tates. Always some man
of the service would be watching those who watched her. This was going
to develop into a game of small nets, one or two victims at a time.
Because these enemies of civilization lacked coherence in action there
would be slim chance of rounding them up in bulk. But from now on men
would vanish--one here, a pair there, perhaps on occasion four or five.
And those who had known them would know them no more. The policy would
be that employed by the British in the submarine campaign--mysterious
silence after the evanishment.

"It's all so exciting!" said Kitty. "But that poor old man Gregor! He
had a wonderful violin, Cutty; and sometimes I used to hear him play
folklore music--sad, haunting melodies."

"We'll know in a little while what's become of him. I doubt there is a
foreign organization in the city that hasn't one or more of our men on
the inside. A word will be dropped somewhere. I'm rarely active on
this side of the Atlantic; and what I'm doing now is practically due to
interest. But every active operative in New York, Boston, Philadelphia,
and Chicago is on the lookout for a man who, if left free, will stir
up a lot of trouble. He has leadership, this Boris Karlov, a former
intimate here of Trotzky's. We have reason to believe that he slipped
through the net in San Francisco. Probably under a cleverly forged
passport. Now please describe the man who came in with the policeman. I
haven't had time to make inquiries at the precinct, where they will have
a minute description of him."

"He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was pretty
well banged up. Naturally I did not notice any scar. A dreadfully black
beard, shaven."

"Squat, powerful, like a gorilla. Lord, I wish I'd had a glimpse of him!
He's one of the few topnotchers I haven't met. He's the spark, the hand
on the plunger. The powder is all ready in this land of ours; our job is
to keep off the sparks until we can spread the stuff so it will only
go puff instead of bang. This man Karlov is bad medicine for democracy.
Poor devil!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm honestly sorry for them. This fellow Karlov has suffered.
He is now a species of madman nothing will cure. He and his kind have
gained their ends in Russia, but the impetus to kill and burn and loot
is still unchecked. Sorry, yes; but we can't have them here. They
remind me of nothing so much as those blind deep-sea monsters in one of
Kipling's tales