The Radiant Shell | Page 6

face, swept over the pantry.
"No one here, Excellency," said Kori; and he returned to his place at the table.
* * * * *
But with him came another, unseen, to stand against the wall beside a great mahogany buffet, and to listen and watch. Kori had, not unnaturally, held the door open while he glanced around the pantry. And under Kori's outstretched arm, so close as almost to brush against his uniformed legs, had stolen Thorn.
"Then, gentlemen, it is all arranged?" said the man at the head of the oval table--a spare, elderly individual with bristling gray mustachios and smoldering dark eyes. "The plans leave for Arvania to-morrow night, to arrive in our capital city in ten days. Then day and night manufacture of the Ziegler projectors--and declaration of war. Following that, this great city of Washington, and the even greater cities of New York and Chicago, and all, this fine land from Atlantic to Pacific, shall become an Arvanian possession to exploit as we like!"
There was an audible "Ah!" from the score of men around the table--broken by a voice in the main double doorway of the dining room: "Gentlemen, your pardon, I am late."
Thorn looked at the speaker. He was a young fellow with an especially elaborate uniform and a face that appeared weak and dissipated in spite of the arrogant Arvanian nose. Then a bark came to Thorn's ears--and a cold feeling to the pit of Thorn's stomach. The newcomer had brought a dog with him!
Even as he gazed apprehensively at the dog--a rangy wolfhound--the brute growled deep in its throat and stared at the corner by the buffet where Thorn was instinctively trying to make himself smaller.
The dog growled again, and stalked warily toward the buffet.
"Grego, down," said his master absently. Then, to the spare man at the head of the table: "I have been next door, talking to the American Secretary of War. A dull fellow. Convinced, is he, that Arvania harbors only kind thoughts for this great stupid nation. They shall be utterly unprepared for our attack--Grego! What ails the brute?"
* * * * *
The wolfhound had evaded several outstretched hands and got to the buffet. There it crouched and cowered, fangs showing in a snarl, eyes reddening wickedly, while the growl rattled louder in its shaggy throat.
"Perhaps the heat has affected him," said one.
All were looking at the dog now, marveling at its odd behavior. But of all the eyes that observed it a pair of unseen eyes watched with the utmost agitation.
Thorn stared, almost hypnotized, at the creature. A dog! What rotten luck! Men might be fooled by the masking invisibility, but there was no deceiving a dog's keen nose!
The wolfhound started forward as though to leap, then settled back. Plainly it longed to spring. Equally plainly it was afraid of the being that so impossibly was revealed to its nostrils but not to its eyes. Meanwhile, one tearing sweep of blunt claws or sharp fangs--and a fatal rent would appear in Thorn's encasing shell!
The dog snapped tentatively. Thorn flattened still harder against the wall, with discovery and death hovering very closely about him. Then the beast's master intervened.
"Grego! Here, sir! A council room is no place, for thee, anyway. Here, I say! So, then--"
He hastened to the dog and caught its collar. Twisting the leather cruelly, he dragged the protesting, snarling brute to the doors and slid them shut with the wolfhound barking and growling on the outside. "Someone put him in his kennel," he said through the panels. A scuffling in the hall told of the execution of the order. The council room became quiet again, and Thorn leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for an instant.
"We were saying, Soyo," the leader addressed the dog's owner, "that the Ziegler plans start for Arvania to-morrow night. All is arranged. These innocent looking bits of paper"--he thumped a small packet of documents lying before him--"shall deliver mighty America to us!"
* * * * *
A subdued cheer answered the man's words--while Thorn stared at the packet of papers with unbelieving eyes. It had never occurred to him that the Ziegler plans might be in that very room, on the table with the rest of the welter of letters, thumbed documents, and cups and saucers. And there they were--the vital projector plans--not in a safe or hidden in some fantastic place, but right before his eyes!
Involuntarily his hand extended eagerly toward the packet, then was withdrawn. Not now. He was invisible--but the papers, if he grasped them, would not be. Clenched in his unseen hand, they would be perfectly visible, moving in jerks and starts as he raced for the door.
Like lightning his mind turned over one plan after another for making away with that precious packet. Each scheme seemed impossible of fulfilment.
"The