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“I don’t know. They’re lying.”
“Why would the Army lie? If they are lying, why are they hunting you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I am not a deserter.”
“I know you’re not. That’s what makes it worse.”
“Worse?”
“The German Army is helping Krieg Rüstungswerk steal your invention.”
“I’ll be O.K. when I get to America.”
Isaac Bell asked the question he had come to Clyde’s cabin to ask. “Did you ever hear the Professor mention a name or a word that sounded like ‘acrobat’?”
Lynds turned pale. “Why do you ask?”
“When Professor Beiderbecke asked me to protect you, it was the last word he spoke. ‘Acrobat.’”
“Oh my Lord,” Clyde Lynds breathed. “Are you telling me the guy didn’t fall overboard?”
“You know who I mean.”
“Yes,” Clyde admitted. “He’s the one. Is he really on the ship?”
“I think the Professor saw him. I think this acrobat locked him in the trunk. If that’s true, then you’re being stalked not by his accomplices, but by the man himself, the same man who tried get you in Bremen and again the night we sailed from Liverpool. You were lucky that night that I just happened to be there. Last night the Professor’s luck ran out. Whoever killed Professor Beiderbecke is hiding among either the passengers or the crew. He will not be found before disembarking in New York, at which point he will disappear into the city — where he will find you easily, Clyde. A man who has hunted in the confines of a steamship with nearly a thousand crew to take notice is a formidable hunter. He will find you.”
Clyde Lynds puffed up. “What does an insurance man care about this?” he demanded, truculently.
“I don’t give a hang about this or you,” Isaac Bell shot back.
“You don’t?”
“If I hadn’t promised the Professor to look out for your prevaricating hide, I’d let you to swing it out with this murderer we’re calling the Acrobat. But I did promise. So you’re stuck with my help, like it or not.”
“Can you really protect me?”
“Only if you can tell me what I’m protecting you from. What is your ‘secret invention’? Why do they want it?”
“O.K. O.K. We’ll do it your way.”
Lynds sat silent for a long moment. Bell prompted him, saying, “Professor Beiderbecke started to name it when we had a drink before my wedding. He called it ‘Sprechchend-something’ before he clammed up.”
Clyde Lynds laughed.
“What the devil is funny?”
“Sprechendlichtspieltheater.”
“Sprechendlichtspieltheater? What is Sprechendlichtspieltheater?”
“A ridiculous name. I told him we needed an American name. So he came up with ‘Animatophone.’ I told him that was worse. So he said, ‘How about “Photokinema”?’ Which is a bad joke. I couldn’t get it through his head that we needed a snappy name we could sell.”
“But what is it?” demanded Bell.
