At first, the monster regarded “X” stupidly. Then with a savage snarl, it lumbered across the room, straight toward Agent “X,” its long, crooked arms dangling in front of it. Before the Agent could so much as draw his gas gun, the Neanderthal had picked up a heavy book from the table and hurled it at “X’s” head. “X” ducked, led a short, jolting blow to the monster’s protruding jaw. The Neanderthal backed off, shaking its shaggy head. Then before it could charge again, the Agent drew his gas gun and fired straight into its noxious face.
The creature’s strange, mad eyes revealed no surprise. As a matter of fact, there was an almost blissful expression on the Neanderthal’s face as it fell backward to the floor.
In another moment, Agent “X” was bending over his captive, studying its features intently, marveling that this malformed thing had once been a man.
Then he snapped open the brief-case that he had brought with him. From the case he took a pair of glistening handcuffs. These he fastened about the wrists of his captive. Turning to his medical kit, he brought out a hypodermic needle and a vial of antidote for the anesthetizing gas that his pistol contained. With skill that would have done credit to a physician, he made an injection of the antidote into the creature’s arm.
THREE minutes ticked past without the powerful stimulant taking effect. The Agent wondered at this. It seemed that these Neanderthals had nervous systems that were less sensitive than those of their normal brothers. Perhaps this also explained why the Agent’s system of jiu-jitsu had had no effect upon the monster with whom he had fought on the night before.
However, before another minute had passed, the creature’s mad, pitiful eyes were staring up into the Agent’s own. Never had “X” spoken to an enemy as softly and as gently as he did to this man who seemed to have come from centuries past.
“You are a slave of Thoth. Do you understand me?”
There was a glimmer of intelligence in the creature’s eyes.
“And before you were a slave of Thoth, who were you?”
“I was Samuel Titus,” replied the Thoth-slave slowly. “I am now a slave of Thoth.”
“Yes,” said “X” patiently. “But how did you become what you are now?”
The Neanderthal shook his head. “I do not know. I am sick. You do not understand. Thoth will cure me. Thoth and pain will cure me. My head—it is no longer good to think. Thoth thinks for me. What I have is his.”
“Think,” said the Agent softly. “Your brain is the brain of Samuel Titus. Think back to the time before you became sick. How did this sickness come?”
“I felt drowsy. Then I knew nothing more, until, until—” The great, nearly naked shoulders were shaken by a sob—“until I saw my ugly face. Thoth told me it was my face. But I was gone. My face was gone. And I was half beast and half man.” Great tears formed in the creature’s eyes and rolled down grizzled cheeks.
“And you came to get money for Thoth?” “X” asked.
“My money is Thoth’s. I come at night quietly because men hate my ugliness and would kill me. I hate men. I hate Thoth. But I am afraid of him. He would not kill me. Only hurt. But men would kill me because I am so hideously ugly. So I would kill men before they kill me.”
Suddenly, from outside the house, came a weird whistle. “X” had heard it before on the previous night when the Neanderthal had attacked Donna Magyar. It was something like the cry of a night bird, only there was a soulless, banshee quality about it. “X” saw the monster that had once been Samuel Titus try to stand up. The creature gnashed its teeth at the Agent when the latter gently tried to force him to lie down. Again, “X” drew his gas gun, charged it, and shot squarely at the Neanderthal’s face. Again, the placid expression came over the creature’s face.
“X” was certain that the weird whistling sound was some sort of signal. He hurried back into the kitchen through which the monster had entered. The window leading out onto the fire escape was open. Since there was no light in the kitchen, “X” knew that he would be able to look out of the window without being seen. He looked down into the narrow alley. Close beside a telephone post that rose near a back yard fence, he saw the figure of a man.
It was then that Agent “X” conceived a most daring plan. He hurried back into the living room where the unconscious Neanderthal man lay. He knelt beside the man, took out his compact make-up kit as well as a more elaborate outfit from his brief-case. Here was an impersonation that would tax his skill to the utmost.
