"Like smoke! Telephone message came while you were up here. But she won't go far. Already all exits are being watched. No trains, no ships; and she will not be able to hide long in New York. Some scrap you must have had here. Your uniform's a wreck. Better wash up."
Mathison staggered into the bathroom, now mindful of his injuries. He was sure that one or more of his ribs were broken. Every beat of his heart was accompanied by a stab either in his head or in his torso. The floor wavered like sand in the heat; and he was none too certain about the walls.
Escaped! The Yellow Typhoon had slipped through that web! He did not know whether he was glad or sorry. Not one man in a thousand would have broken through that alert cordon; and yet this woman had done it. The pity of it! Brave and fearless and beautiful ... and absolutely lawless. He could not stir up a bit of hatred. She had broken Bob Hallowell's heart, and yet John Mathison could only admire her strength and cunning. The admiration a brave man always pays a fearless antagonist. Somehow he knew that she would be free for a long while. But how would she use this furtive freedom? Seek to injure Hilda, himself? Like as not. But he had in mind a solution for this problem. It would depend, though, upon the woman waiting down-stairs.
Entering the room again, he confronted the man he had outthought and outfought. He was dizzy, but he could navigate alone. The blond man had to be propped between two operatives. He was in a bad way. Mathison produced the manila envelope.
"Observe those photographs? That is why you did not succeed. We idiotic Yankees! They will hang you by the neck, Lysgaard. What! You believed I would risk carrying Hallowell's specifications in an ordinary manila envelope, depositing it when I stopped at a hotel, letting everybody know that I was carrying an important document? Your method, perhaps, but not mine. And the irony of it is the prints were always within easy reach of your hand. This manila envelope was merely a noose, and you drew it yourself. It is a forerunner of what your nation will receive at the hands of mine."
Mathison ripped open the envelope and displayed the contents—a dozen sheets of heavy blank paper.
"You will never see your woman again, Lysgaard. I had no evidence. I compelled you to furnish it. A man-hunt and you never suspected. Take him away, gentlemen; and thanks for your assistance."
Down-stairs Hilda waited, with growing wonder and anxiety. When she finally saw Lysgaard lurch out of the elevator, supported, her anxiety became terror. What had happened? Where was Mathison? She wanted to rush forward and ask questions, but she dared not. The value of her services would always depend upon the fact that her activities were practically unknown. So she sat perfectly quiet and watched the remarkable procession file past and vanish round the corner of the corridor.
The sight of the blond beast naturally brought back the thought of Berta. She, too, was now a prisoner. Prison. A cell with bars and filtered sunshine, interminable monotony and maddening thoughts. It was horrible. And she, Hilda, could do nothing. Berta merited whatever punishment an outraged nation might see fit to visit upon her. Flesh and blood—or was there something in the psychology of double-birth? Was there really an invisible connecting link? Yet, if so, why had she not felt that Berta was alive? Why had she shed tears over the poor, unrecognizable thing in Berta's clothes she and the mother had buried eight years ago? If only something occult had warned her! The mother might have borne up under such a blow—the return of the wayward. But to her Berta was dead; and a return under the present tragic circumstances would without doubt result in a death shock. Ah, if Berta had come back a penitent, the news might have been broken gradually. But a lawless Berta, predatory, vengeful...!
And to-morrow night Norma Farrington would romp across the stage, now tender, now whimsical; now making her audience laugh, now bringing them to the verge of tears. And all the while Hilda Nordstrom's heart would be breaking. She would complete the run because her word had never been broken. She could not possibly find it in her thoughts to be disloyal to loyal Sam Rubin.