“X” dropped again into the chair fronting the phone. And for the second time in the past half hour, he called Harvey Bates. Nothing to report, was Bates’ dismal answer. Then “X” dialed the Hobart Detective Agency.
“Hello, Mr. Martin!” came Jim’s cheery greeting. “Got news for you. One of my men just reported that Stanley Heidt and Thornton Beem were getting out of a car parked in front of police headquarters—”
“Donna Magyar, Hobart!” the Agent’s tense whisper interrupted. “Have you any news concerning Donna Magyar.”
“Afraid not, boss,” Hobart sighed. “The earth seems to have swallowed her…. Wait a minute, chief. There’s the phone now!”
Chapter IX
MRS. SECRET AGENT “X”
FOR a breathless minute, “X” waited. Then again came Jim Hobart’s voice: “Mr. Martin, a report just came in from one of our men. He has sighted a woman in the lobby of Hotel Empire, who, he thinks, is Donna Magyar. She is wearing dark-lensed spectacles, probably for the purpose of disguise. Just as our man phoned the report, he saw Mark Voinoff, former member of the Heidt mob, enter the lobby also. What orders?”
“Keep both in sight until the arrival of a Mr. Robbins. Robbins you will be able to recognize by the fact that he will drop a handkerchief in the lobby not far from where Donna Magyar is. And one more thing, Hobart. There’s an old blind man who peddles chewing gum. His name is Thaddeus Penny. Know him?”
“Yes. What about him?”
“Thaddeus Penny at this time of night will probably be in the theatrical district. Pick him up and take him over to the Hotel Empire. Have him wait out in front of the hotel. Explain to him that Mr. Robbins wants him to do him a favor. Got that? And you’d better give Thaddeus Penny some money to pay him for the time he’ll lose.”
“Right, chief.” And Hobart hung up.
There was not the slightest need for “X” to change his disguise. He left the Heidt house and in twenty minutes arrived at the Hotel Empire. Several of Jim Hobart’s operatives were loitering about the lobby and it was evident that Donna Magyar was still there. The private detectives were silently dismissed when “X” took out his handkerchief and deliberately dropped it on the lobby floor.
It was not until “X” had climbed the stairs to one of the lounges that he found Donna Magyar. She was, as Hobart had said, wearing dark glasses. A wide-brimmed hat, pressed down low over her abundant Titian hair, effectively concealed her features. The man with her was Mark Voinoff. “X” dropped into a chair close by and buried his nose in a newspaper that he had purchased on entering the hotel. Donna Magyar and her companion were speaking softly in Russian, a language which was but one of the many known to Agent “X.”
Leaning over, Agent “X” asked Voinoff for a match. The flow of guttural whispers stopped. Voinoff tossed the Agent a match. “X” thanked him and, as he lighted a cigarette, continued reading his paper. Voinoff and his companion continued speaking in Russian.
“Two hours from now,” Donna Magyar was saying, “the task is completed. You will bring him to the appointed spot. There is one of the slaves who will assist you in making the capture. Clear?”
“I shall start in half an hour,” replied Voinoff, getting out of his chair. Then with a glance at Agent “X,” the mobster went down the steps. “X” watched him round the cigar counter and enter the basement stairway. Donna Magyar, in the meantime, had lighted a cigarette and was idling through the pages of a magazine.
“X” got up, walked over to the divan on which she was seated, and dropped down beside her. She turned her head slightly in his direction to find herself looking into the nose of the Agent’s gas pistol. Aside from the slight twitch of her right foot, she showed no alarm.
“What is the meaning of this, sir?” she demanded coldly.
“Donna Magyar,” “X” said quietly.
A faint pallor spread across the woman’s cheeks. “You have made a mistake. My name is Saphari.”
“Do you think you can trick me, Donna Magyar? I who have seen men butchered because you had betrayed them? I am the brother of Captain Lawrence. He was but one of the men who met death because of you. I tell you this because I want you to understand that I would not hesitate one moment to kill you if you made the slightest effort to obtain assistance.”
The pallor on Donna Magyar’s face increased. “What do you mean to do?” she asked in a husky whisper.
