Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 4

by Emile C. Tepperman

  He asked the mayor: “Has this been examined for fingerprints?”

  “Of course,” Sturgis assured him. “But those smudges show nothing. The man who wrote it must have worn rubber gloves.”

  The Agent returned the letter to the mayor who folded the sheet, and methodically replaced it in the envelope, returned the envelope to his pocket. Norman Marsh threw himself into an easy chair, and lit a cigarette.

  “We’ve been arguing this thing pro and con for the last ten minutes before you came, Randall,” he said. “Larkin and Lacey want to pay. Sturgis and I have absolutely refused. It looks like you have the deciding vote.”

  LACEY was pacing up and down the room nervously, chewing a cigar to shreds. He stopped suddenly before Marsh’s chair, exclaimed irritably: “Stanton was right. From what this Doctor Blood says in the letter, Stanton must have paid up already. It’s all right for you, Marsh. You’re used to this sort of thing; and you haven’t got a family to worry about either. But Larkin and I don’t go in for exploring and big game hunting. All we want is to be left alone. And it’s worth twenty-five thousand to each of us not to have this terrible threat hanging over our heads!”

  Larkin, the newspaper proprietor, was standing with his back to the others, staring out of the window into the night. He said over his shoulder in a dull voice: “I’m with Lacey. This madman who signs himself Doctor Blood has shown that he can carry out his threats. Sturgis and Marsh can be stubborn if they want, but the way I look at it, twenty-five thousand is little enough to pay when you think of what has happened to the others.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “It’s five minutes of twelve. All five of us may be dead, with our throats torn open at one minute after midnight. I’m for calling Stanton right now—”

  Mayor Sturgis interrupted him. “Just a minute, Larkin. There’s no sense in talking this way. We’re all pretty well on edge.” The mayor’s face was indeed gray with worry. He showed the effects of the terrible strain upon him. For, in addition to being one of those upon Doctor Blood’s list, he was also burdened with the responsibility of handling the entire situation. There were fine beads of sweat under his eyes.

  He ran a hand wearily across his face as he went on: “I feel much the same as you do, Larkin, but I’m holding out as best I can. We dare not give in to this man the way Stanton has. Don’t you understand that it would only mean the beginning of a reign of terror throughout the country? We, here, have been unfortunate enough to be chosen by Doctor Blood; and it becomes our duty to fight him in the best way we can.

  “We are not going to pay—and we are going to do our best to make sure that we live through the day. If we are alive by midnight tomorrow, it will mean that Doctor Blood is not as infallible as he claims to be. It will break up his entire plan, will give the rest of the men on that list of three hundred and sixty-five the courage to refuse to pay, too.” His voice grew eager, urgent. “Don’t you see? We’ve got to carry on!”

  Lacey seemed to be somewhat impressed by the mayor’s impassioned plea. He stopped his nervous pacing, said: “Well—”

  Norman Marsh sprang from his chair, clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Lacey, snap out of it! Foster has planned to protect the five of us starting at midnight. He practically guarantees that we’ll be safe.”

  Larkin swung away from the window, demanded eagerly: “What kind of plan?”

  “Sturgis will tell you about it,” said Marsh.

  The mayor explained. “Gentlemen, Commissioner Foster is making sure that Doctor Blood cannot get to us tonight. We are going to place ourselves beyond his reach!”

  “What will we do?” Lacey asked sarcastically. “Go up in a balloon and stay up in the stratosphere all night and all day?”

  The quip provoked no answering smile from the assembled men.

  Mayor Sturgis shook his head. “I am going to do better than that. We are all going to put ourselves—in jail!”

  Larkin crossed the room from the window, his eyes burning feverishly. “In jail!” he repeated after the mayor. “Are you crazy?”

  “X” had been silent all this time, studying each of the men in turn. He was especially interested in Lacey and Larkin. They had both been so anxious to pay up, to induce the others to pay, but suddenly, upon learning that there was a plan in the wind, they were eager to discover what it was. Neither of them was the type of man which the Agent pictured Doctor Blood to be. But both were clever, shrewd business men, and had the brains. It would be an ingenious stroke for the man who masked himself under the name of Doctor Blood to have placed himself upon the very list of victims whom he had named.

