Secret Agent X : The Complete Series Volume 3

by Emile C. Tepperman

  “X” wet his lips and stepped forward under the brilliant blare of the spotlight.

  The Skull said crisply, “Take off her gag, Fannon, and see if she would like to talk before we begin to do things to her.”

  “X” knelt beside Betty Dale, and his fingers moved clumsily to remove the gag while he looked down into her determined little face. He dared not say a word to her lest it be heard by the Skull in the stillness that had descended upon the room. He tried to make his eyes expressive, but it was no use.

  In him now, she saw nothing but a vicious criminal henchman of the master who stood in the niche above. She had never been able to penetrate any of his disguises, and could not be expected to do so now with her nerves in the frayed condition that they must be in before the ordeal which she knew was inevitable.

  When the gag was off, the Skull said in the mocking tone which “X” had begun to loathe, “Well, Miss Dale, you must talk now if you wish to avoid the things I have in store for you. Will you give me the information I need?”

  She opened her mouth, but gulped, not trusting herself to talk. She clamped her lips tight and shook her head, staring defiantly up into the spotlight.

  The Skull sighed, and went on, as if explaining some elementary proposition to a child. “You don’t understand, Miss Dale. I am sure, that after I have described to you what I intend to do to you, you will be very glad to tell me all you know.” The vermilion-cloaked arm rose, and a gloved finger pointed to the electric chair. “You know what that is, of course, Miss Dale, since you are a newspaper woman; it is an electric chair. You look at it, contemplate death, and feel yourself strong enough to die rather than betray this friend of yours who is known as Secret Agent ‘X’.”

  He uttered a short, mocking laugh. Betty remained silent, her face white, biting her lower lip. “X” felt a surge of blind anger sweep over him at the sight of the girl’s mental anguish, at the contemplation of the physical anguish which the Skull planned for her. But his will conquered his instinct. To make a rash move now would gain neither of them anything but death; for the Skull was impregnable in his niche up there, surrounded no doubt, by clever, ingenious defenses.

  The Skull went on. “What will you say, Miss Dale, when I tell you that this electric chair does not kill! It will maim you! Maim you mentally and physically, will make you an imbecile within five seconds of the moment when I pull the switch. You have heard of the men who were found in the streets—strong men, intelligent men. When they were picked up in the streets, it was found that their bodies and minds were shattered. That, Miss Dale, is what will happen to you. You will be thrown out into the street to be found by your friend and protector, Secret Agent ‘X’! I shall send you as a challenge to him—a challenge from the one man who is his match!”

  Betty Dale’s eyes reflected the horror of the words she had just heard. Her chin trembled.

  “X” clenched his fists so that the nails bit into the palms of his hands, in an effort to restrain himself from leaping up at the Skull.

  The Skull said to “X,” “You were here this morning, Fannon. Tell her how it works.”

  “X” bent over Betty, said in a clear voice, “It would be better for you to talk, Miss Dale. What the Skull tells you is true—there is just enough current to shatter the nerves, destroy the brain cells. Believe me, it is not pleasant.”

  Betty turned her eyes from the niche to the face of “X,” staring at him in loathing. “You fiends!” she cried huskily. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Once more the Skull’s horrid, mocking voice addressed him. “She doesn’t believe that we’d do it, eh, Fannon? Let’s show her.” The vermilion-cloaked figure raised a hand and pointed to the opposite wall. “Look!”

  At the same moment the spotlight shifted, focusing on a spot in the wall. A small panel, about four feet square slid up, revealing a barred opening.

  “Untie her, Fannon, and take her over there. Let her look in.”

  “X” knelt beside her, fumbled for the knots, and untied Betty Dale. He helped her to her feet silently, though she shrank from him. It was impossible to whisper a word here that would not be overheard by the sinister figure in the niche above him. “X” had noticed already that the acoustic properties of the room were such that the slightest whisper could be heard.

  Betty struggled, moaned, “I don’t want to look at anything. Leave me alone.”

  “Make her look, Fannon!”

