The Agent wet his reed again, put it between his lips. He lay flat, submerging his face now, sucking breath through the hollow stem. He opened his eyes. Water made his gaze blurry. But overhead all was brightening. The red glow intensified to orange. Wavering arms of fire swept across the channel.
Smoke beat down. The Agent drew in a lungful through the reed and choked. Terrible seconds followed in which it seemed nothing could survive that flaming holocaust. Acrid smoke cut his lungs like knives; the water above his face grew warm.
But the reed stems were consumed quickly. When it seemed that he could no longer live without a breath of clean, cool air, the fire glow began to fade. The air he sucked down through the reed became purer. At last “X” raised his head.
The channel now was rimmed with coals. Reed roots still smoldered. Powdery white ashes sifted down. He could hear the fire behind him, still roaring downwind. But he was alive. He had beaten Tuan again.
Far off across the river, he heard the chanting of the Malays. He could not make out the words, but he knew they must be reciting a victory song for the devil god. They believed “X” was dead.
He waited till even the ashes of the fire began to die. Then he rose from the channel that had saved him. Slowly he followed in the charred wake of the fire. There was danger that he might be silhouetted against its glow. Bnt he took that chance. The Malays were probably too far away to see him.
He must get back to Washington now. He must learn all that happened at the raid. The green-masked devil priest had told his followers that they would soon take a ship across the water. Did that mean he had the plans?
Fire was still burning far back along the marsh. There might be other channels and deep bogs to cross. The Agent walked parallel with the river, then turned downstream. A half mile below the spot where his canoe had landed, he again approached the shore.
After the hot fire a long swim held no terrors. He slipped into the cold water and struck out. Long swift strokes brought him at last to the farther side of the river. Somewhere here Betty Dale had also landed.
He followed the river shore upstream for a mile, passing the sinister island which lay peacefully beneath the starlight now. The Agent continued to the spot where he had moored Senator Foulette’s speed boat. Here was a ready means of getting back to the city. The thundering roar of its motor woke echoes along the dark river. The blast of cold night wind cleared the Agent’s faculties. His eyes were alert as those of a hunting hawk as he sped up the dark river toward the nation’s capital.
THREE quarters of an hour later a swift roadster turned into the driveway of Senator Foulette’s estate. A nattily-dressed army officer was at the wheel, an officer with the insignia of General Staff upon his collar. Papers in his pocket bore the name of Captain Stewart Black. The Agent had gone to his hideout and made a quick change in his disguise.
It was one-thirty, yet lights still showed in the senator’s big mansion. Sleep was impossible in that household where crime’s black shadow had so lately fallen. Washington’s greatest jewel robbery had taken place—and more. Inspector Clyde had men still stationed on the spot. The Foulettes’ servants had been grilled for hours.
The Secret Agent quickly parked his car beside the others in the drive. His eyes were penetratingly bright. There were things he must learn quickly. What conclusion had the police reached? What had been the aftermath of the brown-skinned Malays’ raid?
A group of reporters were congregated on the porch. No longer allowed admittance, they waited, hoping for fresh developments. Their cigarettes made red pin points in the darkness. Agent “X” walked swiftly toward them. Here was as good a way as any of learning the facts.
He spoke abruptly, playing the role of brusque and hard-boiled army officer.
“What’s going on here?”
Silence followed his inquiry. Then a chuckle sounded.
“Where have you been, general?”
“I know there’s been a robbery,” said “X” impatiently. “But tell me about it. I’ve just arrived in the city.”
“Robbery’s right,” a reporter said. “Enough sparklers were lifted tonight to cover a circus queen’s wedding dress. But that ain’t all! A guy and two janes has disappeared. There’s a mystery a mile wide and twice as high. The police are playing left-handed poker with stacked cards. This will be hot copy for a week.”
The reporter’s colorful description brought more chuckles from his comrades. But Agent “X” tensed with interest.
