Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 5

by Paul Chadwick

  With the greatest of care, “X” made himself up to resemble the detective. He was extra careful, since he would be constantly under the suspicious eyes of Inspector Burks. When he finished, he put Mellor into the second suit of armor, and grounded it to a steam pipe.

  “At least,” “X” told the unconscious detective, “you will be immune to the lightning of the Blue Spark.”

  THEN he went downstairs; found Inspector Burks. The irate inspector glared at him, fired a dozen questions.

  “X” spoke in the slow, drawling voice of Mellor. “I have been busy on the side, inspector. I broke regulations, I know—but it has been worthwhile.”

  “Worthwhile!” growled Burks. “Have you caught the Blue Spark?”

  The Agent said: “I will catch him within an hour’s time. I have been working with a scientist friend of mine—and he has given me a metal-mind device that will catch the Blue Spark.”

  Burks scratched his head. “If you’re drunk, I’m going to break you so hard—”

  “Come with me,” said the Agent. “And bring along two men.”

  The inspector bit off whole-hearted oaths, then summoned two coppers. They all went up to Electra’s room. “X” pulled a box from under the bed and disclosed the suit of armor he had been working on.

  “This,” he told the inspector, “contains an electrical indicator that will register the approach of the Blue Spark’s lightning projector.”

  “Will I carry it around with me?” asked Burks.

  “X” shook his head. “We can put it outside on the terrace. The Blue Spark will learn of its existence and come to destroy it. You have your men ready with bombs and machine guns—and grab him.”

  Burks considered this. Finally, he nodded. “If it works, Mellor, you’ll—well, I’ll see that you’re made a lieutenant.”

  The Agent acted as pleased as Detective Sergeant Mellor would have acted.

  In ten minutes time, they had the suit of armor standing out on the terrace, facing the driveway. Every one crowded around it. And “X” took advantage of their interest to look into the house. The Baron von Huhn was there, pulling the fat man’s make-up from his face and telling everyone what he thought of them. One cop got fed up, and dragged him out to Inspector Burks.

  Burks was fit to be tied, ranted all over the place. When he cooled down, words were distinguishable. “It was Secret Agent ‘X.’ He was standing right beside me, talking to me!” Then he bellowed: “Every one line up! Men—” he flung at his coppers—“keep your guns on this crowd. Secret Agent ‘X’ is right here. He may be anyone. I’m going to test every face—myself!”

  “X” tensed. And to cover his misgivings, he whipped out his gun as the other policemen had done, stared from face to face. Electra was nowhere to be seen. Her father, J. Reginald Barker, was glaring about him at everyone. Warner Sinclair was the first man Burks went to. The round-faced Sinclair let out a snort when Burks grabbed his nose and twisted it to see if it would come loose. He howled in protest. But Burks then tried to see if Sinclair’s round chin would rub off.

  A COP jabbed his gun into Warner Sinclair’s back to quiet him. Finally, Burks was satisfied that Sinclair’s face was his own.

  J. Reynolds Barker’s pinched little nose and loose jowls were then next to feel Inspector Burks’ probing fingers, The utilities magnate spluttered:

  “I beg of you, sir. You don’t have to pull the flesh from my bones. You are overstepping your authority, sir. I will inform Commissioner Foster—”

  The jab of a cop’s gun in his back cut him short. Burks said:

  “You seem all right.”

  “Seem!” cried Barker. “You’ve disfigured me for life!”

  The hawk-faced August Langton was next. He was quiet, submitted with hardly more than a groan when his long nose was twisted.

  Inspector Burks was getting mad by the time he reached the Baron von Huhn. The baron held out the plastic paste he was peeling from his face. He said:

  “This is all I’ve been able to get from my face, Herr Inspector.”

  Burks ignored him, grabbed one of his flaplike ears and pulled. Noble Prussian oaths filled the air. Inspector Burks’ ancestry was damned way back to the cave-man era. And the baron finished by challenging Burks to a duel.

  It would have been funny had not “X” realized that each test of Burks’ was coming nearer to him. And the Agent’s make-up would not stand the test of the inspector’s rough fingers. “X” searched his mind for some escape—but none presented itself. It looked like he would be doomed to discovery before he had the chance to make his play against the Blue Spark.

