiftly, he sentslugs whistling upward. Keeve's second bulletcrashed as Jimmy Christopher snapped the door

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open. The breathless boy and the dazed K-2crowded past him, as his gun lashed lead again.And as they darted out, the knock soundedagain— a knock made on the door by no humanhand!

Inside the little black box which Operator 5had screwed to the door, a hammer was working,driven by a coiled spring through a mechanism,simulating the sound of someone demandingentrance!

Keeve roared. "It's a trick!" His snarling voicepromised death to Jimmy Christopher as the doorswung shut. Quickly Operator 5 slipped a small,L-shaped metallic device from his pocket. Hepressed the shorter, sharp-edged angle into thewood as a bullet drilled through near his head. Ashe pulled the door shut, the longer angleprotruded outward. Through a hole in it he slippeda short steel rod also whisked from his pocket.Immediately the knob twisted as someone pulledat it. But the device held.

Tim Donovan and K-2 stumbled into theroadster as Jimmy Christopher sprang to its farside. From inside the entrance Keeve snarled,"Get them through the windows!"

Jimmy Christopher's automatic leveled asdark, flickering motions showed behind the frontpanes Twice he fired, swiftly, tellingly. One bulletsped to the book-shaped device he had left onone of the sills; his other streaked to the second.Instantly, both crashed to bits and flame sprangupward. Acid, spattering from one compartmentof each device, had mixed with a flying explosivepowder.

Howls of rage sounded within the room asthe roaring burst of flame forced the men in thereback. Through the billowing flames and the blacksmoke, bullets snapped as they fired wildly.Operator 5 slipping behind the wheel, answeredthe shots as he threw his machine into gear.

Once the flames whipped away to exposebroken panes— and a face peering outward,dark-lined in the glare. It registered unforgettablyon his mind as he roared away from the curb— theface of Assistant Secretary of State RandolphMorten!

The car spurted along the empty street andswung swiftly around the next corner. TimDonovan exclaimed, "Gee, Jimmy ... ten men inthere— and you got us out single-handed!"

Operator 5 scarcely heard. He pressed themotor to the limit when he twisted the wheel

again— and sped, his face grim, toward the centerof the nation's Capital.

Z-7 sat at his littered desk in the inner officeof WDC-13, peering at an imposing typewrittendocument. It was headed Code of Intelligence. Itwas couched in hard, stern terms and its lastpage bore the signature of the Secretary of State.Z-7's jaw muscles lumped with anger as he readthe numbered paragraphs; but he came to his feetwith alacrity when the door opened and Operator5 strode in.

Following Jimmy Christopher came K-2 andTim Donovan. The secret agent was weak fromthe blow and the torture he had suffered. The Irishlad's eyes sparkled with alarm. Z-7 studied theirfaces in amazement and demanded: "For God'ssake, what does this mean?"

Quietly Operator 5 said: "Chief, before I lefthere a short while ago, you ordered me off theMorten investigation. I want to know, here andnow, if those orders still stand."

"They do, Operator 5, absolutely!""If," Jimmy Christopher persisted, "I take any

action against Morten, directly or indirectly, youwill consider me guilty of insubordination?"

"I will be obliged to do that, yes!""I understand that clearly, then, Chief."

Operator 5 peered grimly at Z-7. "K-2 was injuredat International Hall tonight, but he does not knowwho attacked him. Tim telephoned me an alarm ashort time ago which has come to nothing. Thatmust comprise my report now, Chief."

Z-7's eyes smoldered. His stubby fingertipsrippled on the desk as he studied Operator 5'sdetermined face uncertainly. Suddenly, thrustingsuspicions aside, he took up the Code ofIntelligence and proffered it to JimmyChristopher.

"There are the rules and regulations underwhich the Secretary of State expects us to work,"he stated. "Read them carefully. The Secretarywill enforce them to the letter and break any manwho disobeys them."

Operator 5 peered at the formidabledocument, and sank into a chair. Tim Donovanleaned to read with him. K-2, sighing with pain,paused when a low word from Z-7 addressed him.The Washington Chief reached for one of a stackof orders-forms on his desk. They weredispatches ready to be sent to every Intelligenceoperator whom the Secretary of State had

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selected for discharge from the Service. The onewhich Z-7 held now was addressed to K-2.

"This— this is a damned hard thing to do," hebegan bitterly. "You're one of our best men, K-2. Ican only say that this reflects in no way on yourservice in the past. But it's— final."

K-2 peered at the orders, stunned. Hisbleared eyes glimpsed phrases . . . "Pursuant toorders of the Secretary of State . . . dischargefrom the service effective at once ... personalgratitude . . . regrets."

Unbelievingly, the undercover agent staredat the slip of paper which completely severed hisconnection with Intelligence. Then he swayed asif struck.

"I don't understand, Chief!""I'm sorry, K-2," Z-7 said sincerely. "I'm sorry

as the devil.""I'm out— of the service— for good and all?""Yes."The stricken man sank into a chair. Clearly

the hurt that filled him was a keener pain than thewound on his head, the lacerations on his torturedthroat. Appalled, paralyzed, he peered at theyellow sheet of doom. He was unaware thatOperator 5's eyes were upon him, and burningwith deeply felt sympathy. Jimmy Christopherrealized that a sentence of death could have beenno heavier a blow on K-2. Grimly he rose andtossed the Code of Intelligence to the chief'sdesk.

"It's impossible for us to work under thoseregulations, Chief! Section 23 hog-ties us! I wouldrather quit the Service than attempt to work underit!"

Z-7 sprang up in dismay. "My boy, don't saythat! Listen to me. I regret this as deeply as you,but I can do nothing to change the Secretary'sdecision. I want you to remain in the Service, nomatter what happens. I implore you, never to quitIntelligence as long as I am chief!"

The earnest ring of that voice broughtwarmth to the heart of Operator 5. His eyessoftened. He extended his hand and grippedZ-7's.

"You're right, Chief. We've got to carry onour Intelligence as best we can, no matter whathandicaps are forced upon us. As long as you'remy chief, I'm going to stick, and I'll be proud towork under your orders."

"Thank you for that, Operator 5!"

"But I can't supinely accept that code!"Jimmy Christopher protested. "The situation thatwe're in now absolutely demands that we doeverything possible to strike out. May I see theSecretary of State about it? Can you arrange it,Chief, tonight?"

"I'll try."While Z-7 called the office of the State

Department, Operator 5 reread the drastic section23 of the ironbound code. It read tersely:

23. No investigation of any allegedespionage activity by any foreign nation may beundertaken by the Intelligence or by any civilianwithout a full report of the circumstances havingbeen first filed with the Secretary of State, norwithout his specific approval that the investigationmay proceed.

The penalty for disobedience by a member ofthe Intelligence is instant dismissal.

The penalty for disobedience by a civilian isimprisonment in a federal penitentiary for not lessthan ten years nor more than one hundred.

"It means dishonor for any man of us whoserves his country in spite of the Secretary'scode, Tim!" Operator 5 exclaimed. "It may meanlife imprisonment for anyone outside the Service!A horrible price to pay for loyalty reaching abovehide-bound rules!"

Z-7 turned briskly from the telephone. "TheSecretary is still in his office, Operator 5. He willsee us at once. He's warned me that this will beour only opportunity to protest any of the sectionsof the new articles."

"Please come with me, Chief," Operator 5asked tightly as he rose. "If it means that we'vegot to fight it out with the Secretary tonight, wellfight it our best! The whole future of theIntelligence Service— the very destiny of theUnited States— depends on it!"

CHAPTER SIXREPORT AND CHALLENGE

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OPERATOR 5 STOOD AT THE SIDE OFZ-7 in the Secretary of State's private outer officein the great State, War and Navy building, justwest of the White House on PennsylvaniaAvenue. Weighty voices rumbled beyond a door.The two Intelligence men paused impatiently untilit opened and a man stepped out.

At the sight of him, Operator 5's lipstightened.

It was the face he had last seen, lined withgrim fear, behind the sheeting flames of thewindows of the house at 1300 Avenue Z. Theface of the Assistant Secretary of State, RandolphMorten!

"The Secretary," Morten said huskily, "willsee you gentlemen now."

Amazement at the cool daring of the manfilled Operator 5 as he stepped inside. Mortenfollowed Z-7 into the room and stood beside thedoor. Jimmy Christopher gripped the Secretary'shand.

"I will listen, of course, to yourrecommendations," that dignitary declared, "but Iam obliged to warn you that the Code ofIntelligence will be enforced as it stands."

Operator 5 stiffened. "Mr. Secretary," hesaid, "you are aware that there are hundreds offoreign espionage agents operating within theUnited States?"

"I am also aware," the Secretary stated, "thatto act unwisely against any foreign nation on thatbasis may result in a grave international breachwhich might lead to war."

"You are also aware," Jimmy Christophercontinued, "that in certain cases, espionageactivities have reached ominous proportions—especially on our west coast?"

"In the specific case you refer to," theSecretary answered, "we must be especiallycareful not to over-strain our internationalrelationship."

Operator 5 glanced again at RandolphMorten, who was still standing near the door,listening. "Forgive me," he said quietly, "may theChief and I speak with you alone?"

The Secretary's eyes grew cold. "Youngman," came the frosty answer, "you may speak asfreely as though to me alone before any memberof my staff, I resent your implication that you maynot. If you wish to consult with me tonight

concerning the code— and this is your lastopportunity— please proceed directly."

Jimmy Christopher's face flushed. "I haveasked to see you alone," he persisted, "becausethe most vital case before the Intelligence nowsuggests that there is treason within yourDepartment, sir!"

Z-7 paled. The Secretary's hands curled intohuge fists. He glared across the desk and blurted:

"What! You dare to suggest that any of mystaff is traitorous? Young man, every man in thisdepartment is my personal friend. I will nottolerate any such innuendo from anyone! Iconsider it an insult— and I consider this interviewterminated here and now. Good night!''

Operator 5 did not move. His darkened eyesbattled the Secretary's. Then he leaned forwardtensely, placing his hands flat on the desk. Hiswords rang.

"Mr. Secretary, my only purpose, and youronly purpose, is to serve our country to the bestof our abilities. The means we would take are inviolent conflict, but on that basis, at least permitme to express my views. If you will allow me, Iwill explain."

The Secretary stared stonily and saidnothing.

Jimmy Christopher continued briskly. "TheUnited States is at present undertaking a vastprogram to strengthen our ground defenses. Thenecessary legislation, calling for the neededappropriations, is soon to go before Congress.The decision of Congress on these matters will befinal— and vital. The nation is torn tonightbetween two great factions— one preachingdisarmament, the other pleading for strengtheneddefenses.

"Both sides of the issue are doing everythingpossible to bring the mass of the people behindthem, in order to influence Congress to their wayof thinking. Personally, I stand behind thearmament forces, but my position is of noimportance. My concern in this case is that thereare subversive powers plotting to render theUnited States weak and helpless among the greatpowers of the world. A great spy ring is inoperation, stopping at nothing to disrupt thearmament move. Already, they have killed notedleaders of the armament cause. They havecommitted sabotage upon our statesmen just ascertain foreign nations are believed to have

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committed sabotage upon our present warequipment!"

"Absurd!""You do not realize, Mr. Secretary," Jimmy

Christopher persisted, "how deeply this secretorganization is at work, how mercilessly it hasalready struck at the heart of our armamentprogram. Tonight Major General Mortman wasmurdered by one of that secret ring. On thechief's desk now is a report which means thatSenator Gorson was murdered in the same wayby the same organization. Tonight a man in theemploy of the master spy destroyed, beyond allreclaim, a new weapon of war which would havegiven the United States terrific power."

Jimmy Christopher sensed an electricaltension in Randolph Morten; but his eyes did notleave the stern face of the Secretary.

"That's only a suggestion of how the ring isworking!" he declared. From his pocket, heremoved a folded sheaf of yellow flimsies. Theseare copies of reports recently received atWDC-13. Each one indicates the operations ofthe great spy ring. Look at them, Mr. Secretary.See how the secret band is working night andday, mercilessly, in order to render the UnitedStates a weak and defenseless nation!"

He tossed the reports to the Secretary's deskand raced on. "There you will find records of othermysterious deaths— each victim a man who wasstriving to uphold our armament program. Thereyou will find cases of men who once gave themovement their support, who have about-facedand are now campaigning against it— men whohave sold out. Major General Clayson, retired,one of the defense program's staunchestsupporters, vanished a month ago— again, thework of the spies! Other armament men have leftthe country, not to return— driven away by threatsof the spies.

"Why have these things happened, Mr.Secretary? Why have the leaders of theorganizations backing the defense programssuddenly found it necessary to providethemselves with bodyguards? Why havespeakers in favor of the new program abruptlycanceled their arrangements? Why have greatbroadcasting chains gone mysteriously out ofoperation during the speeches of military officialstalking in favor of strengthening defenses? Whyare there propagandists arousing the peopleagainst the program— propagandists who can't beidentified or traced? The answer is, a gigantic

espionage ring laboring to render the UnitedStates so weak it will become a helpless preybefore any attack!"

The Secretary snorted: "Preposterous!""But it is not preposterous to say— because it

is true, sir, that it could some day mean theextinction of this nation unless it is corrected. Thespy ring is working desperately to make itpossible for a foreign nation to wipe us off theface of the earth whenever that nation chooses!"

"Whether or not the United States acts now,"the Secretary declared, "depends wholly upon thewill of the people."

"It should depend on the will of the people,but unless we act and act promptly, it will dependinstead on the will of the unknown man who is thehead of this espionage ring— and we will bedoomed!"

The Secretary's eyes snapped. "And what,"he asked coldly, "is it you wish: to proceed uponthis ridiculous theory and incur the enmity ofevery other nation on the globe? To risk plungingus into war? Have you forgotten, young man, thatthe Department of State is this government'sDepartment of Peace?"

"I wish, sir," Operator 5 answered levelly, "tobe allowed to follow this case through, to try todestroy that espionage ring."

"Under Section 23 of the new Code ofIntelligence, you absolutely must have mypermission for that, Operator 5."

"I cannot even ask your permission, underthese circumstances, sir. I ask that Section 23 bestruck out of the code so that I may go aheadunhampered."

"These certain circumstances you speak of,"the Secretary asked icily, "are your belief thatsomeone in this Department is involved in yourso-called espionage ring?"

Operator 5's face whitened as he answered:"Yes, sir."

The Secretary snapped. "I refuse to creditthat belief for one single moment! Section 23must stand! As for permission for you to continue,I refuse it absolutely!"

Operator 5 stood motionless, tense, hisdarkened eyes upon the Secretary's. "That, sir,"he asked, "is final?"

"Positively final. There is nothing more to besaid. I have heard you through, and my decision

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will not be changed. Now, gentlemen, goodnight."

"One moment."Assistant Secretary Randolph Morten's quiet

words turned Z-7 and Operator 5. He had notmoved from his position near the door. He hadnot for a second taken his eyes from JimmyChristopher. Now his gaze was coolly confidentand challenging. A faint, contemptuous smilecurved his lips.

"Perhaps there is a detail which Operator 5may be permitted to handle, Mr. Secretary. Hereis a dispatch which has come in over ourteletypes since they left WDC-13. Since thisoffice is now intercepting all Intelligence reports,they do not yet know of it. It concerns anespionage agent at work in this country."

"Yes, Morten?" the Secretary askedimpatiently, while Operator 5 studied theAssistant's crafty eyes. "What is it?"

"It mentions," Morten answered slowly, "awoman spy known as Mayla Lazare."

Jimmy Christopher's nerves tightened asMorten handed a dispatch to him. The notationson it indicated it had been sent by secret cablefrom a sub-headquarters of the Intelligence inEurope. It stated briefly:

WDC-13 . . . INFORMATION JUSTVERIFIED THAT SPY MAYLA LAZARE ISWORKING IN WASHINGTON UNDER NAMEOF ROSITA ALBAN . . . ONCE CLOSE FRIENDOF BASIL VON PRAAG . . . RECOMMENDCAREFUL INVESTIGATION ... CB.

"Mayla Lazare, I believe," Morten continuedsuavely, "is a Balkarian, and we need not worryabout a clash with the Balkarian government. Thesuggested investigation might unearth aninteresting connection. I already have taken fromour records the address of the woman known asSenorita Rosita Alban. I suggest that Operator 5try to discover why she is at work in Washingtonnow."

Jimmy Christopher's gaze sharpened. Thedaring of Randolph Morten startled him anew.Only a few short hours ago the AssistantSecretary had sipped coffee at the side of thenotorious Mayla Lazare; now he was pretendingto know nothing of her. Morten's suggestion thatOperator 5 investigate the woman spy was one

approach toward the hidden espionage ring withwhich Morten himself was unquestionablyassociated; yet the Assistant Secretary daredopen it. For use as a trap!

"Perhaps," the Assistant Secretary askedquietly, "you do not care to undertake this detail,young man?"

Grimly, Jimmy Christopher answered: "I willgladly accept it— with the permission of theSecretary."

"On Morten's recommendation," theSecretary answered impatiently, "you may havemy permission for that."

Z-7 strode to the door as Jimmy Christophercontinued to study the enigmatic smile onMorten's face. More keenly with every second, hebecame certain that the Assistant Secretary wasplanning his destruction. He paused on thethreshold as Morten's voice came again in a purr.

"You will report to me, young man?""Whatever results from this investigation, Mr.

Morten," Jimmy Christopher answered cryptically,"you will promptly learn."

Morten retorted with lips twirkingcontemptuously, "I wish you the greatest of luck."

The United States was opening its eyes tothe startling and appalling fact that she wasvulnerable to small, conventional ground attackand espionage— despite her adequate defensesagainst more exotic warfare.

Complacently, the almost two hundredmillion souls of the nation had thought nothing ofthis vital matter; but now, day by day, they wereseeing, to their dismay, their country's armedhelplessness.

"Should the United States face an active wartoday, declared Brigadier General Hartwell,Assistant Chief of Staff, War Plans Division, overa coast-to-coast radio hook-up, "should she becalled upon to defend herself from a conventionalaggressor, she might find herself a victim of herown carelessness. It would be too ludicrous athing to expect, and therefore our shores are notadequately defended.

"Not only would our home-front defensesface an enemy which had the advantage ofsurprise, but we could find ourselves cut off fromforeign sources of war materials— defeated by ourown short-sightedness and concentration on onlynuclear protection! Almost any great nation, bythe simple act of forbidding the shipment of war

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materials to the United States in a crisis, couldcripple us— pronounce upon us a sentence ofdoom!"

The Chief of Staff of the Joint Board of theU.S. Army and Navy, in an exclusive interviewgranted to Diane Elliot through the AmalgamatedPress, issued a warning to the people that theirwill and theirs alone must decide the fate of thenation.

"The armament bills being prepared forCongressional action are the most vital in thehistory of the United States," he declared in part."Upon them rests entirely the far-flung programproposed for the strengthening of our statesideArmy and Navy and Air Force. The inevitablestruggle over these measures in ourCongressional halls is certain to be bitter, and itwill be won only by a narrow margin. It is not thepersonal opinions of the representatives, but thewill of the people they represent, which mustdecide the issue. The momentous problem issquarely up to every man and woman in thecountry.

"Shall we or shall we not allow the UnitedStates to continue to be so vulnerable toespionage and actual invasion? Shall we remainin constant danger of being surprised by otherthan missile attack— or shall we strengthenourselves so that we may fearlessly face any foe?Shall we preserve our nation, or doom it toextinction? That is the great question which wemust decide once and for all, and now!"

Feverish interest in the impending legislationheightened from coast to coast as more and moreof the stated facts were revealed. Bitter contestsbegan in newspapers, and over nation-widebroadcasting networks. The problem affecting thelives and homes and families and futures of everyman, woman and child became uppermost in themind of the nation. Even more amazing than therevelations of the weakness of the U.S. defensescame the information that, even while ourstrength waned, Americans were aiding inincreasing the belligerent power of foreignnations!"

Printed appeals flooded across the countryarguing both sides of the momentous problem.Long-standing friends found themselves bitterly atodds on the question. Those who opposed themeasure rushed into print and before the camerasof the great television companies, to plead peacethrough disarmament. Hour by hour theconflicting factions marshaled their strength.

Millions of words, pro and con, began to streamfrom roaring presses and from powerfultelecasting antennae— while, unknown to themillions who read and watched, hidden beneaththe surface of everyday life, relentless, secretforces came to grips.

In the streets of Washington, on a night notlong after the gala Embassy Ball, newsboys ranshouting late editions.

"General Hartwell pleads for armed strengthon death-bed! Suddenly taken ill but still fights forbigger defenses!"

"Coast to coast network fails duringrearmament talk! Sabotage suspected!"

"Admiral Thornton, champion of strongerdefenses mysteriously missing!"

The cries of the running boys did notpenetrate into a small room located near thegreat, domed Capitol of nation.

Darkness lay along the streets outside,thicker darkness filled the building. It remainedsoundless— until the faint noise of an openingdoor disturbed the quiet.

A man entered the dark room hesitantly. Hepaused just beyond the threshold, and wasstartled by a sharp click which announcedimmediately that the door was shut. Promptly hetried the knob, but found it locked. He sensed thatan electrical device, operated from a pointbeyond, had drawn a catch into the socket. Hestood uneasily in the gloom, waiting for anuncertain moment.

