“Where is she?” demanded the detective.
“Safe,” said “X.” He ignored the angry Mellor, and helped Betty remove the olive-tinted stain from her arms, shoulders and legs. He told Betty:
“There’s not a chance of getting out of this room now. Burks has his own men on the job now.” “X” quickly dressed the baron in the clothes he had taken off. Then he studied the baron’s face and thick neck. Here was a problem. “X’s” only chance of concealing that stove-pipe neck was to make the baron a fat, pudgy-faced man. He rapidly went to work. Then he cut up the black rubber suit, bound and gagged the baron. When that was finished, he said:
“He will be unconscious for an hour. Burks will be unable to do anything with him. I have the only restorative for that hypodermic injection.”
Detective Sergeant Mellor had been pacing the room while “X” had been working. And for some reason, Mellor opened the closet door. He let out a yelp:
“Electra! You’ve killed her!”
“X” whirled on Mellor. “You poor fool!” His anesthetizing hypo was in his hand. He jabbed the needle into the detective’s arm; let him fall to the rug.
From out in the corridor came Burks’ roar: “Where did that yell come from? Something’s going on here!”
“X” bit off a savage oath. Mellor’s cry had summoned Burks before the Agent’s work was half done. A heavy fist pounded on the door. It was a stout door. “X” had locked it. He appraised its strength and softly called to Betty:
“You’ll have to change suits with Electra again. Sorry. I’ll be busy binding this poor fool.” He turned his back and lashed the detective’s hands with pieces of rubber; then his feet. Before he had finished, Betty said:
“All right.”
The Agent turned to see her once more in her own chartreuse suit. Electra was in her white silk, scarlet cape about her shoulders.
FROM the other side of the door came: “Get outside that window. Keep back. You know what those killers can do.” He banged on the door again. “Open—in the name of the law!”
“X” leaped over to the unconscious Electra, and bound her with the black rubber. Then he motioned to Betty to lie on the floor. He whispered:
“Play unconscious as long as you can. You’ll have an hour’s time. Listen to what I say—and take your cue from that. When you can get free, hide in Electra’s room. Some men will come with two big boxes. When they see you, just say: ‘Bates.’ Watch over those boxes. Stay there—until you get word from me.”
“Chop the door down!” blared Burks.
“X” saw the edge of an axe bite into the panel. He rapidly finished binding Betty. Then he performed a skillful trick—he securely bound himself. He completed the last knot when the door broke down. A sub-machine gun nosed around the door jamb, covered the room. Then Inspector Burks’ red face showed. His mouth opened in surprise. He saw Detective Sergeant Mellor and let out a roar:
“There he is!”
“Whom?” asked J. Reynolds Barker, sticking his pointed little nose into the room. When he saw “X” stretched out on the floor, eyelids blinking, he spluttered: “My dear baron! This is an outrage, sir. Are you hurt? I pray that you are not. Inspector! That man is His Excellency, Otto, Baron von Huhn. Release him at once, sir!”
Burks growled: “Keep your shirt on.” He was glaring suspiciously at the unconscious Mellor.
Warner Sinclair bounced into the room. His eyes and mouth were rounder than ever. And those big eyes scrutinized the four figures on the floor. He said: “Your party is full of surprises, Barker.”
August Langton followed on Warner Sinclair’s heels. He exclaimed: “Otto!”
“X” answered in Von Huhn’s precise voice: “I am all right, August. The swine just bound me.”
“What swine?” demanded Inspector Burks.
“That I do not know,” said “X.” “They brought the four of us in here, and tied us. They were dressed in black rubber suits.”
J. Reynolds Barker stooped beside the Agent, cut his bonds with a pocketknife. “Allow me to assist you up, sir. I have been robbed—and my guests manhandled.” He wagged his bald head sadly.
August Langton looked about him, asked: “What has become of Elisha Pond?”
“Was he here?” butted in Burks. “If he’s been killed, the commissioner, the mayor and the governor will jump down my throat.” He glared down at Detective Sergeant Mellor. “I’d give a month’s wages to know what he was doing here.”
