“Once is enough, Burke,” laughed Kennedy, his good nature restored at Burke’s crestfallen appearance.
“Well, you see,” went on the Secret Service man, “this thing is so very important that—well, I forgot.”
He sat down and hitched his chair close to us, as he went on in a lowered, almost awestruck tone.
“Kennedy,” he whispered, “I’m on the trail, I think, of something growing out of these terrible conditions in Europe that will tax the best in the Secret Service. Think of it, man. There’s an organization, right here in this city, a sort of assassin’s club, as it were, aimed at all the powerful men the world over. Why, the most refined and intellectual reformers have joined with the most red-handed anarchists and—”
“Sh! not so loud,” cautioned Craig. “I think I have one of them in the next room. Have they done anything yet to the Baron?”
It was Burke’s turn now to look from one to the other of us in unfeigned surprise that we should already know something of his secret.
“The Baron?” he repeated, lowering his voice. “What Baron?”
It was evident that Burke knew nothing, at least of this new plot which Miss Lowe had indicated. Kennedy beckoned him over to the window furthest from the door to his own room.
“What have you discovered?” he asked, forestalling Burke in the questioning. “What has happened?”
“You haven’t heard, then?” replied Burke.