  WHEN Inspector Burks finished with the male guests, he turned to the Agent, looked intently at his face. “X’s” heart skipped a beat. He spoke quickly:

  “Inspector, how about your men? Secret Agent ‘X’ has impersonated policemen many times.”

  That delayed the test “X” dreaded while Burks went the rounds of his coppers. When he finished and left a row of silent but sullen men at his back, he again turned to Agent “X.”

  “Well, Mellor,” he said, “I’m not Secret Agent ‘X’.” He moved toward the Agent.

  “X” readily stepped forward with a disarming smile. But as he passed the suit of armor, his hand flicked a tiny switch in the elbow joint.

  A tiny bell started ringing.

  Burks demanded: “What’s that?”

  The Agent whirled back toward the suit of armor. “The signal!” he whispered hoarsely.

  Every one on the terrace jerked to their feet. Burks drew his gun. The policemen lifted their sub-machine guns. Thus they stood for minutes. Burks was the first to get back to normal. He said:

  “That thing is a false alarm, Mellor.”

  “The black hearse must be in the vicinity,” insisted the Agent.

  Burks snorted. “While we’re waiting for it—I’ll take a look at your face.”

  “Sure, inspector,” agreed “X,” feeling his carefully built plans to trap the Blue Spark shattering over his head. He knew that he now was trapped. He couldn’t hit Burks or discharge his gas gun at him. For the sub-machine guns in the hands of the alert coppers would mow him down before he could take two steps toward an avenue of escape. “X” knew that some time in his life he would be forced to unmask. And he felt that this was the time.

  Burks’ hand reached out to rub the Agent’s face. That hand suddenly stopped—when a terrified screech rent the still night air. Burks shot a glance over his shoulder toward the driveway.

  Secret Agent “X’s” eyes, too, darted in that direction. He saw the sleek black hearse. And he saw the strangely shaped cannon on its roof. One of the cops let go a burst of machine-gun fire. But nothing happened to the black hearse.

  “Stop!” shouted August Langton. “There is an electric field about the car. Bullets can’t touch it.”

  Agent “X” knew that Langton had got his information about that electric field from “X’s” own lips.

  The machine gun was silent. The helplessness of the police struck a new note of terror in the guests. They huddled together, their fear-shot eyes glued to the sinister hearse.

  A moment later, the door of the hearse opened and a glistening rubber-clad figure stepped onto the terrace. “X” knew then that the electric field about the car had been killed. But he was the only one who knew it—and it fitted in with his carefully laid plans.

  The black figure on the terrace spoke in a throaty voice—a voice that “X” recognized to be Electra Barker’s. She said:

  “If no one interferes with my work—no one will be hurt.” Her voice rose a pitch. “I have come to kill the Blue Spark!”

  THERE was scarcely a breath drawn among the frightened onlookers. Even the iron-hearted Inspector Burks was as still as a statue. The voice in the black hood went on:

  “The Blue Spark is standing before me on this terrace. I have served him for a long time. He has held me in the palm of his hand. I have killed and robbed at his s
lightest whim. But—tonight—my eyes were opened. The Blue Spark must die!” Her voice rose to an hysterical pitch. “The Blue Spark must die—die by the hand of his own daughter!”

  At that last word, the black figure whipped the hood from its head. A composite gasp swept across the terrace. For the face revealed—was the beautiful face of Electra Barker. Her dark eyes burned with a fierce light. When she spoke again, her voice was more controlled.

  “But first I will attend to this indicator here.” Her black-encased arm swept toward the gleaming suit of armor, “My father will watch closely to see what happens to this armor. For ten seconds later—the same thing will happen to him.”

  Electra motioned toward one of the ebon figures in the hearse. The cannon lowered its muzzle to the suit of armor.

  Secret Agent “X’s” eyes were pinpoints of steely fire. He suddenly called out to Electra in the voice of Detective Sergeant Mellor.

  “Electra—come here!”

  The girl took several steps toward him. “X” watched the strange cannon atop the hearse. Then suddenly he sprang for Electra, dragged her down to the ground with him.