  “X’s” thoughts were interrupted by the mayor, who was explaining the plan. “Commissioner Foster has arranged for an escort of policemen to accompany us. We will stay in jail all night and all day tomorrow until midnight, and there will be a heavy guard placed inside and outside. Not a soul will be admitted under any pretext. If Doctor Blood can get through that guard, he will have to be good!”

  Lacey seemed to be wavering. The idea appealed to him. “Of course,” he said reflectively, “Doctor Blood got Patterson right in police headquarters. He might even be able to get at us in jail.”

  “I’m willing to take that chance,” Marsh said quietly. “The only way he got Patterson was under a pretext, by sending some one to pose as Secret Agent ‘X.’ While we are in jail, no one will be admitted under any pretext.”

  Mayor Sturgis turned to “X.” “What do you say, Randall. Will you go with us?”

  “X” nodded. If these men all stuck together tonight, he wanted to be near them. Undoubtedly Doctor Blood would make an attempt upon their lives. Well, the Agent would be right there when the attempt was made. He said: “I’m in favor of it, Sturgis.”

  “X’s” words seemed to carry weight with the others. Lacey capitulated, and set to work to convince Larkin that he ought to throw in with them.

  Finally Larkin exclaimed: “All right! I’ll go with you—and I hope it works. God, I hope it works!”

  “When do we go?” “X” asked.

  “At once,” the mayor announced. “It is two minutes of twelve—the police escort will be below now.”

  Lacey poured them each a drink of cognac, and then they filed out of the apartment, went down in the self-service elevator. On the way down, Lacey whispered to the Agent: “I sent the servants off for the night when this meeting was called. No one knows about it.”

  “X” made no comment. He could have told Lacey that the meeting was not as secret as he thought. Bates had learned of it. And it was highly possible that Doctor Blood also knew about it.

  The chimes of a near-by church were just beginning to toll the hour of midnight when the five men, with Mayor Sturgis in the lead, crossed the lobby and went out into the biting cold of the February night.

  Chapter XIV

  FLIGHT FROM TERROR

  THE mayor exclaimed: “Aha—everything is on schedule!” Before the curb stood a police van. A uniformed police sergeant and four blue-coats, all with service revolvers in their hands, stood beside the van. They were tense, watchful, their eyes constantly shifting to the dark reaches of Central Park across the street.

  Norman Marsh, who was walking beside “X,” whispered: “Those officers are as nervous as we are. I’m beginning to have a healthy respect for this Doctor Blood of ours.”

  “X” smiled. “Who wouldn’t have a healthy respect for him. He’s in a fair way to terrorizing the entire country.”

  The uniformed sergeant saluted the mayor, reported: “Sergeant Mace, sir, Morrisville Precinct.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’ve got orders from the commissioner to place you and these other gentlemen under arrest—if you don’t mind, sir.”

  “Not at all, not at all,” the mayor said. He had almost regained his usual joviality at the thought of safety. “I dare say we’re the most willing prisoners you’ve ever had!”

  Sergeant Mace saluted, motioned to one of the bluecoats who opened the rear door of
the van. Marsh went in first, then Larkin, then “X,” then Lacey. Sturgis followed them.

  One of the bluecoats went around and sat in front beside the driver, while Mace and the other two officers climbed in to the interior of the van.

  As they drove away, the single electric bulb in the wire cage in the middle of the roof of the truck cast a dim light which showed “X” the strained countenances of his companions. Larkin showed most the strain that they had been under.

  “You—you think,” he said to Norman Marsh, “that we’ll get there safely? It’s after midnight. Maybe this Doctor Blood will—attack us on the way!”

  Mayor Sturgis laughed shortly. “I doubt it. If he should be foolhardy enough to try anything like that, it would probably be the end of him.” He gestured toward the bluecoats sitting near the door. Each one was grimly holding a sub-machine gun in his lap, while Sergeant Mace kept looking back through a small porthole in the rear door.