A mysterious summons had brought him tothis room— an unsigned message which urgedcomplete secrecy upon him. He had followedstrange directions to reach this door which hadnow fastened behind him— directions whichoffered no explanation. An uncanny urge had ledhim to follow them; and now, in the dark room,not knowing why he was present, he waited.

A faint glow appeared a few yards away— apoint of light which glimmered into brightness.The glare of a light bulb turned upon him. Ashade, cupping it, left the wielder obscured inshadow.

The man whom it was exposing strove topeer beyond it. His head was bandaged, his facegaunt, his lips curved bitterly. He was one whohad been, but was no longer, K-2 of the UnitedStates Intelligence Service.

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Now, in the shadow behind the light, K-2glimpsed a ghostly outline. A man was standingthere in the gloom— or was it a man? A man, orsome strange thing that? Drawn irresistibly, K-2stepped closer. When he paused, near the light,he was peering at an apparition startling to lookupon.

Though it was garbed in a plain black suit, itshead was a fleshless skull! Its hands, protrudingfrom the black sleeves, seemed to be dry bones!A clothed skeleton— and yet it had eyes! Its eyesglittered deep in shadowed sockets, studying theamazed K-2.

The ex-operator of the Intelligence knew thatthe light was tricking him— knew that the head ofthis unknown man was covered by a maskpainted to the semblance of a skull, that thehands were merely covered with black glovespainted so that the fingers seemed to be barebones— yet the uncanny effect filled him with coldfascination.

Breathily he asked: "Who are you? Whyhave you called me here?"

The living skeleton said softly: "Who I ammust remain unknown to you. I am your friend. Itrust you as I wish you to trust me. I have calledyou here so that you may have the honor ofbecoming the first of a secret organization— anundercover organization to be known as theHidden Hundred."

K-2 stood speechless in wonderment. Thesoft voice continued— and K-2 listened to eachword from the living skull with growing wonder.Out of his uncertainty came eagerness. Out of hisdoubt came conviction. At last the voice ceased,and one skeleton hand reached forward into thelight. The bony fingers opened ...

"Look!"K-2 peered into the white palm, at a glittering

object lying there. His widened eyes rose again tothose glimmering in the sockets of the whitedeath's-head. Again the hushed voice spoke.

"Now— do you understand? For yourallegiance to the Hidden Hundred, you willreceive no payment save the satisfaction that youare serving your deepest loyalty. You may beordered to break law after law. You will certainlyfind yourself a pariah, a man who must live aliving death in deepest secrecy. You will behunted, in constant danger. You must realizethese things before you answer my one questionto you.

"Do you pledge your undying loyalty, onceand forever, to the Hidden Hundred?"

K-2's eyes blazed as he blurted: "Once andforever, I swear my allegiance to the HiddenHundred!"

Again, the skeleton hand reached from theshadows. K-2 gripped it— not a thing of cold, drybone, but firm, warm flesh. The gloved fingerstrembled with a desperate sincerity . . . then thehand withdrew. The light dimmed. Again theamazed K-2 found himself standing in deepestdarkness— and he sensed that the presence wasgone.

CHAPTER SEVENTRAITOR'S TRAP

OPERATOR 5 STRODE BRISKLY from thesecret elevator entrance to the level of WDC-13,through the inner door, and straight to the desk ofZ-7. The Washington chief's stubby fingers weredrumming his desk while he read reports. Hecame to his feet tensely as Jimmy Christopherentered.

"Damnable!" he exploded. "Here's a reportthat General Hartwell has just died— poisoningsuspected again— a violent thirst the onlysymptom. Another, saying that AdmiralFrankson— Chief of Bureau of Aeronautics, Navyhas committed suicide. A shot through the head—dead. Dead by his own hand— that man? I don'tbelieve it!"

"Nor I, Chief," Jimmy Christopher agreed."Frankson's death costs us the most ardentadvocate of a stronger Air Force in the countrytoday. He knew, better than any other manperhaps, the deplorable condition of our homeflying defenses."

"And we can do nothing about it— nothing!"Z-7 snapped. "Every time I make an approachtoward the espionage ring, the Secretary of Stateorders me off. I cannot criticize his motives— heis absolutely sincere, entirely above suspicion, anadmirable man— but his methods are paralyzingus. I have just completed the job of dismissingevery man whose name he checked on ourroster— and I feel that I've committed exactly somany different murders.

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"What the devil can our discharged mendo?" he went on heatedly. "Most of them havespent long years in the Service. They came inyoung. They're finding themselves now withoutbusiness experience, without any training excepta highly specialized one which is useless to themin ordinary life. Those men won't be able to finddecent jobs. They'll go hungry.

They'll break. God, I hate to think of what willhappen to those men!"

"I think I know, Chief," Operator 5 saidquietly, "what is happening to them."

Z-7 seemed not to hear; his bitternessabsorbed him. He looked up to ask: "What areyou doing with the detail Morten gave you,Operator 5?"

"I've been watching the house in whichMayla Lazare lives. Just now, Tim's relieving me.I'm feeling my way very cautiously on thoseorders. Morten's trying to trap me, Chief."

"I know!""His purpose, at the very least, is to involve

me so the Secretary of State will be obliged toeject me from the Service for disobedience. Hedeliberately placed me in a dilemma. So far I'vebeen watching sharp— but the moment's comingwhen I shall act. Chief, I said a moment ago that Ithink I know what our ex-Intelligence men aredoing."

"What do you mean?""I've reason to believe they're forming a

secret organization among themselves. They are,I think, being drawn together, under cover, by anunknown leader. What their purpose is, I cannotreport, but I know something very strange is in thewind."

Z-7's black eyes smoldered. "Organizing?My old men organizing? How do you know?"

"I've seen some of our ex-operators actingstrangely. I've noticed a number of agents inWashington who were posted in the south andwest. For some reason, all those discharged aregathering in Washington. Somethingextraordinary is behind it, Chief— depend onthat!"

Z-7 jerked to his feet in alarm. He quicklybrought forth a folder of reports from a filingcabinet. He scanned them, then peered piercinglyat Operator 5.

"Is it possible," he asked huskily, "that theyare connected in some way with— " He broke off,

considering carefully. "Operator 5, you're familiarwith the reports. Five different embassies havebeen entered at night, their safes opened andsecret documents stolen. Homes have beenrobbed. Consuls have been held up and searchedand some of their papers taken. This is all thework of some organization identified with astrange mark sometimes left at the scene of thecrime. A Roman numeral eleven."

Z-7 stroked it quickly on a scratch-pad: XI."By God!" His eyes blazed. "That symbol

may not mean eleven at all. The X may stand forthe prefix ex-. This may be the initial ofIntelligence. You're right, Operator 5! My oldoperators have organized themselves into a bandof espionage agents operating independently—without credentials!''

"That, Chief, is a serious matter.""Serious?" Z-7 snapped. "They're guilty of

criminal acts. They can be considered only asenemies of the country, no matter what theirpurposes may be. You've hit upon a vital matter.If those men are undertaking to handle casesforbidden to us, our orders from the Secretarynecessitate that we stamp them out. I intend toconsult with him at once concerning this. In themeantime— "

"Yes, Chief?" Operator 5 spoke quietly."Orders?"

"Orders!" Z-7 barked. "Follow your lead.Learn the place where those men are meeting.Find out, above everything else, who their leaderis. Report to me immediately when you obtainthat information!"

Z-7 snatched up the telephone and snappedinto the transmitter: "Get me the Secretary ofState at once!"

Jimmy Christopher nodded a quiet "Yes, sir"and turned on his heel. As he left the office andwent toward the secret elevator, he heard therasping tones of the chief speaking over the wire.Z-7 was telling the Secretary of State the firstfacts to reach the Intelligence concerning theunder-cover organization which called itself theHidden Hundred.

Even at that moment, at a remote point inthe nation's Capital, the Hidden Hundred weremet in secret conclave ...

No sound entered the dark room. Not a sparkof light broke the blackness that filled it. In thegloom a man stood waiting, alone.

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Alone— and yet he sensed presence in thedark. He felt, uncannily, that eyes were upon him.He faced the uncertainty without a tremor, forlong years of service in the U. S. Intelligence hadremoved any capacity for fear. He was one whohad been designated R-9 in the Service, but hisname was no longer included on the secret rosterof WDC-13.

Like K-2, he had been summoned to thisstrange rendezvous by an unsigned, mysteriousmessage. Like K-2, he had felt drawn to keep it.Like K-2, he now saw a glimmer of light beforehim, which brightened steadily, which shielded anuncertain figure. When his sight cleared he sawvaguely the figure which K-2 had seen firstamong all those who had become members ofthe Hidden Hundred— a living being with the skulland the claws of a skeleton!

A soft voice spoke, and R-9 listened. Inamazement, he heard revelations which wouldhave appalled him while he served in theIntelligence; but now he listened with grimsatisfaction. The hushed voice spoke for longmoments until at last a bony hand reached intothe light, cupped and holding a tiny object. R-9peered at it; his startled gaze flashed upward tothe eyes shining from the sockets in the head ofthe living skull.

"I have told you of the dangers you face," thevoice resumed in a whisper. "I have made plain toyou that your orders will make you a huntedcriminal. I must add now that already theIntelligence has learned of our organizationthrough your former comrade Operator 5, andthat Z-7 is taking steps to crush the HiddenHundred under the command of the Secretary ofState. Your pledge to us will make you not only aspy, but even worse, a spy without a country.

"Realizing this, can you swear your undyingallegiance, once and forever, to the HiddenHundred?"

"I do! I promise everlasting faith to theHidden Hundred!"

Somehow the eyes in the sockets of the skullseemed grimly to smile. "To you," the hushedvoice came, "falls the honor of completing ourorganization. No one else will be added to ourranks except to fill the vacancies of memberswho are snatched from us by capture or death.Once you were known as R-9. Now you aredesignated X-100."

Again the skeleton hand of the leader of theHidden Hundred reached into the light. The manwho had that moment become X-100 gripped itfervently— a hand, not of bone, but of hard flesh.It withdrew slowly; and suddenly a swishing soundfilled the room.

X-100 turned quickly to see a black curtaindrawing aside. Beyond, in the opened space, heperceived a company of phantoms— row uponrow of silent men, all wearing the skull mask, allpeering with eyes deep-set in bony sockets, allextending their claws for the clasp, that wouldseal once and forever, X-100's pledge.

One by one they came forward. One afteranother silently seized the hand of X-100 andwithdrew. The last— one designated X-99—brought to the recruit a mask fashioned of blackcloth, and a pair of gloves. X-100 pulled them onquickly. His hands, like those of the ninety ninebecame bare bones. His head, like others,became a skull. Indistinguishable from thoseothers now, he peered at the corner where theleader of the Hidden Hundred had heard his vowof allegiance.

The blackness was empty there...Operator 5 stood concealed in the gloom of

the outlying street. Backed into a doorway, hewatched the sordid tenement across the way. Itswindows were lightless; It looked deserted; but heknew it was not. Stationed here, he had seen menslip into that dwelling one after another— men heknew to be ex-Intelligence agents, assembling insecret meeting. Now, during a long period ofemptiness, he waited without a moment'srelaxation in his vigilance.

He tightened when the front entrance of thetenement opened. Two men hurried from it,glanced around furtively, and walked quicklyaway. Another pair appeared; then another andanother. Operator 5 glimpsed their faces as theyemerged score after score, in pairs. None of themglimpsed him or suspected that he was watching.They scattered in the darkness. It was not untilJimmy Christopher's count was near one hundredthat he tensed for action.

While two men walked quickly along thestreet, he followed, without sound, on the oppositeside. One of them was an ex-Intelligence agentknown as S-8; the one Operator 5 had selected totrail. Expertly keeping himself out of sight, hefollowed until S-8 slipped into a light sedan,signaling good night to his companion. JimmyChristopher waited until the car started up, then

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35

swung swiftly around the corner and sprang to thewheel of his Diesel-engined roadster.

Twisting back, he followed the car in whichS-8 was encircling one of the avenues. The trailpassed across Washington, presently leading intoa neighborhood remote and dark. At last S-8 drewthe sedan to the curb, alighted and looked aroundquickly. He gave Operator 5's roadster only aglance, for it had drawn swiftly to the curb and itslights had winked out. Jimmy Christopherwatched S-8 mount the steps of an old house.

Surprise chilled him as he noted the numberabove the door— 1740. Surprise, because theorders given him by Randolph Morten included anumber on this street— 1742. And 1742, in whichthe notorious woman spy called Mayla Lazarelived, was directly next door to the house whichhad just been entered by a man who was both anex-Intelligence operator and a member of theHidden Hundred!

Jimmy Christopher slipped from the wheel.Quickly, he moved along the opposite sidewalk.Suddenly he turned, bounded up the steps andthrust open the door. He entered a house mustywith emptiness. Secretly he had used it as anobservation post during his watch of 1742. As heturned toward the door of the front room, itopened quickly and Tim Donovan appeared.

"Gee, I'm glad you're back, Jimmy! I'vemissed you. There's nothing to report about1742."

Operator 5 answered quietly as he steppedinto the room. "But our watchful waiting must endtonight. I've got to take the chance of walking intothe trap Morten has set for me."

An electric lantern was burning in the emptyroom; it threw his huge shadow on the wall as hepeeled up a tiny flap cut in the window blind andpeered through. For a long moment he studiedthe two houses opposite; and when he turnedaway, his eyes were dark with thought.

"It's a dangerous battle, Tim. The armamentbills are growing into a greater issue with everypassing hour. It's impossible to say now whichside will win the contest. It's possible— verypossible— that the people will rise against the billsand doom the country to defenselessness— notknowing that they've been influenced by adiabolical espionage ring."

"But why, Jimmy?" Tim Donovan askedquickly. "How can anyone think it's better to beweak than strong?"

Operator 5's lips tightened. "Many of ourgreatest leaders believe the vast expenditures areunnecessary," he answered. "The armamentmeasures will cost gigantic sums if they'reenacted. It will mean heavier taxes— and alreadytaxes are a burden on the people. Make nomistake about it, Tim— there are powerfularguments on both sides— and it's impossible toforesee the outcome."

Again he peered through the peep-hole.Afterward, he paced nervously back and forth, theIrish lad's eyes following him anxiously. Presentlyhe paused, and the eager expression on the boy'sface caused him to smile. Quietly he said:

"I know what you're waiting for, Tim— a newtrick. Perhaps I'II have time to show you one."

"Gee, Jimmy, you can't show too many tosuit me! Maybe you won't be able to fool me thistime!"

"We'll see about that, old-timer."Operator 5 smiled as he drew, from his coat

pocket, three colored ribbons. He gave them overone after another for examination, and Tim foundthem to be quite ordinary. Each was a differentcolor— red, blue and yellow. Next he drew out ahandkerchief and tossed that to the boy also.

"A little experiment," he explained, "to showhow sensitive the sense of touch may become ifproperly developed. I'll endeavor to detect thedifferent colors of the ribbons by feeling alone.First, Tim, blindfold me tightly."

Eagerly, the boy did so."Now merely hand me any one of the ribbons

you choose. In order to convince you that I don'tpeek, I'll turn my back when you give it to me,and keep it behind me all the time. Through myfingertips I'll be able to see the color of the ribbonyou chose. Okay— let's go!"

Operator 5 turned his back on the boy, andagain Tim keenly inspected the three coloredribbons. They were all of the same silk and,feeling them, he could detect no differencewhatever. Convinced that there was nothingsuspicious about them, be selected one, thrustthe others into his pocket, and placed it in thehands of Operator 5.

Jimmy Christopher turned to face Tim andkept the chosen ribbon behind his back. "I simplyfeel the ribbon, he said quietly, "and tell the color.Red, you see, is a hard color. Blue is soft, andyellow has a quality of its own. You have givenme, Tim, the blue ribbon!

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"That's right, Jimmy! the boy blurted. "Gee,how'd you do it? Let me try it again!

Operator 5 agreed promptly.The trick was repeated five times. Each time

he promptly and correctly named the color of thechosen ribbon. When he removed thehandkerchief, he found the boy puzzling over thethree strips, completely baffled.

"You've got me guessing," he sighed.Operator 5 stepped again to the hidden flap

in the window-blind, peered through. Minutely, hestudied the front of the two mysterious housesacross the way. Then he turned back, to see Timstill fingering the ribbons. He smiled.

"It's very simple, Tim. They are of exactlythe same material, of the same width— but ofslightly different lengths. That's the whole secret!"

In amazement, Tim compared the lengths ofthe three strands and found it to be true. But, stillbewildered, he asked: "How can you tell fromthat, Jimmy?"

"Easy, Tim!" Operator 5 chuckled. "When Ihold the selected ribbon behind my back, I placeone end between my thumb and the base of myforefinger and hold it like that. Then I simply windthe ribbon around my hand. That's a means ofmeasuring it. The end of the red ribbon, you see,when I've finished winding, comes to my thumb."He demonstrated as he spoke. "Winding the bluethe same way, the end of it comes halfway acrossmy hand. In the case of the yellow, again windingit the same way, the end comes to the little finger.That's absolutely all there is to it, Tim— but it'svery baffling, isn't it?"

"I'll say it is! You had me fooled!"Operator 5 chuckled. "When you perform the

trick, always handle the ribbons rolled. That is,don't let them dangle so your audience can seethey're of different lengths. Take them up coiled,and hand them back coiled, and have themexamined one by one so they can't be compared.There's a whole series of tricks of the same sortdetecting different colors apparently by touch.There's one with paper tags, another withmatches, another with marbles."

"Show'em to me now, Jimmy!""Later, Tim." Operator 5 spoke quietly. "I

promise you I'll show them all to you soon buttonight I've got an important job to do. Mr.Randolph Morten has set a trap for me— and I

can't wait any longer. I'm going to walk into itdeliberately."

His voice faded as he opened the door; andTim Donovan stared after him in dismay.Operator 5 vanished into the darkness of theentrance even as the boy called anxiously. He didnot pause. He stepped into the gloom of the streetand walked briskly. He felt the eye of TimDonovan upon him, and knew that the worriedboy was peering through the peep-hole in theblind. He strode to the corner, crossed, andrapidly approached the two sinister houses.

A plan of action had formed in his mind, andnow he unhesitantly followed it. Striding past1742, the home of the notorious Mayla Lazare, heturned abruptly to the entrance of 1740, intowhich the ex-Intelligence agent had gone. Meltinginto the darkness of the entrance, he listened. Nosound. From his pocket, he removed a pack ofkeys— master implements made in his workshop,"capable of opening any known type of lock.Deftly, he tried three— and the third opened theway. He stepped alertly, nerves stretched tight,into an utterly black hall.

A deep, intense silence filled the house.Operator 5 moved quietly through the darkness.He found stairs and mounted them, listeningintently. Then he ascended to a third floor. Atevery step, he felt that the dwelling was empty—but that a moment ago it had been occupied.When he turned to descend, he deliberatelysnapped switches to light the way.

Lamps disclosed garish furnishings. A quickinspection of the rooms opening off the hallwaysconvinced him that the ex-Intelligence agent wasno longer in the house. He was certain his manhad not left by the front entrance. A moment'sinspection of the knob of the rear door showeddust on it, and he knew it had not been touched.Eyes sharp, he again went up and down thestairs, inspecting the wall which separated 1742from 1740.

His search led him to a doorway beneath thefirst floor flight. He opened it upon darkness, anddamp air gusted around him. Slipping his fountainpen torch from his pocket, he peered down aflight of steps that were dusty— and saw the dustmarked by new footprints. Silence held below.Soundlessly, his torch playing a thin beamthrough the gloom, Jimmy Christopherdescended.

At the base of the flight he stood motionless,his light probing into the corners. Packing cases

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37

were piled on every side, along every wall. Againhe drew close to the wall, which evidentlyseparated this basement from that of the housenext door. His light disclosed no partition, nocrack that might betray a secret passage. Butmore packing cases were piled against the bricks,and as he tapped them, a hollow reverberationtold him that while all the others were filled, thesewere empty.

He attempted to draw them away; but theywould not move. His fingers strayed over thebricks, the boards, searching. Suddenly hisnerves tensed— a low, grinding sound disturbedthe quiet. He stepped back alertly, watching thepile of crates swing forward. A panel of bricks towhich they were bolted moved with them,disclosing an opening in the wall and a bright lightburning beyond.

He listened tensely while the hidden doorswung wide. Quickly, as the panel began to pivotshut again, he dragged a small case forward. Thesquare of bricks struck it and stopped; the wayremained open. His hand stealing to hisarm-pitted automatic, his eyes glittering dark,Jimmy Christopher stepped through.

At once he stopped short, peering at thefarther half of the cellar of 1740. A partition, builtof iron pipes cemented into the walls and thefloor, and covered with heavy screen, divided thebasement into two sections. There was no door inthe wall of screen, no opening of any kind; butbelow it, in the enclosure, there was a flutter ofmovement.

A rustling, hissing sound chilled JimmyChristopher's blood. He stepped forward to seeglistening things coiling over the straw-mattedfloor toward the partition. Snakes! Their evilbodies gleamed in the bright light as they writhednear the screen; and their heads raised. Fangsglittered in the light, and the ominous markings ofspread hoods shone. The hissing was the viciousdefiance of king cobras!