His fingers fairly flew. He exhausted one tube after another of the plastic volatile substance, smoothing on great balls of it over metal face plates fastened to cheeks, jaw and forehead. He lengthened his lower lip; built angular, jutting brows; formed a heavy, protruding jaw. Deft touches to a gray toupee, converted it into a great shaggy mop. He placed this over his own natural hair and pulled it as far over his eyes as possible.
To attain the bodily proportions of the Neanderthal was almost impossible without special pads for the crooked shoulders. “X” could only trust to his own masterful acting to maintain the hunched, slouching attitude of the Thoth slave. Two minutes more were required for him to discard his clothes and put on the sandals and fur garment worn by the slave. A sack-like pocket inside the fur garment, made an excellent hiding place for his special equipment.
AN iron ring stamped with the ibis-headed seal of Thoth and the slave number “14,” he removed from the monster’s finger. This he placed upon his own fourth finger.
Then “X” became acutely conscious of something that he had paid little attention to moments before. A police siren that had been wailing in the distance had stopped somewhere in the neighborhood. Outside Stockman House, perhaps, stood a police squad car. He could hear the sound of many feet tramping up the steps. The police! And they had been ordered to shoot any Neanderthal on sight.
One last glance in the mirror and “X” was certain that his make-up would bear scrutiny. As a matter of fact, if he had permitted himself to dwell upon his own ugliness, his own steely nerves might have broken.
As he shuffled on sandaled feet into the kitchen, he heard police at the door. The hoarse shouts of the officer in charge were mingled with the voice of the excited, henna-haired woman from across the hall.
“X” wriggled through the window and dropped to the fire-escape. In another moment, he was running silently down the iron steps. His glance hurried toward the telephone post beside which he had seen the man standing. There was no one there now. The alley appeared to be empty.
Above him, he heard a policeman cry: “Through the kitchen window! There must be another of them!”
The searching beam of a flashlight pierced the gloom, centering upon the Agent’s hunched, horrible form. A pistol shot rang out through the night, the slug striking the iron work of the fire-escape and ricocheting inches from “X’s” head.
Suddenly, at the bottom of the fire escape, a shadowy form moved. A beam from the light above struck the glittering shield of a policeman. The Agent was trapped—trapped wearing a disguise that was his own death warrant.
The policeman’s pistol gleamed then suddenly broke into a roar that was like a thunder clap. The bullet plowed through the furry garment that covered the Agent’s chest. He dropped, rolled down the remaining three steps of the escape.
“Got him!” shouted the policeman excitedly.
But the man had spoken too soon. In adopting the strange barbaric garb of the Thoth slave, “X” had not discarded his perfected bullet-proof vest. It had saved his life many times, and once again he was indebted to its impregnable manganese steel armor plate. The impact of the shot at close range had thrown him off his balance; but the slug had not pierced his flesh.
The policeman, over-eager to claim the honors of the first successful capture of one of the servants of Thoth, bent over Agent “X.” “X’s” powerful arm darted out with the speed of a striking snake. He seized the cop’s gun wrist and gave it a mighty wrench. The pistol was tugged from the man’s h
and at almost the same time that the Agent’s weight pulled the man entirely off balance.
“X” sprang to his feet. Cupping the police pistol in his hand, he led a powerful blow to the man’s head. The policeman dropped to the alley pavement without a sound.
Shouts from above. Roaring splinters of flame, Agent “X” was running, head low, but zig-zagging down the alley. Suddenly, there came again the sound of the weird whistle—this time from a concrete drive that ran between two houses. The Agent turned in the direction of the sound. His idea was to get close enough to the man with the whistle to get in a shot with his gas gun. If the man turned out to be Thoth, so much the better. If he was only one of Thoth’s assistants, “X” intended to pump the man of information concerning the chief criminal.
But as the Agent ran in the direction of the sound, vague, unexplainable apprehension stole over him. Some sixth sense warned him that he was being followed—not by the police but by something more sinister. He turned, crouching low, assuming the attitude of the creature he was impersonating. From all sides of the gloomy drive, came shadowy, crouching forms—Neanderthals.