“Three people disappeared? Who were they?”
“A senator’s daughter, her girl friend, and a spik named Sancho. It looks like some guys were going into the wholesale kidnapping racket.”
“What senator’s daughter?”
“Old man Blackwell’s. The crooks knocked everybody out with giggle gas. They took the janes and the spik along with the rocks they lifted. But we ain’t got nothing out of Blackwell. He’s been hit hard and won’t open up. His dopey son was bumped off tonight, too.”
“What—Ferris?”
“Yeah, you know him? Sorry if I made a break, general. But he was parked at a sanatorium where they hand out cures to snowbirds. A nurse heard him screeching and thought he had the D.T.’s. She got a doctor. His door was locked and when they got in he was all scratched up and dead.”
The light of interest in the Agent’s eyes became like a snapping flame. “Scratched up?”
“Yeah! And a guy in a green mask was seen making a get-away. The same guy, I guess, that bumped off Senator Rathborne’s hired man last night. The bird they call the ‘fiend killer.’ Tie that if you can! Washington’s getting as good as Chicago used to be. How do you figure it, general?”
The Agent didn’t answer. His mouth was grim. Suzanne Blackwell kidnapped and Ferris murdered! Both the work of the green-masked killer. There was strange significance in this. He asked another question:
“How do they know Miss Blackwell was kidnapped?”
“She was gone when the police got here. She ain’t been seen since.”
“And everybody else was here?”
“Yes—except them other two.”
“X” turned suddenly and strode back toward his roadster. The reporter’s voice drifted after him.
“Say, general, give a guy a break. I handed you a lot of dope. How about spilling something yourself?”
BUT “X” had reached his car. Gears whined. He spun around the drive and headed toward the street, without having entered Foulette’s house. He had all the information he needed at the moment.
“That bird’s got something on his mind,” the reporter growled.
How much, he didn’t know. The eyes of “X” were steely bright. Out of this night of horror and mystery had suddenly come a startling revelation. Behind the green-masked murderer’s actions, Agent “X” read a hidden motive.
He sent the swift car roaring through the streets, racing as though with death itself. Suzanne Blackwell kidnapped. She had not been taken to the island with Betty. That he knew. Where, then? And why had she been abducted? This, coupled with the death of Ferris, brought an abrupt, amazing theory to the Agent’s mind. It was like the answer to an algebraic problem suddenly revealed.
He slowed his speeding car at Senator Blackwell’s drive, whirled in. This time he didn’t steal across the lawn. He went straight to the big front door. Another car was there, one from headquarters. A trembling servant answered his ring.
“Who are you, sir?” the man asked.
“Captain Black. I’d like a word with the senator, alone.”
The servant shook his head.
“Inspector Clyde is with him now, sir. He’s given orders not to admit anyone else tonight.”
“This is important. I’m from General Staff.”
The servant looked doubtful but impressed. “Step in then,” he said and stood aside uncertainly. “I’ll ask him. Perhaps he’ll see you.”
The Agent waited in the big outer hall. Low voices came through a clo
sed door beyond. The servant knocked, disappeared, then returned.
“He says he’ll see you, sir—in a moment.”
It was several minutes later that Inspector Clyde appeared, his face drawn and worried. The butler motioned toward the library door and “X” walked in.
Senator Blackwell was pacing the floor, his ruddy color gone. He seemed years older than when the Agent had last seen him. There were deep lines in his face. His eyes held shadows of haunting fear. His voice shook as he addressed the Agent.
“You’re from General Staff, Wilbur says. What is it, Captain Black? Be as brief as you can. I’m a worried man tonight. And Inspector Clyde is waiting. I really shouldn’t see anyone. You’ve probably heard—”
“Yes,” said Agent “X” quietly. “And I’m very sorry, senator.”
The older man motioned to a chair.
“Sit down, captain. What can I do for you?”