  “This is really an armored car,” Sturgis explained. “Doctor Blood would have to have a small howitzer to stop us. And if he attacks us with anything less than that, those machine guns will mow him down—with his beasts!”

  Lacey sighed deeply. “Well, in a few minutes we’ll be safe in jail. But I’m afraid I won’t get much sleep tonight.”

  They drove in silence now for perhaps ten minutes. Then the van slowed down.

  Sergeant Mace turned and announced to the mayor: “Here we are, sir.” He wiped his broad face with a dirty handkerchief. “Whew! I’m glad that ride is over. I sure thought something was going to happen!”

  The truck was backing up now, and in a moment the doors opened. Two of the bluecoats descended first, holding their sub-machine guns in front of them. “X” could see that they were in a sort of alley which ended in a small door at the far end. The two bluecoats walked around to the front, reconnoitered and returned, reporting that they had not been followed. It was not till then that Sergeant Mace said: “All right. I guess it’s safe.”

  He got down together with the last bluecoat, and stood alertly while “X” and the others got out. Then he led the way down the alley toward the small door at the back.

  “X” recognized the building as the old jail behind the Morrisville Station House. Its use as a jail had been discontinued about a year ago, when the new Morrisville Detention House had been erected right next to the police station. “X” had been here several times, knew that this old building backed up right against the station house.

  Sturgis, who was walking beside him, whispered, “This was pretty clever of Foster. No one would suspect that we were hiding in this old jail. I begin to think we may have put it over on Doctor Blood!”

  The Agent would have felt much better if he could have shared Sturgis’ confidence. He had too great a respect for the unknown individual who used the name of Doctor Blood, had seen too much of how he operated, to feel that they would be unmolested throughout the night. But he said nothing. There was no sense in undermining the courage of the others.

  They entered through the small door which Mace held open for them, and the four bluecoats filed in after them.

  “All right, Joe,” Mace called out to the driver of the van. The gears clashed, and the van drove out of the alley as Mace closed the door behind them.

  They were in a small, antiquated receiving room. A long corridor led from here into the gloomy interior.

  “How about the guards?” Mayor Sturgis inquired.

  “There’s a half dozen inside, sir,” Mace informed him. “And about fifty posted around the building. There’s not a chance of anybody’s breaking into this place tonight.”

  He led the way down the corridor. “If you will step this way, sir, I’ll show you and the other gentlemen the quarters that have been prepared.”

  They followed him down into the jail proper, with the armed bluecoats behind them. One of the bluecoats remained at the door, on guard with a sub-machine gun in the crook of his arm.

  On the way, they passed two more uniformed men, armed with riot guns.

  “You’ve certainly taken plenty of precautions,” Mayor Sturgis commended.

  “Thank you, sir. We’re doing our best.” Mace opened another door. “If you will step in here, I will show you the accommodations. They were the best we could do on such short notice, sir.”

  They filed in, one after the other.

  The room was square, equipped with a table and several chairs. On the table was a small lamp which cast a dim light.

  “You’ll be safe in here,” Mace called out to them from the doorway. “The windows are all shuttered so no light can leak out.”

  “But where do we sleep?” the mayor demanded. “I say—”

  His words were drowned out by the sound of the heavy door clanging shut. A key grated in the lock. They were alone in the room.

  SECRET AGENT “X” stood tense, his eyes sweeping the room. Mayor Sturgis ran to the door, pounded upon it. “Mace, Mace!” he shouted. “What’s the matter with you! We want something to sleep on!”

  The others all stood around, slightly bewildered by the sudden shutting of the door. There was no answer to the mayor’s shout. Sturgis turned away from the door, looked at them queerly. His eyes, deep sunk, looked from one to the other. “Gentlemen—I am afraid I do not understand this.”

  Norman Harsh said puzzledly: “Neither do I. What’s this—a practical joke of yours? If so, you’ve picked a damned poor time for a joke!”

  Secret Agent “X” stood between them. “This is no joke, Marsh. I’m afraid I understand it too well.”

  Larkin and Lacey crowded about him, as did the mayor and Marsh.

  “What do you mean?” Larkin demanded, his voice trembling.