“I might collect, Herr Inspector,” said “X.” “He was brought in here with Miss Barker. The ones in black rubber drugged them both. And this young lady—” he pointed to the apparently unconscious Betty Dale.
Barker said: “That is Miss Dale, a reporter.” He called to one of the servants. “Call a doctor for my daughter. If harm has come to her, I shall never recover.”
Warner Sinclair’s eyes rarely left Electra’s face. He went over, easily lifted her and carried her from the room. At the door, he turned and glared at her father. “You have a strange sequence of affections, Barker. First, the baron—then the pretty reporter—then your daughter.” Without another word, he left.
The utilities magnate lifted and dropped his shoulders in a weary gesture. “One is never right, it seems, gentlemen. I was placing courtesy, duty before love.”
“X” drew August Langton aside, said: “I must speak with you.”
The banker nodded. “Let us go to my room.”
THEY climbed the wide staircase, Langton leading the way to the room J. Reynolds Barker had given him for overnight. “X” followed, his mind focusing on the things he wanted to question the banker about. In the room, Langton poured two glasses of scotch, clinked ice in, and squirted soda. He handed one to “X,” saying:
“Here’s to the two million, Otto.”
“X” sipped the whisky, set the glass down, snapped open the baron’s cigarette case and bowed to Langton. When the smokes were going, he asked: “Exactly whose side are you on, August?”
The banker laughed shortly. “My own. Your memory seems to be short, Otto.”
The Agent dragged on his cigarette. Another slip like that and August Langton would become suspicious. “X” then spoke after several thoughtful moments.
“You are sure no money was taken from your bank during the raid?”
“Not a red penny,” replied Langton.
“X” studied his cigarette. “And tonight, Barker was robbed of thousands. By the way, August, did you notice the spokesman of those black-dressed robbers?”
The banker shook his head. “Not particularly, Otto. Why do you ask?”
“That speaker, my dear August—was a woman.”
August Langton slowly set down his glass, fixed his shrewd eyes on the Agent. “Yes, Otto. I know that. I mentioned it to Warner Sinclair. He repeated his moth-eaten saying—‘Every man has his price.’ Then he added—‘And every woman.’”
“X” asked: “Did you mention it to our host?”
The banker nodded: “I was told to have no more cocktails.”
Secret Agent “X” punched out his cigarette with the deliberate precision of the Baron von Huhn. “Well, August, when do you think we may conclude our transactions?” “X” remembered that Von Huhn had asked about “transactions” when he thought that the rubber-hooded man was August Langton.
Langton mused a moment. “That depends largely upon Secret Agent ‘X.’ I am beginning to think that the man is very much over-rated.”
“Indeed,” said “X.”
“Well,” went on the banker, “when my twenty million investment is on a safe basis, I can finance your European project.” He bit his lip. “There is precious little time, Otto. I am a marked man. The Blue Spark will make a clean sweep of my vaults—on his next raid.”
“X” sat down on the edge of the bed, ran a hand across his forehead. “The ordeal was trying, August. Do you mind if I relax a bit here?”
“Of course not, Otto. And here is so
mething to rest on. I know who the Blue Spark is—have known right along. But I am helpless. If I so much as breathe the name—that damn lightning will reach out for me. If I live through the night, I will be the luckiest man on earth.”
THE Secret Agent stretched out on the bed as August Langton left the room. And when the door snicked shut, “X” leaped to his feet. He went to Langton’s Gladstone, swiftly searched through it. On the bottom, he came across a sheaf of stock certificates. They were not in an envelope, but merely had an elastic band around them. Frowning, “X” looked through them. They were certificates of an electrical company, and they were dated five years back.
“X” had just time to see that when he heard the doorknob turn. He quickly put them in his pocket, closed the bag, and was taking a cigarette from the baron’s case when the door opened. He turned, expecting to see August Langton returning. But a girl, dressed trimly as a maid, entered the room.
She was the redheaded Toby Moore.
“X” spoke in the baron’s guttural voice. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry,” said Toby. “Mr. Langton suggested that you might want a sedative.”