He retreated grimly, as the malevolent eyesof the reptiles gleamed his way. He examined tomake sure there was no door nor window openinginto the den. Among the tufting straw, he sawblack coils, slithering darkness. He countedtwenty of the poisonous things and knew moremust be hidden in the straw. With a shudder heretreated, peering around.

A stairway led up one wall of the cellar; andaround it, other packing cases were piled. One ofthem had been broken open and almost emptied.

He saw that it had been full of printed pamphlets.He inspected it quickly. The document was a pleafor disarmament, an impassioned argumentagainst the impending Arms Bills. And it bore thename, as author, of the Rev. J. GregoryWhitehouse.

Operator 5's eyes darkened ominously. TheRev. Whitehouse was world-famous, a crusadingMan of God, whose radio broadcasts alignedmillions of devotees behind him on vital issues. IfWhitehouse had written this plea, Operator 5knew, he had sold out to the espionage ring! If hehad not, it was a diabolical forgery. JimmyChristopher saw indications that the pamphlet hadnot been printed in the United States, and sensedanew the vast extent of the undercover work ofthe power that was fighting to render his ownnation defenseless.

He had no doubt that millions of copies ofthis subversive document had been circulatedsecretly about the country. He was certain that itwas marshaling millions against the Arms Bills.He went cold with the realization. Grimly, heturned to the stairs leading upward. Step by stephe mounted, soundlessly. He paused at the door,hearing voices so faint that he could notdistinguish word from word. The knob turned inhis hand, and he peered into a gloomy hallway.Now he located the voices in a room at the rear.Quickly he crossed the carpeted hall, toward thedoor of the adjoining room. He looked into thedarkness, glided over the sill, and directedcautious steps toward the rear wall.

The voice became distinct. One, rumbling,he recognized as that of Peter Keeve. Keeve'sstartling statement was clearly audible now— andJimmy Christopher's blood went cold when heheard it. "They're meeting now— twenty importantleaders of the movement, in the offices of theGeneral Staff. They're planning their greatcampaign tonight. They do not know that atmidnight they all— every man of them— will die!"

Quickly Jimmy Christopher glanced at hiswatch. The time was precisely eleven-sixteen. "Atmidnight they all will die!" Keeve had asserted;and midnight was but forty-four minutes away.

Bewildered, appalled, Operator 5 listened asa second voice spoke. He recognized it as that ofthe ex-Intelligence operative once designatedD-4, who had entered the adjoining house andstolen into this one through the hidden door.

"Kill twenty men in one blow? How is itpossible? God! You can't!"

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"My friend," Keeve answered, "you do notcomprehend the power of our organization. Let itsuffice that one of our best agents, Lebow, foundhis way into the office of the General Staff lessthan twenty-four hours ago, in the dead of night.He carried with him a very interesting device—and left it there. It's concealed in a locked filecabinet. Its clockwork mechanism is adjusted sothat, at precisely midnight tonight, while thetwenty armament leaders are meeting, anelectrical spark will set off a powerful charge ofexplosive. No man in that room can possiblysurvive!"

"But this, my friend, is not your concern. It'syour purpose to learn the identities of the menwho make up the Hidden Hundred. Especially areyou to find out who the leader of that organizationis. We'll make short work of him— and it, Ipromise you!"

"I haven't seen the face of the leader!" theman who was once D-4 declared desperately. "Ican't be sure that— "

"You will make sure, my friend," the voice ofKeeve said ominously, "or you will be the first ofthe Hidden Hundred to die!"

A silence followed— a pause which wasbroken by a woman's voice. Mayla Lazaredeclared: "You need fear us only if you fail. If youserve us well, you will be safe— and rich. Youknow now that the power of Randolph Morten isgreat— and it protects us."

Again Keeve: "It is now only forty minutesuntil the twenty leaders of the Arms Bills will—shall I say abandon their cause?"

The sound of an opening door startledOperator 5. He whirled, and strode toward theentrance of the dark room. His blood froze as,near at hand, he heard a swishing of skirts. MaylaLazare was walking directly toward the doorbehind which he stood. Following her came theheavy tramp of Keeve.

Jimmy Christopher's mind raced. Then,choosing to slip out without having been seen— ifpossible— he darted deeper into the darkness.

His hands snatched open a closet door asthe shadowed figure of the woman appeared inthe dim light of the hall. He retreated, closing it.Breathless, he stood back in the confined spacewhile the light, slow footfalls of the woman cametoward him. His heart stopped suddenly when beheard metal rasp. A key turned in the lock of thecloset!

Through the panels the voice of MaylaLazare came with an ominous softness. "Wehave long been expecting you, Operator 5!"

And suddenly Jimmy Christopher felt thefloor yielding beneath his feet. Gradually oneedge was lowering, sloping downward at anincreasing angle.

He backed, startled, as light glared up in hiseyes from a cavity below. He glimpsed a bed ofstraw— wriggling black reptiles. The cage ofcobras lay directly below. And all support wasswinging away— the entire floor of the closet waslowering like a trap door.

A light, taunting laugh reached his earsthrough the panels, as he groped frantically forthe hooks screwed to the wall of the closet. Hegripped one on each side and pulled himself up—while the floor lowered completely away. He hungbreathless, peering down into that reptilian hell.

"We've known since the moment youentered the house, Operator 5," a new voicecame through the panels— that of Peter Keeve."It's pleased us to let you learn of our plans fortonight. Our friend Morten planned carefully totrap you here— did he not?" Keeve's laughboomed.

Operator 5's muscles burned as hesupported himself on the hooks. Desperately heattempted, with his feet, to find a crevice howeversmall that would be an aid to support. There wasno wainscoting at the base of the closet walls—nothing but smooth plaster. Not the slightestmeans of keeping out of the cage of reptiles,except the hooks to which he had fastened hishands. The sharp metal bit into his palms andfingers— and as he felt them yielding, he peeredup in dismay.

The screws of the hooks were pulling slowlyout of the plaster!

"You promised to report to AssistantSecretary Morten?" the acrid voice of MaylaLazare came again. "You accepted his challenge?Now, I think, you must regret it!"

A groan of desperation broke from his lips.Suddenly the hook to which his right hand wasclamped pulled out! He lurched against theopposite wall, dangling by one arm— and assuddenly the second hook broke free. He wasfalling.

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CHAPTER EIGHTTICKING DOOM

IN THAT SWIFT, DESPERATE moment, hismoves were like lightning. He had lost hisautomatic when the floor had slipped frombeneath him; now it lay among the cobras. Hisright hand streaked to the only other weapon hecarried: his rapier. He clicked the belt buckleloose and whipped the flexible scabbard away.

The steel flashed in the light as his feetstruck the bed of straw. He swirled the bladeswiftly about and the razor edge slashed to adarting black head. Blood colored the blade— asnake head flew off. At the same instant hisspringy muscles flung him backward toward theheavy screen wall.

Each step was a threat of death from areptile possibly concealed in the tufted straw. Hisrapier whipped back and forth and the stuff flew ina storm as he cleared the way. Back to thescreen, he turned to see the black death crawlingtoward him. His swift movements had arousedhissing defiance from every corner of the cage.Straw rustled with glistening black movements;glassy eyes gleamed; within the cage drew aclosing circle of doom. He stepped forwardalertly; and again his blade whipped out. Thebody of another snake writhed in pieces, coloringthe straw with its blood. A swift glance upwardshowed him faces in the light, malevolent eyesstaring down. The door of the closet had beenopened; Peter Keeve and Mayla Lazare werepeering in cold fury. The man's voice roared:

"He'll kill them all! I'll make shorter work ofhim— with bullets!"

A gun blasted in the floorless closet; a bulletwhined past his head. He sprang back, out ofrange of Keeve, lashing his rapier again. His swiftstrokes protected him from the advancing,crawling death. Coldly desperate, he whirledagainst the screen while the noise of an openingdoor rattled through the basement— a soundwhich signaled Keeve's approach from a newdirection.

One sharp thrust drove the slender blade ofthe rapier through the screen. Sawing against thetough strands, he bore downward, making a slit asKeeve bounded upon the stairs. Hissing deaththreatened from behind; blasting doomthreatened from the steps. He slashed with his

rapier again, tore the flaps aside and wrenchedthrough at the moment Keeve whirled to fire.

A rocking report reverberated through thebasement; flame flashed. Operator 5 sprangforward, whipping his blade overhead. Thesinging steel struck the bulb of the single electricglobe. Instantly fragments of glass rained acrossthe basement and the place was dark. The flashof another shot cut the gloom as he whirledtoward Keeve— and at that moment, outlined bythe light through the door, the traitorous ex-agentD-4 bounded down, automatic in hand.

Jimmy Christopher's blade slasheddesperately toward Keeve. There was a screamof dismay; the keen edge had found the spy's gunhand. A desperate shot followed; a bullet spatpast Operator 5's face, and the glare limned theferocious face of Keeve. The spy, arm cut to thebone, was backing up. D-4 sped down the stairsas Jimmy Christopher sprang aside, whippingKeeve away with another desperate flick of theblade.

Another shot! Into its rattling echoes came ascream from the bearded lips of Keeve. Operator5's rapier darted to the spot at which the flamehad flashed. Steel sparkled against steel during aswift moment that ended with a gasp from theman who had been D-4. The ex-agent's automaticthumped from his paralyzed hand; and in thegloom Jimmy Christopher stood with glitteringblade poised to thrust.

"A traitor to the United States!" Operator 5denounced him acidly. "A traitor even to theHidden Hundred!"

The ex-agent staggered, face ashen in thedim light. Suddenly he whirled, to run in terror.

Operator 5 leaped back into the darkness. Aprolonged moan sounded in the gloom as hebounded to the still-open secret door in theconnecting wall. Another shrill scream followed.He paused, blade uplifted, and put his fountainpen torch again into use.

Its beam shot through the darkness anddisclosed Keeve lying panting on the floor. Nearhim two hooded cobras weaved erect, fangsglinting, glassy eyes shining with triumph. Theyhad crawled out through the slits in the screen,had struck in the dark at Keeve. Now, rolling intorture, he strove to escape the glistening blackthings and instantly one of them struck again,leaving two livid spots above the black beard onhis cheek!

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Operator 5 leaped back as D-4 rushedcrazily for the open door. His light swung again todisclose D-4 spilling to the floor. A cobra's fangswere fastened in the ex-agent's ankle. In hisdesperate flight he had carried the reptile withhim as it clung! Now, whimpering with thedelirious certainty that death was upon him, hestrove helplessly to rise. The cobra, detachingitself, coiled, weaved, and struck again.

Swiftly, Operator 5 sprang up the basementstairs. His rush carried him quickly through theentrance and down the stoop. Wary eyes on thedoor of 1740— a door which hid a secret intriguethat would terrorize a nation if it became known—he sped across the street. At the opened entranceof his hideaway he glanced at his watch and sawthat the hands pointed to thirteen minutes totwelve.

"Tim!" he called huskily. "After me, quick!"With the boy running choppily at his side, he

raced toward his roadster. Again, as he spurtedthe car away from the curb, he glanced at thegleaming dial of his watch.

Less than thirteen minutes for inescapabledoom to descend upon twenty great leaders of thearmament crusade!

Operator 5 strode swiftly, Tim Donovan athis side, into the great War Department buildingin the heart of Washington. He had pressed hismotor to the limit. In a conference room abovethe street the meeting of famed men was, at thisvery moment, he knew, in progress. Again hissharp eyes read the time.

Four minutes until midnight.He sped up the stairs. Near the door which

gave into the conference room, two Intelligencemen stood guard. His sharp gesture moved themaside. He paused, hand on the knob, listening to arumbling voice through the panels— the tones ofthe Chief of Staff addressing the meeting.

"The people must learn all the details,gentlemen! Our national existence depends upontheir knowing that, while we remain weak at ourshores, nations are arming all around us!"

"True!" a second voice boomed. "By God,gentlemen, our position is shameful! We'reweaker in this regard than a dozen nations farsmaller. This disgrace must end! I pledge myselfto do everything in my power to— "

Operator 5 stepped briskly into the room,breathless, Tim Donovan at his side. The eyes oftwenty men turned upon him. High officials of

General Staff, famous state dignitaries, Senators,Representatives, civilians of prominence.

While they stared he strode directly to thehead of the table, beside Major General Falk.

"Gentlemen, you must abandon this room atonce! If you stay here only a few moments longer,you'll all be destroyed!''

General Falk demanded in a booming tone:"What the devil do you mean? We're to end thisconference? It's vital to our program— "

"There will be no program unless you get outof that door immediately!" Operator 5 snapped."Look at that clock on the wall, gentlemen! Itindicates two minutes to twelve. At exactlymidnight an infernal machine— concealed in oneof the cabinets in this room— will explode. ForGod's sake— "

"What's this?" the Chief of Staff protested."An infernal machine— here? Impossible! Howcould anyone have planted it in these offices?Have you gone mad, young man? You interruptus with a preposterous— "

"Listen!"Operator 5's command stilled the Chief of

Staff's heavy voice. A rustle of surprisedmovement faded away. Ears straining, JimmyChristopher listened. At first there was onlysilence. Then, faintly— so faintly that it wasscarcely audible at all— a sound. Regular, soft—and yet the pulsing of doom itself.

Tick, tick! Tick, tick!"You hear it!" Operator 5 blurted. "Leave this

room now, gentlemen! You have scarcely time toget out of the building before the second ofmidnight!"

No man moved as he strode quickly alongthe green fronts of the file cabinets which walledthe room. Again the rhythm became audible. Tick,tick, tick! It grew louder as he shot anxiousglances at the spinning red hand of the electricclock on the wall. He paused abruptly, pressed hisear to one of the cabinets, then straightened.

"It's in here— in this drawer!" His handtugged hard at the handle. "The keys! Who hasthe keys to this file?"

The Secretary of the Joint Board jerkedforward.

"I have them! Here! God's sake— are youtelling us the truth?"

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"The absolute truth!" Operator 5 spun againto face the men. "Can't you understand? There'ssufficient explosive in this file to kill you allinstantly! Get out— leave the building as fast asyou can make it!"

His imperative voice brought a stampede offeet toward the door. Bewildered dignitaries,stricken suddenly with uncertainty and fear,crowded into the corridor.

Grimly Operator 5 turned as the Chief ofStaff strode toward him. He glanced around tosee that the room was almost emptied as hecarefully slid the key into its socket.

"Leave, Sir!" he implored General Falk. "I tellyou there's no time— "

He slid the drawer open slowly. The tickingbecame louder. Before his eyes lay the cunninglycontrived mechanism of destruction. The entirerear of the drawer was filled with bundled sticks ofdynamite from which electric wires ran throughsealed metal tubes to a steel box. Inside the box,the clock mechanism was ticking. The screwswhich held its metal lid in place had been coveredwith hard wax. Operator 5 glimpsed a strip ofcopper ribbon which came through a slot in thebox, fastened to the tubes and the bottom of thedrawer with solder.

"The box can't be opened in time!" Operator5 exclaimed. "It can't even be lifted out of thedrawer! A pull on that copper strip will trip themechanism if we try it! It's impossible to stop thedamnable device! Out of this room, sir— at once!"

Swiftly, Jimmy Christopher slid the drawershut. He whirled away, and the drawn paleness ofhis face spurred the Chief of Staff into action.General Falk loped desperately into the corridorbehind his Secretary. Tim Donovan was poisedon the sill, white-faced. Jimmy Christopher'sglance shot to the electric wall-clock— and he sawthe red hand spinning away the last few secondsuntil midnight!

He darted to the door and his lifted eyesglimpsed the outer panel as he drew it shut. Onthe polish there was a faint outline, scarcelyvisible— yet the keen eyes of Jimmy Christopherdetected it now. He saw on the door of theconference room of the General Staff the samedread symbol that had marked the mural in thegreat International Hall during the Embassy Ball.

The scythe! The blade of the Grim Reaper!"Fast, Tim!"

Operator 5 sped to the head of the stairs asthe frantic boy raced after him. The twoIntelligence men, who had been on guard, werepoised uncertainly on the landing. Operator 5'ssharp gesture forced them into a run. He boundedacross the landing, prepared to hurl himselfdown— and a thunderous roar went up through thegreat building. A deafening blast which jolted itsvery foundations.

Blinding flame sheeted high into the sky. Therumbling concussion shook beyond the building,sent great masses of masonry tumbling, andwrithing clouds of fumes pouring into the sky. Theconference room of the General Staff wasstripped to its framework in an instant. The forceof the explosion hurled Operator 5 down thestairway and reeling through clouds of blindingsmoke.

"Jimmy! Jimmy!" Tim Donovan's voice rangfrantically.

"Okay, Tim! Get below! Find your way out!"Jimmy Christopher stumbled down broken

steps— over the bodies of two Intelligence men,crushed to death by a collapsing mass of stone.

On the lower floor of the building, far towardits front, the concussion had burst glass doors,and had split walls and ceilings. Over spatteredfragments of glass and plaster, Operator 5 hurriedinto the outer air which was still clouded withfumes. Tim Donovan clung to his arm as hehurried toward the stunned group of men in thestreet— the men who had fled the room of doomat this command. Vast relief filled him as his eyessearched their faces.

"Great God!" General Falk blurted in dismay."The whole rear of the building is wrecked! Everyone of us would have been killed!"

He broke off, struck wordless by the thoughtof the disaster.

Operator 5's answer came quietly: "Anappalling thing, General Falk! But even worse—the great armament program would have beendestroyed with you! That, sir, was the object ofthe mastermind who directed the planting of thatbomb!"

Operator 5 lingered outside the strickenbuilding until the crowd diminished, until startledofficials of the State and War and Navydepartments came hurrying to their shakenoffices, until a small figure of a man appeared. Itwas Assistant Secretary of State Morten.

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Afterward he strode directly into the building withTim Donovan at his side.

"Significant, Tim," he said softly as heapproached the door of the Secretary of State'ssuite. "Morten was not in this building at midnight.He must know now that the twenty men escapeddeath. Surely he's learned of the affair at 1740.He's certain I'm responsible for this miscarriage ofplans— and he's awaiting my report! Very well,then ... he's going to get it right now."

He thrust open the door, strode to theAssistant Secretary's office, and knocked.Morten's voice called "Come in!" Operator 5entered slowly, an enigmatic smile playing uponhis lips as he faced the now feverish-eyed manon the far side of the desk.

A man who had set a trap of doom for him. Aman who had planned his death, who knew thathe alone grasped the full connection between theinsidious espionage ring and the traitorousAssistant Secretary. A man who even yet gazedat him unflinchingly, coldly. His own wry smiledeepened.

"You gave me orders to investigate MaylaLazare, sir, and asked me to report to you."

Sibilantly Morten answered. "Yes.""I recall also the orders of the Secretary of

State that we of the Intelligence are forbidden toinvestigate the suspicion of treason within thisdepartment."

Tensely, Morten answered. "Yes.""I understand that to violate these orders,

and the stipulations of Section 23, Code ofIntelligence, would mean my instant dismissalfrom the Service and, in addition, myimprisonment, perhaps for life."

Grimly Morten answered. "Yes.""If I have disobeyed orders and investigated

that suspicion, if there is one in this departmentwho is working with the espionage ring, he will,because of his connection with it, know of myactions, will he not?"

"Yes!""But if he were to order me discharged from

the Service on that basis he would, by doing so,betray his connection with the spy ring."

"Yes, yes!"Operator 5's eyes blazed. "That being clearly

understood, Mr. Assistant Secretary, I will nowgive you my report on the investigation of Mayla

Lazare. It is this: there is no suggestion whateverof anything suspicious concerning her."

Slowly Randolph Morten straightened. Hiseyes shone. The quirk of Jimmy Christopher's lipstightened and he turned on his heel. He steppedout of the office and closed the door quietly; andas he turned away he knew that his battle of witswith the traitorous Assistant Secretary couldcontinue to but one end:

Death.Z-7 peered intently as Operator 5 strode

briskly to the chief's desk in the inner office ofWDC-13, accompanied by Tim Donovan. He hadcome directly from the office of the AssistantSecretary of State. He had no opportunity tospeak before Z-7 demanded stiffly:

"Operator 5, allow me to express mysatisfaction over your discovery of the time-bombin the General Staff's suite— my gratitude that yousucceeded in saving them from death. But it'snecessary for me, here and now, to learn thesource of your information concerning thatbomb!"

Jimmy Christopher's eyes clouded. He stoodmotionless while the Washington chief went on.

"You were ordered off the Morteninvestigation. The Morten investigation linksdirectly with the espionage ring which, youcharge, is operating. The planting of thattime-bomb is an act of that ring. If you learned ofit, through investigating the ring, you were thenindirectly investigating Morten and violating bothmy orders and those of the Secretary of State."

Still Operator 5 could not speak."If you have disobeyed those orders,

Operator 5, I will have no choice but to dismissyou from the Service on the spot!"

The smoldering eyes of Z-7 and thedarkening gaze of Operator 5 battled across thedesk. The mounting tension was broken by theshrill ring of the desk telephone. Automatically,Z-7 reached for it, his commanding stare stillupon Jimmy Christopher.

"Well?" he demanded before he lifted theinstrument. "What is your answer?"

"I learned of the time-bomb through followingthe orders of Assistant Secretary Morten toinvestigate Mayla Lazare, Chief.