With a low snarl, “X” turned upon the nearest of the Thoth slaves. His arms swung out, only to be entangled in a maze of netting. Four of the Thoth slaves moved like a well organized army, encircling “X” where he stood, struggling against the strong, confiding cords of the net that was held in the hands of the Neanderthals.
In another moment, he was completely trussed up, lying on his back in the driveway. Powerful arms seized him. He was lifted bodily and hurried he knew not where.
He had escaped the police, but he had bungled in some way. Carried in the arms of the Neanderthals, he was hurried to what he supposed was a truck. Without ceremony, he was thrown into a dark compartment. Utterly helpless, enmeshed in a net from which there was apparently no escape, Agent “X” was a prisoner of Thoth.
Chapter V
LORD OF THE DAMNED
BOUNCING around in the compartment of the truck, Agent “X” felt himself speeding over uneven pavements. Hunched over him, watching with mad eyes, were the Neanderthals who had taken him prisoner. Had he really failed for the first time to successfully carry out an impersonation?
When at last the truck came to a halt, the hands of the Neanderthals again closed on the net-enshrouded bundle that was Agent “X.” In another moment, he found himself standing in a perfectly bare room, evidently in the basement of some house. A dim light globe in the center of one of the joists was the only source of illumination.
This time, acting with more care, the Neanderthals removed the net. But no sooner did the Agent discover that one of his arms or legs was free than a stout cord supplemented the strands of the net that had confined him. His ankles were hobbled so that he could take only short steps. Then he was taken up a flight of steps.
The room on the ground floor which he had entered was nearly as bare as the one in the basement. At one end of the room, however, was a peculiar bit of electrical apparatus. Transformers, coils, and condensers were all connected in a complicated hook-up. In the center of this electrical group, was a peculiar clamp arrangement of polished metal. Just behind the clamp were two copper electrodes set closely together.
“X” was pushed toward this strange electrical device. Powerful hands thrust his head into the clamp. Before he could make any resistance, the clamp had closed, holding his head perfectly rigid and directly in front of the two copper electrodes.
Beyond the maze of electrical apparatus, “X” saw a man—a tall man, immaculately dressed. Covering his entire face was a black silk mask.
In a muffled voice, the man spoke. “You will be taken before Thoth!”
As the sentence ended, there was a blinding flash of blue-green light that spat across the copper electrodes. Agent “X” ground his teeth. It was not that he was in particular pain. The blue-green light had come so suddenly, was of such terrific power that every nerve within his body winced from the shock. And he found himself totally unable to close his eyes against the searing light that seemed to penetrate to the very back of his brain.
The head clamp sprang apart. “X” was free to move about. But for the first time in his career, he knew real helplessness. For the Secret Agent had been robbed of mankind’s most precious possession—eyesight. He was totally blind.
A moment of panic seized him. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, while his mind visioned all the horrors of eternal darkness. Blindness. It meant the end of his career in the service of humanity as the nation’s chief lone defender of the law. But he was given little time to think upon the future. He became aware that the rope that had hobbled him had been cut. He was being dragged by strong arms. Stumbling, staggering, on he went, led helplessly to some unknown destination.
He forced himself to be calm, listening intently for sounds that might point out the path his stumbling feet were forced to tread. Yet not once, in the agony of uncertainty that he was forced to endure, did his capacity for impersonation forsake him. He had not forgotten, in that period of blindness, the slouching gait of the Neanderthal men.
Once, in the long trail he followed, his keen ears caught the sound of trickling water. His nostrils sensed cool, damp air. But his sense of direction was completely muddled. Both “X” and his leader twisted and turned a hundred times along a path that slanted now up, now down.
At last they came to a stop. The man who had led him released his grip, and “X” was left standing in the silent darkness.
Somewhere, within the room, a great drum boomed hollowly. An almost uncontrollable joy surged over the Secret Agent. He could see! Dim yellow light, at first, that grew in intensity until he could make out his surroundings. He might have been transported to a tomb in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings. Plain gray walls mounted to meet a square ceiling, and along the walls were crude, strained figures representing the mummified figures of Egyptian gods. Osiris, Khem, Set, and Khons were there in bas-relief. But Thoth existed in the living flesh.
