“The gentleman appears to be teething,” remarked Lanagan.
Koshloff pressed a button and two swart giants appeared. He indicated Carlos with a nod. “He wore the pin, but he has failed in his obligation. He must receive discipline.” The miserable wretch fell to his knees with upraised hands, supplicating.
“Ah, no, Sire! My wife! My babies! Ten minutes too late, or I would have had it back and this sneak thief’s life!”
But Koshloff frowned impatiently and in a second more Carlos was whisked away, a wierd scream floating back wearily from some hidden corridor to indicate the terror that gripped him. There was something in that scream of fear of more than the knout. As it rang through Lanagan’s ears, he recalled the crossed axes and the hangman’s noose of the pin. It was clear enough. There would be another burglar killed. He wheeled upon Koshloff.
“Professor Koshloff, or whoever or whatever you are,” he said in a tone of deadly acidity, “that man is turned up out of here unharmed by so much as a scratch, or I’ll have you snaked into the city prison within twenty-four hours, and some other very general suspicions will incidentally be given an airing. You may be the right eye or the right hand of His Serene Majesty Nicholas, but I’m Jack Lanagan of the San Francisco Enquirer, and in my own particular bailiwick, something of a czar myself. You’re a long way from Russia right now. You’re in little old San Francisco. Did you get me?”
The catlike quality of Lanagan’s eyes to glow under the stress of anger or great excitement, exhibited itself. His face in anger was not what was calculated to put infants to slumber. He had forgotten the Secretary for the moment; the agents had all withdrawn. He was recalled to him when that person, taking his cigar from his teeth and gazing upon its ash contemplatively, said in even tones:
“I think possibly you are unduly exercising yourself. Something of a Czar?” The smooth voice went on. “Indeed, and it is a pleasure to meet the Czar of the bailiwick of San Francisco,” and the Secretary bowed profoundly and gravely. “Now let us talk business, Mr. Lanagan.
“As for Carlos, his case is absolutely ex-territorial so far as we are concerned. Please inform me how you came by that packet and pin—eavesdropping in matters of State? Do you young men of the press hold nothing sacred? Not your country’s peace or the peace of other nations?”
“So far as that goes,” retorted Lanagan, coolly, “and not condescending to take note of your ‘eavesdropping,’ we young men of the press have a duty to our papers which our papers in turn owe to the people. In this case it is a clear duty. By what right do you or any other man, president or not, arrogate to yourself the power to hold this secret caucus, resting your country’s stand in this grave affair entirely upon the judgment of one or two men? You are the servant of the people. Let the whole people know where you are now and what you are doing. Get the sentiment of your country before you plunge into this agreement. I personally most emphatically disagree with the answer you are sending back. The public are as likely to think my way as yours.”
The Secretary looked bored. “It is not possible.”