Z-7 breathed a sigh. "Thank God for that! Iwant your written report."

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Jimmy Christopher's mind was torn by adilemma while Z-7 talked briskly over the wire. Herealized that his report to the chief would conflictemphatically with the report he had already givenRandolph Morten. The discrepancies would leadinevitably to questioning, to suspicion— perhapsto the dismissal which he now dreaded. He couldreason no way out of his predicament before theWashington chief lowered the telephone with athump, and snapped:

"T-6 reporting! I detailed him also to the jobof trying to spot the secret organization ofex-Intelligence men. He's found theirheadquarters!" Z-7 gestured toward a pad onwhich he had just scribbled an address. "I'm goingto look into that at once, myself. With your help,Operator 5— we can take our first step tonighttoward crushing that organization!"

"I was about to add a second report, Chief,"Jimmy Christopher answered. "I've also spottedthe secret headquarters at the same address T-6has given you. I suggest we put that place underwatch at once."

"We'll do it now! Come with me, Operator 5!"Z-7 strode grimly out of the office. Jimmy

Christopher's eyes darkened with worry as hefollowed the chief, with Tim Donovan, out throughthe hidden elevator and the disguised doors. Theyreached the curb, where Operator 5s roadster waswaiting. Jimmy Christopher took the wheel, andthey started rapidly toward the address at whichthe Hidden Hundred had met in secret conclave.

"I am doubly determined to stamp out thatorganization now," Z-7 declared as he drew aflimsy from his leather case. "That action on thepart of my old men amounts to treason. Theorganization, no matter what its object is, cannotbe tolerated. The men who make it up are guiltyof subversive actions under the Articles of War aswell as the Code of Intelligence. Here, by theway, are the orders under which I am acting now!"

Operator 5 read the flimsy as lights streakedpast; and his lips grew grimly tight:

SPECIAL ORDERS . . . THE SECRETORGANIZATION OF INTELLIGENCE MENMUST BE DESTROYED… EVERY RESOURCEOF THE INTELLIGENCE MUST BEMARSHALED TOWARD THIS END . . . THIS ISNOW OF THE UTMOST URGENCY ANDTHESE ORDERS TAKE PRECEDENCE OVERALL OTHERS...

The signature was that of the Secretary ofState. Operator 5 said nothing as he sent theroadster winding into the remote district where thesecret headquarters was hidden. Soon he drew tothe curb near the address. As he shut off themotor he said quietly:

"It will not be easy, Chief, to execute theseheavy penalties on men who once served us."

"It will not be easy, Operator 5, no. But ourpersonal regrets can make no difference now. Itmust be done. That secret band must bedestroyed. Its leaders must be punished to thefullest extent!"

They slipped from the car, and gazed at thesordid tenement from which Jimmy Christopherhad seen the ex-service men emerge earlier thatnight. As they waited quietly, a dark figure driftedout of the shadows toward them. IntelligenceOperator T-6 stopped alongside.

"I saw two men go in a moment ago, Chief,"he reported. "Something new is in the wind!"

Grimly Z-7 directed: "We'll watch that placefrom different points. I'll take this corner. T-6, youwatch from directly across the street. Operator 5,can you find a position at the rear? You, Tim,stick with him. Listen, carefully. We'll keep oureyes on it for exactly ten minutes. At the end ofthat time we'll close in."

Quietly, the three men checked theirwatches. Then they separated. Z-7 slipped intothe shadows near the corner. T-6 walked brisklywith Operator 5, then swung off and melted intothe darkness of a doorway. With Tim Donovan,Operator 5 rounded the corner and walked alonga board fence. He paused, searching the gloombehind the suspicious building.

"Up, Tim!" he commanded.He helped the boy over the fence, then

vaulted it himself. They crept across a yard, andcleared a second fence. Crouching in thedarkness, Jimmy Christopher studied the rear ofthe house. His hand closed hard on the boy's arm

"Get back in the corner, Tim. I'm going totake a position close to the door."

"Okay, Jimmy! Gee, it's going to be tough onthose men when they're caught— and tough onthe man who's leading them!"

Operator 5 nodded a grim agreement andsignaled the boy away. Tim Donovan crept alongthe fence, to the rear corner. An empty wooden

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crate offered him shelter, and he huddled behindit. Straining his eyes, he saw the faint figure ofOperator 5 drifting along the fence, gliding closerto the house. In the deep shadow of the rear wall,Jimmy Christopher vanished. Tensely, TimDonovan began a nerve-tingling wait.

As he peered through the empty gloom, hesensed activity within the bleak walls of thathouse.

Inside the black room at the front of thehouse stood two men who were wearing skullmasks and skeleton gloves. They had entered theheadquarters together; now they were awaitingthe appearance of the secret leader.Soundlessness surrounded them for longmoments; but at last a rustling movement cameout of the dark. Suddenly a dim light blinked on.

At a black table, shadowed in the glow, athird figure appeared, garbed also in the weirdmask and skeleton gloves. His eyes shone keenlyupon the two— the glittering eyes of the leader ofthe Hidden Hundred. He spoke in low, hushedtones:

"Comrades, I summoned you here forspecial orders, but they must be abandoned. Atthis moment, our headquarters is beingsurrounded by Z-7 and his men. They're planningto close in upon us in a few minutes. I want you toleave this place at once."

His clawlike hand reached to a black curtainat a front window. Pushing it gently aside, hepointed with his bony forefinger. The two maskedmen leaned forward peering along the directionindicated.

"In the doorway— there— T-6! Beyond, on thecorner, Z-7. Behind the house— " He broke offabruptly to snap: "See? Already they're moving ...T-6 is coming toward the door! Don't wait amoment! You know the secret way out! Use itnow!"

He stepped back, the drapes droppedtogether. Quickly, the two men turned and strodeout. Their commander shot one bony hand towardthe light and clicked it out. Darkness filled theroom. Again, as he listened to sounds beyond, bywhich he judged his two lieutenants were leavingby the secret way, he bent to peer through a crackof the curtain.

He saw T-6 mounting to the door. He turnedquickly, to whisk himself through the black curtaincovering the rear of the room— and at that instanta noise stopped him.

A latch clicked. A draft of cold air stirred theroom. The man, T-6, was opening the frontentrance! That door should have been firmlybolted— yet the step of T-6 was already soundingon the bare hallway floor!

A sharp movement ended in a thud. Aripping sound was followed by a louder thump,and a moan. Startled anew, the Hidden Hundred'sleader jerked toward the connecting door. Hishand shot to an electric switch, and snapped it.Dim light, flashing in the corridor, revealed a sightthat poised him rigid and motionless.

T-6 lay on the floor, inside the door— the hiltof a knife protruding from his chest above theheart. And above him, erect, trembling, stood theman who had driven the deadly blade— a manwearing the skull mask and skeleton gloves!

Instantly the leader of the Hidden Hundredleaped forward. The other snatched for a weapon;a gun twinkled in the light. The secret commandergripped the other's gun hand and reached to closethe door. He shot home the bolt, whirled, and hisclawed fingers caught at the eye-holes of the skullmask of the other man. Fabric ripped as heleaped back, and the features of T-6's killer weredisclosed.

Tomas Zastrow!A powerful wrench, and the leader of the

Hidden Hundred tore the weapon from Zastrow'snumbed hand. The daring spy stood defiantly,back to the wall, as steps sounded in the street.They meant that Z-7 was hurrying to follow T-6into the secret headquarters— and Zastrow's eyesgleamed in sudden triumph.

"Now!" he blurted hollowly. "Now you'll behunted as the murderer of a man once yourcomrade!''

The master of the Hidden Hundred answeredin cold fury. "You used the mask which belongedto D-4, Zastrow! You lied your way in on hiswritten orders! You came from 1740, where helies dead— a traitor to every cause he served, butan admirable man compared to you. You'll— "

A sharp knock sounded on the door.The appalling tattoo paralyzed the leader of

the Hidden Hundred for only an instant— butduring that instant, Zastrow lurched forward,jarred him against the wall, and drove out a tellingblow which spun him back through the doorway,dazed.

As Zastrow leaped to the sill then, the frontentrance shook violently. The old door was

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cracking under Z-7's determined impacts. The spywheeled, dashed along the hall, charged at therear door, jerked it open, and sprang through...

Huddled in the shadows of the yard, TimDonovan saw Zastrow's lean figure silhouettedagainst dim light as he leaped forth. The Irish ladsprang up in consternation. As he ran, Zastrowdarted toward the fence. The boy sped into thespy's path and flung himself into a tackle. Hisarms tightened around the lean body and heclung— until a savage blow to his temple droppedhim flat.

Sobbing, he sprawled on the ground.Zastrow was clearing the fence even as hescrambled up again. Bewildered, he saw that thespy was fleeing into the street. His chubby handgroped into his hip pocket as he spurted towardthe open rear door of the house. He dragged outa tiny automatic— a weapon he had specialpermission to carry— and shouldered through. Heheard the crashing of Z-7's shoulder against thefront entrance, and saw a shadowed formhurrying toward him.

The leader of the Hidden Hundred, facemasked and hands gloved uncannily, stoppedshort as Tim Donovan's weapon glinted.

"Go back!'' the boy demanded.Again the front entrance jarred, and screws

screeched as they ripped from dry wood. Thedoor was loosening; a few more blows would tearit down. The Irish lad's weapon leveled grimly asthe eyes of the leader of the Hidden Hundredpeered darkly at him.

"Don't move!""Tim! For God's sake!"The boy froze. He made no move as the

masked leader reached swiftly for his gun. Toostunned to resist, he permitted his smallautomatic to be snatched away. He saw theleader whirl into the darkness behind the flight ofsteps. Dismayed, incredulous, he saw the markedgloves torn off, saw the weird mask slipped fromthe head of the leader of the Hidden Hundred.

"Jimmy!" he blurted.He peered aghast into Operator 5's drawn

face. He was still peering as the front door shookonce again and caved in, as Z-7 sprang through,his automatic glinting. He watched Z-7 take longstrides along the hallway while Jimmy Christopherhastily and surreptitiously stuffed the mask andgloves into an inner pocket. He still stood frozenas Operator 5 stepped into the light, and cried:

"They've broken away, Chief. A secret doorsomewhere— they've escaped through that!"

A snarl broke from Z-7's lips. He trampedback along the hall and peered down at the stillform on the floor— T-6, dead, a knife in his heart.In cold fury, the Washington chief turned away.Jimmy Christopher stood quietly, Tim's widenedeyes upon him, as Z-7 began a swift search of thesecret headquarters on the upper floor.

"Jimmy!" the boy exclaimed again in horror."Easy, Tim," Operator 5 cautioned tensely.

"You had to find out, someway, soon— but it's asecret which must be kept!"

"You know I'll stick with you no matter whathappens, Jimmy."

"Thanks, old-timer! Be careful the chief— "Z-7 rushed back down the stairs. Again be

stopped, peering at the dead T-6. His black eyessmoldered furiously as Operator 5 and TimDonovan came quietly to his side.

"Murdered!" he gritted. "Killed by the HiddenHundred! Their leader is answerable for T-6'sdeath! I'm going after that man now with all thepower of the Intelligence! I'll never stop until I'vegot him for this! Nothing is going to keep me frommaking him pay the full penalty— nothing!"

The lines in Operator 5's drawn facedeepened. He felt the frantic eyes of TimDonovan upon him. There was silence betweenthem— and in the light, the knife of a murdererglittering a promise of doom to JimmyChristopher.

CHAPTER NINETHE SECRET POWER

THE HUGE ROOM, the central agency ofthe far-flung Amalgamated Press, humped andcrackled with activity. In glass-enclosed booths,telegraph instruments kept up a constant clatter,flashing news dispatches over a web of wires, tojournals all over the United States. At a hundreddesks, typewriters clicked and reporters labored.Among them, working at fever heat, was the alertDiane Elliot

Her darting fingers were typing the report ofan exclusive interview she had had with MajorJames Mallard, retired— one of the staunchest

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proponents of the impending rearmamentlegislature. Mallard's statement was startling inthe extreme, and in the heat of her excitement,Diane could picture it printed under scareheadsfrom coast to coast.

"We cannot lie supinely helpless while activeaggression is striking at us day by day in theWest!" her flashing keys printed.

"We must arm because we face gravedanger. Economic war may easily become armedwarfare at any moment— and when it does, wewill lie defenseless

before the foe unless we strengthenourselves. We must arm now, or it will be toolate!"

The excited girl carried her story across theclattering room to her superior, a man working ata large desk, eyes shadowed beneath a greenshade. "I think it's front-page stuff!" she told himbreathlessly.

He took the copy without speaking andrapidly began to read it. She returned to her deskand, mind still alert, resumed a task her interviewhad interrupted.

With sharp eyes, she searched through thefiles of the most recent metropolitan newspapers.Her pencil made scrawling notes. Hurrying to atelephone, she called the number of a housewhich was, in the lexicon of the U.S. Intelligence,designated Address Y— the home of JohnChristopher, father of Operator 5. She knewJimmy had just flown to New York; and now hisvoice answered over the wire.

"I've been checking up, as you asked me to,Jimmy," she reported. "I've a dozen items hereconcerning Basil Van Praag. He's evidentlytraveling all over Europe on a long holiday. Therehave been reports on him almost every day. Thelatest is that he's at Monte Carlo."

Operator 5's voice came to her thoughtfully:"You have a dozen items— and yet Basil VanPraag has a reputation for shunning the limelight.Suddenly he's allowing notices about hismovements to be printed in the world press.Thanks a lot, Di. My theory about him mayamount to nothing, but— " His voice faded.

"Jimmy," the girl said anxiously, "I knowyou've come to town because of the great massmeeting to be held tomorrow night, but— I've afeeling that's not the only reason. You're runninginto serious danger, Jimmy— I know. Please becareful!"

His answer was grim. "I'll do my best, Di,but— I'm in this case to the end."

As she hung up the receiver, Dianewondered at his strange interest in the great BasilVan Praag. The name was a celebrated one. VanPraag was one of the wealthiest men in the world,one of the greatest newspaper owners. Hevirtually controlled the press throughout Europe,and it was rumored that his influence extendedfarther, to across the sea. She looked at the latestitem concerning the man, the item stating that hehad stopped in Monte Carlo only the previousnight, and her puzzlement grew.

Her gaze rose curiously as a man enteredthe humming office. She had seen this strangerappear several times daily for weeks; and alwayshe conducted himself in a quiet, stealthilysuperior manner. Her curious questions as to whohe was had elicited no information. Now shewatched him walk directly to the desk of her chief.

He extended an envelope, then sank into achair. Diane's chief read the letter, tore it to bits,and dropped it in a huge basket. He signaled astenographer and dictated rapidly for a fewmoments. When the stenographer withdrew withher notebook, he summoned a subordinate andgave crisp directions. Soon Diane Elliot saw athick brown envelope placed in the hands of themessenger.

Every day at about this time, this same manhad carried away a similar thick envelope. Dianebelieved its contents to be carbon copies of allthe Amalgamated dispatches for the day. Themessenger continued to wait— and she continuedto watch.

Presently an office boy hurried in carrying toher a huge armload of newspapers fresh from themetropolitan presses. She selected several andreturned to her desk. She was eager to read thereport of her interview with Major Mallard.

But she did not find the report in the first.Startled, she looked in the others. Amazementfilled her when she had completed her search. Innone of the papers could she find the story whichshe had considered to be front-page news.

Impulsively, she strode to the desk of herchief. He was signing a letter, and looked up asshe said: "What's happened to my big story,Chief?"

"Killed." was the succinct answer. "Orders.This is for you. Don't ask any questions about it—I'm too busy."

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Dismayed, she read the letter he had handedto her. "I regret that your services to theAmalgamated Press are unsatisfactory and thatwe must dispense with them, effective at once. Acheck for one month's salary is attached."

Incredulously, she peered at thegreen-shaded eyes of her chief and blurted:"But— why? You know I'm a good reporter. Firingme like this is— why it's not fair!"

"Orders!" He snapped it without an upwardglance. "Sorry, but that stands."

Diane Elliot returned to her desk and satthere stunned. She reread the letter of dismissal.She considered . . . Yes, at last she had beencaught in the strange power recently exertingitself in the Amalgamated headquarters.Reporters of undeniable ability had been ejectedbefore her. A drastic shakeup was in progress—for unknown reasons. She felt grim anger— and adetermination to learn who had ordered herdischarged, and why.

Again studying the waiting messenger, sheglanced at the newspapers. Another hint of thenew power behind the Amalgamated came to heras she read:

GIGANTIC MASS MEETING TO PROTESTARMS BILLS TOMORROW NIGHT

Famed Opponents of Militaristic MeasuresRally Millions Behind Cause.

Tomorrow night, in the great Times SquareGarden, a tremendous meeting to protest theimpending passage of the Arms Bills will beaddressed by Assistant Secretary of StateRandolph Morten. On the eve of the considerationof the munitions measures by Congress, theadherents of peaceful protectivism will strike atelling blow at the militarists whose programthreatens to make the United States thesuspect-imperialist of the world. The entire nationwill back the sentiments of the great meeting.

Reading, Diane was appalled at what sheknew to be deliberate garbling of the facts. Thehuge meeting scheduled for the next evening wasnot alone a protest; it was to be a debate at whichthe proponents of the defense program wouldalso speak. Yet this was not mentioned. This itemwould cause thousands to crowd into the greathall under false impressions— it would bringopponents of the measure out in numbers tooverwhelm those who favored the Arm Bills. The

girl compared this report with another in adifferent paper and noted discrepancies whichcould mean only one thing— deliberate,subversive propaganda!

Another item fascinated her as shecontinued to watch the mysterious messenger:

PRESIDENTIAL POLL REVEALSDEADLOCK IN CONGRESS ON ARMSMEASURES

Personal Inquiry by Chief Executive ShowsSenators and Representatives Evenly Divided—People Must Decide.

What promises to be a complete deadlock,which can be broken only by the will of thepeople, was disclosed in a presidential statementlate today. On the eve of the extraordinarysession of Congress, called for specialconsideration of the Arms Bills, the Presidentdeclared that the outcome will be impossible toforesee until the people themselves rise to makethe momentous decision.

The great mass meeting in New Yorktomorrow night is expected to be the decidingfactor. The President believes that, as the nationresponds to this meeting, Congress will reflecttheir attitude. He expressed fear that the Armsmeasures will be defeated and that the UnitedStates will revert to unarmed helplessness...

Diane's eyes brightened as her chief placeda second brown envelope in the hands of thewaiting messenger. The messenger rose atonce— carrying, she felt sure, the final, completecopies of the day's dispatches— and strode out.Quickly, the girl followed, assuming a casualmanner as she stepped into the elevator cagewith the messenger. She noted the hard lines ofhis face, the contemptuous cast of his eyes.

When he reached the street and signaled acab, she summoned another. The first turned intothe stream of traffic as she slipped a banknoteinto the hand of her own driver. "Don't let that taxiget out of sight!" she ordered. Eyes alert, shesettled back. The chase began.

Through heavy traffic, the two taxis woundnorthward. At Seventy-second street the oneahead turned west, then turned again onRiverside Drive. Traveling more rapidly, Diane'skept close behind. Soon the first drew to the curb

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and the hard-faced man alighted. Diane hurriedfrom her taxi as he entered a huge, imposingapartment building. Daringly, she stepped into thelobby directly behind him, even more daringlyentered the same elevator cab.

His eyes searched her face; hers were achallenge. She did not speak and the cab slidupward until a command from the messengerstopped it. He strode into a hallway hung with fineoil-paintings, and Diane promptly followed.Startled, he paused and scanned her face anew;then, turning without speaking, he strode througha door.

She stepped to it, put a hand to the knob,and listened. She heard a voice say, "The day'sdispatches, sir." Another answered "Good! That'sall," and steps sounded. When another inner doorclosed, she opened the one she faced. Chin lifted,eyes bright, she strode straight into the huge,luxuriously furnished library— straight to the deskupon which the two thick brown envelopes nowrested.

The man behind the desk rose inastonishment. His face was a strange one toher— sharp, shrewd, merciless. The eyes flashedwith dangerous lights as he peered at her. Butcoldly, without fear, she gazed back as she said:

"I'm Diane Elliot. I've just been discharged bythe Amalgamated Press. I don't know who youare or what influence you have there— but Idemand to know why I was fired!"

The man at the desk simulatedastonishment. "My dear young lady," he said icily,"I don't know what you're talking about. I neverheard of you. The Amalgamated Press meansnothing to me. This is a private home. You'vemade a mistake."

She insisted. "I want to know why I wasfired— and who sent the orders your messengercarried."

He bristled. "Are you mad? You can't invadea private home in this manner. If you don't leaveat once, I'll have you taken out!"

Her eyes blazed, but uncertainty filled her.She hesitated, nervously fingering her purse. Theman touched a button; the door behind the girlopened, and a servant entered. "This young ladyis leaving," the man at the desk said.

Diane hesitated. Then, because she realizedthe impetuosity of her move, because no otherresponse was possible, she left the library.

Bewildered, she heard the voice of the manat the desk speaking softly as she stepped intothe hall. She waited for the elevator a longmoment. As she stepped through the open door,her suspicions returned. She was alone in the cabwith the attendant until it paused at a lower level.Then the door opened once more and a youngwoman stepped in. At the sight of her, DianeElliot's nerves gave a jump. The woman wasMayla Lazare!

