Part 5

The red-headed singer obdurately set her mouth. Landovitch looked startled.

* * * * *

Jaro turned to the T.I.S. agent. "You heard the Colonel say that Karfial Hodes was to be the goat for the fake revolution. There was only one fly in Peet's ointment. As long as Karfial Hodes was alive, he could present himself before the Earth Congress, denounce the revolution, and the whole scheme would blow up like a dum-dum shell. Hodes simply had to be put out of the way. But the Mercurian patriot couldn't be found. Peet was desperate. His campaign of propaganda had been started. That was when I was called in."

"I never wanted to call you," the red-headed singer broke out. "I told Albert he was a fool, that you were utterly unpredictable."

"By the way," said Jaro, "why did Karfial Hodes have you abducted?"

She shrugged. "He had the wind up, but he didn't know Albert Peet was behind the scene. He had learned, though, that I was one of the principal agents. He wanted to question me. I suppose he thought he might as well keep me out of mischief while he had me."

"Red," said Jaro coldly and catching the girl's eye. "Where is Joan Webb?"

"Joan Webb?" The Red Witch's eyes narrowed. "I suppose you mean that attractive brunette my men caught in the secret passages of Nemi's Temple when they came to release me."

Jaro said nothing.

The red-headed singer looked frightened, but determined. "She's my ace in the hole!"

Jaro took a step toward her.

"Don't touch me," she cried, "you'll never get her if you do!"

He halted in mid-stride.

Landovitch said: "Turn State's evidence. I can guarantee you complete amnesty."

"Not just a light sentence?"

"Complete amnesty," he assured her.

She hesitated, said, "Your words."

"You've my word," said Jaro. His voice was cold. "I don't threaten, Red, but if she's been harmed you won't come to trial."

The girl pulled her eyes from Jaro's, turned to Landovitch. "Yours," she said, "yours too."

"I give you my word, of course," he replied.

With a sigh of relief she sank back in her chair. "In there, boys." She motioned towards a door at the left of the chamber.

Jaro sprang forward, swung it open, revealed a large closet. Joan Webb, gagged, bound to a chair, regarded him from wide brown eyes. Behind him, the red-haired singer burst into laughter.

"She's been there all the time," she laughed. "You were bound to have found her. Jaro, Jaro, that was the most magnificent bluff I've ever pulled. And you fell for it. You, Jaro Moynahan, fell for it."

* * * * *

The abortive revolution had brought the Festival to an abrupt conclusion. The city of Acecia licked its wounds and fretted under the grip of martial law, but negotiations for Mercurian independence had been reopened. Landovitch's report had exploded a bombshell in the Earth Congress, and it looked very much as if the negotiations might be successful at last.

"How does it feel to be famous?" Jaro asked. He and Joan and the T.I.S. agent were sitting in his room, sipping Latonka.

Landovitch said: "I wish you would have let me give credit where it was due."

"Publicity in my line," Jaro replied, "is not very good for business."

Someone rapped at the door. He opened it, revealed a small Mercurian boy in the uniform of the Spaceography Station.

"A spaceogram for Miss Webb," said the boy.

"Me?" cried Joan. "Who could be sending me a spaceogram?"

Jaro took the envelope, handed it to her, tossed the boy a coin. She tore it open eagerly.

"Why, it's from Prince Radnick of the Imperial Martian Court," she said with a puzzled frown. "He's offering me a post as secretary at two thousand notes a year. Two thousand notes a year! Think of it!"

Jaro started, said, "Two thousand notes!" He glanced angrily at Landovitch who was listening with a bland expression.

"Irving!" cried Joan rapturously and threw her arms about the blond T.I.S. agent's bull-like neck. "You're a perfect darling!"

"Let me see that spaceogram," said Jaro Moynahan darkly. He read: "You have been highly recommended by a dear friend of mine, Mr. Irving Landovitch of the T.I.S."

"Jaro," cried the girl, "should I accept it?"

"What? Oh. Yes, of course. As it happens I know the prince very well. I think you'll find the work delightful. If I were you, I'd run down to the desk and get a spaceogram off to him right away." He almost shoved her out of the room. Then he went to the visoscreen, clicked it on, said: "When Miss Webb comes to send a spaceogram, take it, but don't send it. T.I.S. wishes to examine it. Yes. That's right. The T.I.S." He clicked the visoscreen off, turned to Landovitch.

"Now!" he exploded. "I told you to make that one thousand notes a year, not two thousand."

"I thought she was worth it," said Landovitch blandly.

Jaro glared at his friend, trying to keep the amusement from his eyes and face.

"That's as much as a general in the Martian army makes." He ran his fingers upward through his crisp black hair. "It's going to be difficult enough persuading the prince that I need a secretary at all as head of his army, let alone get him to pay her two thousands notes a year. When I asked you to send that fake spaceogram, if I'd...."

"But what a secretary," Landovitch interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"And that line," Jaro snorted. "'Recommended by a very dear friend of mine, Mr. Irving Landovitch.' The prince never even heard of you."

"He will, he will," Landovitch assured him.

Jaro stopped short. "What do you mean? What's coming off here?"

"I've been attached to the Terrestrial embassy at the Martian court."

"You couldn't by any chance, have applied for that post?" asked Jaro darkly.

The T.I.S. agent grinned. "As it happens, I did."

Suddenly both men laughed. Jaro glanced at his watch. "We've got to hurry. The ship leaves in forty-five minutes."

The door flew open, Joan sailed back into the room.

"Why so much amusement?" she said suspiciously. "We starting that _comrade_ stuff again?"

"Get your hat on," Jaro said. "We have but forty-five minutes to make that Super Liner for Mars. We can stop by your rooms for your trunk on the way to the spaceport."

Joan drew back in amazement. "Forty-five minutes," she gasped. "But I haven't got a ticket."

"Oh, I've got the tickets," Jaro and Landovitch both said in unison. Then they closed their mouths, stared at each other.

A look of comprehension dawned on Joan's face. "Look, boys," she said grimly. "This isn't a put-up job, by any chance?"

The two men recovered. Jaro said with wounded dignity, "'Put-up job.' No. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"No. Of course not," Landovitch echoed.

"I see," said Joan, amusement glinting through her eyes in spite of herself. "It's just by the purest sort of coincidence that we're all three going the same way."

Nodding, Jaro and Landovitch came forward--and laughing, the three began to walk. Somehow, the future looked promising--and dangerous.