  A great bluish light seemed to fill the world. A bolt of lightning sizzled from the cannon at the suit of armor. Every person on the terrace saw the jagged streak lash into the helmet of the armor. Then they saw an amazing thing, an astounding thing. For that bolt of lightning went into the helmet—and came right out again, heading straight back toward the gun atop the hearse.

  There was a great explosion. The hearse disintegrated, showering the beach and terrace with debris. Rubber-clad human forms were flung from the hearse—dead long before they thudded sickeningly to the ground.

  Agent “X” had shielded Electra’s body with his own. Parts of the hearse dropped about him. A piece of fender bruised his arm. Slowly, “X” got to his feet and gently lifted the girl. He searched for Betty Dale. She was safe, smiling at him for having saved Electra’s life.

  The terrace and beach were shrouded in a deathlike silence. “X’s” eyes drifted to the still forms of the rubber-clad men who had been thrown from the exploding hearse. He murmured to himself, “Poor fellows—their minds were not their own. But the cause of humanity demanded destruction of the hearse.”

  Inspector Burks had the presence of mind to lock handcuffs on the trembling wrists of J. Reynolds Barker. The utilities magnate could not take his eyes from his daughter’s face.

  INTO this vastly quiet assemblage came a running, disquieting figure. It was the figure of the real Detective Sergeant Mellor. His face was his own—but his clothing belonged to the Baron von Huhn.

  Von Huhn pointed a wrathful finger, yelled something in German. All eyes followed his finger. Secret Agent “X” had seen Mellor first, and he edged toward the fringe of the crowd.

  Inspector Burks’ eyes about popped from his head. He looked from one Mellor face to the other—and let out a bellow of rage.

  Agent “X” snatched one of the sub-machine guns from a cop’s hand, trained in on the group. His voice crackled. “Not a move. You know who I am. Let that knowledge guide your actions.”

  Burks managed to blurt: “Secret Agent ‘X’!”

  All in that group had heard of Secret Agent “X.” Had felt an awesome sensation creep over them when Burks was searching for him. But now—with the amazing man right before them with a sub-machine gun in his capable hands—they could only stare in startled apprehension.

  Detective Sergeant Mellor looked as if he was going to charge right into “X’s” machine gun. Betty Dale stepped to his side, whispered:

  “Secret Agent ‘X’ just saved Electra’s life.”

  That sobered Mellor. He stood there, undecided what to do or say.

  Agent “X” spoke in his own voice; clearly, compelling, charged with a strange magnetism. “The Blue Spark is here. But without the faith and trust of Detective Sergeant Mellor, I could not have brought the case to so early a conclusion.” “X’s” voice rang with conviction. But even as himself, he was playing a role. He wanted Mellor to be reinstated in the good graces of his superiors. He went on:

  “This case started five years ago. Three men—Warner Sinclair, J. Reynolds Barker and August Langton—formed a company for research into the field of electricity. Two of these men got together and cheated the third of his money in the company. This third man was a brilliant engineer. He went on with his work—and developed the lightning projector. He lived for vengeance…. And you know the rest.”

  Agent “X” turned to August Langton. “You, Langton, knew who the Blue Spark was. And you left those stock certificates in your bag for the Blue Spark to take. You wanted to buy your life—and you dared not reveal the Blue Spark.”

  “I have nothing to say,” muttered the banker.

  “Naturally,” said “X,” his machine gun not wavering a whit. “You are one of the two who cheated the brilliant engineer. That raid on your bank was just to throw fear into you. And you still fear the Blue Spark.”

  Burks growled: “No one need fear the Blue Spark any more.”

  Agent “X” ignored Burks, went on: “The Blue Spark’s headquarters are right here in subterranean vaults on this property. Several things led me to discover this. One was when the lights went out as the raiders were leaving after taking Barker’s money. Another was that I got information regarding a black flower delivery machine seen near here. That was the black hearse. But my last clue was when Toby Moore took me down to see the Blue Spark, thinking I was the Baron von Huhn…. Burks, you’d better put Toby Moore under arrest.”

  “Well,” said Burks, “I guess that’s everything—everything but getting you, Secret Agent ‘X’!”