Diane's mind raced as the car descended.She realized now that a telephone message fromthe library above had ordered a woman spy afterher. She was to be shadowed and watched. Atingling sense of danger filled her as she felt theeyes of the Lazare woman studying her coldly.She pretended not to notice, and when the cabopened at the street level she stepped out with aquickly formed plan of action in mind.

At the curb, she called a cab. A backwardglance showed Mayla Lazare walking away.When she stepped into the taxi, she saw thewoman spy turn quickly and signal another. Grimsatisfaction came to Diane; the move verified hersuspicions. Mayla Lazare was trailing her! Now,deliberately, she gave her driver an address inthe East Forties of Manhattan— the number of thehouse in which Operator 5's father lived.

When at last her cab turned toward itsdestination, she quickly told the driver to stop,slipped out, paid him, and began walking towardthe house designated Address Y. She sensed,without looking, that Mayla Lazare's cab had alsostopped; that the woman was following on foot,now. She moved close to the buildings, thenturned to a doorway below the sidewalk level nextto Address Y.

Her hand eased into her purse and lifted,gripping the butt of a tiny automatic. She heardthe quick steps of Mayla Lazare drawing near.The dark figure of the woman appeared; and atonce Diane Elliot stepped forward. When shepaused, her face was within inches of the womanspy's; her gun was pressing into the other's body.

The woman jerked tight; and Diane saidsoftly: "You wish to learn where I am going? Ill tellyou. It is directly next door. And you're going inwith me!"

Mayla Lazare hesitated. Her dark eyesflashed a threat. But still Diane's gun pressedhard. She shifted so that its pressure started theother forward. Coldly she marched the nowfurious woman spy to the door of Address Y. With

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a key she unlocked the door. Again she forcedher captive forward, up a flight of stairs, throughthe door of a comfortable, warm living room. Attheir entrance, a startled voice said:

"Diane!"John Christopher, father of Operator 5, once

designated Operator Q-6 in the U.S. Intelligence,stared astounded. He was a mild-mannered manwhose face was gaunt, yet kindly. During hisservice he had suffered a serious wound whichhad incapacitated him. Two bullets lay so close tohis heart that no surgeon dared operate toremove them; they constantly threatened JohnChristopher with death. Proud of his son, herelived his own service in the other's exploits.

Isn't Jimmy here?" Diane asked breathlessly."No! He's at MW. Who is this woman?""I'm going to find out," Diane declared

ringingly, "just who she is and what she's doing!"Again, while Mayla Lazare's beautiful face

worked with anger, Diane's gun forced the spyforward into an adjoining bedroom. Carefullytransferring her tiny automatic to JohnChristopher, and while the astounded man keptthe spy covered, she snatched curtain-cords fromthe windows. When she had completed her task,the woman spy lay helplessly bound on the bed.Diane Elliot laughed softly.

Quickly she turned from the room and closedthe door. John Christopher had followed her out,and now stared at her in bewilderment. "Whatdoes this mean, Di? Is this woman connected— "

"With the espionage ring Jimmy's told usabout? Yes!" the girl answered excitedly. "She'sworking with Morten, and scores of others, undera leader so powerful he absolutely controls theAmalgamated. She's in the thick of it— and I'mgoing to learn exactly in what way!"

"Look here!" ex-Operator Q-6 protested. "Ifyou do that you'll be violating the civilian clauseof Section 23 of the Code of Intelligence! Youknow the penalty for that, Di, imprisonment,perhaps for life! You can't run that risk!"

"I'm going to run it," the girl exclaimed firmly."But please don't tell Jimmy. He mustn't know—he'd only try to stop me, and I'm simply not goingto let myself be stopped now. I want to keep thatwoman a prisoner here while I— "

Diane broke off, her eyes shining withdetermination. Suddenly she turned and enteredthe rear rooms, among which was the workshop

of Operator 5. They were filled with strangeapparatus, equipped as a combination radio,chemical and mechanical laboratory.

From a chest of drawers, she quicklyremoved two metal boxes. Then, chin lifteddefiantly, she carried them out, turned to the doorof the room in which Mayla Lazare lay bound, andstrode inside.

John Christopher heard a bolt click into itssocket; and he stared at the panels in wonderingdismay.

Secret Intelligence headquarters MW, inNew York, had not existed a month before and inanother month it would vanish without a trace.Now it was carefully housed in a huge building inthe upper city which, apparently, was one of manywarehouses in the district. Dark, lonesome, itswalls hid humming activity.

On an upper floor, a suite of rooms housedthe files, the communications station and theoffices of the subheadquarters. That of Z-7 waslocated far back in the labyrinth of doors andwalls. In it now stood Operator 5 and TimDonovan, facing the Washington chief. Z-7 hadfollowed them by plane from Washington; hisorders had summoned Jimmy Christopher. Hiseyes smoldered, his voice became edged, as hespoke.

"I am absolutely positive," he declared, "thatthe Hidden Hundred has shifted operations to thiscity. All of our ex-Intelligence men have vanishedfrom Washington. They have come here. I mustknow why. I'm still bound by the orders of theSecretary of State to do everything possible tocrush that subversive organization out ofexistence!"

"Perhaps they're in New York, Chief," JimmyChristopher answered, "because the activities ofthe espionage ring have also shifted to this city—because of the huge mass meeting tomorrownight"

"We are not concerned with that!" Z-7snapped. "Our orders to keep hands off of thatring still stand. Above everything else, the HiddenHundred must be destroyed!''

Operator 5's eyes darkened. "Chief, must ourhands remain tied when the nation faces such acrisis? The forces, pro and con, on the ArmamentBills are now evenly balanced. No man canpredict which way Congress will be forced to vote.Upon that vote depends the destiny of the UnitedStates. The vote, in turn, depends upon the

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response of the people to the meeting tomorrownight. Isn't it a certainty that the espionage ringwill seize that opportunity to decide the issuesomehow? For God's sake, can't we prepareourselves against that emergency?"

"Without the approval of the Secretary ofState, we cannot!"

"The Hidden Hundred is acting in theinterests of the nation— acting without therestrictions of hidebound rules, doing what we areunable to do— and yet you order them destroyed!"

"Because my chief demands it— yes!""Very well, Z-7," Operator 5 answered

tensely. "The Intelligence tomorrow night, willofficially do nothing more than post guards atTimes Square Garden— nothing more than that,while a crisis cries for action! I thank God theHidden Hundred are at work!"

Grimly Jimmy Christopher turned on his heeland strode to the door. As he opened it, a sharpword from Z-7 stopped him. The Washingtonchief's black eyes were shining dangerously. Hisvoice was edged, threatening, as he said:

"I've a growing suspicion of the identity ofthe leader of the Hidden Hundred. If my suspicionis correct— if I find proof to back me up— becertain I'll act swiftly and drastically, my boy!"

The words chilled Operator 5. He forced aslow smile while Tim Donovan's eyes clunganxiously to his face. Quietly, he answered:

"I know you will. You can do nothing else. Iunderstand that fully."

He stepped out and Tim Donovan walkedquickly at his side. They stepped into anIntelligence machine waiting at the curb. The Irishlad's hot hand sought Operator 5's.

"Jimmy— the chief suspects you! If he everfinds proof— gee, it'll be the end of you!"

"It will, Tim," Operator 5 answered gravely."There's no possible doubt of that!"

His fingers gripped the wheel tensely as hedrove south. He did not speak as he followedFifth Avenue along Central Park, then turned eastin the Sixties. Slowing, he glanced at the front ofa staid apartment house. Then his searchingglance swept the street. When he turned the farcorner his lips pressed tightly, and he said in awhisper too low even for Tim's ears:

"Spies are watching for Huntley Walsh andCarleton Victor."

He drove across the city quickly, turningagain so that he soon passed the great hall inwhich the mass meeting was scheduled to beheld the next night. Quietly, he gave orders to theIrish lad.

"This place is supposed to be empty tonight,Tim, but I want you to keep watch on it. The usualpreparations have already been made for themeeting. Keep your eyes sharp for anythingsuspicious— and wait for me near the entrance."

The boy left the car and sauntered away asOperator 5 again turned east. Crossing town oncemore, he pulled to a curb in the East Forties, infront of the home of his father. His searchingglance probed the street shadows as he openedthe lock with a key. He bounded up the stairs,strode into the living-room and stopped short inamazement.

One of the connecting doors opened as heentered. A young woman stepped through it. Ayoung woman with a beautiful face of foreigncast— but a face which sent a chill through him.

"Mayla Lazare!"The young woman stood peering at him

intently. And then a warm smile changed thecoldness of her beauty. "I guess I've done a prettygood job of it, then," she said.

"Di!" Operator 5 exclaimed. He steppedforward, peering incredulously. "It isn't possible!"

"Jimmy— you mustn't try to stop me!" AgainDiane's voice came from the lips of MaylaLazare. "I have a lead I've got to follow. I usedyour make-up kit— and I'm going now. I've afeeling this is going to lead straight to themastermind behind the espionage ring!"

"Good Lord, Di!"Ex-Operator Q-6 stepped from an adjoining

room and Jimmy Christopher greeted himabsently. He strode to the door from which thedisguised girl had stepped. Opening it, he saw asecond surprising sight. A young woman boundhand and foot on the bed, divested of her outerclothing, effectively gagged. The real MaylaLazare's dark eyes blazed hatred at him.

He returned to the living room to see JohnChristopher alone in it. Diane's footfalls weresounding quickly on the steps.

"Di!" he called anxiously. Hurrying after her,he saw the entrance close. He sprang, andopened it. But nowhere on the street did he seethe girl. Unconquerably determined, she was

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hastening to follow the lead she had discovered—a lead promising unknown dangers.

As Operator 5 returned to the living room,John Christopher exclaimed: "There's no stoppingher now, Jimmy! She searched the woman'spurse and found a typewritten order in code. Sheworked it out— a message giving Mayla Lazare anappointment with an unknown man at a secretheadquarters. God knows what she's headinginto, Jimmy!"

Operator 5's eyes darkened with anxiety.Added explanations from his father onlyincreased the dread suddenly weighing his heart.

"There's nothing to do now but let her followit through, Dad!" he decided. "I'm leaving at once,but please stay here. Diane may phone in areport. Mayla Lazare must be watched. And— "

Jimmy Christopher reached for thetelephone and hesitated, while ex-Operator Q-6said quietly: "Son, I realize the odds you're upagainst— and the danger the country is facing.I've been studying our situation in the West and Iknow economic strife there is becoming more andmore bitter. That in fact, is where our real dangerlies. It would be fatal not to arm ourselves againstthe threat. That's why I've telegraphed theSecretary of State and requested that I bereinstated in the Intelligence."

"You've done that, Dad? Even knowing therestrictions we work under now— even knowingthe exertion might be— too much for you?"

"I can't stand idly by and do nothing in thisemergency, Jimmy," John Christopher answered."No matter if it costs me my life, I want to go backinto active service. I'm expecting word from theSecretary at any time. I'm expecting him toaccept me."

Operator 5's eyes lighted. "I hope he does,Dad. I'll be proud to be working with you again."He lifted the telephone, eyes narrowed in thought.Quietly he called a number.

Many blocks away, in a sumptuousapartment, a bell purred in the home of the notedphoto-portraitist, Carleton Victor. Victormaintained impressive studios on Fifth Avenue.His reputation was such that the most outstandingpersonages in the world considered it an honor tosit before his lens. A portrait signed with Victor'sname was a credential of high importance. Here,in this exquisitely furnished apartment, he livedquietly and alone with his estimable Crowe.

Crowe, gentleman's gentlemanextraordinary, answered the summon of thetelephone. With pride and dignity he announced:"The home of Carleton Victor."

"Good evening, Crowe," a familiar voice saidover the line.

"Good evening, Mr. Victor!" The manservantglanced aside at a spotless table, set withgleaming crystal and glittering silver. NightlyCrowe prepared an exquisite dinner for Victor;frequently he suffered the keenestdisappointment when his master did not appear topartake of his cookery; yet a hundreddisappointments could not have led the efficientCrowe to neglect the preparations. "You will notdine at home tonight, sir?" he inquired.

Jimmy Christopher's voice answered: "No,Crowe. I'm very busy."

Crowe did not suspect that the identity ofCarleton Victor was a convenient mask for theactivities of Operator 5. Nor did any of thenotables who sat before the celebratedphotographer's lens dream of it.

When he entered these rooms, Operator 5became Carleton Victor, artist of the camera; andto Crowe his word was higher than the law.

"Very good, sir.""But," Carleton Victor continued, "there is

something I wish you to do for me, Crowe. In mystudy, you'll find my camera case. The large,black one, Crowe. I need it for a special tasktonight. Please carry it directly up the avenuetoward the Vandervoort Hotel, If I don't meet youon the way, I'll meet you in the lobby. Be verycareful of the case, Crowe— and leave at once."

"Very good, sir."Crowe promptly slipped into his topcoat,

wrapped a muffler around his chin, and fitted asquare derby on his head. In the study he tookinto his careful hand the Moroccan leathercamera case of the famous Mr. Victor. Carrying itgingerly as though all the precious things in theworld were contained in it, he left the apartment,then the building, and began walking brisklyaccording to his master's directions.

To reach the Vandervoort Hotel it wasnecessary for Crowe to turn east. He walkedalong the quiet cross street, his pointed noselifted with cool dignity, as if he were conscious ofnothing but the extreme care Mr. Victor'sequipment demanded. He scarcely saw a blackfigure slip from a doorway as he passed it. He

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was first aware of the presence when he feltsomething touch his back and heard a muffledcommand:

"Give me that case!"He turned, frowning— and his face went

white. He was peering at an apparition the like ofwhich he had never seen before. A being garbedin well-made clothing, wearing a hat— indeed, inall respects having the appearance of a normalman— with two startling exceptions. First, thefigure's head was not a head, but fleshless skull!Second, the hands were not hands, but bonyclaws! What was finally and even more disturbingto the estimable Crowe, was that one of thoseskeleton hands was leveling an automatic at him.

Crowe blurted: "I beg your pardon?""Drop that case!"The manservant blinked. His poise remained

unshaken in any emergency, but the presentsituation put a telling strain on it. His hand on thecase handle tightened. He answered, as his nosetwitched nervously:

"I'm carrying out an important mission, sir, ifI may say so. This case belongs to Mr. CarletonVictor and I'm quite sure he wouldn't wish me to—"

"Drop it! Let it go or you'll die where youstand!"

The tip of Crowe's pointed nose grew redwith consternation. The ring of the livingskeleton's voice brooked no disobedience. Theglint of the eyes in the bony sockets were darkthreats. The pressure of the gun over his heartwas disconcerting in the extreme. Indignantly,Crowe followed instructions— except that he didnot drop the case. He lowered it with the greatestcare.

"Turn around! Walk slowly! Don't look back!"Trembling with repressed fury, Crowe

complied. He turned. He walked slowly. He didnot look back. To a man accustomed to executingorders, he found these instructions singularlydifficult to execute, but he strove mightily—remembering the gun. When he reached thecorner he stepped past; then, daring the danger,he glanced back. The street was empty. Theskeleton figure and the case of Carleton Victorwere gone.

Filled with dismay now, Crowe hurriedlyretraced his steps. In no shadow did he find theweird robber. Frantic with anxiety, he hurried on,

to the marquee of the Vandervoort. He steppedinto the luxurious foyer, trembling with profoundconcern, and a sigh of relief escaped him as heglimpsed Carleton Victor sitting comfortably in aneasy chair, casually smoking an importedcigarette.

"Sir!" he exclaimed under his breath asVictor rose. "I've been robbed! Your case hasbeen stolen! I could not prevent it, Mr. Victor. Mylife was threatened!"

Carleton Victor frowned sharply. "What'sthat, Crowe? You've lost my case? A prettyconfession to make! Don't you realize— "

"But I was overwhelmed, sir! The gent— thething— the— I don't know what it was that robbedme, sir, but he— it threatened to murder me onthe spot, if I may so, sir!" Crowe straightened andhis face took on the expression of a martyr. "I begyour pardon, sir. I realize now that I should haverefused, even in the face of that. You entrustedme with an important mission and I have failed.There is nothing left for me to do, sir, but offer myresignation."

"Nonsense!" Carleton Victor said. "I can getanother camera, but in this world there's notanother manservant like you, Crowe. But don'tstand there looking like someone about to beburned at the stake. Get busy! Notify the police!"

"Yes, sir!" Crowe blurted."And then return to the apartment, Crowe. I

recommend also, that you take something to quietyour nerves."

"Very good, sir!"The dismayed manservant hurried in the

direction of an illuminated arrow pointing the wayto telephone booths. A chuckle passed CarletonVictor's lips. He crossed the lobby to thehat-check stand, proffered the very blonde girlthere a brass check. In exchange for it hereceived a black moroccan leather cameracase— the case the skeleton figure had wrestedfrom Crowe.

Smiling, he left the Vandervoort and signaleda cab, which presently carried him westward. Heopened the case and checked its contents—strange devices, carefully stored incompartments. They were of no avail to CarletonVictor in the making of photographs; they were,however, of vital importance to the operations ofOperator 5 and the leader of the Hidden Hundred.

His subterfuge had been necessary becauseof his certainty that Victor's apartment was being

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watched; because the transference of this casefrom Victor to the captain of the Hidden Hundredmust be covered.

He left the cab in front of Times SquareGarden. Tim Donovan was waiting near the foyer.The boy sauntered to his side and spoke withoutmoving his lips, while apparently merely waitingfor a chance to earn a tip from the well-dressedgentleman, for carrying his case.

"There're workmen in there, Jimmy. Some ofthem look suspicious. All the decorations are up,and these men are doing something special— Idon't know what."

Operator 5 passed a coin to the boy andgave him the case. "Be careful of that, youngman." Then, in a lower tone. "We're going to takea look inside, Tim. Follow me."

He rounded the corner, the Irish lad carryingthe case at his side. He paused near one of theentrances.

He found it locked; but, as if accustomed toentering this building in this manner, he drew outhis pack of master keys. Drawing the bolt was notdifficult. He entered a cement vestibule fromwhich stairs rose. With the boy still at his side, heclimbed them.

Quietly, he stepped onto a balcony. Beforehim lay the vast auditorium— huge enough forthree-ring circuses, horse shows, rodeos and polomatches. Spotlights gleamed upon the specialspeaker's platform erected and decorated withtri-colored bunting; the gleam cast the shadows ofmen here and there on the walls.

They were working behind the arena seats,with wire and black bundles. Operator 5 studiedtheir strange actions, then opened his case andremoved a pair of binoculars. The powerful lensesenabled him to examine the operations of themen in detail. He saw that they were openingventilators, heat grilles and hose boxes. Theywere placing the black bundles into these spaces.Thin insulated wires trailed from the bundles. Thewires were being concealed.

Operator 5's eyes sharpened through thebinoculars. His face was grave when he loweredthe glasses.

He removed a small metal box from hiscase. He attached earphones and asuper-sensitive microphone to jacks on the sidesof the box. Other leads connected the device withpowerful but small batteries connected in thecase. He crouched, affixed the headset to his

ears, pressed the rubber-mounted microphone tothe cement floor, and slowly turned a black knob.

Long moments he remained motionlessexcept for the flexing of his fingers on the knob.When he rose his seriousness was even moremarked. He quickly returned the instrument to hiscase. Gloom covered him as he retraced hissteps. Tim strode with him down the stairs;together they stepped outside the entrance. ThereOperator 5 paused, his eyes glinting darkly.

"What is it, Jimmy?" The Irish lad spokeanxiously.

Operator 5 answered slowly. "Those men areinstalling something which is to be actuatedelectrically. They're working alone, under orders,but secretly. When they finish, there will be nosign of their work. As for the other preparations— "

"That device I used, Tim, is an extremelysensitive and powerful sound-amplifyingapparatus. It magnifies any noises it picks upmillions of times. Listening through it, I heardimpulses reverberating through the building. Themen I've already mentioned weren't making them.They would be inaudible by any other means. Itwas the sound of digging— of other men beneaththe building, making some sort of an excavation."

"Gee, Jimmy! Why would anyone be doingthat?"

Operator 5 answered tersely: "I want you totry to find out, Tim. I have a strong suspicion, butit must be verified. Try to learn what's up— butdon't let yourself be seen. Stay here until you findout. Wait until I come back, even if it's not untiltomorrow night. If what I suspect is true, it's amatter of life and death— of the lives and deathsof thousands!"

Operator 5 turned briskly and strode away,leaving the boy staring in dismay. At the corner,he signaled a cab. His orders sent it across town,into the East Forties. He alighted before AddressY and entered briskly. He stepped into the livingroom to find his father seated dejectedly in achair, lost in a spell of painful dejection, holding atelegram loosely in one hand.

"Dad! What's wrong?"Ex-Operator Q-6 looked up haggardly.

"Hello, Jimmy." He spoke wanly. "I— I've justheard from the Secretary of State. He's refusedto— to readmit me to the Service."

Grimness tightened Jimmy Christopher's lipsas he took the telegram from his father's fingers.

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He read the terse, cold message and his eyesblazed:

IMPOSSIBLE DUE TO YOUR AGE ANDPHYSICAL CONDITION TO GRANT YOURREQUEST.

