"Haven't time to explain now," he said in an undertone. "We've got a big job ahead of us. How long have you been here?"
"'Bout an hour," croaked Bendlow. "I came on the jump just as soon as your message was received at the office. I've been prowling around taking a look-see."
"Seen anything of the occupant of the house?"
"Nope. I guess the Wolf is in the hay," was Bendlow's enigmatic reply.
"What's that?" asked Peret sharply. "Who is this that you call the 'Wolf'?"
"Say, don't you know whose house you sent me to watch?" demanded Bendlow in surprise.
"No; I have a suspicion that the man living in this house is a foreign agent, but I'm not sure that I know who he is."
"Well, your suspicion does you credit. This house at the present time is occupied by Count Vincent di Dalfonzo, better known to the Secret Service as the Wolf."
"Tiens!" exclaimed Peret, with rising excitement. "You are sure?"
"None surer! Known him for a long time."
"Tell me what you know about him, quickly, my friend."
"Take too long now. He's got a record. Had a coupla run-ins with him when I was attached to the Secret Service. He's a clever and dangerous guy. International agent. Famous spy during the war. Plays only for big stakes, and the harder the game the better he likes it. Renegade Italian nobleman. His mother was an American. Takes after her in looks, I reckon. Never know he was a wop to look at him. He's been a thorn in the side of the foreign Secret Service for years. Too clever for them. They know he's the milk in the cocoanut, but they can't crack his shell, so to speak. He's bad medicine, and no mistake. He kills at the drop of a hat."
"But how do you know he is living in this house, eh? Have you seen him?"
"Nope. You ordered me to watch the house, and, not knowing what your game is, I haven't made any effort to see him. He's here, though, and its damn funny, too. Last time I heard of him, two months ago, he was in Petrograd."
"If you have not seen him, how do you know he is living in this house?" asked Peret impatiently.
In a subdued voice, Bendlow rapidly related all he knew about the man he called the Wolf, and gave his reasons for believing him to be the present occupant of the house. When he concluded, Peret could scarcely control his elation.
"Voila," he exclaimed softly. "You have done your work better than you know, my friend. Everything fits together beautifully. Now, let's to work. I wonder if there is any one in the house now?"
"Can't say for sure, but I doubt it."
"Well, we're going in, regardless. It's dangerous business, but necessary. I must clear up the mystery of the whispering Thing."
"The Whispering Thing?" questioned Bendlow.
"Oui," whispered Peret tersely. "I cannot tell you what it is, for I do not know. But it's a demon, my friend, be sure of that! Keep close to me and be prepared for any eventuality. Ready?"
"Yep," laconically. "Lead on."
Peret tried the door behind him and found it locked. After several unsuccessful attempts, he opened it with a master key and, followed by Bendlow, entered the cellar. Closing the door, Peret brought his flashlight into play, and then, like a phantom, he passed over the concrete floor and ascended a flight of steps in the rear.
