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‘Do you really mean, doctor, that there are only two men in the country competent to perform this operation?’

  ‘I really mean it,’ Cutter replied, and Darrow’s ear, attuned to the nuances of his callers’ utterances, detected plain impatience. ‘This is a – well, no use bothering you with Latin names, I have great surgical ability; not particularly proud of it, but there it is. If Schall and I were both in Europe, I’d advise MacKenzie, the man who is with him, but I tell you frankly it would be taking chances. So out I go.’

  ‘And you’re leaving at once?’

  ‘Can’t leave till to-morrow; I’ve an operation this afternoon. I’m going from here to the Amalgamated Air Transport and get my accommodations; going out by ’plane. That will get me there in time ... If Dr MacKenzie says a hundred hours from yesterday noon, that’s right.’

  Darrow leaned back, elbows on the arms of his chair and his fingers came slowly together in front of his body. ‘And to-morrow is the thirteenth. You’ll be en route, out of my jurisdiction. Why, you’ll be in the air, if you’re flying out – in no one’s jurisdiction at all, for practical purposes.’

  ‘Up to you,’ rasped Cutter. ‘I’ve come to you for protection. I don’t know the details of this sort of thing.’

  ‘I don’t mind telling you,’ the Commissioner smiled, ‘that I don’t know much about sky protection myself. However,’ he added seriously, ‘I can do this: I’ll send one of our best men out with you, and there are other measures I can take, also. The less details you know, the better, perhaps.’ He motioned to his secretary. ‘Felix, have Captain Lord step in, please. Tell them not to hold the line-up for me; we’ll be busy here for some time longer . . . And put this through the works.’

  With great care the Commissioner’s secretary placed the death-note and its envelope in a prepared box which he took from a small stack near his desk, and went out. The door closed quietly behind him.

  Michael Lord was tall, dark-haired, twenty-eight years old, and several not unsophisticated young ladies had already found him much to their several tastes. In a less blasé age he would undoubtedly have been the answer to the maiden’s prayer. He was wealthy, he was a fine shot and a first-rate boxer. His father, who had died some years previously, had been Oliver Darrow’s closest friend, and the latter, when appointed Commissioner, had put Lord on his personal staff, on trial.

  Lord’s first rank, of Lieutenant, had been merely complimentary. Now his rank was Captain and no longer a courtesy one; he had caught a notorious malefactor on the Meganaut, and he had solved the crimes on the Transcontinental Limited, single-handed and far from the aids and benefits enjoyed by the lowest precinct detective. He was already the Department’s crack man for foreign service (meaning by foreign service anything outside the territorial limits of the City of New York).

  Now he sat in the chair that he had pulled up beside the Commissioner’s desk, having met the man he was detailed to guard, and having just read over Darrow’s copy of the threatening note.

  The Commissioner leaned forward, his arms now resting on the surface in front of him. ‘Let’s get down to business, Dr Cutter. Will you please tell us anything which you can think of that may have any bearing at all on the present situation? Are you going out to Reno alone? What will be your role when you get there? Doctor and patient, simply?’

  ‘If I get there.”

  ‘When you get there, doctor. We shall get you there; I promise you that, with one very important proviso: I shall expect you to follow explicitly any directions or instructions that Captain Lord has occasion to give you during the trip.’

  ‘I’m not a child, Mr Commissioner. I can take care of myself under ordinary circumstances.’

  ‘These are not ordinary circumstances.’ Darrow paused and added with all the impressiveness he could muster, ‘Dr Cutter, I must insist that you place yourself unreservedly in our hands and follow without hesitation anything we direct.’

  The surgeon’s face was disquietingly non-committal. His answer was a grunt.

  ‘Now, as to the situation.’

  There was a sound like an old-fashioned automobile going into second gear as Cutter cleared his throat. ‘The general situation probably has nothing to do with our business, but I shall give you some idea of it. There is more in Reno than just my brother, although I should not be going out except for him. My brother and I are bachelors, but we have a sister who married a scoundrel, and after putting up with him like a fool for more years than I care to think of, we have finally persuaded her to get her divorce. She is getting it in Reno now.

