Secret Agent X : The Complete Series Volume 3

by Emile C. Tepperman

  “He can’t get it,” Jewett explained to Foster. “He lives too dangerous a life—exploring in Africa, flying planes. Why, he’s even got the rank of general in the Chinese Army!”

  As Pond was at the door, Jewett called after him, “Tell you what you can do, if you want to, Pond. You can stop in at Hilary’s hotel and buck him up a bit. He’s heavily insured, and he seems to be pretty scared about this business.”

  “That’s an idea,” said Elisha Pond. “I was thinking of doing that myself.”

  Chapter XV

  THE SKULL STRIKES

  SECRET AGENT “X” never underestimated an opponent. He was far too intelligent for that. Therefore he was quite sure that it would be useless to return to the cellar behind the pool room in an effort to win into the Skull’s headquarters through entrance number seven. He put himself mentally in the Skull’s place, and imagined what the Skull would do. Either he would destroy the entrance as being of no further value since its existence was known, or else he would lay some sort of trap in anticipation of the Agent’s attempt to come back that way.

  The rear of the apartment house on Slocum Street, where he and Gilly had been originally supposed to meet Links, offered another slender thread that might lead him back into the lair of the Skull, but this too he thrust aside. The Skull would no doubt have taken similar precautions there, and, possibly, at every one of his other entrances.

  From the Bankers’ Club, “X” had gone to an apartment that he maintained near the waterfront. Here he stepped out of the character of Elisha Pond, and became A. J. Martin, an Associated Press correspondent. Before going to the apartment, he had phoned Jim Hobart at the farm where he was keeping the real Frank Fannon a prisoner, instructed him to give Fannon a dose of a powder which would keep him unconscious for another twenty-four hours. Hobart was then to come to the city and meet “X,” whom he knew only as A. J. Martin.

  The Secret Agent paid particular attention to his equipment now, realizing that if his line of reasoning was correct, he would be placing himself in greater jeopardy than ever in his life by doing the thing that he now intended doing.

  He left the apartment, went to a near-by garage and got a small sedan which was always kept ready there for him in the name of Martin. He drove in leisurely fashion up to the East Eighties, and parked there for fifteen minutes. Soon a cab drew up at the corner and Jim Hobart alighted from it, minus his army chauffeur’s uniform. The young man was bubbling with excitement as he ran to his employer’s car.

  “Say, Mr. Martin,” he exclaimed as “X” drove farther uptown, “that Colonel Delevan that you sent me to do the job for is certainly a wonder. You should have seen him make himself up like Fannon. I turned around, and did I get a jolt when I saw that there were two Fannon’s in the back of the car. Why, they might have been twins. He’s a genius, that Colonel Delevan!”

  “Thank you,” the Agent murmured.

  “Eh, what did you say, Mr. Martin?”

  “Nothing at all,” the Secret Agent said hastily. “Now listen carefully, Jim. I’m going to give you a job now that is of the utmost importance. I know I can rely on you.”

  “You bet your boots, Mr. Martin. I’ve been having a better time since I met you than I ever had in my life.”

  “I know that, Jim, and I’m taking advantage of it.”

  “X” braked the car just then across the street, and about a hundred feet from a large residential hotel. “In that hotel,” he said, “is staying a man named Arnold Hilary, who is the proprietor of the Herald. I am going to leave you now. If I do not return, I want yon to remain here and watch for him. If he comes out alone, don’t bother about him any more, but go back home and wait to hear from me. But—if he comes out with anybody else, I want you to follow them; discreetly. It’ll be as much as your life is worth if you should be noticed. So be extremely careful. Do you understand?”

  JIM HOBART nodded eagerly. “I understand, Mr. Martin. I’ll be careful, all right.”

  “You will note where they go, and remain on watch there, for an hour. At the end of that time you will go to police headquarters and ask to see either Commissioner Foster or Inspector Burks. You will tell them that you saw where Hilary was taken, and lead them to the place. Tell them to bring along a wrecking crew. Is everything clear now?”

  “I got it, Mr. Martin. I’m all set.”

  “X” got out. “Of course, I may be wrong in my deductions, in which case I’ll be right back. Well, good luck.” He turned and strode off in the direction of the hotel.