The Agent shook his head, “Thank you, no.”
Toby’s high heels twinkled back to the door. She opened it. Two heavy-set men stood in the doorway. They came in, and moved swiftly toward “X.” Toby Moore closed the door behind them, stood with her back to the panel.
“X” didn’t wait for the men to jump him. He leaped in, sank his fist into one man’s stomach. The other sprang, tried for a headlock. “X” saw the danger in that. For the man’s arms would ruin the difficult disguise of the Baron von Huhn. The Agent slipped under the man’s outflung arm, and snaked out the baron’s Luger pistol. “X” had no intention of using it. He just wanted to leave no doubt in Toby Moore’s mind that he was anyone but the baron. “X” even let the man attacking him get a grip on his gun wrist.
The Agent’s master skill in boxing and wrestling could have easily disposed of both these men. But he prolonged the fight, mouthing German oaths. From the tail of his eye, he saw Toby Moore approaching with a heavy book-end raised in her hand. Stealthily, she neared the struggling men. Then her hand struck downward.
“X” ducked, let it slide off his shoulder. He strained toward the girl, whispered: “Fraulein, I have a message for the one who calls himself the Blue Spark.”
When he had been a captive of the Blue Spark, “X” remembered how redheaded Toby Moore had smirked when the Blue Spark told her that she would get her next orders from Number One. “X” figured that Number One was Electra. And there was a rivalry between Toby Moore and Electra. The Agent played that hunch. He said quickly:
“The one who takes me to your master will find immediate favor. He will be greatly interested in what I have to tell him.”
Toby spoke to the man grappling with “X.” “Wait.” She went to the door connecting another room, opened it and reached down to the floor. She picked up a white box such as orchids might be delivered in, and turned back into the room.
“X” recognized that white, ribboned box. It was the one that Toby Moore had tried to kill him with and send his hurtling roadster driving into a group of school children. And “X” knew that his mind was about to be electrically blanked until he could be transferred to the chamber of the Blue Spark. But the Secret Agent had a definite plan in mind.
Chapter IX
IN THE BLUE CHAMBER
HE opened his eyes and found himself in the same Blue Chamber he had been in when he was disguised as Jim Hobart. And in the chair with the complicated switchboard attachment sat the rubber-clad Blue Spark.
“Your Excellency?” he asked in condescending inquiry.
The Agent bowed, stiffly, formally. “Your Majesty,” he murmured. Then he cleared his throat. “I am the representative of the greatest European research laboratory—”
The Blue Spark raised his hand. “We are quite familiar with your status, Baron von Huhn. Please proceed.”
“X” looked at the fanwise spread of black figures about the Blue Spark’s chair. The glistening men stood silently; their heads slightly bent, eyes fastened on Agent “X.” He said: “I am prepared to pay you twenty million for the formula of your lightning projector.”
The Blue Spark’s voice vibrated from the disk over his mouth. “Why twenty million, baron?”
“A good, round sum.”
“Yes.” The blue head nodded to that. “We must check that offer, Your Excellency. And in the meantime, you will be a guest of the Blue Kingdom.”
The Agent stiffened. He hadn’t figured on that. “A prisoner?” he asked.
“Guest,” replied the Blue Spark. “There is a vast difference, baron. Should your offer prove false—you will learn that difference.” The Blue Spark nodded to one of the glistening ebon figures. “Number Ten, the baron is a guest. You will see to his every convenience. You know where to take him.”
Then the Blue Spark rose and left the chamber, his following forming a phalanx about him. The man designated as Number Ten pointed toward another doorway. “X” squared his shoulders in true Prussian disdain of menials and walked stiffly to the door. It led to another door, which opened into a luxurious apartment perfectly air-conditioned.
“X” sat in one chair, smoked. Number Ten sat at the far side of the room in stoic silence. The Agent’s brain was fuming with impatience. Every minute counted in the plan he was formulating. Every minute was vital. Minutes would spell defeat or victory in the campaign he was about to launch against the insidious Blue Kingdom. “X” had to take a great risk. But it was his only hope. He said quietly:
“Number Ten—I see that you have recovered from nearly bleeding to death.”