  ‘That is one reason why James was there when he became ill. Congress, of course, is not in session, and my brother took the opportunity to visit the western states, especially California, where they are more excited about Oriental affairs than elsewhere. On his way back he stopped off at Reno for a few days to visit our sister. Then, we’re a Reno family, too, you know. Born there, brought up and died there, most of us. So he has plenty of friends in Reno; the mayor’s an old crony of Jim’s, and he would probably have stopped to see him, if for nothing else.

  ‘Anyhow, he stopped, and came down so suddenly that there’s nothing for it now but the knife. Luckily MacKenzie was in Denver and went right up to him. I can pull him through, but he’s a sick man to-day – so sick that I’m taking Fonda and Isa out with me, although we didn’t want them in Reno just now.’

  Darrow interrupted. ‘Who are Fonda and Isa?’

  ‘My nieces. Sister’s daughters; they live just around the corner from me, over on Fifth Avenue. Anne – that’s my sister – lives with them, of course, when she’s here, which isn’t often. Fonda and Isa Mann. Too bad they have to bear that rascal’s name. Maybe we can change that now, though ... I can’t see how this bears on it ... ‘

  The surgeon’s voice ceased and, though they waited some moments, he seemed in need of further prompting. Lord spoke. ‘And your own establishment, doctor? Can you give us some idea of that? Whom you live with – servants, and so on?’

  ‘Bachelor apartment; a few rooms, an office and a small laboratory. I live alone. That is, I have a man; he gets my meals when I want ’em, and does for me generally ... I have few friends here, no intimates. I’m a busy man, as I told you. I specialise in difficult operations and, aside from that, spend all my time in research, mostly at the College of Physicians and Surgeons. Been studying encephalitis lethargicus for years.’

  ‘So, outside your sister’s family and your servants, no one comes into your own home, or is familiar with your plans?’

  ‘My assistant, of course, drops in all the time.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘What is your assistant’s name, doctor? I take it you know him well; he must be more or less of an intimate, at any rate.’

  ‘He is,’ Cutter acknowledged. ‘His name is Tinkham. Young fellow, about thirty, I’d say, though I’ve never asked him. Been with me for the last five years. I found him doing post-graduate research at P & S, and his work was so good that I asked him to help me. Since then he has become so proficient that I never do a really serious operation without him. Taking him with me this time, naturally.’

  ‘H’m . . . Let’s get this straight. You received your telegram about one o’clock yesterday (“Quarter past,” Cutter interjected) and there are only four people who would be in a position to know anything about it from this end. They are your nieces, Fonda and Isa Mann, your servant and your assistant, Tinkham. Now, which of these people did know about it?’

  Cutter considered for some time, but when he answered, it was apparent that he had not been concerned solely with the Commissioner’s question. ‘What has that got to do with it?’

  ‘It’s perfectly plain, doctor,’ explained Lord, ‘that whoever sent you that threat knew all about the telegram, and even knew when you intended to leave New York. “Noon, Central Time.” That means, of course, that it was known you would be in the Central Time area to-morrow.’


  ‘Or,’ Darrow contributed, ‘that it was intended to keep you out of it . . . We’ll come back to that. The first question is, who knew of your plans?’

  ‘They all knew of the telegram. Tinkham and I were eating, Sven was serving us, and Fonda and Isa came in with the telegraph boy. I told them what we’d do, immediately. But it’s ridiculous,’ Cutter expostulated, ‘to connect them with this note. Sven has been with me twenty-five years or more, Tinkham’s wrapped up in our work, hasn’t thought of anything but surgery and neurology for I don’t know how long) and, as for my nieces, we don’t see eye to eye in everything, but a death-threat – No, it’s absurd,’ Cutter grunted in disgust.

  ‘Has it occurred to you, doctor, that this threat might be directed against your brother, rather than against you?’ It was Lord who made the suggestion.

  ‘Eh?’

  Darrow half-smiled his appreciation of the point.

