Secret Agent X : The Complete Series Volume 3

by Emile C. Tepperman

  Jim grinned. “I think so, sir.”

  “All right. I will fire back at you, and you will act as if you were wounded. According to my plans, the next thing that should happen is that our friends in the black car will storm up and attack you. When they do, you must give your car all the gas she can take, and drive away from here. Is everything plain?”

  “I’ve got it, sir,” said Jim,

  “Fine. You will drive to the abandoned farmhouse that I showed you on the way up, take Fannon in, and hide the car in the barn. You will keep Fannon a prisoner there, not letting him out, and not letting him be seen by a soul! Remember that. If he should be seen, my life might be placed in deadly danger. Do you understand?”

  “I do, sir, and you can depend on me.”

  “Very well then. Let’s go!”

  The thing could not have gone off more smoothly if it had been rehearsed. When “X” leaped from the car, sprawling in the road and firing in Jim Hobart’s direction, the pursuing sedan, with the letter “S” monogrammed on the door speeded up; and from it there came a fusillade that would have blasted the pretended army car into a burning wreck if it had not been built of bullet-proof steel and glass.

  Jim Hobart, after sending a couple of shots backward, stepped on the accelerator and left the scene in a spurt of speed.

  The Skull’s car did not pursue him farther, but stopped to pick up the man they thought was Fannon. So well did “X” act that the four men in that car were completely taken in. They congratulated him on his daring escape, and looked on him with new respect when he told them that he had killed the colonel who was arresting him.

  They took him to the headquarters of their master, the Skull, where we saw him conducted, blindfolded, into the main room by Binks, then later, interviewed by the Skull; and subsequently, after making a daring attempt to reach Tyler, trapped in the corridor by Rufe Linson, the Skull’s second in command.

  Now, as he stood with his hands in the air under the menacing muzzle of Rufe’s gun, it seemed as if all the trouble he had taken to work his way in here had gone for nothing.

  RUFE licked his lips in triumph. “The Skull will be here in a minute. And then you’ll wish you was dead—the way Tyler does!”

  “X” said nothing. His hands were in the air, his ears keenly attuned for any sounds coming from the corridor behind him where he knew the Skull’s room was located. And suddenly he smiled grimly. For his fingers, high in the air, had transmitted a message to his brain—a message of hope and escape!

  His hands, raised high above his head, had come in contact with the dim electric light bulb on his side of the doorway. Rufe could not see the bulb, for he was standing on the other side.

  Slowly, “X” began to turn the bulb in its socket, listening for sound. And then it came—a door opening down the end of the passage, behind him.

  Rufe said, “Here comes some one. That’ll be Binks.”

  At the same time “X” gave the last turn to the bulb, tore it out of the socket. The corridor was plunged in darkness.

  Rufe shouted angrily, but his voice was drowned by the crash of the bulb, which “X” had dashed on the floor. From behind the Agent came a muttered oath in the voice of Binks.

  “X” reached out, met Rufe’s gun arm. Rufe’s fingers were just contracting on the trigger when “X” seized his hand, jerked it up. The gun exploded into the ceiling. Behind them came the sound of running feet.

  Rufe clinched with “X,” at the same time shouting, “Don’t shoot, Binks! I got him!”

  The Secret Agent bent his knees, seized Rufe by the legs, and heaved.

  Rufe went into the air, over “X’s” shoulder. At the same time a gun barked behind them. Rufe’s body was just coming down behind “X” when the shots sounded; “X” sprang through the opening in the wall, inserted the metal key in the slot. The panel started to close.

  Rufe’s voice came from the floor, in a bubbling groan. “Damn you, you halfwit! You got me instead o’ him. I’m—dying!”

  Binks’ cackling tones demanded, “Who was it, Rufe? It’s too bad yore dyin’, but you ought to thank me. The Skull’d fry you for missin’ up like this, an’ lettin’ him git away. Who was it?” Rufe’s only answer was a weak groan.

  The panel slid shut with a click. “X” was left on the other side, not knowing whether Rufe had lived long enough to utter his name, or not. He shrugged. The chance had to be taken. He twisted the metal key in the slot until it jammed there. The panel wouldn’t open now without trouble.

