Adventure stories; Brothers -- Fiction; Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories
“Was?” he repeated as carefully. “What makes you think it isn’t yet to
come? Not in the middle of our meeting now, but to whoever is here,
which means you and me.” But he did not move away; instead, he walked
to the window and stood there looking down. I glanced down too and into
Wall Street and got a glimpse of that part which seemed particularly to
bear a message for us this morning--that strip between Morgan’s offices
and the sub-treasury where people were peacefully passing and feeling
absolutely secure that summer noon, not so long ago, when without
warning at all that infernal no-one-yet-knows-what went off and did
what nobody about Wall Street will ever forget.
Of course, what had strewed the street had been gathered up and the
pavement repaired and flushed and swept and the buildings restored
long ago; yet this neighborhood wasn’t precisely the best spot to
disregard a threat of terrorism,--especially when you’ve found
ancestral gas pipes freshly chiselled for no use you wish to put them
to.
“We’ve expected trouble from radicals about this stage in our foreign
financing, Fanneal,” Teverson said to me. “We’ve guarded Géroud and
Strathon from the minute they passed quarantine; we’ve double-guarded
these premises with special men who are watching every stranger who
comes in to-day; we’ve taken every precaution--or thought we had.
That’s why Sencort was so sure nothing could happen.”
He stepped nearer to the window and I realized that he was not standing
there merely to think, but he was intentionally showing himself to
convince any watcher that the room was occupied. He turned about and
went on, “No one knows where the other ends of these pipes are now; of
course they haven’t been used for decades. They might stop anywhere or
they might have been led on indefinitely. If what killed Costrelman
came through the air--and it seems certain it did--and if those pipes
are conveyors for more of it, they could have pumped it in and nobody
suspected till somebody fell over; it might be coming now on us. Do
you feel any movement of air from that pipe?”
“I can’t be sure,” I said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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