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The Secret Adversary

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just as well through my coat pocket. One word, or a glance even, at one
of those liveried menials, and there'll sure be a strange face in the
Sulphur and Brimstone Works!"

Together they descended the stairs, and passed out to the waiting car.
The Russian was shaking with rage. The hotel servants surrounded them.
A cry hovered on his lips, but at the last minute his nerve failed him.
The American was a man of his word.

When they reached the car, Julius breathed a sigh of relief. The
danger-zone was passed. Fear had successfully hypnotized the man by his
side.

"Get in," he ordered. Then as he caught the other's sidelong glance,
"No, the chauffeur won't help you any. Naval man. Was on a submarine in
Russia when the Revolution broke out. A brother of his was murdered by
your people. George!"
            
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