  Then he silently made his way along the corridor to the concealed elevator, and down to the passage below. The alarm hadn’t spread to this part—the walls were apparently sound-proof. “X” encountered no one on his return trip to the main room. He stopped long enough to remove the piece of leather he had jammed into the lock, then stole into the dormitory after shutting the door. The men were all asleep. He crept into bed silently, composed himself in an attitude of slumber. Some one would surely be down soon to check on them.

  He turned on his left side, so he could watch the door out of half closed lids. Soon the outer door opened, padded footsteps sounded, and Binks entered. “X” closed his eyes, pretended to breathe stertorously. He heard Binks prowling about the room, felt more at ease; if Rufe had uttered his name, Binks wouldn’t be prowling—he would have reported to the Skull.

  Binks had stopped at the outer door as he came in to examine the lock. “X” reflected that Binks could not be imbecilic as he looked, if he was cagey enough to have surmised that the lock might have been jammed in some fashion.

  Binks wandered from cot to cot, stopping at each for a moment. “X” wondered what he was doing. Soon he discovered. The halfwit had paused at Nate Frisch’s cot, next to his, then he came over to stand beside him. He risked opening one eye, and saw that Binks was feeling his clothes.

  It was clever—too clever for Binks. He must be acting on instructions from the Skull. “X” was glad that he had not donned his clothes when he went out; for the clothes would still retain the warmth from his body, thus betraying him.

  The halfwit went through “X’s” pockets, finding nothing. Finally, he uttered a harsh, discordant laugh, and stepped over to Frisch’s cot, shook him roughly until he awoke. He said, “Wake up, Frisch, the Skull wants to see you!”

  Frisch didn’t answer for a moment. He was still full of sleep. Then, as he realized what the message might mean, he stammered in abject fear, “W-what’s he want of me? I told you I didn’t mean nothin’ by talkin’ to Fannon. For God’s sake—”

  Binks interrupted him, cackling wickedly. “It ain’t about that; it’s somethin’ else. If you got a coin fer me, maybe I could tell you what.”

  “Here,” Nate exclaimed, pressing a coin into his hand that he took from his trousers pocket. “What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you,” said Binks. “You’re goin’ to be the Skull’s new second in command. Rufe Linson just kicked off!”

  Several of the men were awake by this time, and “X” thought it safe to do the same. He sat up with a pretense of rubbing his eyes, yawning widely. He turned around, saw Nate dressing hastily, and then looked up to see Binks grinning down at him.

  He said, “Hello, there. What’s up?”

  Nate said, “What d’ya know? Rufe’s had somethin’ happen to him, an’ I’m gonna take his place. I never expected nothin’ like that!” He looked up at Binks, suddenly suspicious. “You ain’t stringin’ me, Binks, are you? What you said is right?”

  Binks shrugged. The action was weird, for it raised his deformed shoulder higher than ever, making him look like a grotesque caricature of some evil god. “I’m only tellin’ you what the Skull told me.”

  Nate finished dressing, and they started to go out. At the doorway, Binks turned, surveyed the room with a sardonic grin. Then his eyes came to rest on “X” and there was a wicked twinkle in them. “Did you sleep well your first night, Mr. Fannon?”

  “X” nodded. “Pretty
good—till you came in and woke me up.”

  “That’s fine, that’s fine!” said Binks, rubbing his hands. “Some people are troubled with sleepwalking. You ain’t troubled with that, are you, Mr. Fannon?”

  “What do you mean?” “X” sat up, rigid.

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I just thought you mighta been having some dreams—about sliding panels an’ so forth!”

  The door closed on Binks’ evilly grinning face.

  Chapter vV

  CHAMBER OF DREAD

  THE men in the room engaged in some low-voiced, desultory conversation, then began to drop off to sleep. “X” remained awake for a short while after the last of them had begun to snore. Then he finally went to sleep.

