The Skylark of Space by E. E. Smith (books like beach read .TXT) 📕

secret wires had gone, in guarded language, messages that would have rocked the world had they gone astray. It was recognized that the place was occasionally, by its very nature, used for illegal purposes, but it was such a political, financial, and diplomatic necessity that it carried a “Hands Off” sign. It was never investigated by Congress and never raided by the police. Hundreds of telephone calls were handled daily. A man would come in, order something served in a private room, leave a name at the desk, and say that he was expecting a call. There the affair ended. The telephone operators were hand-picked, men of very short memories, carefully trained never to look at a face and never to remember a name or a number. Although the precaution was unnecessary, this shortness of memory was often encouraged by bills of various denominations.

No one except Perkins and the heads of the great World Steel Corporation knew that the urbane and polished proprietor of the café was a criminal of the blackest kind, whose liberty and life itself were dependent upon the will of the Corporation; or that the restaurant was especially planned and maintained as a blind for its underground activities; or that Perkins was holding a position which suited him exactly and which he would not have given up for wealth or glory⁠—that of being the guiding genius who planned nefarious things for the men higher up, and saw to it that they were carried out by the men lower down. He was in constant personal touch with his superiors, but in order to avoid any chance of betrayal he never saw his subordinates personally. Not only were they entirely ignorant of his identity, but all possible means of their tracing him had been foreseen and guarded against. He called them on the telephone, but they never called him. The only possible way in which any of his subordinates could get in touch with him was by means of the wonderful wireless telephone already referred to, developed by a drug-crazed genius who had died shortly after it was perfected. It was a tiny instrument, no larger than a watch, but of practically unlimited range. The controlling central station of the few instruments in existence, from which any instrument could be cut out, changed in tune, or totally destroyed at will, was in Perkins’ office safe. A man entrusted with an unusually important job would receive from an unknown source an instrument, with directions sufficient for its use. As soon as the job was done he would find, upon again attempting to use the telephone, that its interior was so hopelessly wrecked that not even the most skilled artisan could reproduce what it had once been.

At four o’clock Brookings was ushered into the private office of the master criminal, who was plainly ill at ease.

“I’ve got to report another failure, Mr. Brookings. It’s nobody’s fault, just one of those things that couldn’t be helped. I handled this myself. Our man left the door unlocked and kept the others busy in another room. I had just started to work when Crane’s Japanese servant, who was supposed to be asleep, appeared upon the scene. If I hadn’t known something about jiu-jutsu myself, he’d have broken my neck. As it was, I barely got away, with the Jap and all three guards close behind me⁠ ⁠…”

“I’m not interested in excuses,” broke in the magnate, angrily. “We’ll have to turn it over to DuQuesne after all unless you get something done, and get it done quick. Can’t you get to that Jap some way?”

“Certainly I can. I never yet saw the man who couldn’t be reached, one way or another. I’ve had ‘Silk’ Humphreys, the best fixer in the business, working on him all day, and he’ll be neutral before night. If the long green won’t quiet him⁠—and I never saw a Jap refuse it yet⁠—a lead pipe will. Silk hasn’t reported yet, but I expect to hear from him any minute now, through our man out there.”

As he spoke, the almost inaudible buzzer in his pocket gave a signal.

“There he is now,” said Perkins, as he took out his wireless instrument. “You might listen in and hear what he has to say.”

Brookings took out his own telephone and held it to his ear.

“Hello,” Perkins spoke gruffly into the tiny transmitter. “What’ve you got on your chest?”

“Your foot slipped on the Jap,” the stranger replied. “He crabbed the game right. Slats and the big fellow put all the stuff into the box, told us to watch it until they get back tonight⁠—they may be late⁠—then went off in Slats’ ship to test something⁠—couldn’t find out what. Silk tackled the yellow boy, and went up to fifty grand, but the Jap couldn’t see him at all. Silk started to argue, and the Jap didn’t do a thing but lay him out, cold. This afternoon, while the Jap was out in the grounds, three stickup men jumped him. He bumped one of them off with his hands and the others with his gat⁠—one of those big automatics that throw a slug like a cannon. None of us knew he had it. That’s all, except that I am quitting Prescott right now. Anything else I can do for you, whoever you are?”

“No. Your job’s done.”

The conversation closed. Perkins pressed the switch which reduced the interior of the spy’s wireless instrument to a fused mass of metal, and Brookings called DuQuesne on the telephone.

“I would like to talk to you,” he said. “Shall I come there or would you rather come to my office?”

“I’ll come there. They’re watching this house. They have one man in front and one in back, a couple of detectaphones in my rooms here, and have coupled onto this telephone.

“Don’t worry,” he continued calmly as the other made an exclamation of dismay. “Talk ahead as loud as you please⁠—they can’t hear you. Do you think that those poor, ignorant flat feet can show me anything