“He ordered me to kill him,” said Zip. “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t harm anyone.”
“Why, you fool!” exclaimed the Major. “Wouldn’t harm anyone? What do you think happened when your infernal machines exploded in San Francisco, in Detroit, in Newark, and Syracuse and New York?”
“That is different,” said Zip. “That is part of our creed. It must be for the good of humanity.”
“Of course!” said the Captain bitterly. “Well, go on! Did you finally accept the boy as part of your creed, and kill him?”
“No,” said Zip. “He escaped. A fellow up the street here saw him going into the L. & N. Station. I suppose he found out the address of a relative in the Blue Grass country and has gone down there.”
“If he is not up in an airplane headed for Louisville,” said the Major, “he is now sitting on or near a pile of dynamite in a cave out at Camp Knox.”
Zip paled. “So he—why—how—” he said and stuttering, stopped.
“What about the plot for the thirteenth?” the detective demanded.
Zip turned sullen. “I have said enough,” he muttered.
“Enough to electrocute you all right,” the detective agreed. “But not enough to save your life.”