“You shall see soon enough. Stand up. Walk beside me where I go. Do not say a word. My gun will be in my coat pocket.”
SLOWLY Donna Magyar obeyed. And with steps that kept pace with hers, “X” descended the steps to the lobby. “Talk naturally to me,” he whispered. “Smile. Be gay. No one must know that you are as near death as you have ever been.”
And Donna Magyar talked—about the warmth of the night, the beauty of the hotel lobby, and other things that “X” did not pay any attention to. He answered her questions with a pleasant yes or no as they sauntered where he led her—toward the hotel desk.
In a great lounge chair, a fat man lay asleep. Beside him was a worn gladstone bag. Quickly noting that no one was watching, “X” picked up the Gladstone bag, hardly halting to do so. Straight to the hotel desk they walked, Donna Magyar apparently not as yet breaking under the strain of terror that must have possessed her. For her escort, to all appearances, was insane with vengeance. Not once could she have guessed that this man was Secret Agent “X.”
“You wish to register?” asked the hotel clerk.
Agent “X” set down the stolen Gladstone. He nodded, picked up the pen and in a bold flowing hand wrote, “Mr. and Mrs. Donald K. Lawrence.” This he followed with a fictitious address in Troy, New York. Having been given a key, Agent “X,” his gun pressed close against Donna Magyar, followed the page boy who was carrying the Gladstone to the nearest elevator.
“And after the dinner tomorrow, dear,” “X” was saying as the elevator came to a stop, “we will do some of the theatres you’ve always wanted to see.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Donna Magyar replied somewhat weakly.
Agent “X” tipped the bell hop who opened the room for them. Then when the boy was gone, he closed and locked the door.
Donna Magyar jerked off her dark glasses. Her eyes were blazing, but her cheeks were deathly pale. “What do you intend to do with me?” she demanded huskily.
“X” brought out his gun and at the same time a pair of handcuffs. “Both hands out!” he commanded harshly. Donna Magyar obeyed. “X” slipped the cuffs over her wrist and locked them. Then, still holding his gun, he snapped open the traveling bag he had picked up. He hastily dumped out the contents and put aside a razor, some shaving cream, and a pair of neckties. Donna Magyar watched him in silence.
“Sit down in that chair.” “X” pointed to a straight backed walnut chair. The woman obeyed. Then “X” quickly leashed her slim ankles to the legs of the chair.
“Do you know why I have brought you here?” he demanded.
She shook her head.
“So that you can tell me where Betty Dale is.”
A quick frown passed across Donna Magyar’s face. Then instantly came her brilliant flashing smile. “So I must be Mrs. Secret Agent ‘X’!” she exclaimed.
“Will you answer my question!” he demanded. “Or shall I force your answer?”
Donna Magyar laughed quietly. “What an amusing situation. From what I have heard of the Agent’s gallantry, he can be no more than bluffing now.”
“X” sighed, knelt once more beside the bag, and removed the blade from the razor.
“Just what do you intend to do?” Donna Magyar asked.
“You have forced this upon yourself,” he replied. “I do not like to do it, but unless you answer my question, I shall be forced to shave you as bald as a priest. Perfectly painless torture from a physical standpoint, but unless I am much mistaken you will be quite the laughing stock wherever you go when I am through with you.”
DON
NA MAGYAR’S smile vanished. “You—you wouldn’t dare!”
For answer, “X” stepped over to her and took one lock of her gleaming hair between his fingers. The keen blade slipped across the hair and severed it. He held the tiny wisp in front of the woman.
Donna Magyar’s eyes suddenly filled with terror. “Oh, please!” she gasped.
“That’s better,” said “X” quietly. Had his own code permitted him to inflict pain upon this woman, he knew that it would have availed him nothing. But the slightest threat to wound her vanity and she became like putty in his hands. “Now you will answer all of my questions—and truthfully?”
She nodded her head. “Betty Dale is at Thoth’s headquarters. I do not know how she got there. Is that all you want to know?”
“X” shook his head. “Where is Mark Voinoff going?”
“To the house of Bertram Kaxton.”
“Where Kaxton will be drugged and taken where?” “X” continued.
The woman hesitated. “X” raised the razor blade slightly toward her Titian hair.