  ‘Yes, Dr Cutter,’ he said, ‘it’s certainly possible. We must accept that your brother’s life rests largely upon your prompt arrival. Therefore, if by threats you can be prevented from undertaking this journey to-morrow – ’

  ‘Hell and damnation! I’m not a schoolboy, Mr Darrow. Why, of all the damned impudence I’ve ever heard of! No one who knew me would have tried that trick.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’m afraid we must consider the possibility.’ The Commissioner once more leaned back in his chair and placed his fingers together in a characteristic gesture. ‘Supposing, now, that the threat is directed primarily against your brother. Has he any personal enemy who really desires his death?’

  Cutter was emphatic. ‘None at all, I’d swear. Jim’s a friendly fellow, much more so than I am. Hundreds of friends, and not an enemy that I know of; politicians have to be hand-shakers, anyhow . . . Unless you’d call that Mann skunk we’re getting rid of an enemy.’

  ‘Well, what about him?’

  ‘Oh, he probably hates our guts. We’ve had it in for him for a long time. But the last I heard of him, he was off to Africa with one of his women. He certainly didn’t mail that note to me yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘So . . . That leaves us just the foreign angle, then, doesn’t it? We’re not on the inside of the Administration’s policies here, naturally, but it’s fairly common knowledge that, quite apart from Asia, there is at least one Power in Europe which would be delighted with your brother’s – shall we say retirement?’

  ‘Hrgh!’ Cutter’s voice grated with surprise, and it was evident that this aspect of the matter had not occurred to him. ‘Never thought of that,’ he admitted. ‘Frogs, eh? I never did like ’em, with their weasel manners and appeals to the world. It’s no secret that Jim’s the backbone of the anti-French policy. Still,’ he paused and considered briefly, ‘that’s a bit fantastic, isn’t it? I can’t quite see them sending me a note to keep me from going out for this operation. International intrigue stuff – bah!’

  ‘Perhaps it’s fantastic, perhaps it isn’t. We’ll look into it, anyhow, in the time we have left. And now, doctor, we will let you go along for the present; we shall have a good deal to do before to-morrow. We can reach you at your apartment, I presume – ?’

  The surgeon got up and held out his hand, hesitantly. To tell the truth, he was feeling more than a little foolish, for the first time in many years. ‘I – No doubt there’s nothing in all this. Mountain out of a molehill. I wouldn’t have bothered you, except for the importance of this operation . . . I’ll be getting along to the Amalgamated for the tickets . . . ’

  ‘No, Dr Cutter,’ Darrow’s voice was suavity itself as he extended his hand. ‘You will go from here directly to the Grand Central and procure accommodations for your party on the Transcontinental Limited, leaving tomorrow night. Not to-night – to-morrow night.’

  Cutter’s mouth almost dropped open. ‘But – but – that’s impossible – I – there isn’t time – I shall certainly not have my plans interfered with by this note-writing nincompoop!’

  ‘Captain Lord will get your real reservations on the ’plane,’ said Darrow calmly.

  ‘But – why, this is absurd. I’m not a child. I’ll get my own tickets.’

  ‘Please, Dr Cutter.’ The Commissioner raised his right hand slightly and his voice was incisive. ‘We are taking this matter seriously. It is necessary that you follow our instructions. If not for your own sake, then for that of your brother. I want you not only to take your passage on the Transcontinental, but to procure the actual tickets, and I want you to be sure they are seen when you get home. Your nieces and your assistant are to be told of this apparent change of plan as soon as possible. You will please not fail us.’

  The surgeon still looked somewhat dazed, but after a moment, grunted his acquiescence. ‘All right. It’s your job. Always make my own patients do what I tell ’em. I’ll get them.’

  ‘Thanks.’ The Commissioner bowed slightly as his visitor moved toward the door. ‘Captain Lord will call for you and your party in the morning to take you to the air field. We’ll let you know the time. Kindly be sure that all of them expect to leave on the Transcontinental tomorrow night . . . We’ll see you through.’