"Brutal!" Jimmy Christopher exclaimed."Dad, you're the best man who ever worked in theService. You can outshine any one of us eventoday. Z-7 would be delighted to welcome youback, but— "

John Christopher rose. "In spite of theSecretary's decision, I'm going to help all I can. Iwant to work with you, Jimmy, unofficially. If you'lllet me serve at your side— "

Quietly Operator 5 answered: "In the crisisfacing this country now, we need men like you,Dad."

He strode to the door of the room in which hehad last seen Mayla Lazare lying bound, aprisoner. He twisted the knob and looked in.

A freezing coldness flowed through his veins.The shock of surprise held him motionless. Hepeered at the rumpled bed, at a closet standingopen showing the disarrayed dresses of DianeElliot, at a window yawning into the court. Hesnapped back, blurted in dismay:

"Dad! Mayla Lazare's broken loose! She'sgone!"

CHAPTER TENPOWER BEHIND POWER

IN THE LOBBY OF THE HUGE building onRiverside Drive, the young woman who was, to allappearances, Mayla Lazare, raised her glovedhand to the elevator button. She waited with tensenerves until the elevator door slid open. Dianestepped into the cab; her heart beat fast as thecar lifted her toward the dangerous place above.

She had hurried directly here from AddressY, and had watched the building carefully throughlong minutes. The cryptic typewritten orders inMayla Lazare's purse had specified the hour of asecret appointment; that hour was now at hand.

The car stopped, and she stepped out. Ashort time ago, as Diane Elliot, she had left thismysterious suite of rooms. Now, as Mayla Lazare,she entered the vestibule while the eyes of asharp-faced manservant studied her. He openedanother door and she strode into the library towhich the strange brown envelopes had beenbrought from the Amalgamated's central office.The same keen-eyed man was sitting behind thedesk. He turned a searching gaze her way.

"I am ready," Diane Elliot said.The man at the desk rose, smiling slowly.

Diane's heart quickened again with the thoughtthat his sharp gaze was penetrating her disguise.She waited an interminable, torturous minutebefore he asked: "Your orders?" She took thecoded slip from her purse and handed it into histhin fingers. He studied it, peered at her again,and said quietly:

"Are you unwell? You seem a bit— changed.""I am quite well," the startled girl answered.

"I— I don't like to be late.""No. Follow me."He opened a door and she passed through.

He led her to the wall, to a huge mural. His handtouched one golden ornament of its frame.Hidden machinery whirred; the great painting slidaside. Behind it showed the waiting cab of a smallelevator. The man urged her forward. As shestepped into it, she felt that she was walking intoa trap.

The painting slid back into place, closing herin the small cubicle. Machinery whirred.Immediately the small cab began to rise. Thecanvas of the painting slid downward, as blankwall took its place. For a long moment, she feltherself lifted; then, gently, the cab clicked to astop.

The panel in front of her parted. She steppedthrough, into a small, luxuriously furnished room.The tapestries on its walls looked rare andpriceless; the several oils were genuine oldmasters. In this silent room, far above the Drive,she stood tensed and waiting until a door openedquietly and a man stepped forward.

His face was cadaverous, his eyes dead; hebowed like an automaton and held the way openfor her. She passed him with a shudder, andentered a spacious library beyond. The richnessof this room also was evident at a glance.Shelves loaded with rare volumes, Ming vases,more genuine old masters, other Gobelin

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tapestries. Yet, fascinating as the decorationswere to one who appreciated their pricelessness,it was the man in the room who drew DianeElliot's eyes magnetically.

He was seated behind a huge, carvedflat-topped desk. His forehead was high, his eyesshadowed deeply by white brows. His white vanDyke was trimmed to a sharp point. His was aface of power— a face she recognized instantly.

This man was Basil Van Praag.The great newspaper publisher rose slowly,

smiling. His graceful gesture invited her to achair. She went to it attempting desperately topreserve her casual manner. She returned hissmile, facing him across the polished desk. In theglow of the lamp, they studied each other insilence.

"It's a long time, Mayla," he said quietly,"since we've seen each other."

Diane forced herself to answer: "A long time.Too long."

Yes, too long. I am delighted to see youagain. You've distinguished yourself admirably inthe cause, my dear. You're one of a rare few whohave faced me here. You see, I trust youcompletely— I rely upon your shrewdness andyour intelligence."

"I'm grateful.""No one but you and Zastrow and Raneo

know I'm in the United States. My subordinates inEurope have been publishing false notices in mypapers, following me on an imaginary trip alongthe Riviera. Perhaps they deceived you too,Mayla. No matter. I've a most important missionto place in your very capable hands."

"I'll do my best.""Of course. There is, my dear, an

organization working under cover against us. It'smade up of daring men— it's powerful! The UnitedStates Intelligence we do not fear, but thisorganization threatens us. It's known as theHidden Hundred."

Diane nodded tensely."Its members are made up of ex-Intelligence

men who boldly defy every law in their purpose toserve the nation which has renounced them.They're not bound by any regulations orrestrictions. They stop at nothing to fulfill theirpurpose. That purpose is to destroy ourorganization— to learn my identity, as the

commander, and destroy me. Now we mustdestroy it!"

Diane Elliot whispered in fascination: "Yes!""You— you'll enable us to do that, Mayla! It's

your task to identify the leader of the HiddenHundred. We don't know who he is, but you mustlearn. You must tear away the cloak of mysterythat conceals him— single him out so he can beremoved, once and for all. Your task canterminate in only one way— by the death of theleader of the Hidden Hundred."

A buzz sounded like a period to the man'ssoftly spoken yet menacing statement. Hereached for his desk telephone, lifted it, listenedwithout speaking. His deeply shadowed eyeswidened. His blue-veined hand went white.Without having uttered a syllable, he slowlyreturned the instrument to its standard. Histension vanished, and he looked again at DianeElliot. He smiled.

"One moment, my dear," he said in awhisper. "I have a visitor whom you must meet."

He rose and went to the door. Diane heard afaint grinding sound— the secret elevator rising.She heard the mechanism part the panel, andquick, light steps come toward the door. In thelight, a young woman appeared— a woman whostopped on the threshold peering at her with eyescold and triumphant, red lips curved mockingly.

The newcomer was Mayla Lazare.As another night rolled across the United

States like a black, uncurling carpet, a newscasterspoke over all major networks, simultaneously.Relayed by booster stations, his speech traveledaround the world.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are speaking toyou from the great Times Square Garden, in NewYork City. Tonight the tremendous mass meetingto decide the fate of the Armament Bills isgathering. The speaking will not begin for almostan hour, but the doors are open and thousandsare crowding to their seats. In the streets outside,thousands more are clamoring for admittance. AllNew York is centering upon this building tonight;all the world is looking at this spot. For, on thisplatform, within a few hours, the fate of a nationwill be decided."

From a hundred antennae, broadcasting tomillions of television receivers, the hubbub of thecrowd could be heard— the voices and footfalls ofthe thousands clambering into the arena and thebalconies of the great Times Square Garden.

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"Late this afternoon," the announcercontinued, "the President repeated his poll ofCongress. The deadlock remains unbroken. Therepresentatives of the people have forgotten partyalliances and personal opinions in their endeavorto decide this momentous issue fairly. Only thevoice of the people of the United States canfinally decide it now. Their response to tonight'sgreat demonstration cannot be foreseen at thismoment but means have been provided so thatthe whole people may speak and be heard heretonight."

Far across the Atlantic and the Pacific,dignitaries of foreign governments listened to thewords. In the Far East, sunlight blazed; in Europeit was past midnight of the previous day; but timewas forgotten as the statesmen of the worldprepared to wait until the American people hadvoiced their decision on an issue which affectedthe military programs of the entire world.

"In this building, ladies and gentlemen," theannouncer explained, "a tremendous bank oftelephone switchboards has been installed, and agigantic assembly of teletype machines. A hugeforce of operators is prepared to receivemessages from all over the nation. Every manand woman is urged to telegraph or telephone hisstand on the vital problem facing us tonight. Eachresponse will be tabulated as it is received, sothat from minute to minute the Congressionalleaders here will know, exactly, the sentiments ofthe majority. Actually this equipment will poll avote of the whole people tonight on a question offirst importance."

The hubbub of the growing crowd carriedanew to the listening millions.

"Tomorrow the extraordinary session ofCongress called by the President to considerthese momentous measures, will meet. Still indeadlock, they're looking toward this meetingtonight as a final expression of the will of thepeople. As the millions of Americans respond tothe speeches during the evening, so will theSenate and the House of Representativesrespond in Washington tomorrow. Never beforehas the nation waited at such fever heat upon thedecision of a question which affects the welfare ofevery one of us so vitally.

"The leaders of both sides of the issue will bepresent here tonight. They've come to New Yorkfrom all points in the nation. They'll listen in onthe heartbeat of a nation through thisunprecedented polling arrangement. The crowd

continues to mob into the building in everincreasing numbers. Soon there won't be a seatleft, nor a spot available to stand. The city's entirepolice force is struggling to handle this greatcrowd. Minute by minute you'll hear the progressof this gigantic meeting now gathering. Stand by,ladies and gentlemen of the radio audience! Hearthe destiny of a nation decided!"

The words of the announcer sounded softlyin a black room in the center of the metropolis. Inall the world there was no other assembly of mensuch as the group which watched intently here. Adim light shown upon the black-draped walls ofthe room, upon their masked faces as they stoodsilent, motionless. Secretly they had gathered;secretly they were preparing to act.

The Hidden Hundred had met.The eyes of the silent men, shining uncannily

in the sockets of their skull masks, looked uponthe masked face of their leader. He stood behinda black table, facing them, as the voice of theannouncer continued to paint the picture of thegrowing mass meeting in Times Square Garden.His voice carried quietly and firmly:

"It's true, patriots. The very destiny of anation rests upon the response of the peopletonight. The demands of the millions must beanswered. If they rise to crash down thearmament measures, our work has been in vain.The Hidden Hundred must bow before them, likeCongress, like the President, if their voicedemands defeat of the defense program.

"But— subversive powers have acted uponthem. The same subversive powers may strikeagain tonight to defeat the measures, with somedesperate subterfuge, if the people speakapproval. We must be on guard against that. Todefeat any attempt to control the will of thepeople is our purpose tonight. Toward that end weare prepared to dare any danger— pay with ourlives if need be. We, we alone, can battle thisdamnable espionage ring. Upon our successtonight, history must hinge.

"Patriots of the Hidden Hundred, you havereceived your orders. Until the proper momentcomes, we must wait."

The masked leader turned, parted the blackdrapes and stepped through them. He passedthrough black doors, until he reached a smallroom at the rear of the secret rendezvous. Hebolted it. There he stripped off his claw glovesand his skull mask. In a shaded light, Operator 5

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took up the telephone and dialed the number ofAddress Y.

"Dad!" he exclaimed when the voice ofex-Operator Q-6 answered. "You've had no wordfrom Diane?"

"None!" John Christopher answered huskily."God knows what's happened to her!"

"Stand by that phone, Dad!" Operator 5 saidtightly. "Lord, it's almost twenty-four hours nowsince she— " He broke off. "Ring me at thenumber I gave you, just as soon as you hear!"

"I will, my boy! Listen! I've just had a callfrom Tim Donovan. He's still following yourorders, watching the Garden. What he told mepromises danger and yet, we can't know— "

"What did he tell you?""Tim believes workmen have been tunneling

under the Garden from an abandoned freightsubway. He's seen broken stone tracked awayand boxes carried into a building nearby whichmust connect with the secret excavation. Theboxes are painted so their labels can't be read,but Tim believes they contain dynamite. Whatcan it mean, Jimmy?"

Operator 5 answered tersely: "I dare not say!Stay by that phone, Dad. God— if only Di couldget some word through!"

Jimmy Christopher replaced the instrument.He rose and paced back and forth across the littleroom. Beyond, his men were awaiting the order tobegin their planned actions. Across the city,thousands were mobbing upon Times SquareGarden. Minute by minute, the time for thebeginning of the great mass meeting wasapproaching...

An electrical tension tightened over themetropolis— and even the girl held prisoner in anisolated turret above Riverside Drive felt thetingle of its import.

In that tiny space, Diane Elliot moved aboutnervously. Through the window, she looked uponthe twinkling light of the city, the glistening blackwidth of the Hudson. Since she had been throwninto this room, the door had not opened once. Herhunger was a growing pain. Fatigue throbbedthrough her body. Anxiety had not allowed herany sleep. Beyond the door, she heard thesounds of mysterious activity while she remaineda forgotten prisoner in the tower.

She peered out, at another window whichopened in the sheer wall beyond the corner. It

faced hers, at right angles, four feet distant. In theroom beyond, she heard voices speaking faintly,and had seen movements. Lights had beenburning in it almost constantly; but now, as shewatched, they blinked out.

Her gaze bad gone again and again to thewindow, in a hopeless hope. For, just beyond thesill was a desk, and on the desk rested atelephone. She had seen the well-kept hands of aman moving over the blotter as he worked at thedesk, sometimes using the instrument. Now thehands were gone, the room darkened and thetelephone sat in sight; yet out of reach beyondempty space.

Out of reach? She struggled again with theproblem of how she might possibly reach it.Through both windows, somehow— she knew itwas impossible to bring her hand close enough totouch it. Even if, somehow, she could drag it outof the other window— she could not possibly spinthe dial to call a number.

The evident impossibility only spurred hermind on. Her eyes, as they had scores of times,searched the room for some implement by whichshe might—

Her eyes widened, suddenly. She climbed tothe sill of her window and lifted the roller blindfrom its fixture. Her blood tingling, she unrolledthe blind and ripped it from the rod. She turnedagain to the window. Raising the sash, sitting onthe sill, gripping the frame with one hand, sheleaned out and reached with the other, pushingthe stick toward the pane beyond which thetelephone sat.

The far end of the rod touched the lower endof the sash. She scarcely breathed as she tried topry it into the crack, to force the sash upward.Beneath her, as she worked, yawned emptyspace. The hand which supported her, curledaround the window-frame, ached with tension. Tolose her balance would mean a plunge down thesheer wall to certain death. Leaning far out, shetried breathlessly to poke the window open.

Her efforts infinitesimally widened the crack.And once it widened, it gave more easily.Working the rod like a lever, her eyes shininghopefully now, she slid the sash upward fourinches— six— eight. Once the opening was largeenough to pass the telephone, she drew back,forced to rest, her breath pumping. Then, again,she leaned backward out of the window, reachingwith her rod, straining every muscle to keep her

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balance while attempting to slide the telephonetoward the sill.

She found it impossible to pull the instrumenttoward her with the stick. Again she drew back,momentarily baffled. On a sudden thought, shedrew hairpins from her hair. She twisted onetightly around an end of the rod, and theprotruding end she fashioned into a small hook.She leaned out again eagerly, and reachedthrough the other window. She drew the hookupon the cord near the base of the instrument;and when she pulled, the telephone slid towardher.

It crossed the sill, dropped. The transmitterfell from its standard and dangled by the cord.She heard the faint buzz in the receiver whichmeant the line was opened, waiting for the dialingof a number. The telephone was useless to herunless, somehow, she could get the transmitterinto her hand. Again she reached with the hook,far down, attempting to catch the lower cord.

Her feet slipped and she tottered on the sill.White-faced, she strained to regain balance.Tightening her grip, she reached again. This timeher hook caught the cord connecting the base andthe transmitter. Carefully, she pulled it toward her.She was forced to free her other hand— the onewhich kept her balance— in order to reach with it.When she drew back, the blood pounding in herears, she held the transmitter-receiver— while,from the taut cord, the base of the instrumentdangled in space between the two windows.

Now she could bring the receiver to her ear,the transmitter to her lips— but the dial was out ofreach. Balancing again on the sill, she strove totouch it, but the effort was futile. She knew atonce that an attempt to spin the dial with the endof the stick was hopeless... Then sheremembered something and her eyes shone withnew hope.

Carefully, she reached with the stick so thatshe could press it on the contact bar of thestandard. Quickly, ten times, she broke thecontact. She waited anxiously, knowing that heraction was the equivalent mechanically of dialingthe zero. Forty-five seconds ticked past like aneternity. Then, like a voice from heaven, theexchange operator spoke over the line.

"What number did you call, please?"Diane whispered into the transmitter the

number of the telephone at Address Y. "Get itquickly!" She scarcely breathed as she waited.

"Will you hang up, please, and dial the numberagain?" the operator said automatically "No, no!"the girl blurted. "I can't! Get it for me! Please!"Then again an agonized wait until a man's voicerasped over the line, the voice of JohnChristopher. She called his name, whispered herown.

"Di! Good Lord!""Listen, Dad!" She spoke in a feverish rush.

"I'm being held in the penthouse on RiversideDrive!" Quickly she added the number. "It's theheadquarters of the espionage ring, of which BasilVan Praag is the leader. He's here!"

"— an Praag?""Yes! Tell Jimmy, Dad! He suspected it long

ago, and now it's certain. Van Praag's power isbehind it all! Never mind about me, but tellJimmy!''

"I'll ring him the instant the wire's open!""Now, Dad! Now!"She reached desperately to depress the

contact bar of the standard and break theconnection. She allowed the telephone to dropagainst the outside wall. Muscles aching, sheendeavored, with the hooked rod, to lift theinstrument and replace it on the desk. After ascore of tries she abandoned that move asaltogether hopeless.

She backed breathlessly from the yawningblack space, knowing now that if anyone enteredthe other room and found the telephone danglingover the sill, it would betray the fact that she hadsent a warning...

Across the city, in Address Y, ex-OperatorQ-6 rapidly dialed a number— the one JimmyChristopher had given him. His blood thuddedwhile he waited for the connection to go through.When the voice of Operator 5 answered, JohnChristopher spoke rapidly, breathlessly. Hisstartling message completed, he slammed theinstrument down, snatched up his hat, dashed forthe door, and hurried out...

Many blocks away, Operator 5 rose tenselyfrom the telephone in the little black room at therear of the headquarters of the Hidden Hundred.With the words of his father still ringing in hisears, he swiftly drew on skull mask and skeletongloves. He strode rapidly along a black hallway,flicked aside black curtains and stepped into theroom where the clan of living skeletons waited.

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They faced him alertly— men whose faceswere apparently mere skulls, whose hands werebony claws. They stood silently, looking into theblazing eyes in the white sockets of their leader'shead; and during a moment's hush, the networkannouncer spoke, penetrating a dull roar.

"The great crowd is giving a deafeningovation, ladies and gentlemen, to the speakerwho has just been announced. Now the greatmass meeting has actually begun. The first pleain this momentous debate is about to be spoken.The deafening cheering you hear, ladies andgentlemen, greets that great champion ofdisarmament, that statesman who is zealouslyopposed to the passage of the Armament Bills—Assistant Secretary of State Randolph Morten!"

Operator 5's voice crackled into the roarissuing from the speaker.

"Patriots of the Hidden Hundred! Orders!"

CHAPTER ELEVENSKELETONS IN ACTION

A TAXI SPED UP RIVERSIDE drive underimperative directions given the driver by thegrim-faced passenger. The famous thoroughfarewas almost deserted. All New York had moved inmass concentration around Times Square and thegreat auditorium in which the destiny of a nationwas being made tonight. Past red lights the cabfled, to pull up at last with creaking brakes. Fromit, as he tossed a banknote to the driver, Operator5 alighted. In one hand he carried the mysteriouscase he had stolen from himself as CarletonVictor.

He stood rigid, peering at the rising facade ofthe building, seeing a gleam of windows at itspeak. Stepping toward the entrance, he heardquick footfalls and turned to see a gaunt-facedman striding toward him— John Christopher.

"Dad!" he exclaimed. "You're taking achance by— "

"I couldn't stay back, my boy!" ex-OperatorQ-6 exclaimed. "I'm with you on this to the end!"

Jimmy Christopher's lips tightened. "There'snot a moment to waste, Dad. Stick with me, if youinsist— but be prepared for any danger."

Operator 5 shot a quick glance up and downthe drive. He glimpsed a parade of taxicabsdrawing rapidly closer. They were swinging to thecurb, and men were alighting from them. Theybegan gathering toward the apartment housefrom side streets and from a score of points alongthe Drive, as Jimmy Christopher stepped into thefoyer. After touching the elevator button, hewaited tensely. His nerves went tight as the doorslid open.

He stepped in and ordered: "All the way tothe top— as fast as you can make it!"

"I can't take you up, sir, without announcingyou. Very strict orders and -!"

Jimmy Christopher's hand flicked inside hiscoat and reappeared gripping an automatic. Thestartled attendant recoiled.

"Up— fast!" came the ringing command. Agloved hand closed on the control switch. Grimly,Jimmy Christopher faced the dismayed operatorwhile he passed his case to his father. "Keep holdof that, until I need it, Dad!" Floor after floorflicked past; and at last, automatically, the cabslowed.

"Take charge of this car, Dad," JimmyChristopher directed quietly. "Ask no questions ofthe men who come up— but get them up asrapidly as possible."

Slowly he slid the door open and steppedalertly into the luxurious reception room. Hisautomatic was holstered now. He turned toward adoor as it opened, and peered at the rat-eyedmanservant who approached.