  “X” gripped her arm in his powerful fingers, led her to the barred window. Somehow, his touch seemed to quiet her, for she went with him. The aperture was at the height of a tall man’s chest. Betty’s eyes barely reached above the ledge, but it was enough to enable her to see that which was in the room beyond. She looked, and “X” felt her whole body grow rigid. But she did not faint. From her throat there came shriek after shriek of horror.

  “X” pulled her away from the aperture, and the panel slid down. The spotlight was shifted from the wall, snapped off for an instant, leaving the room in darkness except for the glow that illumined the vermilion Skull in his niche.

  “X” let Betty scream. He gripped her arm tightly, as if to reassure her. He had seen something while the wall was flooded with light—something that the Skull had probably never intended that he should see. It was a small lever in the corner, such as was found in all the passages. Its presence meant that there was another panel there, somewhere in the wall—a panel leading to a corridor, perhaps to freedom.

  When the light went out, Betty stopped screaming, and leaned weakly on “X.” She said hurriedly, in a low, husky whisper, “Please—don’t let him do that to me. You are a man. Can you allow such things to be done? Save me!”

  The spotlight clicked on, and the Secret Agent could only give her arm a friendly squeeze, which he hoped she would understand, before the Skull’s hateful voice addressed them.

  “I heard what you just said to Fannon, Miss Dale. You have no chance with him. He is wanted for murder, and is dependent on me for protection. Besides, neither he nor anybody else could get you out of this place against my wishes. So you see, you must do as I ask.”

  He paused a moment as Betty closed her eyes in despair, then went on. “The sight of what my chair can do has unnerved you, I see. I don’t blame you. Tyler is not a pretty sight for even a strong man to see. The man you saw in there was a cunning cracksman yesterday. Today he is a driveling idiot.” He paused. “Will you talk now?”

  “X,” with his hand on Betty’s arm, felt a tremor course through her. Her chin jutted, though, and she uttered a single word, “No!”

  The Skull’s voice crackled with sudden, venomous anger. “Fannon! Strap her in the chair!”

  THE Secret Agent looked up into the blinding core of the spotlight. By a supreme effort he kept his voice even. “Isn’t there some other way? Do we have to put her in the chair? I—”

  He stopped as the Skull’s icy cold voice interrupted him. “So you are soft, after all, Fannon? No one who is soft can go far with me. I must have men who stop at nothing—when the Skull commands! If you are soft you are useless to me. And useless men are dangerous men. Do you know what I mean, Fannon?”

  “X” caught himself up, snapped out of the momentary forgetfulness of his role. The real Fannon would not have uttered that plea. Cold enemy of society that he was, he would have been far from reluctant to inflict torture upon anyone who stood between him and his goal.

  “X” said, “It’s not that I’m soft, chief. You ought to know that from my record. I only thought that if you sent the current through her, she’d never be able to talk any more. I thought maybe we could try something else on her—something that wouldn’t destroy her mind—”

  The Skull interrupted him once more. “I see. It seemed to me for a moment that you were trying to intercede for her; and that would have been very bad—for you. Your suggestion may be appropriate, but I have said that she goes to the chair, and to the chair she goes. As a matter of fact, I am glad that she r
efuses to talk. I have never had a woman in the chair, and I am curious to see if the effects of the current are greater or less than on a man. So—in she goes!”

  “X” could no longer afford to hesitate. He swung her around, affecting to treat her with roughness. But Betty, with a surge of desperation, wrenched her arm out of “X’s” grip, turned and fled toward the heavy, iron-bound door at the other end of the room. “X” leaped after her. That was not the way to safety. But before Betty had taken two steps, the heavy mesh screen that separated the room into two parts, and which had been raised some six feet up to now, suddenly descended with a clattering bang, right in front of her. Had she been a foot farther toward the door she would have been crushed under it. As it was, she was trapped by the screen.

  The Skull said, “It was useless, my dear. You are helpless down there. I enjoy your antics at escape, for all I have to do is move a finger, pull a switch, and you are caught again. Make up your mind that there is no way out. Now,” crisply to “X,” “begin. My time is valuable.”

