Chapter VII
WAY OF THE SPY
COMMISSIONER FOSTER was a brave man. Not doubting for one moment but what the man in front of him was Thoth, Foster nevertheless made a desperate effort to free police headquarters from the doom which he supposed overshadowed it. His left hand shot out toward the bomb on the desk. “X’s” hand was quicker. As Foster’s arm slid across the desk, “X’s” right hand dropped to the commissioner’s wrist, pinioning the latter’s arm to the desk top.
“What would you do, Foster?” “X” demanded quietly. “If you have no regard for your own life, think of the others in this building.”
The commissioner, unable to withdraw his left hand tried to reach the row of call buttons on the switch-box on his desk. Again, he found himself locked in the Agent’s powerful grasp.
Still coldly smiling, “X” drew the commissioner’s wrists together. From his pocket, he produced a pair of handcuffs. “If your hands are really going to cause me trouble, commissioner, I shall have to lock you up.” “X” drew the bracelets through the back of the commissioner’s chair, and forced Foster’s wrists into the cuffs.
“Now,” said the Agent quietly, “remember that the life of one stool pigeon is not worth the lives of all the police in this building. You will tell me the name of the informer.”
Foster moistened his lips. “The informer is a woman by the name of Donna Magyar. She was a famous spy during the war. We are certain that her information was accurate.”
“Thank you,” replied the Agent mockingly. “I shall now—”
But at that moment, the door of the commissioner’s office was thrown open. “X” turned rapidly towards the door. A young, freckle-faced young man stood in the door. Foster’s secretary, “X” knew.
“Commissioner Foster!” cried the young man excitedly. “Mr. Damon Preston is outside. He wants to see you about offering a reward for information leading to the capture of Thoth—” The young man’s voice jagged off. A look of blank amazement crossed his face as he noted that the commissioner’s hands were securely locked to the chair. “Wh-what—” Then his eyes encountered the ticking steel box on the desk.
“Johnas—” And Foster, master of self that he was, spoke calmly—“this man standing before us is Thoth. Make no move to molest him. He has a bomb. He threatens to blow up headquarters.”
The young man turned white. With a mad shout, he turned, flung back through the door and slammed it. Throughout the office, the secretary’s shout echoed.
“Thoth is in Foster’s office! He has a bomb!”
In the moment of panic that the secretary had created, Agent “X” sprang to the desk, picked up the ticking instrument and started for the door of the office. Fortunately, the secretary had been in too much of a hurry to lock the door of the office. “X” sprang into the anteroom now swarming with police, plain-clothes men, and others. Foremost in the crowd was tall, blond Damon Preston, slightly pale, but none the less determined looking. As the police surged forward, “X” held the bomb high above his head.
“Look out!” shouted Foster’s secretary. “That man is Thoth! He’ll blow us to hell!”
Agent “X” advanced slowly, confidently. The wall of police melted before him. He said no word but continued toward the hall door. Then he detected a movement behind him. He whirled. Crouched, ready to spring was Damon Preston. Too late did Preston see that “X” had turned. His legs straightened like two steel springs and he hurled himself at the Agent.
He caught “X” about the waist, throwing him off balance. Agent “X” went down. As he struck the floor, he kicked Preston in the jaw with his knee. Preston’s grip relaxed and “X” found a moment in which to writhe out of Preston’s grasp and regain his feet.
BUT the bomb in his hand had not exploded. The police knew that this man who called himself Thoth was bluffing. They hurled themselves in a disorganized body toward him. “X” jerked a glance over his shoulder, marking the position of the door. “Look out!” he shouted. “I’m throwing the bomb!” Pressing a button on the side of the metal box, he threw it straight at the advancing police. There was a dull pop and the bomb burst into a white, vaporous cloud. For the bomb that “X” had told the commissioner was so deadly, was charged with harmless but effective tear gas.
Eyes closed, “X” raced for the door. He gained it and opened his eyes only long enough to close the door behind him. Out in the hall of the headquarters building, three plain-clothes men were racing in his direction. A hasty shot clipped the shoulder of “X’s” coat. He drew his gas pistol and threw himself upon the nearest detective. The man’s gun blasted twice. One of the slugs pounding into the Agent’s side.
