A taxi, whose driver was half asleep, was parked a hundred feet behind them at the curb. As they drove away and no other sign of life was seen in the quiet street the driver of the taxi yawned ostentatiously and decided to seek a new stand. He neglected possible fares until a man he called Smeed hailed him a block farther on. They followed slowly after the first car ... and they trailed it again on its return after some hours. "Safe as a church," they reported to the driver of the first car. "We'll swear that nobody was checking up on that trip." And: "O. K." Delamater reported to his chief the next morning. "Put one over on this self-appointed Allah that time." But the Chief did not reply: he was looking at a slip of paper like those he had shown his operative the day before. He tossed it to Delamater and took up the phone. "To the Secretary of State," Delamater read. "You had your warning. Next time you disobey it shall be you who dies." The signature was only the image of an eye. * * * * * The Chief was calling a number; Delamater recognized it as that of the hotel he had visited. "Manager, please, at once," the big man was saying. He identified himself to the distant man. Then: "Please check up on the man in nine four seven. If he doesn't answer, enter the room and report at once--I will hold the phone...." The man at the desk tapped steadily with a pencil; Robert Delamater sat quietly, tensely waiting. But some sixth sense told him what the answer would be. He was not surprised when the Chief repeated what the phone had whispered. "Dead?... Yes!... Leave everything absolutely undisturbed. We will be right over." "Get Doctor Brooks, Del," he said quietly; "the Eye of Allah was watching after all." Robert Delamater was silent as they drove to the hotel. Where had he slipped? He trusted Smeed and Wilkins entirely; if they said his car had not been followed it had not. And the visitor had been disguised; he had seen to that. Then, where had this person stood--this being who called himself the Eye of Allah? "Chief," he said finally. "I didn't slip--nor Wilkins or Smeed." "Someone did," replied the big man, "and it wasn't the Eye of Allah, either." The manager of the hotel was waiting to take them to the room. He unlocked the door with his pass key. "Not a thing touched," he assured the Secret Service men; "there he is, just the way we found him." In the doorway between the bedroom and bath a body was huddled. Doctor Brooks knelt quickly beside it. His hands worked swiftly for a moment, then he rose to his feet. "Dead," he announced. "How long?" asked the Chief. "Some time. Hours I should say--perhaps eight or ten." "Cause?" the query was brief. "It will take an autopsy to determine that. There is no blood or wound to be seen." * * * * *