  Betty had wilted with the last opportunity of escape gone. Her head hung, and she offered no resistance as “X” led her to the chair and began to strap her in.

  Two electrodes fitted at her wrists, one at the back of her neck, and two at her ankles. If he had any thought of strapping them loosely so that the metal should not come in contact with her body, he was compelled to discard it, for the Skull watched every move, instructing him how to tighten them properly, how to place the electrode at the nape of her neck.

  She was following the motions of “X’s” hands, now, as if fascinated by them, unable to move. She raised her eyes to his in a mute appeal, and he tried to convey to her a message with his own eyes. But suddenly her lids drooped, and her head lolled on her breast. She had fainted.

  Chapter x

  “ALIAS SECRET AGENT ‘X’!”

  THE chair had a high back, and from his niche in the wall the Skull could not tell that Betty was unconscious. To him she appeared to be drooping with the flight of hope. He asked, “Finished, Fannon?”

  “X” nodded. There was a gleam in his eye. He could not speak now, for he was flexing the muscles of his throat, tensing his whole body for the thing that he was about to do. He was about to perform the greatest piece of acting he had ever been called upon to stage in his career—with the lives of Betty Dale and himself as the forfeit if he failed.

  The Skull said, “Well, Miss Dale, I am about to throw the switch which will send enough current through your body to make you just like that man you saw in the next room. Have you anything to say?”

  But Betty couldn’t answer. She was breathing irregularly now, as if a prey to nightmares in her unconscious condition. All the color had fled from her cheeks, and her long lashes lay supine over her eyes.

  The Skull repeated impatiently, “Quick! You have one second more!”

  And then the miracle took place.

  Out of Betty’s slack mouth there came words. Low words, mumbled at first, almost incoherent, then gaining clearness—and in Betty’s voice. “God! Don’t, no! I’ll tell you anything!”

  But it was not Betty who was talking. Secret Agent “X” was leaning over her, his lips parted, as if intensely eager to hear what she said. And it was he who was uttering those words by a supreme achievement of ventriloquism.

  The Skull was deceived. Clever man that he was, the performance deceived him. He clucked in satisfaction. “That is very wise, Miss Dale. Now tell us—” his voice assumed an edge of keen expectancy “—who is Secret Agent ‘X’?”

  Once more the voice of Betty Dale floated up to the niche, emanating by some strange alchemy of skill from the parted, unmoving lips of Secret Agent “X,” but appearing to be spoken by the girl. “I—I don’t know. I never saw his face. But I know where he is.”

  “Where?” The Skull rapped out the one word with a sharp eagerness that was full of venom.

  Again the throat muscles of Secret Agent “X” began to contract and expand, and Betty Dale seemed to say, “He’s right here in your place. He told me he was going to get in under a disguise.”

  “Who? What’s his disguise?”

  “He’s disguised as a half-wit—a man by the name of Binks!” Betty’s voice from the lips of “X” seemed to utter the last word with hesitation, regret. It was a superb piece of acting. On the stage it would have brought down the house. Here it elicited an astounded exclamation from the Skull.

  “Binks! Impossible! No one could make up like that halfwit, no matter how clever he is!”

  Once more Betty seemed to cry, “That’s all I know. Now release me. Let me go!”

  The Skull paid no attention to her. He mused, “Binks, eh? What do you think, Fannon? Could she be making it up? Binks is the last one here I would have suspected. To tell you the truth, it might have been anybody else but Binks—even you. I suspected you, too, frankly. But Binks!”

  “X” stood erect, said, resuming the voice of Fannon, “Has she ever seen Binks?”

  “By Jove!” the Skull exclaimed. “You’re right. She’s never seen him. She was unconscious when she was brought here, and Binks has been out on errands all this time.”

  “So she couldn’t be making it up. Where could she have learned that there is such a person except from this Secret Agent himself?”

  “I’ll send for him,” the Skull said suddenly. It’ll be easy to prove if he’s Secret Agent ‘X.’” He paused, then asked Betty, “First, Miss Dale, suppose you tell us when it was that Secret Agent ‘X’ informed you he was coming here disguised as Binks?”

