The Radiant Shell | Page 6

time the wind pushed at the door. For the third time Thorn
caught its edge and swung it--six inches, eight, almost enough to slip
through....
"Shut thou the window!" crackled a voice suddenly. "Fool! What if
some of these documents blew away?"
There was a slam, and the breeze was cut off. Thorn quickly let go of
the door, and watched it fall back in place again.
He was cursing his luck when he heard the same commanding voice

say: "Kori, see if there be one who listens in the butler's pantry. It
seemed the door opened wider than the wind would warrant."
There was the scrape of a chair. Then the door was abruptly thrust open
and coldly alert eyes in a hostile, wary 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!"