  As soon as he got abreast of it, he saw that his deductions had been correct. For parked opposite the entrance was a black sedan, and at the wheel was Nate Frisch. Nate Frisch, dressed in a peculiar gray-green uniform, with a visored cap.

  Inside the lobby he saw another one of the Servants of the Skull, a man named Orson, whom he recognized at once. He might be too late; perhaps the Skull was already striking here. Orson was lounging in a corner, smoking a cigarette and surveying the lobby through slitted eyes. He glanced at “X,” then allowed his gaze to slide away. He did not recognize in the man who was posing as A. J. Martin, the Frank Fannon who had slept in the same room with him the night before.

  “X” hurried up to the desk. Near the desk a uniformed patrolman stood on guard, with a riot gun under the crook of his elbow. He frowned as “X” said to the clerk, “I would like to see Mr. Hilary, please.”

  Before the clerk could answer, the patrolman came up close, demanded, “What’s your name, mister, and what do you want to see Mr. Hilary for?”

  “X” took a card from his pocket and handed it to the policeman. It was the card of Mr. Elisha Pond, and on the back was written in ink, “Dear Hilary, This is Mr. A. J. Martin, whom I phoned you about. He has a matter of great importance which he must see you about at once. E. P.”

  The patrolman said grudgingly, “Yeah. Mr. Hilary phoned down an’ said to send you right up when you came. Go ahead. We got to be careful,” he explained. “There’s another man on guard upstairs. Not a soul is allowed on the fourteenth floor unless we know who he is. This here Skull has got the whole department buffaloed!”

  “You don’t say so!” Mr. Martin commented. “I’d think you’d arrest him or something, if he’s so dangerous. My, what the city is coming to!”

  The policeman snorted, and picked up the phone to notify the officer on the fourteenth floor that a visitor was coming up. “X” entered the elevator, noting that the eyes of Orson were now following him with interest. He had noted the conversation with the policeman.

  Upstairs, a plainclothes man with a gun openly holstered at his hip met “X” and conducted him to the suite of the newspaper publisher. Hilary was alone in the sitting room of his three-room suite. He was settled comfortably on the sofa, reading, with a whiskey-and-soda beside him. “X” suspected that Hilary had deliberately placed himself there with the book, as a pose, when he learned that he was going to have company. Hilary was distinctly ill at ease, too worried about something or other to have been able to read so quietly.

  He rose and shook hands with “X.” “I don’t know your business with me, Mr. Martin, but Elisha Pond said you were okay, and I’ll take his word for anything. Sit down. Here, have a drink. Pour it yourself. It’s fourteen-year-old Bourbon.” His tone of cordiality seemed forced, with an undertone of nervousness in it.

  “Thanks,” said the Secret Agent. “I never drink when I’m working.”

  HILARY eased himself onto the sofa again, picked up his glass with a shrug. There were dark rings under his eyes. “Just as you say, Mr. Martin. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I’ve come here, Mr. Hilary, about—the Skull.” The Agent stopped a moment as Hilary started, then went on. “I have reason to believe that the Skull intends to kidnap you tonight.”

  Hilary’s face went ashen. “How—how do you know?”

  “I have means of getting information. It doesn’t matter how, but I’m almost sure of what I say.”


  Hilary gulped down the rest of his drink, put the glass on the table beside the couch. His hand shook so that the glass wobbled and fell to the floor when he released it. It struck the thick carpet on its edge, and did not break, but rolled over. Hilary looked down at it stupidly, then raised his eyes to “X.”

  “W-why do you come here to tell me this?”

  “Because I intend to prevent your kidnaping. I believe that Mr. Pond told you on the phone that you could rely implicitly on me, could do anything I suggest without any fear. How far do you trust Mr. Pond?” He leaned forward in his chair to emphasize the question, his keen eyes burning into the other.

  Hilary seemed fascinated by those eyes. “Why, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Mr. Pond. I owe most of my success to him. I’d do anything he asked.”

  “Would you allow me to change places with you?”

  “You mean—you want to be kidnaped instead of me?”

