Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-03-20

asked.
In person"
1t is not"
1T is not your affair" said the
masked man suavely. You are Ia no
way responsible. But success means pro-
motion. Start at once"
The elevator door slid open.
Still composedly, but wearing an
oddly set expression, Zone Ofacer ga
turned and went out. The door closed.
The red light glowed.
H. @" said a voice.
send out a general emergency order.
All units to stand by until further no.
tice."
The red light faded The man at the
table raised his gloved hands and I'M
fastened the hideous mask
Peter Champion. sometimes referred
TO as The Lumber King" paced from
end to end of his plainly furnished
study. He looked what he was-a re-
tired woodsman-but he didn't look like
man who could write his personal
check for five millions and know it
would be honored.
Although it was past the social din
ner hour, he wore a rough tweed suit.
by no means fashionable in cut. The
pictures on his walls were of giant
trees. monarchs of some Northern for
est; his study appointments were prac-
tlcal and monumental. This great old
New York house, which he had bought
to please his wife, was like an echoing
mausoleum. now that his wife had left
him. And his son
But Peter Champions grim face,
which looked like carving in mahog-
any, chiseled by Jacob Epstein, told a
curious world that the old lumberman
sun stood mighty tree in the financial
torest-ruf1ed, but unbowed by the
storm.
His big gnarled hands, which even
today could WELD an ak with any man
living, opened and clenched, and opened
and clenched, as he paced ceaselessly
up and down the silent room. Once
he paused, listened intently for some
moments and then resumed his bear
like promenade.
Suddenly the note of telephone bell
brought him up sharply. Crossing to
the Uttered table:
"Yes?" he said. speaking with studied
calm. Peter Champion here"
Louis Meyer" reported the man at
the other end. I've got some more
information for you, Mr.. Champion. 1t
is urgent"
WAfNAC aAC yOu!
In Brooklyn. I've had to double on
my tracks, heaven knows how many
times But think I've dropped EN-"
whats the ,lformation?"
Il darent trust it to the wires. But
I've seen him! You understand? I can
describe him. And I've seen the zone
map! I'm afraid to stay here longer
than necessary. Make date-quick."
III be home right along. Pick your
time. Any hour tonight"
"Good enough. Good-by."
Peter Champion replaced the re-
ceiver: stood for a moment, listening,
and then began to walk up and down
Sample this, old lad" said Drake
Roscoe, pushing a glass along the
counter
Stopford smiled at the speaker. It
was smile of affectionate admiration.
Between these two. externally so I'M
like, but spiritually akin, existed one of
those friendships inexplicable to the
casual observer, because based upon
subconscious understanding.
Comdr. Drake Roscoe of the United
States Navy was half a head shorter
than DR.. Stopford, built like an aero
bat. tanned with that deep-sea tan
which looks as though it went through
to the bone, and having the clear, wide
open gray eyes-those peculiarly frank
eyes of the sailor. His dark, crisp hair
was never seen diSarranged. and in uni
form he looked like a younger brother
of Earl Beatty.
The half smile of whimsical amuse-
ment which was his habitual expression
tonight was absent.
Cherry no, old SCOUT" Stopford
murmured and slipped his drink. 1.-THE
sky is overcast this evening, so to speak
Glass droppin'?"
Roscoe shock his head.
"Ill tell you later" he replied 81
have a sort Of premonition, Sloppy"
THE VIII te mixture as directed" said
Stopford. Three times day. SHAKE
we'll before takin'."
RoScoe's charming smile struggled
through.
There's hot work afoot," he assured
the other and glanced suspiciouslI
about him. Tonight expect th
' TriSiS"
Stopford's expression underwent 4
subtle change. Only very close OBJ
server would have noted it. But, not
ing, such an observer would have aSkes
himself which was the real Stopford-4
the perfectly groomed young doctor u
whom nothing on earth was serious q
the other man hidden below the sur
face.
"Tm with you" he said quietly
Garry on. What is it? Graft?"
Roscoe's clearly chiseled face wa
grim. Gray eyes met blue eyes.
mo" He bent to Stopford's ear. "It1
murder! I have booked table at I
new place It's fairly quiet More whel
we get there. Stopford"-he cast an
other of those odd, hunted looks aroun(
the room-"this city is jazzing over
sub.erranean volcano. and tonight vol
and I are liable to fall in"