"You have an appointment, sir?""I have," Operator 5 said tightly, "and I'm

keeping it now— in a very special way."He stepped forward threateningly and the

hand of the startled sentry flashed to his hip.Jimmy Christopher's right hand shot out in alightning swift blow. His stiff fingertips struck tothe throat of the other man as a gun glittered inthe light. A hot gasp sounded Instantly, themanservant's body went rigid. Operator 5 caughthim as he toppled, lowering him quietly to thePersian rug. Knowing his ju-jitsu had renderedthis man unconscious for the better part of anhour, he straightened, peering at the doors whichwalled the reception room.

He tried several, and found them locked. Hepeered into two empty rooms. He sensedmovement beyond another. He turned from it as awhirring sound came from the elevator shaft. He

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signaled silence as the door opened quietly. JohnChristopher was at the car's controls, and fifteengrave-faced men stepped out of it quickly.

They made no sound as they brought masksfrom their pockets and drew them over theirheads, as they pulled on white-painted gloves. Amoment transformed them from men intoapparitions. Their claw-like hands drew guns.They waited tensely as Jimmy Christopherreached again for the knob of the door behindwhich he had heard movements. He tensedhimself as a voice came through quietly:

"Tonight we taste victory! Tonight we doomthe United States to everlasting helplessness. I'mgoing now to watch the American peoplesentence their own nation to destruction!"

Steps came toward the door. Operator 5'squick moves flicked his own mask from hispocket. He drew it on quickly, and tugged into hisgloves. The footfalls paused near the door, and asecond voice said:

"The Master has already left. He's takenpains that no one will recognize him. He'splanned well. Yes, we are prepared for anyemergency!"

The knob turned. Suddenly the door opened.Light streamed through as a man stepped throughand stopped short. Rigid, frozen withconsternation, he stared into the receptionroom— at the figures with skulls for heads.

A strangled cry broke from him as heretreated a step, grabbing toward an arm-pittedgun.

"Don't touch it, Zastrow!"Operator 5's ringing warning did not stop the

darting hand of the master spy. He leaped backas Jimmy Christopher's automatic flashed out.Shots blazed. Slugs whipped across the librarybeyond as the tin-faced man at the desk leapedup. Operator 5 snapped, "Stay back!" to his men,and bounded through. Again bullets spat— afusillade rocked the room.

A bullet from Jimmy Christopher's guncrashed into the light overhead. Only thegreen-shaded lamp on the desk remainedburning, filling the library with a dim, reflectedglow. At the desk, the thin man straightenedconvulsively, clawing at his throat. His fingersdripped with blood gushing from a wound in hisneck. He whirled behind the shelter of the desk,firing swiftly— and suddenly Operator 5 staggeredand toppled.

Zastrow rose tensely. "God!" broke from hisnumbed lips. He aimed to fire into the prone bodyof the masked Jimmy Christopher; but a suddenterror turned him. He sped into the next room,touched the secret wall-button which slid the hugeoil-painting aside. He leaped into the hiddenelevator and the panel closed again.

He was not aware that Jimmy Christopher'ssharp gaze had followed his every move.Operator 5 sprang up instantly unhurt. His fall tothe floor had been a subterfuge to trick Zastrowinto a retreat which might reveal just such secretrecesses. Now, his one gloved hand jerking thedoor wide, he commanded: "Take charge!" Theelevator door opened again, allowing a secondsquad of the Hidden Hundred to crowd forth. Hespun and raced after Zastrow.

His fingers sought the secret contact andfound it. The panel slid aside again to reveal theautomatically operated cab. He stepped through,paused, held the panel open, and snapped acommand. A moment later, the Moroccan leathercase was brought to him, and two men came tohis side. Then the painting slipped into its socket,and the secret elevator rose.

The blank wall slid downward, as the carcrawled slowly upward. It stopped. Before theeyes of Operator 5 and his two maskedassistants, the panel parted. He stepped forward,placing his case on the floor directly outside,peering at the door. Beyond, there was anelaborate desk— the desk at which Diane Elliothad seen the great Basil Van Praag sitting. Now itwas deserted. And into the room from theconnecting doors there came, with a sudden rush,hard-faced men, guns gripped in their hands.

Jimmy Christopher's automatic blazeddefiance. The automatics in the hands of theskeleton men at his side blasted into the roars ofthe enemy's challenging guns. Lead beat uponthe men who charged from the doors. Slugswhistled across the desk of Van Praag with suchfury that the attackers were driven backward.Operator 5 whirled as the men retreated throughthe doors, commanding: "Close them in!"

His gun spat its last bullet, flashing fear intothe eyes of crouching men beyond a doorway, ashe gripped the knob and pulled. He twisted thekey in the lock. His two comrades in the HiddenHundred were backing from two other doors.Bullets cracked and splinters flew as Operator 5shifted to a corner, eyes alert.

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From an inner pocket, he brought a clip toreplace the empty one in his automatic. Heordered his men to remain on watch, then movedtoward the one door in the wall which had notopened. His hand twisted the knob alertly; hepeered through. Deep in a long, dimly lightedcorridor, he saw two figures hovering side by side.They were peering at the opening door,automatics in their hands.

Tomas Zastrow's eyes gleamed cruelly—Mayla Lazare's beautiful face was a mask.Through his weird cowl, Operator 5 studied them.He straightened, his own automatic held low, yetlevelly. Deliberately, coldly, he opened the doorwide. He stepped directly into the corridor, in fullview of the two spies— a being who seemed to bea clothed, living skeleton. With slow, even steps,he strode toward Zastrow and the woman as theypeered at him in horror.

"You may drop your guns now," his muffledvoice sounded, "or you may choose to die."

The woman's answer was a quick pull of thetrigger. A bullet blasted along the length of thehallway and nipped at Jimmy Christopher's arm.His slow steps did not stop. His gaze did notflicker. Like a harbinger of doom, he glided closerto the terrorized pair. Suddenly, the automatic inhis clawed hand spat. A scream broke from thelips of Mayla Lazare as she felt her automatic tornfrom her fingers by a magic power. She sprangaway.

She left her automatic lying on the carpet,scarred by the bullet which had struck it, andflung herself into the nearest room. Operator 5'sadvance went on inexorably. From the bonysockets of his skull-head, his gleaming eyesshone at Zastrow. The lean spy was straightening,tensing for the moment that would bring death—death to him, or death to the apparition driftingtoward him. Horror stiffened his trigger finger ashe pointed his weapon directly at Operator 5'sheart. And Jimmy Christopher, his own guntwinkling in the light, advanced ...

"Now, Zastrow!" he challenged. "Now!"With a wild impulse Zastrow jerked at the

trigger. Flame blazed from the automatic,thundering into the report that came at the sameinstant from the gun in the clawed hand. It lightedhis widened eyes as they followed the clothedskeleton's quick move against the wall. His jawdropped as a whining breath passed into hislungs. His automatic spun from his fingers.

Stupidly, he peered down at the tiny black holedirectly above his heart.

Then he fell. He was dead as he hit the floor.The ghostly figure with the skull-head whirled

and peered along the corridor. "Diane!" camethrough the fabric of his mask. He strode swiftly;he stopped short as he heard a startled answer:"Jimmy! Jimmy!" It led to a door; he twisted theknob and found it firm, the keyhole empty."Steady, Di!" His gloved hand moved toward thepocket in which he kept his pack of master keys.

An explosion of voices beyond the outerdoor startled him. Quick footfalls sounded. Heturned to see masked men crowding in. Amongthem, amazed by the sight of the weird figures,was John Christopher. Ex-Operator Q-6 strode atthe side of an alert figure who spoke ringingly toOperator 5.

"We're trapped, captain! Intelligence menare in the lobby, sir— coming up! Z-7's with them!We're holding them back, but it's only a questionof seconds— "

"Mass against them!" Operator 5commanded. "Don't fire a shot— but you've got tobreak past! We've got them at a disadvantage—there can't be many because most of them are atthe Garden tonight! My case, X-1! Take charge!"

X-1 whirled to follow orders. Quickly,Operator 5 turned to the door on which Diane'shands were pounding. John Christopher stared athim in dismay as he bared his master keys.Quickly, he hammered at the bolt and drew itback. One of his lieutenants pressed his case intohis hands as he twisted the knob and steppedthrough.

Diane Elliot backed in unbounded surprise asthe strange figure with the skull-head entered.She peered past at John Christopher, and hehurried to her side. Fascinated, they watched thequick movements of the leader of the HiddenHundred. Near the window, he was opening hiscase.

From a compartment inside, he whisked acoil of thin, silken rope. Quickly, he knotted oneend of it around the radiator under the window;then tossed the coil outward. It snaked into thedarkness as he turned and commanded crisply:

"Down!"John Christopher urged as the girl hesitated:

"You've got to do it, Di! Z-7's coming up! If hesees you here— if he connects you with the spyring, it means— "

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"Down!" the command rang, again, moresharply.

Diane's face went white as she hurried to thesill. She gripped the rope in her trembling handsand mounted the sill. Eyes flickering at the dreadfigure with the skull-head, she lowered herself.Her breath stopped as she slid downward, peeringat the light of the window above. She dared notglance into the chasm of darkness below. Handsaching, body throbbing with the effort, shelowered herself with desperate quickness whilethe skull-head peered down at her.

Operator 5 stepped back quickly andsignaled John Christopher. "After her, sir!Quickly!" Ex-Operator Q-6 did not hesitate. Fromthe outer offices, the sound of quickly moving feetand the gruff mingling of voices were audible.Snatches of sentences indicated that Z-7 and theIntelligence men had entered the lower offices;that a fight was in progress between the servicemen and the Hidden Hundred. He peered down,saw that Diane had disappeared into the darknessof the court, and closed his hands tightly on therope.

Jimmy Christopher peered down until hisfather became almost invisible in the gloombelow. Through the door behind him came astartled: "Hurry it, sir! Z-7's coming up on thespecial elevator!" Operator 6 swung over the sill.He coiled the rope around his legs and slid.Windows flashed past him. While he was stilldescending, he felt a vibration through the rope,and peered up.

A woman was poised on the sill of the highwindow. Mayla Lazare. Her face white with terror,her skirts fluttering in the wind, she snatched atthe tight rope. She balanced herself precariouslyas ringing voices behind warned her of imminentcapture. Hands wrapped on the rope, she loweredherself out of the light. It slipped through herfingers and burned; the very pain made itimpossible for her to grip it more tightly. Withincreasing speed, she slid downward. Operator 5,far below, heard a scream of terror tear from herlips.

Her hands were burned to the bone againstthe thin strand. Another scream tore from her lipsas she plummeted. Jimmy Christopher saw hershadow fluttering against the side of the buildingwhile she plunged. His feet struck the cement ofthe court and he whirled away with a gasp. Aninstant later, there was a violent, sickening thudas the body of Mayla Lazare bounced alongside.

The plunge must have broken every bone in herbody.

The figure with the skull-head whirled. Oneof his clawed hands snatched the wrist of theterrorized Diane Elliot. John Christopher hurriedafter them as they hastened to an entrance in thebasement of the building. There, in light shiningfaintly through a pebbled pane, JimmyChristopher paused.

Quickly, he snatched off his gloves andpulled the skull mask from his head. He noted thedismay in his father's eyes and the rush of colorto Diane's face. A grim smile tightened on his lips.

"Jimmy!" the girl blurted. "Van Praag gaveme the job of finding the leader of the HiddenHundred thinking I was Mayla Lazare— and theleader is you!"

"Yes, Di.""Good God, Jimmy!" John Christopher

blurted. "The whole Service is ordered to get you!You're risking everything— "

"Because it's the only way, Dad! I'm askingno quarter and giving none. The Hidden Hundredis fighting this out to the end!"

Ex-Operator Q-6 stared. "The fact that you'retheir leader, my boy, completely vindicates themin my mind! Listen— the Secretary of State hasrefused my services. I can't stay idle. I offermyself— if you'll have me— as a member of theHidden Hundred!"

Operator 5's eyes lighted. "There's at leastone vacancy now, Dad. God knows how manythere'll be after tonight— but now there's at leastone, that of the man who was once D-4 of theIntelligence, who became X-13 of the HiddenHundred. His place is yours if you'll have it— andI'll be proud to have you at my side."

"I accept, Jimmy!"Tightly, ex-Operator Q-6 gripped hands with

the man whose life was masked under so manyidentities. His clasp pledged his devotion toOperator 5, to Carleton Victor, to HuntleyWalsh— and, in eternal faith, to his son, theleader of the Hidden Hundred.

CHAPTER TWELVEA NATION SPEAKS

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EVERY STREET LEADING TO THE greatTimes Square Garden was choked with cars,thronged with multitudes. Every available bit ofstanding space was filled. Heads peered from theopen windows of surrounding buildings; stoopswere piled with people; hundreds stood or sat onthe tops of cars caught in a swamp of traffic. Themajor part of New York's police force struggledvainly to clear the ways. Thousands crushed inthe mob and cheered the voice issuing from thepublic address system installed to carry into thestreets.

The tones of Assistant Secretary of StateRandolph Morten rang out resonantly.

"The millions we would spend on armamentare a means of committing national suicide. Thevery fortification of our bases in the Pacific islighting the fires of war! Let us not burn ourmillions in the furnace of armed conflict. Let ususe them to nurture humanity, instead of todestroy it! Let us raise our hands to the world—hands empty of weapons— and declare sincerelythat our highest desire is for peace!"

Cheers roared through the crowd as a line ofmen worked their way desperately along thesidewalk, and fought toward an entrance of thebuilding to which patrolmen opened the way. Theforemost of them, flashing credentials, thus ledthem past packed thousands, into the great hall.Outside the arena he paused and drew themaround him.

Operator 5 said quietly: "Join your fellowpatriots and take your posts. Keep constantly onthe alert!"

The men nodded. Operator 5 left them atonce, climbing crowded stairs. He worked his waytoward the rear of the platform erected at the oneend of the tremendous arena. He paused to studythe spectacle of the unprecedented crowd in thehuge building.

Every seat in the vast auditorium was taken.In violation of the fire regulations, because thehundreds of firemen had found it impossible tocombat the pressure of the mob, thousands morewere crowded into the aisles. The four balconies,as well as the arena, were massed. Operator 5'seyes grew dark with dread at the thought of whatterrible disaster would result if terror should strikeinto the midst of such a crowd . . .

On the platform, in bright light, addressingthe multitude through the public address system,

the nation and the world through banks ofmicrophones and television cameras— AssistantSecretary of State Morten was speaking. Hisvoice rang loudly and clearly into the reaches ofthe auditorium, ringing with deep felt fervor.

"A nation does not prepare for just any war. Itdoes not prepare for war in general. It preparesfor a specific, planned war. That's a fundamentalaxiom which even our greedy militarists willadmit, a truth the whole world knows. The wholeworld looks upon us now as an aggressorthreatening its safety with our plans to increaseour armament— looks upon us with a fear that willgrow until inevitably we'll be shedding the bloodof our youth in another frightful war which willencompass the world. A war for which the UnitedStates must, in all history, be held solely guilty!"

Operator 5 strode closer to the rear of theplatform. Out of sight of the crowd, he stoodcurtained by the hanging bunting, again studyingthe impressive scene. He brought from hispocket, a small, powerful pair of binoculars. Hewas preparing to use them when a small figurehurried toward him, and a hard hand caught at hisarm.

"Jimmy!"Operator 5 peered at Tim Donovan. "Still on

the job, old-timer? Good boy! Have you beenwatching— ?"

"I've checked up again, Jimmy! There'ssomething planted in and under this building, butthe wires are hidden so well they can't be traced!"

"I'm afraid you're right, Tim," Operator 5agreed quietly. "And if the signal is given— " Hisvoice faded. "Stand by, Tim. I'll need you."

He raised the binoculars and peered throughthem at the rows upon rows of men and women inthe forefront of the audience. At a glance, herecognized many of the faces magnified throughhis lenses— Senators, Representatives, membersof the President's cabinet, officers of the Armyand Navy, the leaders of great civilianorganizations backing the armament program. Tothese reserved seats had come many men andwomen whose names were known around theworld— ; and now they were listening intently,solemnly, to the scathing denunciation of theArms Bills by Assistant Secretary Morten.

Morten's oratory had earned him famethroughout the country. But never before had heswayed a crowd so magically. The thousands satspellbound as his voice rose, as he approached

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the climax of his address. Every face was rapt,every eye was shining upon the AssistantSecretary.

Jimmy Christopher's lenses showed himscores of Intelligence men on duty in theauditorium, detailed here by the orders of Z-7.Thousands of city policemen were also inevidence, near the exits. Along the fringe of thecrowd, alert, eyes sharp, were the faces of thosewho made up the Hidden Hundred. A grave lightshone in Operator 5's eyes as he continued toscan the faces of those nearest the platform.Then, abruptly, his lenses paused.

Their circle now framed a lean face, the eyesshadowed by shaggy brows, the pointed van Dykemasking a cruelly thin mouth. Quickly, he shiftedthe glasses to Tim, and directed the boy to studythe same face. His voice was a whisper as hedeclared:

"Never forget that face, Tim. It's disguisedcleverly— but there's no doubt the man behind itis Basil Van Praag! He's one of the most powerfulfigures in the world— here, tonight, incognito. Theman speaking now is his lieutenant. It's VanPraag's work which threatens to defeat thearmament bill— his leadership of the mostdangerous espionage ring that ever operated inthe United States!"

The boy drew back, eyes widened in dismay."Through the newspapers in Europe, he

controls whole governments. His orders cantransform his publications into powerful weaponsfor or against any regime. He's raised bribery toits highest limits— for he collects huge, secretsums from the governments he serves. InEurope, his papers have preached armamentuntil now every power is stronger than everbefore. At the same time, he's bought control ofpowerful agencies in this country— theAmalgamated, for instance and through them hasadvocated disarmament. Europe to arm! Americato disarm! His weapon is a two-edged swordagainst us!"

The boy glanced past Operator 5, and atanother entrance, saw the grim-faced Z-7.

"Van Praag is no doubt making himself therichest and most powerful man in the world—especially if his tactics to crush the defensemeasure succeeds. Keep your eye on that man,Tim. Watch his eyes move. If he leaves his seat,follow him, and at the first opportunity, report to

me. You'll find me either in the wire room, or nearthe office of Randolph Morten."

"Trust me, Jimmy!"Z-7's voice grated as he neared Operator 5.

"Thank God you've been on the job! I was calledoff by startling information from MW. One of ouroperators spotted some of the ex-Intelligencemen and trailed them to an apartment house onRiverside Drive. I signaled a raid— and I have toconfess a miserable failure. We had two score ofthe Hidden Hundred trapped, and every one ofthem escaped us! Their leader among them!"

"Better luck next time, Chief!" Operator 5said it quietly.

"We failed because we were outnumbered.Damned strange! Not a shot was fired against us,and yet those men faced the extreme penalty ifthey were apprehended. They were acting onorders from their leader, and those orders giveme a clue to his identity. I'm going to run thatman to earth, Operator 5. I'll never quit this caseuntil I do!"

"I'm positive of that, Chief," JimmyChristopher answered gravely.

Z-7's eyes smoldered. He gestured with ahand which held several scribbled notes. "Anotherstrange thing was just reported to me by myoperator in charge of this detail: the proponents ofthe armament bills are here in full force. Not oneof them has failed to attend. Yet one after anotherof the big leaders of the disarmament factionhave sent their regrets or simply failed to appear."

"I know, Chief," Operator 5 answered. "I'vealready noticed that. All the leaders in favor offurther arming the United States are here,including the Senators and Representativeswhose votes must decide the issue at theextraordinary session of Congress tomorrow. Ifsome strange power should strike at them—destroy them tonight— the armament cause wouldbe completely lost."

"What?" Z-7 snapped. "What do you meanby that? What the devil are you driving at?"

"If I explained, you'd think me mad." JimmyChristopher signaled Tim Donovan and the boybegan to sidle away, intent on carrying out hisorders to keep the great Basil Van Praag underobservation. "Perhaps I'm dead wrong. I hope Iam, but— "

He broke off as a tremendous ovation shookthe hall. Thousands of voices rose in a deafeningcheer. Operator 5 turned to observe thousands

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who roared their approval of Randolph Morten'sstirring speech. The Assistant Secretary hadcompleted his address. Bowing to the thunder ofthe mob, he was withdrawing to the rear of theplatform.

"God!" Z-7 exclaimed. "Apparently thepeople are behind him. It can only mean that thearmament measures are doomed!"

"Perhaps not, Chief," Operator 5 answered."The crowd here is only a small fraction of thoselistening to the speeches. The millions scatteredover the country are not a part of this mob, notsubject to the spell of mass psychology. They'reseparate entities, each thinking for himself. It'sthat response which will tell."

Operator 5 stood quietly until the furorsubsided, until the chairman of the great meetingadvanced to the microphones. A voice rang outover the crowd:

"Ladies and gentlemen, the champion of thearmament cause will address you now. MajorGeneral Falk, Chief of Staff of the United StatesArmy and Navy."

A hush filled the hall as General Falkstepped toward the microphone. He began in alow, modulated voice. His words carried into thegreat auditorium with a ring of sincerity. Quietly,his voice yet vibrating with power, he began:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, citizens of theUnited States— I face you with a sense of shame.I am the highest officer, except for myCommander in-chief, the President, of the armedforces of the greatest nation on the face of theglobe. I face you with a sense of shame becausemy army— the army which must protect your livesand your homes in a time of national crisis— ranksnot the first in the world, as it should!"