  As the door closed, Darrow was pressing three buttons in succession, among the row of buttons at the side of his desk. Far down the gloomy hallway outside, an annunciator board glowed briefly: ‘T-blank-p-blank-blank-3 (Tail-protection-three).’ Around the corner of the hallway came a nondescript-looking man, chewing a large black cigar; he ambled into the elevator just behind Dr Cutter’s bulky proportions. On the street below, a well-dressed gentleman got into a taxi and drove off just ahead of the surgeon’s cab; the nondescript man, after lingering momentarily at the curb and thus overhearing the words, ‘Grand Central,’ turned and made off rapidly toward the Grand Street subway entrance. Behind Cutter’s taxi a mechanic on a motor-cycle chugged carelessly through the traffic, sometimes half a block in the rear, at other times drawing up nearly level . . . The procession disappeared up Lafayette Street, heading north ....

  In the Commissioner’s office, Darrow was just taking up his gloves and stick. ‘Of course, Lord, this may be a hoax. It may be. But that was a fairly businesslike note, to my mind. Our doctor’s an important man; we can’t afford to take chances with this. There’s a lot to do and you’ll have to step. Get busy.’

  G-2

  His first step, Lord decided, could be taken right where he was. ‘Get me G-2 on private, will you, Felix?’ It was a private police line, leading from the Commissioner’s office to the Customs House, but whether it led then to some obscure office within the customs building, used by the Federal Secret Service as its New York headquarters, or to some other part of the city, not even the Commissioner himself knew. Beyond its entrance into the Customs House, it was maintained by others; even to that point it was entirely unconnected with the commercial telephone system and was considered non-tappable.

  Lord, the receiver to his head, heard a click, and a quiet voice said, ‘G-2, two twenty-four.’

  ‘Captain Lord, police. Seventeen hundred and seventy-six, less seven.’

  ‘Check. Information or assistance?’

  ‘Information.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Are any foreign governments interested in the health of James Cutter, Secretary of State?’

  ‘All of them.’

  ‘Any dangerously interested?’

  ‘Nothing special on him now, so far as I know, if that’s what you mean. What’s it about?’

  ‘James Cutter is seriously ill in Reno – ’

  ‘Check.’

  ‘His brother, Amos, is leaving to-morrow by ’plane to operate on him. Amos has received a note threatening him with death, which may be an attempt to prevent his departure. Our information is that the operation is so delicate as to be probably fatal, unless this one man performs it.’

  ‘Interesting. How soon do you want anything we can get?’

  ‘The sooner the better. Before to-night, if possible.’ />
  ‘O.K. You will be met, southern end of the Mall in the Park, six thirty-five this afternoon. Our man will use four matches to light his cigarette.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Check.’

  Click.

  AIR FIELD

  The card that Lord sent in to the President of Amalgamated Air Transport bore simply the notation ‘Jonathan Jones. Representing Cunard Steamship Company.’ It didn’t work. It did, however, secure enough interest to produce the president’s personal secretary. Lord found himself admiring the Personnel Department of Amalgamated. He then displayed a small golden badge in the palm of his right hand. The young lady disappeared, only to return almost immediately. He was ushered in.

  In his sumptuous office, behind his enormous desk, the president’s tiny figure was almost lost. An old-young man, smooth-shaven. ‘I suppose your call is important, Mr – er – ’

  ‘Captain Lord.’

  ‘Yes, yes, to be sure. Captain Lord. I was about to drive out to the field.’

  ‘You are going alone, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Well, no. My secretary is coming. I inspect at odd times.’

  ‘I see. If I might drive out with you, we could save time.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent. If the matter is confidential Miss Spedie can sit with the chauffeur. Yes, that will do very well, very well.’

  On that drive, through the Holland Tunnel and out over the Elevated Highway across the Jersey meadows, in the back of the president’s limousine, with the forward partition raised, Lord spoke frankly, but not too frankly.

  ‘We are interested, Mr Marley, in four passengers who will fly with your company to Reno to-morrow.’

  ‘A gang of crooks?’ The president fingered his chin nervously. ‘Gamblers?’

  Lord smiled. ‘Not exactly. No, I wouldn’t call them a gang of crooks. Dr Amos Cutter, his two nieces and his assistant. Dr Cutter is flying out unexpectedly to perform a delicate operation on his brother, the Secretary of State, who is seriously ill in Reno.’