His bullet-proof vest had stopped the shot, but the fearful impact had landed directly over an old shrapnel wound in his side. For a moment, bright flashes of pain danced before his eyes. But he gritted his teeth, thrust up his gas gun, and fired directly into the detective’s face. The man pitched forward. “X” caught him deftly about the waist and with a mighty heave sent the unconscious man reeling into one of his companions. The second detective went down, falling over his unconscious companion.
Before he had a chance to recover himself, “X” had gained the door. There he was locked in hand-to-hand combat with a terrific uppercut to the third detective’s chin. As the man staggered backwards, “X” pushed through the door and ran into the street.
From somewhere in the headquarters building screamed a tracer of bullets. But “X” zig-zagged down the street and sprang through the door of his car. No sooner had he opened the door of the car than the motor started as if by magic. “X” dropped behind the wheel and was away in a flash. Police bullets battered the armor plate body of the car in vain. Agent “X” knew that he was safe, for the time being, from the avid slugs from the police guns. And he had gained the information he had wanted. Donna Magyar, the spy, was Foster’s informer.
It was a few minutes later that a black sedan might have been seen stopping in front of the Griffin Apartment Hotel. The man who got out had a broad face, ruddy cheeks, and a scowling forehead. At the door of the sedan, he paused, looking toward the door of the apartment building. A glimmer of recognition flashed across the face of the man who stood beside the sedan. “ ‘Hands-off’ Heidt and private dick, Thornton Beem,” he muttered to himself.
Then the ruddy faced man entered the lobby of the apartment hotel in time to see Heidt and Beem shooting upwards in an elevator. He crossed to the desk and flashed a police badge. “Those two men who just went up,” his voice rasped. “Do they live here?”
The clerk shook his head. “They asked for the apartment of Miss Saphari, sir.”
“Which is?”
“Apartment C4,” replied the clerk. Then as the ruddy-faced man, whom he doubtless recognized as Inspector Burks of the Homicide Bureau, started toward the second elevator, the clerk followed at his heels. “Nothing seriously wrong, sir, I hope?” he asked.
The ruddy-faced man did not reply. He stepped into the second elevator and told the operator to speed to the third floor.
When the elevator bobbed to a stop, the ruddy-faced man strode across the hall to the door of Apartment C4. For a moment, he listened at the panel. Stanley Heidt’s bellowing voice could easily be distinguished from the woman’s resonant whisper.
“I tell you, Miss Saphari,” declared Heidt, “I’m willing to go the limit. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars right now!”
THE WOMAN’S low, scornful laugh was interrupted by the descending wail of a police siren on the street outside. The ruddy-faced man hesitated no longer. Putting his hand on the door knob, he stepped into the room.
Beneath the Titian hair, the eyes of Donna Magyar, alias Sari Saphari, flashed scornfully at Heidt. “So!” she hissed.
Heidt glanced at the ruddy-faced man. “Inspector Burks!” he exclaimed, and at the same moment his pugnacious face turned a shade paler.
Thornton Beem took a step toward the door; then seeing that t
he inspector’s eyes were upon him, he stopped and forced a cough.
“What’s this you’re willing to pay that much money for?” demanded the ruddy-faced man of Heidt.
Heidt stammered. “I tell you, inspector—”
The door of the room was thrown open and two plain-clothes men pushed into the room.
“Inspector Burks!” exclaimed one. “Didn’t know you were here.”
The ruddy-faced man turned his eyes on the detectives. “Well, well,” he growled. “Didn’t you ever see me before? What are you doing here?”
“We were sent by Commissioner Foster, sir,” replied the man. “A man entered headquarters trying to get some information. He claimed to be Thoth and threatened to blow up the place. But he wasn’t Thoth. When his bomb went off, it contained tear gas. Foster believes the impostor to be Secret Agent ‘X.’ We were given orders to come to this apartment, since that would undoubtedly be ‘X’s’ destination. We have orders to arrest any men we find here.”