  “I mean just that”

  “You couldn’t get away with it. The Skull’s men would know me. They’d know in a minute you weren’t I. They’d kill you.”

  “Suppose you let me worry about that, Mr. Hilary. Now, quickly—there isn’t much time, if my guess is correct—will you do it?”

  “I’ll do it,” Hilary agreed. “But I don’t understand why you want to. I’ve got a police guard—”

  “So did the others—Grier, Laurens. But the Skull got them. Do you think that if he goes after you those guards outside will be a barrier?”

  “You’re right, Martin.” Hilary was almost eager now. “What must I do?”

  “Come into the next room.” The Secret Agent picked up the open bottle of Bourbon and the bottle of charged water. “Take your glass, and come on. We must hurry.”

  As he led the way into the next room, “X’s” fingers were busy. From his pocket he extracted a small pellet which he had kept there in readiness. He knew Hilary’s habit of drinking when he was alone, and had planned accordingly.

  The next room was a bedroom. Hilary came in with him, sat down on the bed, and reached for the bottle. He poured himself a stiff drink, downed it straight, and coughed. “I needed that,” he muttered apologetically. “You don’t know what a strain it’s been today; not knowing whether I was going to be the next victim or not. And I want to tell you that there are plenty more men in the city who’ve been worried, the same as I. This Skull, nobody knows where he’ll strike next. And he’s so clever; no precautions—”

  His voice trailed off, his head sank to his breast, and in a moment he sprawled on the bed, breathing stertorously, inert and unconscious.

  “X” was already moving swiftly, efficiently. He peeled off his outer clothing, undressed Hilary, and donned the publisher’s habiliments. Then he took from his inner pocket the flat black case containing make-up material, and set to work. Within ten minutes there were two Hilarys in the room.

  The Secret Agent wasted no time in practicing the speech of the man he was impersonating. He dragged the body of Hilary to the clothes closet, and placed him on the floor there, propping his head up with his discarded clothes.

  He had hardly straightened the room up, put away his paraphernalia and carried the bottles and glass back into the living room, before there was a discreet tap on the door. He went to the door and unlocked it. The plainclothes man on duty in the hall pushed his way in.

  He said, “Say, Mr. Hilary, do you know anything about extra guards being ordered from the Home Detective Agency?”

  “Extra guards?” the Agent asked. “I don’t know of any.” His voice as he spoke was the voice of Hilary to the last subtle inflection.

  “Well, there’s four of ’em out here. They’ve been sent to stay here with you day and night. I phoned the Agency, and their office says the men were ordered by Commissioner Foster. He’s using their men because he don’t want to take extra patrolmen off their regular work.”

  “X” was worried by this new development. His whole plan would be ruined if he had too much protection. Foster meant well, no doubt, but by this move the commissioner might be destroying the only possible chance of checkmating the Skull. Everything depended upon “X’s” getting back into the Skull’s headquarters.

  “X” frowned, and said, “Send them in while I phone Foster and have them called off. This is ridiculous. The Skull must certainly feel flattered to know that the whole police department of the city isn’t enough to cope with him!”

  The detective nodded, and went to the door while “X” picked up the phone. The detective opened the door, and four men in the gray-green uniforms, guns in hand, entered. The first of the men was Nate Frisch, and the second was Gilly.

  Chapter XVI

  JAWS OF THE TRAP

  SECRET AGENT “X” cradled the telephone as the four men spread out in the room, shutting the door after them. The detective sensed from the pregnant silence that suddenly permeated the room that something was wrong, and he instinctively went for his gun. But Gilly, who was at his left and a trifle behind him, brought the butt of a heavy automatic down on his head, and the plainclothes man tumbled to the floor in a heap.

  The other two men stooped and dragged his inert body to one side, while Frisch advanced upon “X,” menacing him with a gun, and grinning savagely.

  “All right, Mr. Hilary,” he said, “I guess you know who we are. We ain’t from any detective agency. We’re from the Skull!”

  “X” simulated extreme panic, as Hilary might have done. “The Skull!” he cried. “What do you want with me?” He seemed to shrink away from Frisch with just the right degree of fear.