Operator 5 turned away quietly, leaving Z-7.Mounting a flight of stairs which carried himtoward the suites of offices at the front of thegreat building, he strode directly to the door of theone he knew had been assigned to RandolphMorten and the supporters of the disarmamentcause. He opened the door and found the roomempty. He entered, and shot the bolt.

Quickly, he examined the room. Minuteslater, when he finished the task, he had foundnothing whatever of a suspicious nature.

He stepped from the office and hurriedtoward a door at the end of the corridor. Brightlight filled it, and a deafening clatter. Men inshirtsleeves were hovering over scores of clicking

teletype machines. Girls were working the camand plugs of a gigantic bank of telephoneswitchboards. Into this room messages werepouring from all over the United States, from thelistening and watching millions. Great basketswere already filled with bundled telegram andnotated slips of the messages already received.And at one end of the room, an electricallyoperated tally board was checking the response.

An Intelligence man stationed near the doorspoke above the hubbub. "Morten pulled atremendous response. The messages startedcoming in as soon as he began speaking. Theinflux was almost more than the force can handle.Falk has been speaking for five minutes now—and there's scarcely any answer, compared withthe Morten count. Of course, we can't tell until theend— messages will be coming in here all night—but perhaps it's an indication."

"Whatever the people decide," Operator 5answered, "they will speak once and for all,tonight."

Jimmy Christopher felt a tug at his arm, andpeered down at the wide-eyed Tim Donovan. Theboy was breathless as he said: "Van Praag's lefthis seat, Jimmy! I followed him to Morten's office.Morten saw him go, too, and followed. They're inthere together now!"

"Good boy! Now, Tim, an even moreimportant job. Slip away and keep an eye on Z-7.Take this whistle with you." Operator 5 pressed itinto the boy's hand. "When you hear a whistlednote from somewhere in these offices, repeat itwith your own. That's important, Tim. It's asignal— and you mustn't lose a moment doing it!"

"Okay, Jimmy! But what's it for? Why do youwant me to watch Z-7?"

"The whistle will signal the Hidden Hundredinto action," Operator 5 explained as he walkedalong the corridor with the boy. "And when theyappear, Z-7 and the Intelligence men will be thegreatest danger they face. My men are riskingeverything tonight and they've got to act at thesame instant, as quickly as possible, or they'll bedefeated even before they begin."

"Trust me, Jimmy!"Tim Donovan hurried down a flight of stairs,

toward the rear of the platform. Z-7 was standingnear its edge, listening to the ringing tones ofMajor General Falk. The Chief of Staff's voicewas vibrant with emotion as he uttered his plea tothe crowd. He indulged in no oratory. He stated

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facts, and in response to them there was nocheering. The crowd listened solemnly. Z-7 stoodaside alone, tense with the electrical charge in theair; and, unobserved, Tim Donovan watched him.

The boy's hand closed hotly on the whistle.Operator 5 strode quickly toward the door of

the office assigned to Randolph Morten. Hepaused near it, as he heard voices speaking inlow tones— voices which told him Morten and VanPraag were inside. He moved on to the adjoiningoffice, stepped into it, and toward a connectingdoor. He listened tensely.

A latch clicked as someone entered Morten'soffice. A husky voice declared: "The response toFalk's speech is coming in now! It'soverwhelming! The messages are more than theoperators can handle! Within a few moments,there'll be a greater tally in favor of the armamentbills than we can hope to muster against it!"

"What!""It's true, I tell you! It means our cause is

lost! There's no other— ""Go back!" the voice of Morten commanded.

"Watch the board! Report again when— "Operator 5 turned as a quiet knock sounded

on the door of his own office. He opened it. Intothe room stepped two ex-Intelligence agents.They were X-22 and X-40— men he had assignedto special duty. They were worn from the struggleof working their way through the crowd, and theirreports came in whispers.

"We've checked Tim Donovan's findings, sir.It's true. A tunnel has been excavated under theGarden. It must lead directly to the center of thearena."

"But it's blocked up now, captain," the otheranswered. "Walled with brick and cement.Something is sealed inside it; and there's no wayof reaching it. It would take hours, perhaps a nightof work to get beyond the barrier."

"On the open side we found piles of emptyboxes— dynamite containers. It can only meanthat the sealed cavity is filled with explosive— avast store of it. We tried to find the detonatingwires which connect with the charge, but it'simpossible. They lead out from somewhere withinthe cavity— from some point we can't hope toreach without a long hunt."

"God!" X-22 blurted it. "There's nothing wecan do to break the connection— wherever itleads!"

Operator 5 nodded tensely. "Good work! Goback to your posts. Await the signal!"

The two members of the Hidden Hundredhurried out. Operator 5 followed them, turning theother way. He ran down a flight of steps. At oneside he saw Tim Donovan watching Z-7. TheWashington chief was standing behind the raisedplatform, listening to the words of the Chief ofStaff. General Falk was within view at the edge ofthe platform. Standing aside, Operator 5 studiedthat platform.

Then he saw it. Above the draped bunting,on a red-white-and-blue crest, so faint that thecrowd could not have seen it, so cryptic theycould not have dreamed its meaning— a markthat nevertheless stood out in startling relief to thekeen eyes of Jimmy Christopher. A symbolhovering above the thousands, promising doom!The scythe!

CHAPTER THIRTEENTHE WAIT

EYES DARKENED, FACE LINED, Operator5 strode quickly from the platform. He ran up thesteps, walked briskly along the corridor, andreentered the office beside that of RandolphMorten. Listening at the connecting door, heheard nothing. The men in the other room werewaiting tensely, anxiously, for further report onthe flood of messages flowing into the wire roomin the great building.

Again, quick steps came along the corridor.A knock sounded in the room beyond, and a doorclicked open. The same husky voice broughtstartling news to the two waiting men.

"The messages are coming in in even largernumbers now! The lines can't carry them all.We're overwhelmed! The people are demandingfurther armament of the United States! TomorrowCongress must vote the bills!"

"Unless— "The low voice of Van Praag spoke the word.

A sharp command from Randolph Morten sentthe messenger from the room. Operator 5 knewthat now the two men— the Assistant Secretary ofState and the powerful newspaper publisher—were facing each other alone. A moment of

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silence passed before Van Praag completed hisominous sentence.

"Unless the advocates of the armament billdo not live to vote in favor of it!"

"Yes!" Morten whispered. "There's only oneway, now, to turn defeat into victory! We must notwait! I'll give the orders!"

"Give them!"Jimmy Christopher heard the click of a

telephone receiver being raised. He heard a dialspin once— and click a connection with theoperator. Morten's voice whispered a number intothe transmitter in a tone so low Operator 5's keenears could not catch it. Then Morten's tonebecame louder as he barked a command:

"Close the switches! In exactly ten minutes!Ten!"

Operator 5 heard the connection broken, andthen heard quick movements. Quickly, he drewhis pack of master keys from his pocket. Withdeft, swift movements, none of them audible tothe men in the room beyond, he tried two keys.The second silently drew the lock. Then, quickly,he whipped skull mask and skeleton gloves fromhis pocket and drew them on.

Transformed into a weird apparition, hemoved alertly to the hallway door. He brought ashining whistle to his lips, and blew a shrill blastupon it. The fluttering sound fell away, andimmediately was echoed from a point beyond.Tim Donovan, obeying orders, was relaying thesignal.

Operator 5 heard a hush descend into thegreat hall beyond, and he stepped quickly to theconnecting door. His clawed hand jerked it open.He stepped into brighter light. At the sound of hismovements, the two men whirled to face him.Randolph Morten jerked from the door. Thedisguised Van Praag stood rigid with surprise.Operator 5 faced them empty-handed, eyesglittering deeply in the sockets of his skull mask.

"You're about to leave, gentlemen?" heasked quietly. "I must disrupt your plans. You'regoing to remain here— let there be no doubt ofthat."

Van Praag jerked a hand in and out of hispocket, and raised an automatic. His shadowedeyes gleamed coldly as he moved towardOperator 5. Jimmy Christopher made no gestureto draw a weapon. He stood motionless, eyeshard upon Van Praag.

"Stand aside!" he ordered.Randolph Morten peered in terror at the

clothed skeleton; then jerked to the side of VanPraag. His trembling hand shot to the knob. VanPraag opened the door wide and they startedthrough. On the sill they stopped, frozen.

Peering into the hallway, they saw otherfigures like the one which had entered uponthem— Six such figures, whose heads were skulls,whose hands were claws. And every one of thesix was leveling an automatic at the door.

"You will not leave, gentlemen!" Operator 5declared again quietly.

The two men backed away in terror andslammed the door shut. They whirled to theconnecting way through which the apparition hadentered. Again they pulled the door open wide,and again went rigid, as they saw another squadof the skeleton men. Eyes gleamed at them frombony sockets, automatics swung at themmenacingly. Chilled, finding both ways blocked,they recoiled.

Jimmy Christopher thrust the door shut. Hefaced Morten and Van Praag with gleaming eyes.His voice sounded muffled through his mask.

"You can't possibly leave this building now,gentlemen. Are you convinced of that?"

Morten leaned across the table while VanPraag retreated to the rear wall. The great man'sautomatic was still in his hand, leveled; yetOperator 5 gave it no heed. The AssistantSecretary blurted:

"Who are you? What do you want?"The leader of the Hidden Hundred stood with

his back squarely against the hallway door. "I'maware that your secret workers have planted ahuge charge of explosive beneath this building,"he said. "You are ready to destroy this buildingand everyone in it as a last extremity. Thenecessity is upon you now. The people of theUnited States are demanding stronger defenses.You can defeat them only by destroying theirleaders. You have just given the order for theexplosive to be discharged in ten minutes!"

Morten straightened defiantly. "You know agreat deal, whoever you are— and it's true. Thereare tons of explosive stored beneath this buildingnow— directly beneath the sections in which theleaders of the armament movement are sitting!There are wires connecting with it, leading to abuilding blocks away. I've just called that buildingby telephone. When the ten minutes are up, the

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switches will be closed. Nothing you can do willstop that!"

"Perhaps," Operator 5 answered, "But youstipulated a wait of ten minutes, Mr. Morten, inorder to give yourself and Van Praag time to getout of the building. Your one thought is to saveyourselves. I am, you see, keeping you here foran excellent reason. If this building is destroyed,you will be destroyed with it!"

Morten snapped: "And you!""That," the voice came hollowly from the

skull, "is of no moment. I'm quite willing to acceptthe end. Gentlemen— are you? You seemanxious. Your faces are pale. You are trembling.You wish to escape the building— but you cannot.You do not wish to die— but you face death now,with the thousands who are here. Accept it as acertainty, gentlemen— you will perish with therest, on your own orders— unless youcountermand them!"

Morten snapped: "I will not do that! I'mwilling to give my life for this cause! My ordersstand, whether I remain or go! If it must be— weshall all die when the ten minutes have ended!"

Operator 5 said quietly: "The time is passingrapidly, gentlemen. Even if you don't change yourorders, you'll not achieve your purpose. You'llcause the deaths of thousands of innocentpersons, but you'll not destroy the leaders of thearms bills. For, gentlemen, at this very minutethey are leaving the building, escorted by theHidden Hundred. They're being led to safety andif your explosive destroys this building and thethousands in it, the important leaders will remainalive to vote the passage of the defensemeasures tomorrow!"

"That's not true!""I assure you"— the muffled voice carried

absolute conviction— "It is the truth."They listened through the door and heard a

muffled roaring of the crowd— an ominous rumblein which the voice of no speaker was discernible.Some audible tension grew through the buildingsecond by second, testifying that somethingstrange was occurring in the great auditorium...

At the repeated blast of the whistle, GeneralFalk had been startled into silence. The nextmoment, a hush had fallen over the greatauditorium— because every light had blinked out.Complete darkness had filled the huge hall for amoment, until bright spots of light appeared on all

sides. They were electric torches, the beams ofwhich disclosed a startling sight.

Magically, throughout the vast room, weirdfigures appeared. Their heads were skulls fromwhich determined eyes gleamed. Their clawedhands waved automatics. Their muffledcommands struck terror into the hearts of thethousands. Swiftly, moving in accordance with acarefully prearranged plan, they went into action.

Backs to the closed doors, they barredegress. Their lights played into the eyes ofpolicemen, firemen and Intelligence operators,blinding them. Others fought their way throughthe crowd toward the platform, and hundredsshrank back in dismay to allow them passage.They crowded upon the dignitaries near thefront— all the men in whose hands lay the fate ofthe armament bills. One of the Hidden Hundredleaped upon the platform, springing toward thebank of microphones.

Z-7 sprang into startled action the momentthe flickering torches disclosed the skeletal headsof the Hidden Hundred. Driven by a cold fury, hestarted for the rear of the platform. The publicaddress system offered him a means of shoutingurgent orders to his men. He raced to the steps—but stopped short.

Blinding light stabbed into his eyes. Skullheads appeared before him. Guns glimmered inhis direction. A ringing voice commanded:

"Stay back! We're in charge here!"Z-7 found himself completely surrounded by

the apparitions, closed in by a ring of guns. Thephantoms pressed upon him. Claw-like handsgripped his arms and held him motionless. In grimfury, hopelessly, he tried to break away. Heceased his struggling when a voice boomedthrough the auditorium— the voice of a memberof the Hidden Hundred who had leaped to themicrophones.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Do not be alarmed!Do not give way to panic! Obey my instructionsimplicitly! Leave your seats quietly, withouthurrying! Those in the aisles go to the nearestexits. All others follow in good order! If youconduct yourselves calmly you will soon be out ofthis building. Follow the directions of the men inthe masks!"

A stirring answered the startling voice. Nearthe front of the auditorium, bright lights wereplaying. The eyes of thousands turned upon thegleam. The commands of the Hidden Hundred

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had forced out row upon row of persons. Fromtheir seats, officers, of the Army and Navy,Congressmen and civic leaders, were filing.Guided by the Hidden Hundred, those upon whomthe fate of the nation rested were beingconducted away first from the waiting danger.

Z-7, in the hands of the skeleton figures,realized that his small detail of men wasoutnumbered. The entire hall was under thecommand of the Hidden Hundred. Under theorders of the masked figures, it began to empty.Hundreds and thousands began streaming intothe streets, and the crowds outside surged awayunder their advancing pressure. The gleaminglights disclosed white faces, terrorized eyes— andyet none of the thousands knew the doom thatwas lurking beneath them.

The tramping of feet sounded muffled in theoffice of Randolph Morten. Operator 5 stoodbacked at the door. The grim Assistant Secretarystood facing him across the table. The disguisedVan Praag stood rigid at the far wall. Quietly,Jimmy Christopher glanced at his watch, and hisvoice sounded muffled again.

"The time is now very short."A knock sounded at the door behind him. A

voice called in quickly: "Sir! The armamentcrusaders are out of the building! The auditoriumis half emptied! In a few moments, they'll all beout!"

Operator 5 nodded with grim satisfaction."You hear, gentlemen?" he inquired. "Now, whatis your decision? To die under your own orders fora lost cause? You must decide quickly. You havenow one minute— sixty seconds— beginning totick away as I speak!"

The desperate eyes of Randolph Mortennarrowed. Suddenly, he lifted the telephone. Hislean finger spun the dial. Eyes glittering uponOperator 5, he spoke tersely as the connectionwent through.

"Verifying orders! Your ten minutes arealmost up! Close the switches on the moment!Close them— "

A sharp crack! The automatic in the hand ofVan Praag spat flame. A bullet whistled acrossthe room. The report reverberated deafeningly asOperator 5 tightened, eyes upon the powerfulfigure standing against the wall. Smoke wispedfrom the gun in his hand as Morten, at the table,emitted a sigh. The Assistant Secretary bent

forward and slid to the floor. The telephonedropped from his hand.

Van Praag sprang desperately toward theinstrument and snatched it up. His lips workedstiffly near the transmitter.

"The Master speaking! Orders! Final order!Do not close the switches! Do not explode thecharge! Do you hear? In God's name, don't— "

Out of the receiver a voice rang. "Ordersfrom the Master! Switches off!"

Van Praag flung the telephone away. Hisface contorted with fury, he crept toward the door.His gun held on Operator 5 as he reached for theknob. Suddenly, he jerked the door wide and spedthrough.

In the corridor, skull-masked men closedupon Van Praag as the great man lunged andbroke through their ranks, stumbling down thesteps, fleeing in terror. The skeletal figurescrowded after him, hastily.

Operator 5 turned and stooped, peering atthe white face of Randolph Morten. The AssistantSecretary was dead. He moved quickly then,hurrying across the corridor and down the steps,where, in the gleaming light of the torches, henow saw Van Praag recoiling in terror—surrounded by men whose heads were fleshlessskulls.

Van Praag retreated slowly, step by step, asthe ghastly ring of clothed skeletons tightenedaround him. Suddenly he whirled and sprang upthe steps leading to the platform. He dashedacross it— and stopped again. Swinging beamsshowed him that the great auditorium was almostempty. Phantom figures were posted all aroundthe platform, their eyes gleaming, their gunsflashing. Van Praag whirled and saw themadvancing on all sides. A cry of anguish burstfrom his lips...

He raised his gun. The flame singed thedyed hair at his temple. He plunged headlong tothe boards, and lay still. The red of his bloodcolored the wood beneath him as a sharpcommand rang from the masked lips of the leaderof the Hidden Hundred.

When the clawed hands released Z-7, whenhis bellowed orders brought his men runningtoward him and returned light to the vastauditorium, he peered around through theemptiness— emptiness from which the HiddenHundred had fled.

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On the platform, Basil Van Praag lay deadbeneath the symbol of the scythe. And the shotthat had killed him had been heard around theworld.

To the waiting, anxious nation, and to theworld, news flashed from Washington, D.C.

CONGRESS PASSES ARMS BILLS!STRENGTHENING OF NATION'S DEFENSESBEGINS! UNITED STATESOVERWHELMINGLY SUPPORTS VITALMEASURES! PRESIDENT SIGNS BILL ATONCE!

The news carried into every cranny of thecountry; and into the secret rooms whichcomprised the central headquarters of the UnitedStates Intelligence. In the office of theWashington chief, as the result of theCongressional vote was flashed, stood Z-7,Operator 5 and the Secretary of State.

Z-7's black eyes were smoldering; theSecretary's face was drawn with cold wrath; and atight, wry smile tugged at the comers of JimmyChristopher's mouth.

"Thank God!" the chief exclaimed. "Nolonger will our shores be vulnerable! I wish to sayto you, Mr. Secretary, that this result gratifies meto the depths of my soul. At the same time, I haveto add that I've strictly followed your orders."

"I am aware that you have," the Secretarysaid coldly. "I am also aware that you have failedto break up the Hidden Hundred and failed toapprehend its leader. My orders to you still stand,Z-7. You will concentrate on this case. You willexert every resource to crush that organization.You will capture that unknown leader. Once wehave him, he can suffer only one penalty—death!"

Z-7 answered grimly. "I'll follow your orders,sir."

"And if you do not succeed," the Secretarysnapped, "I'll take you out of command and put aman in your place who will get results!"

Operator 5's face paled as the Secretarystamped from the office. Z-7, eyes grim, lifted atyped letter from his desk It had come only thatmorning. He re

read it as he held it in trembling fingers."A message from the leader of the Hidden

Hundred!" he snapped. "The daring of the man!

Informing me that no one in the organization isresponsible for the death of T-6. Assuring metheir only purpose has been to help their country.Regardless of that, my boy, I'm going to fight thatorganization with all the strength of theIntelligence— until it is destroyed!"

"Yes, Chief!" Operator 5 answered in a lowtone.

"I'm going to concentrate on finding evidenceto prove the identity of the leader of the HiddenHundred. I'm too old in this game, Operator 5, tomake a move against him without strongevidence to back me up. I have none now— butI'm going to get it! When I do, it can result only inthe death of that subversive leader!"

"Yes, sir!""That's all," Z-7 finished quietly. But as

Operator 5 turned tensely to the door: "Except—I've heard that pebbles placed inside the cheekswill alter the tone of the voice so that it's notrecognizable. That's a point the leader of theHidden Hundred had better heed!''

Z-7's eyes were glittering now. JimmyChristopher searched them intently! Then heturned quietly, without speaking. As he passedthrough the secret doors, the voice of theSecretary of State carried through his mind.

"The penalty ... death!"In the black-draped room, under the cover of

night, at a remote point in Washington, a strangemeeting was being held. In silent rows stood menwhose heads were fleshless skulls, whose handswere the hands of skeletons. They faced theirleader and listened intently to his firm voice.

Through his skull mask the eyes of Operator5 studied the masked faces before him. One, heknew, was his father, ex-Operator Q-6, nowdesignated X-13. All of them were loyal, fearlesssoldiers of secrecy sworn to the defense of theirnation. He spoke to them quietly.

"Patriots of the Hidden Hundred, our task iscompleted. To you and to you alone the credit ofa great victory must go. I thank you all from thebottom of my heart. Let's never forget that we arebound in secrecy, that ours must be an undyingpurpose though death strike into our ranks. . .Members of the Hidden Hundred, hold yourselvesready for further orders! "Dismissed!"

THE END

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