The black figure started. The eye-slits fairly gleamed. “How do you know about that?” he asked slowly.
The die was cast. “X” staked all on his next words. “It was I, Number Ten, who saved your life.”
There was a moment of deathly silence. “Then you are—”
“X” nodded. “You would have bled to death, Number Ten.”
Suddenly, Number Ten twitched. He seemed to be having some sort of a spasm. When his muscles stopped quivering, he looked at “X” in a strange way, and asked:
“Who are you? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?”
The Secret Agent suspected some sort of a trick. But the black-clad man’s voice was so sincere that “X” was sorely puzzled.
At that moment; the Blue Spark and four bodyguards entered the room. He indicated that two of the bodyguards take Number Ten out. And when they did, he said:
“We are satisfied that you can command that amount, baron. And to demonstrate the power of the formula, Number Ten’s strange actions should be explained. The mind-controlling unit of the lightning projector works on a principle of time. Number Ten’s treatment is over due.”
“X” felt oddly happy. He asked: “Then, when the time limit of the shock has passed, the patient forgets all that happens while he is under the influence of the projection?”
The Blue Spark nodded. “Exactly. You were a total stranger to Number Ten.”
Agent “X” then knew that Jim Hobart would recover and remember nothing of his efforts to trap Secret Agent “X.” He would forget that he had been told that his boss, A.J. Martin was the Secret Agent.
The Blue Spark lifted a square box, pointed it at “X”….
“X” SUDDENLY found himself stretched out on the bed in August Langton’s room. Toby Moore and the two heavy-set men were nowhere in evidence. His audience with the Blue Spark seemed almost like a dream, a wild fancy of the imagination. But “X” knew that it was the grimmest of realities.
He sprang from the bed, left the room and went downstairs. Finding the baffled Inspector Burks pacing the corridor, he asked:
“Has Miss Barker awakened from her drugged sleep, inspector?”
“No,” said Burks.
“X’s” hands balled into fists. Elec
tra Barker would have come out of her sleep in an hour’s time. She was still under the influence of the drug. Agent “X” had been to the Blue Chamber. And an hour had not yet passed. He spoke to Burks again.
“Miss Dale, the newspaper woman?”
“She came out of it about ten minutes ago.”
“X’s” eyes glinted strangely. He was thinking of the time element. For he had been taken to the Blue Spark and brought back again—all in about a half hour’s time. And “X” roughly estimated that he had been in the Blue Spark’s stronghold about a half hour. So his going and coming had been a mere matter of minutes.
Burks broke in on the Agent’s thoughts with: “We found a man out on the beach—his throat cut. What next?” he grimly asked.
But the Agent had already left him, and was climbing the stairs again. This time, he made his way to Electra’s room, went in and closed the door quietly behind him. Then he whistled softly; the eerie, melodious whistle of Secret Agent “X.”
Betty Dale stepped from behind window drapes. She pointed under the bed, saying:
“Some men brought in those boxes without Inspector Burks or anyone knowing about it.”
“X” smiled. He knew the almost miraculous efficiency of Harvey Bates’ organization. He tugged out one of the large casketlike boxes and raised the lid. A suit of armor lay within. And there was a tool kit and an assortment of electrical supplies beside it. Without a word, “X” went to work on the helmet. When he finished, he replaced the box under the bed, said to the girl:
“I am going to change again, Betty, so don’t confide anything to the Baron von Huhn. Go down, mingle with the guests—and stay close to Toby Moore, the redhead maid.”
Then “X” left the room, went down to where Detective Sergeant Mellor was still sleeping under a one-man police guard. “X” waited until the policeman turned his back. Then he noiselessly glided up behind him and discharged the gas gun in his face. The cop went out without having the slightest idea of what struck him. “X” carried the unconscious Mellor through a rear hallway, up a rear staircase and into Electra’s room. There he swiftly changed clothes with the sleeping detective.
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 5 Page 58