  He awoke in the morning, washed and dressed with the men, and went with them into the main room where they sat around waiting to be conducted to breakfast. The room was still lit by the dim bulbs. The only way they had of telling it was morning was the muted gong that rang somewhere in the place; for no natural light came into the room. The windows were all closely shuttered, airtight and light-proof. Over each window was stretched a fine wire mesh, and when “X” approached one of the windows he saw that there was a small card fastened on the mesh. It read:

  Do not try to penetrate the screen or open the windows. The shutters are of steel and are charged with a high voltage of electricity. To touch them means death!

  After a short wait, the corridor door opened, and Binks entered. The halfwit avoided looking at “X.” He announced, “Breakfast’s ready, boys, come along. You better eat well—I hear there’s plenty work on the books for today.” He turned back to the door, leering.

  They trooped out after him.

  The dining room was reached by traversing an entirely different set of corridors, in the other direction from the concealed elevator. “X” was compelled to admit that the Skull made his men as comfortable as possible in their enforced confinement.

  There were ten tables, each set for four. Quiet-footed Jap waiters served them, anticipating their every need. “X” found himself seated at a table with Nate Frisch, a man named Elles, who had done several stretches for forgery, and a thin, dangerous-looking fellow whom Nate addressed as Gilly. Gilly, it developed, was an expert machine gunner, a former member of a nationally notorious bootleg gang in Chicago.

  Nate was swelled up with his new importance. “I’m second in command now,” he boasted. “I’ll be gettin’ two shares instead o’ one. Believe me, boys, big doin’s is scheduled.”

  Gilly, the gunner, appeared morose. “How come you was picked? There’s better guys than you here.”

  Nate put down his knife and fork and glared at him. “You lay off that stuff, or I’ll break your stinking neck. You better be careful how you talk to me from now on!”

  “All right, all right,” Gilly said quickly. “If the Skull picked you, I guess he knows what he’s doing. I ain’t lookin’ fer any trouble.”

  “You bet he knows what he’s doin’!” Nate growled. “The Skull said to me last night in that dark room, he says, ‘I’m choosing you to take Rufe’s place because I know you don’t hesitate to kill. I need men like you.’”

  A cackling voice behind him broke in. “Ha, ha! Tell ’em what else the Skull said to you, Nate.” They turned to see Binks grinning at them. The halfwit came up close, his ugly, scarred face leering at Nate. “Tell ’em the rest of it, Nate.”

  Nate fidgeted in the chair. “Aw—”

  Binks turned to the others. “You know what else the Skull said? He said to Nate, ‘I’m also pickin’ you because yore too dumb to try to double-cross me!’ Too dumb! Ha, ha!”

  An idea suddenly occurred to Nate. He pointed a finger at Binks. “How do you know what the Skull said? We was supposed to be alone in there!”

  Binks only laughed again. “There’s lots o’ things I know about around this place. If I wanted to, I could hang the whole lot of you!” He came around the table, alongside “X.” His teeth were bared in an ugly grimace. “Did you hear that, Mr. Fannon? Too dumb to doublecross him!” Binks, face came closer to “X.” “Now you, Mister Fannon, you ain’t dumb, are you?”

  “X” looked at him impassively without replying. The halfwit did not wait for an answer, but walked away toward the kitchen.

  WHEN they finished breakfast, Binks reappeared from the kitchen and led them out. “The Skull,” he announced, “wants everybody in the execution room this morning. There’s gonna be a show put on, an’ Tyler is the main actor. He’ll squeal swell.”

  Binks waited till they had all passed out of the dining room, then closed the door, locking in the Jap waiters and cook. They, as the others, were prisoners.

  The halfwit said to “X” as they went down the corridor, “Tyler is the guy I showed you last night; the guy whose place yore takin’. The Skull ain’t got much luck with his safe men, has he?”

  “X” frowned down at the ugly halfwit. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothin’, nothin’,” Binks cackled, and hurried up ahead. He led them through a maze of passages, through which it would have been hopeless for anyone to try to find his way alone. Finally they reached a narrow, dark passage that sloped downward. This was very long, and as they proceeded it got darker and damper. The slope became sharper. “X” estimated that they must be at least a hundred feet below the street level.

  The passage ended in a heavy barred door. Binks removed the bars, tugged at the door until it swung open. “Go on in, boys, go on in. I gotta tell the Skull that ever’thing is ready.”

