be sure that his death, and dissolution, were witnessed lingeringly and unmistakably, so that the full terror of it could be brought out."
He straightened up, walked toward the door. "You've set an office aside for me?"
"Yes. It's next to my own on the sixtieth floor. But you aren't going to it yet, are you?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"Well, there might be fingerprints. Whoever tampered with the control board might not have been careful about clues."
A mirthless smile appeared on Keane's firm lips.
"Fingerprints! My dear sir! You don't know Doctor Satan, I'm afraid."
"Doctor Sat"
The building manager clenched his hands excitedly. "Then you already know about the phone call to Mr. Varley just before he died."
"No,” said Keane, "I don't."
"But you named the man who called"
"Only because I know who did this—have known since I first heard of it. Not from any proofs I've found or will ever find. Tell me about the phone call."
"There isn't much. I'd hardly thought of it till you spoke of a Doctor Satan. . . . Varley was leaving his office for lunch when his telephone rang. I was in his office about a lease and I couldn’t help hearing a little of it—his words, that is. I gathered that somebody calling himself Doctor Satan was talking to Varley about insurance."
"Insurance!"
"Yes. Though what a physician should be doing selling insurance, I couldn't say"
"Doctor Satan is not exactly a physician," Keane interrupted dryly. "Go on."
"That's all there is to tell. The man at the other end of the wire calling him¬ self Doctor Satan seemed to want to insist that Varley take out some sort of insurance, till finally Varley just hung up on him. He turned to me and said something about being called by cranks and nuts, and went out to the elevator."
Keane walked from the control room, with the building manager beside him. He went to the elevator shafts.
"Sixty," he said to the operator.
In the elevator, he became the humble workman again. The manager treated him as such. "When you're through with the faulty wiring in sixty, come to my office," he said.
Keane nodded respectfully, then got out at the sixtieth floor.
A suite of two large offices had been set aside for him. There was a door through a regular anteroom, and a smaller, private entrance leading directly into the rear of the two offices.
Keane went through the private entrance. A girl, seated beside a flat-topped desk, got up. She was tall, quietly lovely, with dark blue eyes and copper-brown hair. This was Beatrice Dale, Keane's more-than-secretary.
"Visitors?" said Keane, as she handed a calling-card to him.
She nodded. "Walter P. Kessler, one of the six you listed as most likely to receive Doctor Satan's first attentions in this new scheme of his."
Keane was running a towel over his face, taking off the grease—which was not grease but dark-colored soap. He took off the electrician's coveralls, emerging in a perfectly tailored blue serge suit complete save for his coat. The coat he took from a closet, shrugging into it as he approached the desk and sat down.
"What did you find out, Ascott?" said Beatrice.