  The Agent smiled. “There’s one small trifle you overlooked, inspector.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “X” said: “Arresting the Blue Spark.”

  “Huh?”

  “The Blue Spark is still a free man,” said “X.” “That is why August Langton was afraid to talk a moment ago.”

  “You mean—”

  “Exactly,” said “X.” “The Blue Spark is Warner Sinclair—the brilliant engineer who has retired on the money he extorted from August Langton and J. Reynolds Barker.”

  Burks blurted: “But Barker’s own daughter—”

  “That was Sinclair’s trump card. He controlled Electra, even controlled her to the extent of trying to make her kill her own father. Just look at Sinclair, inspector. Since I destroyed his lightning projector, he has been chewing his nails down to the quick. He knows that without his weapon he is like a tiger without claws. Look at him, inspector.”

  BURKS did look at Warner Sinclair. The man’s face was a mottled purple. His smouldering eyes were fixed on Secret Agent “X.”

  The Agent said: “The destruction of the lightning projector has toppled Sinclair’s Blue Kingdom. He has lost confidence. He has lost his weapon of inspiring fear. And without fear he cannot collect extortion money.”

  Warner Sinclair controlled himself with an effort. “I’m too old to begin again, Mr. ‘X.’ Everything I had planned has failed—failed miserably. There is nothing to continue on. But I would like to know where I—shall I say ‘made the fatal slip?”

  “X” swung his machine gun to discourage an ambitious cop. Then he spoke to Warner Sinclair. “You slipped on your own ego, Sinclair. Your Blue Kingdom gave you the ‘King Complex.’ You got it bad. Your use of the royal ‘we’ was the stumbling block. Kings say ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ and they say ‘our’ instead of ‘my.’ You talked that way in your little kingdom—and you talked that way out of your kingdom. Look back over some of your conversation—and you’ll see where you made the mistake.”

  Warner Sinclair nodded slowly. “You are a very keen man, Mr. ‘X.’ Will you also tell me how you destroyed my projector?”

  The Agent pointed toward the suit of armor. “I rigged up a plate in the helmet and backed it with heavy insulation, also insulated the base of the armor. Your
lightning flashed in through the silver painted paper vizor, a non-conductor, and was deflected out through the top of the casque. There a carrier beam created by ionized air hurled your lightning back to the projector. Your repelling electrical field was broken, so there was nothing to stop the return beam.”

  Sinclair suddenly turned on J. Reynolds Barker, his fingers stretched to grasp the magnate’s throat. Barker was handcuffed, at a disadvantage. Inspector Burks whipped out his gun, fired to wound Sinclair. But the man’s lurching body caught the bullet in his left lung. He gasped out blood and words:

  “Damn you, Agent ‘X!’ But for you I would have extended my Blue Kingdom—” Blood choked off hate-hard declaration.

  “X” looked at him, said a tight-lipped nothing.

  Sinclair found his voice again. “And because of you I’ve been shot by a cop—like a common crook—With my dying breath, Secret Agent ‘X’ I damn you—”

  Agent “X” stood there in silence. There was no elation in his dark eyes.

  WHEN Burks looked up from the dying man—Secret Agent “X” had disappeared. And all that remained to remind them of that strange personality was the echo of a very melodious, eerie whistle….

  An hour later, Detective Sergeant Mellor, still at the Barker mansion, got a telephone call. A voice said to him:

  “It is best, Mellor, that you and Electra leave for the West Coast for a fresh start. When her mind recovers from the electrical shock, she will remember nothing of the things she had been forced to do. You had best take her away…. Also, Mellor, there is a very important point of a name you heard me call one of my operatives—”

  Mellor’s fervent voice cut in. “After all you’ve done for me, I’ll take that secret to my grave with me. You have my sacred word on that.”

  “Good luck,” said “X” quietly, and hung up.

  He left the phone booth and headed his roadster toward the house he had designated to Jim Hobart as Meeting Place Q. That house was a harmless trap. And Jim Hobart would be there—by now having entirely forgotten his connection with the Blue Spark’s killers.

  Agent “X” smiled, warmly, genuinely. He valued Jim Hobart’s friendship highly.