Philip Wylie - The Smuggled Atom Bomb

“If you’d seen him! Here in Florida. There on Broadway—”

“So, all right! He gets in a car. Drives off. You never notice its license! So there’s no way on earth of tracing him. Even the FBI can’t find a man in New York by merely knowing he’s outsize.”

Duffs face was a deep scarlet. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m at last beginning to think I was souped up over nothing.”

For perhaps a minute, Higgins merely looked at Duff. When he spoke again, his brisk manner had left him. His tone was level and there was nothing sarcastic in it. “Look here, son. We’ve checked you from hell to breakfast You’re a solid citizen, from a solid family.

Can you keep your mouth shut?”

The long series of disappointments and embarrassments suddenly, incredibly vanished. Duff said, “Yes.”

Higgins rocked back in his chair. “I wouldn’t tell you this if General Baines hadn’t been brought into it by you lads. He thought you ought to know. One more crazy thing you did! A three-thousand-mile, cockeyed chase! And you go interview the Chief of Intelligence — through Smythe’s pull! Okay! Look. There is something going on in the country, Bogan, that involves a group of agents we’ve only just got wind of. It could be—

what you came in here claiming a while back. Getting A-bombs stashed here. It could be. It could be something less spectacular — some other sabotage system. Like making arrangements to start diseases, epidemics. We don’t know. We haven’t connected your boarder — your late boarder — to any of it. But something’s happening!”

Duff said, in a near-whisper, “I see.”

“One more thing. The head of this outfit may be just such a big guy as you keep describing. Six-ten, possibly even seven feet tall — and heavy, besides. He’s been seen. He apparently carries orders or gives orders. The men he sees are apt to move on afterward. To turn up missing.”

“Who is the guy?” Duff asked.

“You tell me!” Higgins was angry for an instant. “Three or four times, in various cities, our men have spotted him making a contact of some sort with somebody. Always at night — probably because he was so big. Conspicuous. So far, he’s eluded us. The people he’s spoken to have been checked. Nothing on any of them — just like Ellings. Loyal Americans.

We don’t care to pick up any of them at this stage of the game. No single one probably knows enough to mean much. Or to point to many others. So we wait. Watch. And, I don’t mind telling you, we worry!”

Duff repeated, “I see.”

The G-man rocked forward abruptly and resumed his ordinary crisp manner. “What I just said, you never heard. The Yates place may have been a freight station. It may have been a mere blind. Tell nobody what I told you. I presume, with Ellings dead, the Yates house is safe enough. It’s now under FBI surveillance, in any case, and that’s also under your hat. Go about your business perfectly normally. Keep your eyes open. If you notice anything, phone here at once. I’ll give you a list of people to talk to, in case I’m out. But don’t — absolutely don’t — try to do anything! If you phone us, be sure you aren’t listened to. That’s all.” He wrote busily for a moment and handed a list of names to Duff. “Memorize it on your way home and then burn it. We don’t want anybody to know that the FBI is interested in you or the Yateses! Understand?”

“I certainly do!” Higgins rose lithely and held out his hand. “Fine! I might add this: We weren’t such chumps as you’ve probably imagined. We didn’t quite believe your tale, but lately we have been watching. Nothing and nobody suspicious has been near the Yates house since you left town. And look. If anything does come out of this, we’ll be grateful. Tips from people like you have helped us before. The tips you gave — that we seemed to brush off — may be a big help now. See?”

Duff saw.

When he went out on the street, his steps had new confidence. A great deal of his life was unsatisfactory: The Yates family was sad and Eleanor was pretty sore at him, or had been, before his trip to New York; he was broke and in debt to Scotty. But he hadn’t been such an utter fool as he had believed. Even though, he suddenly reflected, he couldn’t tell Scotty about that. Not yet, anyway.

Eleanor had just risen when he returned. She was wearing a light green, very sheer negligee that was part of her new wardrobe. He thought she was pale and thinner.

“Dear old Duff! I’m so glad you’re home!” She was suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, doggone it! When I called down, mother said you were out. I’m a fright! You can kiss me if you can stand it.”

“I just can.” He grinned and kissed her cheek.

She stepped back and surveyed him. “Come in the kitchen!” When they were there and the swinging door had shut, she went ont, “Duff, what happened? Mother told me you’d gone right off to see Mr. Higgins.”

He nodded.

“Where’s Scotty?”

“Went back to his place. Tired. We flew down in a private plane. Didn’t sleep any too well.”

“Tell me all about it! Your trip! Why on earth didn’t you tell us what you were doing?”

Duff walked over to the stove and poured coffee for himself. He felt as if he needed a dozen cups. He refilled her cup and added the two teaspoons of sugar she liked. “Look, Eleanor. What Scotty and I were doing was checking the tracking places. We didn’t find anything important. And from now on the FBI is taking over — whatever there is to take over.

I’m out of it. And I promised to quit talking about it to a living soul. And I’m dead tired.”

She said, “Well, I’m half dead! This Queen business is exhausting.” She sighed and then laughed. “All right. I won’t ask. Positively eaten with curiosity, but a lady to the end.

Anyway, I’m dreadfully glad you’re back again!”

The phone rang. She ran to answer.

Outdoors, Charles and Marian came in view. They were carrying pails of warm water, mops, cloths and a box of soap powder. Without ado, they began to wash the outside of a kitchen window, their dark heads bobbing in busy unison. Presently Charles called to Duff to lower the top section of the window, which he did. Duff remembered that Mrs. Yates had held a family council at which a list of necessary vacation chores had been drawn up. Charles and Marian were evidently working their way through the list. It wasn’t much of a holiday, Duff thought, but they didn’t appear to mind.

Eleanor stopped talking, started back, and the phone rang again. Her voice took up a new conversation with a pleasure he knew to be stimulated.

Meanwhile, through the now-open window, Marian and Charles began to discuss their sister, somewhat for Duff’s benefit.

“Phone again!” Charles said disgustedly. “Rings all day! You answer, it’s for Eleanor. Your pals try to phone you. The line’s busy!”

“A pain!” Marian agreed. “The doorbell rings, it’s flowers for the Queen. Or it’s a telegram for the Queen. Or clothes in big, fancy boxes. You walk out on the porch, some character is waiting for the Queen — maybe even with a mustache and in striped pants. Every time she skids past you, she’s got on something new. Gifts from the local couturiers.” She made deliberate hash of the French word. “You pick up a newspaper and what do you see?

The Queen, wearing her million-dollar, photogenic smirk!”

Duff chuckled; he was back “at home” all right. And very glad to be.

The phone rang a third time and Eleanor came through the door. “You, Duff.”

Through the window, Charles leered. “Amazing!”

“A gal,” Eleanor went on, her eyes a little curious. “With a voice like a torch song.”

From that, Duff knew who it was before he reached the phone. He wondered how Indigo had learned of his return. Probably she’d run into Scotty Smythe. He also wondered what she wanted — and found out. In fact, after elaborate refusals and protests, he eventually found that he was going to have dinner with her. When he hung up, he saw Eleanor in the doorway; she’d been listening; her expression was indignant, and not even humorously so.