The ruddy-faced inspector gestured toward Thornton Beem and Heidt. “One of these men is evidently the man you’re looking for. You may be sure that the lady isn’t Agent ‘X.’ You’ll do well to take both of these men down to headquarters for question.”
“Are you nuts?” demanded Beem.
“Humph!” exclaimed the inspector. “I may be that, but I’m also thorough. Take ’em away, boys!”
“Wait a minute!” roared Heidt as one of the detectives took his arm. “Can’t we fix this up some way, inspector?”
“We cannot!” bellowed the inspector. “If you and that shadow of yours have nothing to hide, you won’t mind answering Foster’s questions.”
And before any further objections could be made, the police detectives removed Beem and Heidt from the room. Donna Magyar turned lustrous eyes on the inspector. “Oh, thank you so much, sir. I do not know what might have happened if you had not come.”
“You’d have probably fallen into the hands of Secret Agent ‘X’,” was the reply. “But come along with me, lady. If you’ve got a good imagination, you can consider yourself under arrest.”
“Arrest!” echoed the woman. “But I don’t understand—”
“Never mind.” The inspector took the woman by the arm and steered her through the door. Nor did he relinquish his grip on her arm until she was in his black sedan parked in front of the apartment.
SLIDING beneath the wheel, the ruddy-faced man was conscious of the intoxicating perfume worn by the adventuress. Yet as she leaned slightly toward him, bending her head so that her soft hair slightly brushed his cheek, his face became more grim. It seemed at last that the seductive woman spy had met a man who was immune to her charms.
It was not that the man beside her was not fully conscious of her beauty; it was simply that he had not forgotten that she was a woman of deceit, with the lives of a thousand men resting upon her soul. Of all living men, perhaps this man knew more about the past life of Donna Magyar than any other.
For he was not, as all who had observed him in the apartment building believed, Inspector John Burks of the police. Instead, the countenance that looked for all the world like the face of Burks was but one of the thousand faces of Secret Agent “X.”
His movements on leaving police headquarters were comparatively simple. Foster, he knew, would have had no trouble in deducing that the impostor claiming to be Thoth was really Secret Agent “X.” The commissioner had met the Agent so often and was familiar with many of his tricks. And Foster would have known that “X’s” first movement on leaving headquarters would be to go to the apartment of Donna Magyar.
It had been necessary for “X” to call Harvey Bates by means of the short wave radio in his car. From Bates he had learned that Donna Magyar had registered at the Griffin Apartment Hotel. As “X” had driven in the direction of the apartment, he had changed his features so that they resembled those of Inspector Burks—not a particularly difficult change for him to make in as much as he had frequently impersonated the inspector upon other occasions.
“X” would have given a good deal to have been able to learn why Heidt and Beem were at Donna Magyar’s apartment. Unfortunately, the arrival of the real police had given “X” little time to do any secret investigating. Heidt had offered Donna Magyar money. And Donna Magyar had offered to sell information to Foster regarding the identity of Thoth.
The Secret Agent’s deductions were suddenly interrupted by the soft, musical voice of the woman beside him. “You are really a very, very clever man,” she whispered. She laid her head on his shoulder and looked up into his face with brilliant, laughing eyes.
“Humph!” grunted “X” in perfect imitation of Burks’ manner. “What makes you think so, lady?”
She laughed softly, but made no reply.
“Say, what about that handkerchief of yours?” asked “X” suddenly. “I’m not clever enough to figure that out.”
“What do you mean?” asked Donna Magyar without the slightest trace of alarm in her voice. She applied the electric lighter from the car’s dash to the end of a cigarette. “Oh, I know what you mean now,” she went on after a few luxuriant puffs. “I did drop a handkerchief on the grounds of the Marcus estate the other night. Did you find it?”
“X” nodded. “There was blood on it. You had wiped your fingernails on the handkerchief after you had scratched the face of Paul Naramour.”
