Standing there, firm, impassive, with narrowed eyes, he began reading
the names:
"Adams--Auchincloss--Brodeur--Cracowicz--Daimamoto--Emilio--Frazier--"
As each man's name was uttered he came down along the table, took the
box extended to him, thrust it into his pocket, saluted stiffly, and
withdrew in silence. At the end of a few minutes, no one was left but
the Master, Bohannan, and the man in the celluloid mask.
"Have you no orders for me, sir?" asked the aviator, still erect
in his place at the far end of the table. His eyes shone out darkly
through his shield.
"None, sir."
"All the others--"
"You are different." The Master set hands on his hips, and coldly
studied this strange figure. "The others have had their orders
carefully worked out for them, prepared, synchronized. You have come,
so to speak, as an extemporization, an auxiliary; you will add one
more unit to the flyers in the expedition, of which there are nine
aces, including Major Bohannan here. The others are now on their
way to their lodgings, to study their instructions, to memorize, and
prepare to carry them out. You are to remain here, with Major Bohannan
and with me.
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