And then he saw the light-specks lift, and another flash of silver as the plane left the ground—and rose—and tilted sharply—and was over the tree-tops, almost scraping them—and began to climb less steeply—and made steadily eastward. . . .
America, dark and sleeping and quiet, unrolled its ever-changing immensity nine thousand feet beneath them.
Clare’s head was gently heavy against his shoulder, and Otto turned his head to peer at her. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was slow and deep.
He could not tell whether or not she slept.
He said softly: “Are you all right, Clare?”
She was not asleep. Her eyes opened and she looked up into his face.
She said: “Of course I am! How couldn’t I be?” Her voice was full and deep, and somehow richer than ever he had heard it.
“I’m much more than all right,” she said. “And I love you!” The voice changed a little. “Do you remember what he said, Nils? He said you’d win. He said you’d win—and you’ve won!”
There was nothing in the news papers. Not even a reference to the strange radio calls from a stolen aeroplane which had electrified officials at the Washington Airport and through them not only the Police but also the topmost powers in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Not even a mention—despite the forbidden chatter of airport, servants—of the strange reception accorded to the Lockheed Fourteen which made a perfect landing upon an outer runway and taxied to a standstill as police cars screamed out to surround it, followed by other cars in which were quiet men in civilian clothes, and yet others with men in uniforms of khaki. . . .
There was nothing in the papers—if by
For instance: headlines screamed for twelve hours over the tragic death, caused by an accidental overdose of a sleeping-draught, of Mrs. Theodore Van Teller.
But: the hue and cry and general furore in California papers about the tragic firing of
For instance: Gunnar Bjornstrom was arrested upon charges kept secret for reasons of national importance and was held without bail. . . .
But: the death of Rudolph Altinger was attributed to accident—and there was no report whatsoever concerning certain other deaths. . . .
And there was no publicity, anywhere, concerning the marriage of Clare Katrina Ingolls to one Nils Jorgensen; nor any mention of the same Nils Jorgensen’s application for American citizenship. . . .
They did not leave Washington. They could not leave Washington because there was too much in Washington for Nils Jorgensen to do.
The day after his marriage, Nils was taken to an interview, also entirely unpublicized, which was the most momentous of his life. He came home and told his wife all about it; she kissed him and said:
“This is only the prologue, Nils.”