It was not till eleven on the following morning that Hall received word of Dragomiloff’s next play. It came from the Chief himself.
“Have sent this message to all branches. Have given it in person to Chicago branch which will verify. I believe that our organization is wrong. I believe all its work has been wrong. I believe every member, wittingly or not, to be wrong. Consider this your sanction and do your duty.”
Soon the verdicts of the branches began to pour in on Hall, who smiled as he forwarded them to Dragomiloff. One and all were agreed that no reason had been advanced for taking the Chief’s life.
“A belief is not a sin,” said New Orleans.
“It is not incorrectness of a belief but insincerity of a belief that makes a crime,” was Boston’s contribution to the symposium.
“Chief’s honest belief is no wrong,” concluded St. Louis.
“Ethical disagreement does not constitute any sanction whatever,” announced Denver.
While San Francisco flippantly remarked, “The only thing for the Chief to do is to retire from control or forget it.”
Dragomiloff replied by sending out another general message. It ran:
“My belief is about to take form of deeds. Believing organization to be wrong, I shall stamp out organization. I shall personally destroy members, and if necessary shall have recourse to the police. Chicago will verify this to all branches. I shall shortly afford even stronger sanction for branches to proceed against me.”
Hall waited for the replies with keen interest, confessing to himself his inability to forecast what this society of righteous madmen would conclude next. It turned out to be a division of opinion. Thus San Francisco:
“Sanction O.K. Await instructions.”
Denver advised:
“Recommend Chicago branch examine Chief’s sanity. We have good sanatoriums up here.”
New Orleans complained:
“Is everybody crazy? We are without sufficient data. Will somebody straighten this matter out?”
Said Boston:
“In this crisis we must keep our heads. Perhaps Chief is ill. This must be ascertained satisfactorily before any decision is reached.”
It was after this that Starkington wired to suggest that Haas, Schwartz, and Harrison be returned to New York. To this Hall agreed, but hardly had he got the telegram off, when a later one from Starkington changed the complexion of the situation.
“Carthey has just been murdered. Police looking for slayer but have no clues. It is our belief that Chief is responsible. Please forward to all branches.”
Hall, as the focal communicating point of the branches, was now fairly swamped in a sea of telegrams. Twenty-four hours later Chicago had even more startling information.
“Schwartz throttled at three this afternoon. There is no doubt this time of Chief. Police are pursuing him. So are we. Has dropped from sight. All branches be on the lookout. It means trouble. Am proceeding without sanction of branches, but should like same.”
And promptly the sanctions poured in on Hall. Dragomiloff had achieved his purpose. At last the ethical madmen were aroused and after him.
Hall himself was in a quandary, and cursed his ethical nature that made him value a promise. He was convinced, now, that Dragomiloff was really a lunatic, having burst forth from his quiet book-and-business life and become a homicidal maniac. That he had promised a maniac various things brought up the question whether or not, ethically, he was justified in breaking those promises. His common sense told him that he was justified—justified in informing the police, justified in bringing about the arrests of all the members of the Assassination Bureau, justified in anything that promised to put a stop to the orgy of killing that seemed impending. But above his common sense was his ethics, and at times he was convinced that he was as mad as any of the madmen with whom he dealt.
To add to his perplexity, Grunya, who managed to get his address from the telephone number he had given her, paid him a call.
“I have come to say goodbye,” was her introduction. “What comfortable rooms you have. And what a curious servant. He never spoke a word to me.”
“Goodbye?” Hall queried. “Are you going back to Edge Moor?”
She shook her head and smiled airily.
“No; Chicago. I am going to find Uncle, and to help him if I can. What last word have you received? Is he still in Chicago?”
“By the last word . . .” Hall hesitated. “Yes, by the last word he had not left Chicago. But you can’t be of any help, and it is unwise of you to go.”
“I’m going just the same.”
“Let me advise you, dear.”
“Not until the year is up—except in business matters. In fact I came to turn my little affairs over to you. I go on the Twentieth Century this afternoon.”
Argument with Grunya was useless, but Hall was too sensible to quarrel, and parted from her in appropriate lover fashion, remaining in the headquarters of the Assassination Bureau to manage its lunatic affairs.
Nothing happened of moment for another twenty-four hours. Then it came, an avalanche of messages, precipitated by one from Starkington.
“Chief still here. Broke Harrison’s neck today. Police do not connect case with Schwartz. Please call for help on all branches.”
Hall sent out this general call, and an hour later received the following from Starkington:
“Broke into hospital and killed Dempsey. Has definitely left city. Haas in pursuit. St. Louis take warning.”
“Rastenaff and Pillsworthy start immediately,” Boston informed Hall.
“Lucoville has been dispatched to Chicago,” said New Orleans.
“Not sending anybody. Are waiting for Chief to arrive,” St. Louis advised.
And then Grunya’s Chicago wail:
“Have you any later news?”
He did not answer this, but very shortly received a second from her.
“Do please help me if you have heard.”
Hall replied:
“Has left Chicago. Probably heading towards St. Louis. Let me join you.”
And to this, in turn, he received no answer, and was left to contemplate the flight of the Chief of the Assassins, pursued by his daughter and the assassins of four cities, and heading towards the nest of assassins waiting in St. Louis.
Another day went by, and another. The van of pursuers arrived in St. Louis, but there was no sign of Dragomiloff. Haas was reported missing. Grunya could find no trace of her uncle. Only the head of the branch remained in Boston, and he informed Hall that he would follow if anything further happened. In Chicago there was left only Starkington with his broken arm.
But at the end of another forty-eight hours, Dragomiloff struck again. Rastenaff and Pillsworthy had arrived in St. Louis in the early morning. Each, perforated by a small-calibre bullet, had been carried from his Pullman berth by men sent from the coroner’s office. The two St. Louis members were likewise dead. The head of that branch, the only survivor, sent the information. Haas had reappeared, but no explanation of his four days’ disappearance was vouchsafed. Dragomiloff had again dropped out of sight. Grunya was inconsolable and bombarded Hall with telegrams. The head of the Boston branch sent word that he had started. And so did Starkington, despite his injury. San Francisco was of the opinion that Denver would be the Chief’s next point, and sent two men there to reinforce; while Denver, of the same opinion, kept her two men in readiness.
All this made big inroads on the emergency fund of the Bureau, and it was with satisfaction that Hall, adhering to his instructions, wired sum after sum of money to the different men. If the pace were kept up, he decided, the Bureau would be bankrupt before the end of the year.
And then came a slack period. All members having gone to the West, and being in touch with each other there, nothing was left for Hall to do. He endured the suspense and idleness for a day or so; then, making financial arrangements and arranging with the deaf mute for the forwarding of telegrams, he closed up the headquarters of the Bureau and bought a ticket for St. Louis.