“No,” she said hastily. “I’ll talk. There’s a little shack near Fostmore Warehouse on the river front. Voinoff will take Kaxton there.”
“Where is Thoth’s headquarters?”
“I—I don’t know. You must believe me. I don’t know. There are a number of entrances. But no one except Thoth and his lieutenant ever enter without being first blinded.”
“And who is Thoth?” “X” asked.
“I don’t know. No one knows. Don’t you know what you are asking me may cost me my life?”
“Perhaps,” said “X” coldly, “when the law reaches you.” He walked to the door, unlocked it and stepped into the hall. No sooner was the door closed behind him than Donna Magyar broke into a peel of laughter. “X” wheeled, opened the door, and again confronted the woman. “Have you lied to me?” he asked, viewing her through narrow eyelids.
Still laughing, she replied. “No. I’ve told you the truth. That is why I am laughing. When Thoth has made you into a Neanderthal, I think I shall never stop laughing!”
“Perhaps not,” replied “X” quietly, “but you shall certainly stop now.” He drew his gas gun and fired a full charge straight into Donna Magyar’s face. Her laughter choked into silence. Her head dropped forward. She was unconscious.
“X” knelt beside her, untied the bonds that held her ankles. Then he unlocked the handcuffs that held her wrists. He had no desire that she should remain in such an uncomfortable position during the eight hours or more in which she would sleep beneath the influence of the anesthetizing gas. He lifted her limp form and carried her to the bed. Then he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.
The Agent hurried down into the lobby and leaving the key at the desk, hurried through the door. No sooner had he reached the sidewalk than he heard a familiar voice, high-pitched and wavering, cry out: “Oh, Mr. Robbins!”
“X” TURNED around and confronted a tall, stooped figure. Old Thaddeus Penny had been waiting for him. The tray that hung from his neck was loaded with chewing gum. There was an expectant expression on his thin, lined cheeks. His wrinkled hand sought the Agent’s eagerly.
“Quickly, Thaddeus!” “X” seized the old man’s hand and led him across the sidewalk to where his car was parked at the curb. He opened the door of the front compartment and helped the blind man in. Then he hurried around and slid under the wheel.
As the powerful motor broke into a muffled roar, “X” said, “I’ve got to have your help, Thaddeus. Tonight your eyes will be better than mine.”
“Oh, you know I’d like to help you, Mr. Robbins, but I can’t see a thing. My, my, what ever gave you such an idea!”
“Will you help me, Thaddeus, even when I tell you that you will be in deadly danger?”
Thaddeus Penny chuckled. “Shucks, Mr. Robbins, you don’t have to ask that. I’d do anything for you.”
Agent “X” gave the old hand beside him a quick squeeze. “We haven’t much time,” he said. He cut a corner and opened up the motor. “I’m going to disguise you, Thaddeus, so that no one would know you. Your safety and the safety of everyone in the city, perhaps, depends upon that disguise.”
“You must be a detective, Mr. Robbins?” Thaddeus muttered.
“You can think of me as one if you wish. Tonight, you must obey me in every detail. We are going to a place that is a maze of intricate passages. You must have your wits about you, for I am going to depend on your acute sense of touch and direction to bring me out of there again.”
“That’s a mighty big order, Mr. Robbins, but I’ll try. Where is this place? I know most every street in the city.”
“I don’t know where we are going, Thaddeus. But first, I must disguise you.” And for ten minutes, “X” maintained a strict silence, driving with the greatest possible speed.
Bringing the car to a stop in front of an old red-brick tenement building, he helped Thaddeus out. In this dilapidated structure was one of the Agent’s many hideouts. He hurried Thaddeus up dark steps and into a room on the second floor. He turned on a light. The blinds, as usual, were securely drawn. Then removing Thaddeus’ coat and shirt, he began to work. He had to remember that Thaddeus had none of the talent of an actor and the disguise must be perfection itself.
With great pieces of cotton wadding, he built the crooked back and shoulders of a Neanderthal on Thaddeus’ scrawny frame. Adhesive held the wadding in place while “X” covered it with great amounts of plastic volatile material and colored the material with natural pigment.