Donna Magyar’s laugh was an admission. “There was a ghastly mistake that night. Bungling.” She tossed her cigarette out of the window and immediately lighted another. “A man called Secret Agent ‘X’ was supposed to have been killed. But that was a mistake, as I learned after I had scratched the face of the unfortunate reporter.” She tossed out the second cigarette and lighted a third. “By the way, this isn’t the way to police headquarters.”
“No,” replied Agent “X.”
“You see,” the woman continued, “Agent ‘X’ wears some make-up stuff on his face. I was extremely disappointed when I found Paul Naramour was only Paul Naramour. The Neanderthals had bungled again. But if I’m not too inquisitive, where are you taking me?”
“To a particularly lonely spot I have in mind,” replied “X.” “There, unmolested by anyone, I am going to make you tell me who Thoth really is.”
“Really?” she mocked. “Did it ever occur to you that I haven’t the slightest idea who Thoth is? I simply offered to sell Foster information that I did not possess so that I might obtain just what I wanted.”
Frowning slightly, “X” looked down into the woman’s fair, smiling face. “And that was?”
“You, Secret Agent ‘X’!”
“X” SUDDENLY felt the pressure of a gun muzzle against his side. So it had all been a trick, a most intricate plan to trap him. She must have known that no word of important information ever reached police headquarters without reaching the ears of some of “X’s” various operatives.
“You see,” the deceivingly soft voice went on, “Commissioner Foster had already promised to pay me for information I did not possess. Why then would his inferior be sent to me when I had agreed to deal only with the commissioner? It was all as I anticipated. I want you not to make a move. You know I have no scruples about shooting.”
“You admit that you are working for Thoth?” asked “X” quietly.
“And why shouldn’t I admit working for Thoth?” she asked. “We must always be rivals, Agent ‘X.’ Playing the same game, you and I, but playing it different ways. I let you capture me so that Thoth might capture you. You did not think that your entrance into his headquarters would slip by without his learning of it, did you. Look behind you, Agent ‘X’.”
The Agent cast a glance over his shoulder. He had been driving through an old section of the city toward one of the hideouts where he had hoped to question Donna Magyar. The lovely spy had thrown out another cigarette, and no sooner had it struck the pavement than it burst, throwing out a little cloud of red smoke that floated upwards. Following clo
sely behind the Agent’s car was a curtained touring car.
“X” looked at the woman whose hand had never relinquished the grip on the automatic she held. “Quite a novel signaling system,” he said lightly, “putting smoke signal bombs in cigarettes. You’ve marked out the course we are taking, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” she said sweetly. “You’ll make such a nice Neanderthal man! And if you’ll look ahead, you’ll see that there isn’t any way out at all.”
Agent “X” had already seen it. In the middle of the block, a huge van had parked across the middle of the street directly in front of an old warehouse that “X” knew had been abandoned.
“And what if I were to drive straight on?” “X” demanded coolly, crowding a little more gas into the motor of his car.
Donna Magyar grew slightly pale. “You’ll stop,” she whispered, huskily. “You’ll stop before we hit the truck! I’ll kill you if you don’t. You’ll stop!” Her voice mounted to a scream; for it was more than even her icy nerves could stand.
Instead of stopping, “X” bore down on the throttle. The powerful motor responded instantly, seeming to hurl the car straight toward the great closed door of the warehouse. A splintering crash as the car smashed through the door and careened through a perilous blackness of falling beams and flying splinters.
Both of the headlights had been smashed by the collision with the door. The car had rocked and rolled as “X” fought for control. Suddenly, it was all over. A deathly silence unbroken except for the creaking of timbers and the rain of broken particles upon the floor. Except for the jolting shock he had received when he had been thrown against the steering wheel, the Agent was uninjured.
But the car was a wreck. The right hand door had been sprung back on its hinges and Donna Magyar was missing. “X” scrambled from the wreck and jerked out his flashlight. The beam of light was fogged by flying particles of debris. “X” wheeled and started toward the opening his car had made. A fallen timber, splintered so that it was lance-sharp, had speared a piece of torn silk “X” knew had been a part of Donna Magyar’s dress.
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 5 Page 43