The Radiant Shell | Page 4

Embassy. Next to it was the Bulgarian.
* * * * *
The car stopped in front of the Bulgarian Embassy, and the Secretary

got out. Again he paused, while the chauffeur held the door open, to
hold a match to his cigar. Again the car sagged down on that side, and
slowly swayed up again.
"Hey--" said the chauffeur. But meeting the Secretary's calmly
inquiring gaze, he stopped. Scratching his head, he went back to the
wheel, while the Secretary walked toward the building entrance.
Behind him, moving on soundless bare feet along the sidewalk, Thorn
Winter hastened, cloaked in invisibility, toward the Arvanian
Embassy--and the plans that spelled America's destruction if they
remained in Arvanian hands.
The embassy building was a three-storied oblong house of white stone
topping a terrace that started its climb from the sidewalk of Sixteenth
Street. The doors at the head of the wide stone staircase were of bronze;
and they were closed, and, Thorn surmised, efficiently barred. The
windows at front and sides were also closed, in spite of the warmth of
the sunny spring afternoon.
Beside the building, leading up in a short steep hill, was the driveway.
Up this Thorn started. The front of the house was hopelessly barred;
but at the rear entrance there might be a chance.
Up the driveway, then, he walked, a little startled at the fact that he cast
no shadow--feeling as a ghost might feel. The pavement was hot to his
thinly filmed feet. A little dubious as to the effect of heat on the vital
shell that hid him, he stepped off into the cool grass beside the drive;
and came soon to the rear of the embassy.
There was no porch or veranda, simply two stone steps leading up to a
stout oak door which opened onto the embassy kitchens. From behind
this door came the sound of crockery and the hum of voices. The
Arvanian chef evidently was preparing afternoon tea.
* * * * *
Walking boldly to the very steps, Thorn began the vigil that should end

when someone came in or out of that door, allowing him to slip inside
the building before the portal was barred shut again.
For nearly half an hour Thorn stood there before something happened
that at once helped him, and, at the same time, nearly proved his
undoing.
A light delivery van sped up the driveway. The wheels stirred up a
cloud of dust. It was a very small cloud of very fine dust. Thorn at first
thought nothing of it, because he was so engrossed in the conviction
that here ought to be provided an entrance into the house.
The truck driver got out, took a crate from the body of the van, and
went with it to the back door. After a moment of waiting, the door
opened. Thorn noticed that it was opened very cautiously, only an inch
or so. He caught a glimpse of a heavy chain stretched across the inch
opening, and saw a strip of bearded, resolute face.
The door was unchained. The driver walked in, while the door stood
open. Thorn started to glide in after him....
Mere chance made him glance at a window near the door. This window
framed another bearded, resolute face. And the eyes in that face were
like saucers as they stared full at Thorn!
For an instant Thorn knew icy fear. His invisibility! Had something
happened to strip him of that concealing mantle? But what could have
happened?
He glanced down at himself and saw the reason for the guard's
saucer-eyed expression.
A little of the light cloud of dust stirred up by the truck wheels had
settled over him and clung to the encasing shell. As he moved, these
dust specks moved. The effect to the staring guard, Thorn realized,
must be that of seeing a queer, fine dust column moving eccentrically
over a grassy lawn where no dust column had any business to be.

* * * * *
Quickly Thorn moved toward the garage, with the eyes of the amazed
guard following him. The scientist was savage at the delay; but it was
vital that he rid himself of that clinging dust.
Behind the garage he broke off a feathery spray from a vine, and
stroked it lightly over himself. That, too, presented a curious spectacle:
a leafy branch suddenly detaching itself from the parent vine and
dancing here and there in mid-air.
When the all-important task was done, Thorn raced back to the rear
doorway. By great good luck it was still open. He stole in, just making
it as the truck driver, staggering under a load of empty crates, came up
the cellar stairs and went out to his truck.
Thorn drew a deep breath. He was inside