“Mr. Secretary travels with the entire secret service bureau,” Lanagan found time to comment to himself.
There came a tattoo on the panel from the billiard-room. The Secretary held up his hand for silence and motioned one of the secret service agents, who stepped noiselessly to the panel and listened. The tapping came again.
“Answer,” commanded the Secretary. “It is over, whatever it was.”
The panel slid open. Through the aperture came one of the billiard players, flashing a quick, steely glance upon Lanagan.
“Balked, by the eternal!” shot through Lanagan’s mind. “The owner of that pin has shown up. It’s now or never.” He stepped casually to the panel; it was a fine chance. Once through there, he could make a fight for the front door,—and the seven column exclusive in the Enquirer.
Directly before him, fairly filling the space of the panel, was the other billiard player. It was quick action. Lanagan shot out his right for the man’s jaw; but his arm got about half way. A grip like an iron clamp had him just above the elbow. He was whirled face about, a secret service man on either side.
As though nothing had happened, the man who had first entered through the panel door spoke:
“There is a person outside somewhat excited who wishes to speak to Mr. Koshloff. He said to say it was Carlos.”
Koshloff leaped for the doorway and in a moment more had dragged fairly by the hair of his head, a wild-eyed, dark-visaged person who, when he straightened up, perceived the pin in Lanagan’s tie and made a tigerish spring for him, a dirk gleaming in a half arc as he leaped. But the right fist of one of the secret agents met him en route, and the frenzied Carlos was disarmed. He staggered to his feet, striving vainly to get at Lanagan.
“Thief! Robber! Death to him! Death to him who dares rob the messenger of His Imperial Majesty, Nicholas!”