  They filed past him into a room that was in utter darkness. Though it was impossible to see anything here, “X” estimated that it must be a room of tremendous size, for though there were over thirty men in the group, they weren’t at all crowded. The heavy door slammed shut, with Binks on the outside, and “X” heard the iron bars being replaced.

  The men shuffled, talked in low, nervous tones. “X” began to feel his way around the room, along the wall. He collided with one or two of the men, but they were not in the mood to fight. “X” knew that there would be some instrument here for inflicting death or worse upon Tyler, wondered if it was the same instrument that had turned Ainsworth Clegg into a mental and physical wreck. If possible, he wanted to save Tyler—not only out of any feeling of compassion, but because Tyler would be a well of information.

  He worked his way to a corner in the dark, felt his way along the wall until he was stopped by what appeared to be another wire screen like the one on the windows upstairs. He followed this screen clear across the room, realizing that it divided the room in two parts.

  Suddenly there was a muffled gasp from the assembled men. A dim red light had appeared on the other side of the screen. Looking through the mesh, “X” could see a niche in the far wall in the other half of the room. This niche was the size of a large man, and was about halfway up in the wall. Apparently there must be some way of entering it from outside, for it was too high for a man to reach it from the floor.

  The thing that had made the men gasp was the figure in the niche. It was the same vermilion-cloaked figure that “X” had met the night before, with the same hideously glowing skull in lieu of a face.

  There was a low hum of fear-ridden voices which ended in abrupt silence as the Skull raised a vermilion-gloved hand. “Gentlemen,” he said in a brittle, mocking voice, “before we proceed with the festivities, I have an announcement to make. Last night my lieutenant, Rufe Linson, met with an unfortunate accident. In his place I have appointed Nate Frisch, who will be in charge of expeditions in the future. When you are on the outside, his word will be supreme, as mine is here. The accident to Rufe is regrettable, and I am taking steps to punish the responsible party. However, I believe Nate Frisch will be able to fill the job satisfactorily.”

  The Skull raised his hand once more “Now, gentlemen, we will proceed.”

  Another light, bright and glaring, went on below the niche. It illuminated a ghastly sight. Tyl
er, the traitor, was strapped in a chair. It was not an ordinary chair, and he was not strapped there in the ordinary way.

  THE other men on “X’s” side of the wire mesh seemed to have known what to expect; but the Secret Agent, though in superb control of his nerves, barely restrained a gasp of horror.

  For the chair was an exact replica of the electric chair at the state prison. And Tyler had metal electrodes strapped to his ankles, his wrists, and to the back of his neck. He was still stripped to the waist, and in spite of the straps that held him tight, he shook in a palsy of terror.

  The red light in the niche went out, and the figure of the Skull was shrouded in darkness. But his voice came to them. “For the benefit of our new member I will explain that this is our method of punishment. It is a slight innovation on the legal method in use in our state prison, in that the victim is not killed. Our electrician has stepped down the current so that there is just enough to cause an intense shock to the nervous system, resulting in a paralysis of all the nerves, as well as a deadening of the brain cells.”

  He paused, then said, “Tyler! Do you understand what is going to happen to you?”

  Tyler squirmed in the chair, tried to raise his eyes toward the niche. “For God’s sake!” he babbled. “Don’t do that to me! Anything! Anything! Kill me! But not that! Oh, God, save me!” His words lost themselves in a shrill scream of terror.

  The Skull’s brittle laughter floated down from above. “You call on God! I am God here!”

  “X” thought he detected a note of insanity in the sonorous tones of the Skull. He felt a faint stir of eagerness ripple through the crowd of men in the room. They were getting ready to enjoy the spectacle.

  Once more the Skull spoke from his niche. “Tyler! This is your last moment of sanity. I am about to throw the switch. This—is—your—end!”

  Tyler strained against the straps, his throat working though no sound came from his lips.

  From above came a blinding flash as the switch was thrown in. Tyler’s body seemed to jerk in the chair. His hands spread out clawlike, spasmodically. Blood spurted from his nose. His mouth opened wide in a soundless scream, his eyes widened, almost popping from their sockets. His head was raised, his Adam’s apple working frantically.