  Once more “X” bent over Betty Dale. Once more his lips pursed, his throat muscles contracted. “I—” he began in Betty’s voice. But that was as far as he got. For suddenly Betty stirred, opened her eyes, and cried, her voice clashing with the voice “X” was using, “I won’t talk, I tell you! I won’t!”

  The effect was weird, as of twins talking at the same time.

  From the niche above came an ominous purr, more deadly in portent than the rattle of a snake before striking.

  “So-o, Mr. Frank Fannon alias Secret Agent ‘X’! You are a master of ventriloquism among your many other accomplishments! Let us see if you can avoid the slugs from my gun which will now break both your legs!”

  THE heavy report of the Skull’s gun came as an echo of his last word, filling the room with cacophonous detonation. But the Secret Agent had jerked into motion with the first words of Betty Dale. For he realized at once that the game was lost unless he acted swiftly.

  His long fingers flew as he unbuckled the straps from her wrists, while the Skull talked, sure of his prey.

  As he worked, Betty looked at him, wide-eyed, happy laughter mingling with her tears. “You!” she exclaimed happily.

  And even before the report of the Skull’s gun boomed through the room, “X” was on his knees beside the electric chair. His hand had gone to his pocket and come out again with a lightning-like motion, holding one of the gadgets which he had transferred from the black bag.

  This gadget was an ingeniously constructed pair of nippers, attached to which was a needle capable of piercing a heavy electric wire.

  At the spot where “X” knelt, the heavy cable which conducted the powerful current to the electric chair came out of the wall, and branched to each of the electrodes. Into this cable “X” plunged the needle, clamping the nippers around the cable. The short circuit thus effected caused a blinding flash, and plunged the room into darkness.

  In the blackness “X” could hear Betty’s quick breathing between the resounding explosions of the Skull’s automatic. Shots ripped into the framework of the chair, crunched into the cement floor, filled the room with acrid powder stench.

  “X” seized Betty by the wrist, dragged her to the corner of the room where he had seen the lever in the wall.

  The Skull had stopped shooting, his clip evidently empty. He was not shouting; his silence was more ominous than any cries of rage he might h
ave uttered.

  “X” felt about in the darkness until he located the lever, and he pressed it downward quickly.

  Somewhere in the place an alarm bell was jangling loudly. “X” heard hoarse shouts as the panel in the wall slid upward exposing a narrow passageway. He dragged Betty through it, pressed the lever on the other side. The panel slid down just as another hail of shots came from the Skull’s reloaded automatic. The panel, however, slid to, protecting “X” and the girl from the slugs.

  The bell was still raucously clanging its alarm as “X” turned to lead Betty down the passageway. He heard a gasp from Betty, looked ahead, and stopped short. Rushing toward them from the other end where he had just come through a panel, was the gunman, Gilly, drawn gun in his hand.

  Chapter XI

  LABYRINTH OF DANGER

  BEHIND Gilly came Nate Frisch and three or four others. Frisch and Gilly were the only ones armed.

  Gilly shouted, “What’s up, Fannon?”

  “There’s a stranger in the corridors!” the Secret Agent told him hurriedly. “We got to spread out and get him.”

  “Hey,” demanded Nate Frisch. “What you doin’ with that girl? That’s the dame we brought here.”

  “The Skull told me to take her out of there. Let me through here.”

  Frisch had pushed past Gilly, was almost convinced by the Agent, when suddenly another demonstration was given of the Skull’s thoroughness. Through the corridor echoed the Skull’s voice, carried evidently by some hidden annunciator. He was broadcasting through the passages, just as the police did.

  “Stop Fannon. Stop Fannon. He is Secret Agent ‘X’ in disguise! Kill Fannon! He is Secret Agent ‘X’ in disguise. All men into the corridors. Stop Fannon! Those who are armed will shoot him on sight. Others will grapple with him and call for help. It is impossible for him to escape, so continue the search until he is found.”

  As the meaning of the Skull’s words became apparent to the group of men in the corridor, Frisch raised his gun, snarling.