STANDING behind a perfectly plain block of stone that resembled some monolithic altar, was the criminal chief himself. Dim light in the room was given life and glitter by the grotesquely colored mask the monster wore. An immense molded thing—that mask in the form of the head of an Egyptian ibis. On either side of the long crooked beak were slanting, evil eyes. Brilliant bronzes in gold, green, and purple gave the mask its metallic look. A headdress of black and white striped silk covered the mask at the top and dropped straight to the shoulders where it flared slightly. Perhaps it was mask and headdress that lent Thoth his abnormal appearance.
Beside Thoth were two men wearing black silk masks. About the room, leaning on short wooden spears, were half a dozen Neanderthal men. In one corner a gleaming brazier sent up clouds of black smoke.
Two Neanderthals advanced and with their spears prodded “X” toward the stone block.
“Kneel!” ordered the ibis-masked monster.
Agent “X” knelt, still keeping his eyes on the criminal chief.
“What are you, Samuel Titus?” demanded Thoth.
The Agent’s brain worked like chain lightning. How would he be expected to answer? He recalled the strange sing-song, mechanical speech that seemed to come from all the Neanderthal men.
“I am a slave of Thoth,” he replied.
“And who am I?” demanded the muffled voice behind the Ibis mask.
“You are Thoth, the master,” replied “X.”
“Yet you have deliberately disobeyed me. You were given ten minutes in which to bring the ten thousand dollars which I sent you for—the first payment on the ransom of your soul. You over-stayed your time; you came back empty handed; you tried to excite a revolt against me. You shall be punished, slave. Your period of servitude shall be extended. You will be forced to remain in solitary confinement in the Room of Ugliness. At the end of that period—you shall taste the torture of the electric lash!”
Two masked men beside the stone altar step
ped forward and jerked “X” to his feet. Each carried a heavy automatic which they trained upon his bowed head. Half dragging him, they hurried him through one of the two steel doors in the room and into a stone passage way that twisted and turned, doubling back on itself a dozen times before they paused in front of another steel door.
Unlocking the door, they flung “X” headlong into darkness. The door closed with a dismal clang, and for the moment, “X” lay perfectly still. The Room of Ugliness, Thoth had said.
Agent “X” sat up. Suddenly, the room was flooded with brilliant light from the ceiling. Then “X” understood the torture. The room was constructed in the form of an octagon with not more than eight feet between walls. All of the eight walls, the floor, and even the ceiling were gleaming, silvery mirrors. The Room of Ugliness! Well named. For here the slaves of Thoth could feast their eyes only upon their own malformed shapes and their own hideous faces. Three days in such a place would drive one of their sort permanently insane. Even “X,” knowing well that he could discard the hideous disguise he wore, knew that long minutes alone with his thoughts in such a room would rub his nerves raw.
“X” got to his feet and crossed the slick, mirror floor to the wall. From the pocket inside the fur garment that he wore, he took out his pocket tool kit. He removed from the kit a small, diamond-pointed glass cutter. With the handle of it, he tapped the first wall he came to. The mirror was evidently backed by a solid surface, for he could detect no hollow sound. The next wall brought not the slightest ray of hope. But the next one rang hollowly.
With the diamond point of the tool, he scored a large rectangle on the glass surface. Attaching a rubber suction cup included in his tool kit, he tapped sharply around the deep scoring. In another moment, he was able to lift out a large rectangle of mirror glass.
Behind the mirror was an opening perhaps six inches deep revealing the steel door through which “X” had passed. The mirror he had just cut was evidently fastened to the door with rigid posts. A few minutes of patient work with one of his master keys and “X” was able to swing the door open. He found that the hall outside was totally dark. Closing the door of the Room of Ugliness, “X” stood motionless in the dark hall. To follow back along that twisting trail over which he had been led was an impossibility.
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 5 Page 41