Odor of Violets by Baynard Kendrick (books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT) 📕

and powerful, and so mobile, that she’s constantly subject to attack. It’s wise to remember that a single pawn can take her out of the game.

“Suppose some organized band struck effectively—simultaneously ruined the six power stations, cut off the sewage disposal, and valved down the four main water tunnels. In an incredibly short time the streets of New York would be tied up in an inextricable traffic snarl.

“Automobiles would begin to run out of gas—there are hundreds just at that point on the streets at every hour of the day. They couldn’t get any more—because filling-station pumps are operated electrically. The ones which have gas couldn’t get out of town. The pumping systems in the tunnels would cease—immediately fouling the air. Bridges and ferryboats would be hopelessly jammed. Anyone will know I’m not exaggerating, if he’s ever crossed the Queensborough Bridge on a holiday. It can be tied up for hours by a single stalled car.”

The Colonel paused. Maclain heard his quickened breathing, and Spud’s uneasy moving on the leather divan. He said softly, “Tell him about fire, Colonel Gray.”

“Havoc!” the officer exclaimed sharply. “Devastation! The engines couldn’t get through the impeded streets. If they got through the water would be gone. Milling mobs would take possession—mad with fear. Police can’t move. Troops can’t move. Then, with the sewers out of commission—comes pestilence.” He lowered his voice. “The terror by night. The Queen is dead. New York City is gone.”

Spud asked: “What about the telephone? I suppose it would go too.”

The Colonel shook his head. “That’s one of the companies which have had enough foresight to prepare for emergency. They have a secret power plant of Diesel engines safely hidden away.” He swung around on Maclain. “I hope you understand how invaluable you can be—a trained intelligence officer who can move around in darkness as well as in the light; a man who knows every street of this vast city.”

Maclain nodded soberly. “Yes, Colonel Gray. I know.”

“Good.” The Colonel took out his pipe again, lighted a match, and let it burn down without applying it to the tobacco. When the match was out he threw it away. “Gerente was working on two things,” he said. “He was helping me on defense plans for one. Secondly, he was playing around with a girl.”

“Hilda Lestrade?” Maclain sat up straight in his chair.

On the divan, Spud grinned quietly.

“Maybe.” The Colonel bit down on his pipe-stem. “The police have her in custody along with a chap named Cameron, who has confessed to Gerente’s murder. Have you read the morning papers?”

“No,” said Spud. “They weren’t delivered. We’re supposed to be out of town.”

Maclain asked, “What did they say?”

Colonel Gray hesitated. “They gave Gerente a big play. He was well known on the stage a few years ago. Crime of passion—”

“I mean about the Lestrade girl.”

“Not much, Captain Maclain. Mysterious woman—and all that sort of thing—”

“But he was playing around with her,” Maclain persisted—“at least from what you say.”

“You misinterpreted my statement, Captain. I said Gerente was playing around with a girl. It was you who mentioned Hilda Lestrade, and I said ‘Maybe.’ I still mean it. Maybe she was girl number two. Her appearance in this affair has rather complicated things for me—another reason I came to you.”

“Perhaps there’re more,” Spud suggested. “This Gerente seems to have been quite versatile with the ladies.”

“A valuable trait in some phases of my unpleasant duties,” said Colonel Gray. “For the moment, I want to concentrate on a young lady from Hartford, Connecticut. Her name is Barbara Tredwill.” He paused and added, “Did you ever hear of her before?”

The Captain thoughtfully shook his head.

“Was she the girl that a columnist hinted about in the paper yesterday?” asked Spud. “I noticed Gerente’s name.”

“That’s the one. Her father’s Thaddeus Tredwill, a prominent producer. Oddly enough, his present wife was married to Paul Gerente ten years ago.”

“But what—” The Captain took up a flexible ivory paper cutter and began to bend it back and forth.

“Barbara Tredwill’s brother, Gilbert, is a designing engineer with International Aircraft,” Colonel Gray supplied. “There have been leaks from that plant. Gilbert Tredwill invented the bombing sight used on our planes. He has an even better one almost perfected today. Young Tredwill has a workshop in The Crags, his father’s home.”

“He lives there?” asked Maclain.

“With his wife, Helena. She’s naturalized French—maiden name of Helena Corte.”

“You sound suspicious of her,” said Spud bluntly.

“I’m suspicious of everyone,” said Colonel Gray. “I’m even suspicious of Gilbert Tredwill himself. He might be inadvertently giving information away. That’s why Paul Gerente made it his business to become acquainted with Gilbert’s sister, Barbara. He’s been trying to learn all he could about the Tredwill family from the girl.”

Maclain laid the paper cutter down with a snap. “You mean he might have learned too much to stay alive?”

“You’re quick to get an idea. Gerente had an appointment with the Tredwill girl for dinner last night—and later, he had an appointment with you.”

“Then the girl was in New York?”

“And most of her family, too,” said Colonel Gray. “Her father was at the Waldorf-Astoria. Gilbert Tredwill and his wife stayed there too. Barbara Tredwill and a younger brother, Stacy, were guests of Frederick Ritter, who has an apartment on Park Avenue—but the Ritters are away. They turned over their apartment to the girl and her brother.”

“I presume, since you have all this information,” Maclain said slowly, “that you’ve questioned the girl.”

The Colonel regarded a crease in his well-tended trousers and sharpened it between finger and thumb. “I talked with Gilbert Tredwill on the phone this morning, before I came here to see you. There are strong reasons why I don’t want anyone in the Tredwill household to know why Paul Gerente scraped up a friendship with Gilbert’s sister. I’m telling you this, Captain Maclain, because I need your help right now.”

“I’ve promised it,” said Maclain.

“Watch your step, Dunc,” Spud warned. “I’m afraid you’re dealing with a very clever man.”

“Me, Mr. Savage?” The Colonel’s friendly face grew even