Then while Thaddeus sat perfectly motionless, “X” worked with face plates and plastic to change the blind man’s face into that of a Neanderthal. When he stood back to view his finished work, the kindly Thaddeus had become a hideous monster.
Throwing a coat over Thaddeus’ shoulders, “X” set about his own disguise. The blind man, in the meantime, was exploring his new face gently with the tips of his fingers. “Mr. Robbins,” he said finally with a shudder, “I don’t think I’d do this for anyone else in the world!”
“Thank you, Thaddeus,” said “X” with simple sincerity.
The Agent’s fingers were working swiftly. Pigments blending with plastic material and his own flesh produced the jaundiced complexion of Mark Voinoff. Having once impersonated Voinoff, the transformation came simply. He could trust to his memory to reproduce the features and any alteration that he might have to have, could be made a little later.
Having completed his own disguise, “X” took Thaddeus’ arm and led him back to the car. For the blind man’s safety, he ordered Thaddeus to lie down on the floor of the rear compartment. Then he slipped in under the wheel and drove off. If Voinoff was working on schedule, he should by this time have been at the house of Bertram Kaxton. The changes of disguise had occupied “X” more time than he had anticipated. If he was going to make the desired connections, he would have to step on it.
AS the car rolled along down the broad street where Kaxton’s house was, “X” saw a small black delivery truck backing out of the driveway that led to the Kaxton side entrance. “X” jammed on the brakes, swerved his car, and brought it up with its sleek nose against the body of the truck. A startled oath from the lips of the driver, told Agent “X” that it was Mark Voinoff behind the wheel.
The Agent was out of the car in a moment, his gas pistol in his hand. He sprang to the door of the truck, and thrust the pistol under Voinoff’s nose. Light, reflecting from the dash lamp, shone on the Agent’s face.
Voinoff turned pale beneath his yellow cheeks. It must have been like looking into a mirror, to see his own face on another man. His jaw dropped. He stammered something, but his words became mere whispers and faded into silence as “X” let him have a dose of the powerful gas.
“X” dragged Voinoff from beneath the wheel of the truck and carried him over to his own car. Returning to the truck, he cautiously opened the door. He was greeted by a low, bestial growl. There was no
t a moment in which to recharge his gun before the crouching Neanderthal sprang. From the bed of the truck, the flying weight of the monster threw “X” to the ground. He heard the grinding of teeth and felt the sinewy grip of fingers closing on his throat.
He hammer-gripped his pistol and brought it up sharply to the creature’s temple. The Neanderthal grunted, recoiled slightly. “X” let the monster have another powerful blow to the side of the head. The grip on his throat relaxed. The monster rolled over on the pavement.
Beneath the tiny eye of his flashlight, “X” removed the slave’s ring and then the fur garment and sandals it wore. Then he recharged his gas gun and gave the slave a shot of anesthetizing gas. Picking the Neanderthal up, he carried it to his own car and put it in the front seat beside Voinoff.
“Come, Thaddeus,” “X” said, “We’re ready to start.” He helped the blind man from the car and over to the truck. Opening the rear compartment of the truck, he lifted Thaddeus into it and climbed up beside him. In the back of the truck he saw a round-faced, well-built man of about fifty lying unconscious on the floor. This man, he knew, was Bertram Kaxton. He had apparently been drugged. “X” knew that he was taking upon himself a grave responsibility. But if his plan was to bear fruit there was no alternative. Kaxton, whom he had saved, must go on with him into the very jaws of hell itself—into the secret realm of Thoth.
“Now for a change of clothes, Thaddeus,” “X” whispered to the blind man. “You’ll have to wear this fur garment if our plan is to succeed. This ring, also, goes on your finger.”
“But what’ll I do to help you?” asked Thaddeus. His fingers twitched with excitement as with the Agent’s aid, he changed from his own clothes to the rough fur of the Neanderthal man.
“Just remember,” “X” told him. “That’s all you have to do. Remember where we go just as soon as I stop leading you.” “X” slipped the sandals over Thaddeus’ feet. “And you must not speak a word either to me or anyone else. But, if some one asks who you are, just reply that you are a slave of Thoth.”
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 5 Page 45