“That was Vladimir,” said Cunningham calmly. “He’d just shot his servant for failing to kill me, and was shooting me down in cold blood when the Strangers jumped him. You don’t get a murder case out of this, Gray. They killed him to save my life.”
“Glad of it,” said Gray restlessly. “Now——”
“By the badge you’ve stuck on your coat,” said Cunningham grimly, “you’re a detective of some sort. And I suppose those chaps who came in the planes are Federal men. What do you want with the Strangers, Gray?”
Gray stirred uneasily. Then he faced Cunningham squarely.
“I’m in the immigration service,” he said flatly. “These people are aliens, smuggled in. You can guess the rest of it yourself.”
“I can’t,” said Cunningham savagely. “There’s more to it than that, and they won’t tell me; not even Maria.”
Stephan spoke quietly. “Do you know who and what we are?”
“I do,” said Gray curtly. “You’re——”
Stephan stopped him with an upraised palm. His face was the color of ashes.
“Then you know,” he said tonelessly, “why we prefer to die here. And since our young friend will not leave us of his own will, my young men will carry him, bound——”