  “I mean,” the Agent explained, “that we are not here under the protection of Commissioner Foster, or of the police. My guess is that Sergeant Mace is no police sergeant, and that his bluecoats are not policemen. It is a superb masquerade. Gentlemen, I am afraid that we are in the hands of Doctor Blood!”

  As if to verify his words, a small wicket in the door was suddenly flung open, and a burst of demoniacal laughter pealed into the room from out in the corridor.

  A distorted, ugly face peered in at them through the bars. A twisted claw of a hand, with talons flecked with blood, waved at them wildly.

  The laughter that issued from that ghastly mouth was tinged with wildness, with madness. It filled the room, struck sharply at the eardrums.

  Frank Larkin put a hand to his throat, staggered backward and slumped into a chair. Then he covered his eyes with his hand and began to moan.

  Suddenly the grisly laughter ceased. The claw pointed at them one at a time; and a tight mad voice shrieked at them; “You’ve guessed it. You’ve guessed it. You’re in the hands of Doctor Blood. Doctor Blood always gets his man!”

  The Agent knew that claw. He also noted the battered condition of those hideous features. This was the man he had battled with in the Gotham Theatre—unmasked now. And he also recognized the face. It was the face of Grover Wilkerson—the demented financier, whom Bates’ men were seeking everywhere, whom the police of the entire nation were on the hunt for.

  The Agent’s eyes were clouded as he listened to the madman’s ravings. For he was convinced that Wilkerson could not be Doctor Blood. Wilkerson was a demented, dangerous, murderous paranoiac. But his very demented condition made it impossible for him to have acted in the cold, cruel, calculating way that Doctor Blood had exhibited. Wilkerson could never have planned this ingenious kidnaping trick. Wilkerson was no more than a tool.

  “X’s” hand was in his pocket, on his gas gun. But he did not use it. He could have rendered Wilkerson unconscious, but they would be in no better position than now. For they would still be in the power of Wilkerson’s master.

  The Agent’s mind was racing, already planning for the immediate future, planning some means of taking advantage of the demented financier’s condition.

  At that moment, Norman M
arsh sprang forward, a heavy blue steel automatic in his hand, leveled at the wicker window. The explorer’s face was set in a grim line, as he pressed his finger upon the trigger aiming at Wilkerson’s face.

  The Agent acted quickly on the spur of the moment. He struck Marsh’s wrist, causing the automatic to explode into the floor. Wilkerson’s face disappeared from the wicker, and the steel window snapped shut.

  Marsh swung on the Agent, his eyes blazing. “Damn you,” he shouted. “You stopped me from killing that beast!”

  The others were also staring at “X,” their eyes showing strange suspicion.

  The Agent tried to explain to them. “Don’t you see, Marsh, we couldn’t gain a thing by that. Wilkerson isn’t the boss. But killing him will leave us just as badly off as we are now. It was a mistake to show our captors that we are armed. It would have been better to save that as a surprise for a time when it would do us some good.”

  Lacey sneered. “Sounds like a good argument, Randall, but the fact remains that that madman out there is Grover Wilkerson. He’s the one who has clawed all our friends to death, drained their bodies of blood. And Marsh could have killed him if you hadn’t stopped him.” His voice assumed an insinuating tone. “Maybe you have some special reason for saving Wilkerson’s life, Randall. After all, we don’t know whom to trust in a situation like this.”

  Mayor Sturgis tried to soothe Lacey. “Look here, John,” he urged. “You don’t mean to say that Randall has got anything to do with Doctor Blood!”

  “Why not,” Lacey went on impetuously. “We suspected Stanton, why can’t we suspect Randall. Why, look at the chance Marsh had—”

  It was Marsh who stopped him. “Cut it out, Lacey,” he snapped. “Randall was right, and I was a fool. Now they know we’re armed. You others have guns too, haven’t you?”

  They all nodded, and he went on. “They forgot to search us when they brought us here. We might have had a chance to use our guns when they take us out of this room. Now they’ll be more careful. Randall knew what he was doing when he knocked my gun down. I think you owe him an apology, Lacey!”