LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

go overside in a ship’s boat; they are all accounted for. He is not a particularly strong swimmer, and could not have reached shore in that way.”

      “You say the guard had been chloroformed,” The Thinking Machine went back. “Just what happened to him? How do you know he was chloroformed?”

      “By the odor,” replied the admiral, answering the last question first. “In order to enter the officer’s suite it was necessary—”

      “Suite, did you say?”

      “Yes; that is, he occupied more than one stateroom—”

      “I understand. Go on.”

      “It was necessary to pass through an antechamber. The guard slept there. He says it must have been after one o’clock when he went to sleep. Next morning he was found unconscious, and the officer was gone.” He paused. “There can be no question whatever of the guard’s integrity. He has been attached to the—the officer for many years.”

      With eyes all but closed, The Thinking Machine sat motionless for minute after minute, the while thin, spidery lines of though ruffled the domelike brow. At last:

      “The matter hasn’t been reported to the police?”

      “No.” Admiral Hausen–Aubier looked startled.

      “Why not?”

      “Because,” Baron Von Hartzfeldt answered, “when it was brought to my attention in Washington by wire, we decided against that. The affair is extremely delicate. It is inadvisable that the police even should so much as suspect—”

      The Thinking Machine nodded.

      “How about the secret service?”

      “That bureau has been at work on the case from the first,” the diplomatist replied; “also half a dozen secret agents attached to the embassy. You must understand, Mr. Van Dusen, that it is absolutely essential that no word of the disappearance—not even a hint of it—be allowed to become public. The result would be a—a disaster. I can’t say more.”

      “Perhaps,” suggested The Thinking Machine irrelevantly, “perhaps the officer deserted?”

      “I would vouch for his loyalty with my life,” declared the admiral, with deep feeling.

      “Or perhaps it was suicide?”

      Again there was a swift interchange of glances between the admiral and the ambassador. Obviously that was a possibility that had occurred to each of them, and yet one that neither dared admit.

      “Impossible!” the diplomat shook his head.

      “Nothing is impossible,” snapped The Thinking Machine curtly. “Don’t say that. It annoys me exceedingly.” Fell a short silence. Finally: “Just when did your officer disappear?”

      “Last Tuesday—almost a week ago,” Admiral Hausen–Aubier told him.

      “And nothing—nothing—has been heard of him? Or from him? Or from any one else concerning him?”

      “Nothing—not a word,” Admiral Hausen–Aubier said. “If we could only hear! If we could only know whether he is living or dead!”

      “What’s his name?”

      “Lieutenant Leopold Von Zinckl.”

      For the first time, The Thinking Machine lowered his eyes and swept the countenances of the two men before him—both grave, troubled, lined with worry. Under his curious scrutiny, the diplomatist retained his self-possession by sheer force of will; but a vital, consuming nervousness seemed to seize upon the man of the sea.

      “I mean,” and again the scientist was squinting into the gloom above, “I mean his real name.”

      Admiral Hausen–Aubier’s broad face flushed suddenly as if from a blow, and he started to his feet. Some subtle warning form the ambassador caused him to drop back into his seat.

      “That is his real name,” he said distinctly; “Lieutenant Leopold Von Zinckl.”

      “May I ask,” The Thinking Machine was speaking very slowly, “if his majesty the emperor has been informed of Lieutenant Von Zinckl’s disappearance?”

      Perhaps The Thinking Machine anticipated the effect of the question; perhaps he did not. Anyway, he didn’t look around when Admiral Hausen–Aubier came to his feet with a mighty Teutonic exclamation, and strode the length of the big room, his face dead white beneath the coat of bronze. Baron Von Hartzfeldt remained seated, apparently fascinated by some strange, newly discovered quality in the scientist.

      “We have not informed the emperor of the affair as yet,” he said, at last, steadily. “We thought it inadvisable to go so far until every effort had been made to—”

      The Thinking Machine interrupted him with an impatient gesture of one slender hand.

      “As a matter of fact, the situation is like this, isn’t it?” he queried abruptly. “Prince Otto Ludwig, heir apparent to the throne of Germania–Austria, has been abducted from the royal suite of the battleship Friedrich der Grosse, in the harbor of a friendly nation?”

      There was an instant’s amazed silence. Suddenly Admiral Hausen–Aubier covered his face with his hands, and stood, his great shoulders shaking. Straining nerves had broken at last. Baron Von Hartzfeldt, ripe in diplomatic experience, seemed merely astonished, if one might judge by the face of him.

      “How do you know that?” he inquired quietly, after a moment. “Outside of the secret service and my own agents, there are not six persons in the world who are aware—”

      “How do I know it?” interrupted The Thinking Machine. “You have just told me. Logic, logic, logic!”

      “I have told you?” There was blank bewilderment on the diplomatist’s face.

      “You and Admiral Hausen–Aubier together,” The Thinking Machine declared petulantly.

      “But how, man, how?” demanded Baron Von Hartzfeldt. “Of course, you knew from the newspapers that his highness, Crown Prince Otto Ludwig, was visiting America; but—”

      “I never read newspapers,” snapped The Thinking Machine. “I didn’t know he was here any more than I knew the battleship Friedrich der Grosse was in the harbor. It’s logic, logic—the adding together of the separate units—a simple demonstration of the fact that two and two make four, not sometimes, but all the time.”

      Admiral Hausen–Aubier, having mastered the emotion which had shaken him, resumed his seat, staring curiously into the wizened face before him.

      “Still I don’t understand,” Baron Von Hartzfeldt insisted. “Logic, you say. How?”

      “I’ll see if I can make it clear.” And there was that in the manner of the eminent man of science which was no compliment to their perspicacity. “You tell me an officer has disappeared, that his guard was chloroformed. The officer was not under arrest, and no other officer aboard ship had a guard. I assume, therefore, for the moment that the officer was a man of consequence, else he was mentally irresponsible. An instant later you tell me how to enter the officer’s suite—not stateroom, but suite. Ergo, a man of so much consequence that he occupies a suite; a man of so much consequence that you didn’t dare report his disappearance to the police; a man of so much consequence that public knowledge of the affair would precipitate disaster. Do you follow the thread?”

      Fascinated, the two listeners nodded.

      “Very well,” The Thinking Machine resumed, in that odd little tone of irritation. “There are only a few persons in the world of so much consequence as all that—that is, of so much consequence aboard a ship of war. Those are members of the royal household. I am of German descent; hence I am well acquainted with the histories of the German countries. I know that Emperor Gustavus has only

Скачать книгу