  “You’re comin’ out with us, Mr. Hilary. I’ll be on one side o’ you, an’ that little guy will be on the other. We’ll both have guns in our pockets. Our two pals’ll be right behind. If you make one single wrong yap we’ll let you have it from both sides, right in the liver. You’ll take a long time dyin’, an’ you’ll wish you’d have kept your trap shut. Now stand up!”

  “X” stood up hesitantly. “You—you’re going to take me to the Skull?” He managed to put a quaver in his voice that would have done credit to any Thespian.

  “You’re damn right we are. An’ when that dumb cop in the lobby asks you how come you’re goin’ out, you’ll tell him you’re goin’ on personal business, an’ takin’ your private guards along. Get it?”

  As “X” marched to the elevators with Frisch on one side and Gilly on the other, he was compelled to admire the daring simplicity of the plan. The Skull had no doubt established this detective agency address, so that when the plainclothes man called, as he was sure to do, they could answer properly, allaying his suspicions.

  The Skull was very thorough. On the cap of each of the four men was a gold shield with the lettering, “Home Detective Agency.” The uniforms were well-cut and expensive, giving the impression of a solid, respectable agency. “X” recalled now, that he had seen advertisements of the Home Detective Agency in several newspapers for some time past.

  The Skull had probably built up the fictitious organization for some such use as this. Probably if the police went there to investigate, now, they would find nothing but an empty office. The person in whose name the license had been obtained would no doubt be out of the country, or dead, by this time.

  Down in the lobby, just as Frisch had anticipated, the patrolman stared as he saw them come out of the elevator, then walked over. “Hello, Mr. Hilary,” he exclaimed, surprised. “I thought you was staying upstairs!”

  “X” felt a hard object poked into his ribs from each side. He could hear Frisch’s heavy breathing, so close was the man to him. The threat of death was close.

  “I’m going out on business,” he said. “I—hope to be back soon. These men are plenty of protection for me.”

  The policeman was doubtful. “Don’t you think you ought to call up headquarters first, Mr. Hilary? My orders—”

  Frisch interrupted him harshly. The words he uttered were not in his usual style. The Skull had ev
idently made him learn them by rote. “See here, officer. Mr. Hilary is not a prisoner. If he chooses to go out, you have no right to detain him. You may report to headquarters yourself if you wish, but Mr. Hilary is in a hurry, and can’t wait!”

  Frisch’s hand on the Secret Agent’s arm urged him on, and they stepped past the policeman. The policeman, however, was not looking at Frisch; he was looking at Gilly.

  “Sa-a-y!” he exclaimed. “I know your face! You ain’t a private guard! Why, I’ve seen your mug in the lineup! You—”

  He stopped, his eyes wide with horror, as he saw guns magically appear in the hands of the four. In the moment of realization, he started to raise the riot gun, but a storm of lead tore into his body from four guns. He dropped the riot gun, clutched at his stomach, cried, “My God!” and collapsed on the tiled floor of the lobby, his lifeblood gushing out of him.

  Cries and shouts arose about them. The desk clerk reached for the phone, then dropped it and ducked under the desk as Gilly threw a shot at him. Still holding “X” between them, they rushed out of the lobby, crossed the street on the run, and piled into the black sedan.

  Frisch took the wheel, and the car was spurting away from the curb before any of the passers-by knew what was taking place. Gilly and one of the others had “X” between them on the rear seat, while the fourth sat next to Frisch, looking backward out of the open window, with his gun ready.

  “X” simulated great terror, he was eager to know if Jim Hobart was following, but dared not risk a glance through the rear window lest he arouse the suspicions of his captors.

  THE sedan wound through several streets under Frisch’s manipulation. They heard the siren of a radio car on the next block, and Frisch turned right, tore across town for three blocks, then headed south. The truck driveway of a large warehouse yawned open at their left, and Frisch turned into it. The door closed behind them, shutting out, partly, the sound of another police car siren outside. When the police car got to the spot where they had driven into the warehouse, the officers would find no single trace of them. They would begin to search the warehouses on the block, no doubt, and “X” waited to see how the Skull had planned to cover up. He was keenly interested in how the Servants of the Skull always managed to disappear without leaving a clue behind.