“First tell me about yourself. Your daughter has been kidnapped, they say; and your son—”
“Murdered,” said Blackwell harshly. “I’d rather not talk of that, captain, if you don’t mind. I’ve told Inspector Clyde all there is to tell.”
“All?” The Agent spoke the word abruptly. It seemed to have a strange effect on Senator Blackwell. He stiffened, stared at the Agent with sudden furtiveness. His eyes were alert, guarded.
“Yes—what do you mean?”
For seconds the Agent didn’t answer. His eyes, burning with an uncannily intent light met those of the senator.
“Just what I say, senator,” he replied at last. “There are things that the ordinary forces of the law can’t handle. Things so important to the country’s welfare that they must be accomplished in absolute secrecy.”
THE pallor of Blackwell’s face deepened. He tried to light a cigar, but the trembling of his hands prevented it. The Agent snapped his own lighter and held it out. Blackwell puffed, sat down heavily.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Those plans of Doctor Browning’s ray mechanism that were stolen when Captain Nelson was murdered,” said “X.” There was a pause, then he added softly, “Also the kidnapping of your daughter and the strange death of your son. A connection is apparent there.”
Blackwell ran a trembling hand across his face. “The police are hunting for her now,” he said. “Every way out of the city is being watched. Every air line, every railroad, every boat pier. They’ll bring her back to me.”
“And your son’s death?”
“Horrible! But why are you harping on it? Do you want to torture me?”
“No,” said “X,” “not torture you. But I believe you realize, senator, that something greater than even the lives of your son and daughter is at stake. That something is the present welfare and future safety of our country!”
The senator clenched his hands, spoke huskily. “The theft of the plans was terrible, captain. I voted that they be destroyed. I was the leader of the opposition. Now I dare not think what their theft may mean—but what have they to do with my own personal trouble?”
Agent “X” leaned closer to the older man, eyes steady.
“A great deal, senator. Aren’t you perhaps putting your personal troubles above the welfare of your country?”
A sound like a sob came suddenly from Blackwell’s lips. “I love Suzanne, captain. They’ve taken Ferris. I can’t let Suzanne go, too. I must get her back! Nothing shall stand in my way!”
“What if I told you, senator, that the man who has her is utterly without scruple. What if I tell you he will play you false—even if you accede to his demands—as I believe you have already done.”
FOR a moment it seemed that Senator Blackwell might have an apoplectic stroke. His eyes shone like those of a cornered animal. His face was a ghastly hue.
“My God, captain! Who told you that—” His voice trailed off. He stared at “X” horrified.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” said “X.” “Your son, Ferris, killed Captain Nelson and took the Browning plans. He wanted money to buy more of the drug that enslaved him. He was the thief and the murderer! Am I not right?”
It was seconds before the senator could find his voice. Then he nodded brokenly. “I don’t know how you learned this, captain! I never thought—” he broke off, struggling for control. “Ferris was a poor, mad fool. But it was the drug, believe me! It was the drug! He never would have done it otherwise. It was my fault for telling him about the thing beforehand. I shouldn’t have taken even my children into my confidence.”
The senator had admitted Agent “X’s” amazing accusation! He continued hoarsely: “Ferris didn’t mean to kill poor Nelson. That I know. He only meant to stun him—he told me so. When he found what he had done, he brought the plans to me and—”
The senator paused again, shaking like a man stricken with palsy.
“Where are they now?” demanded Agent “X.” “Quick, senator, tell me that.”
Blackwell’s voice was hardly audible. “If you had a daughter, captain, and she were kidnapped— If you never expected to see her again, unless— If I can only get her back! I’ll make any sacrifice! I’ll stand trial before the whole country. Let them impeach me if they want to. I was afraid of shame before—when Ferris told me what he’d done. I was aghast. I hid the plans, waiting for a way to return them. Then Suzanne—”
”You mean the Green Mask has them?”
Senator Blackwell wilted suddenly, seemed on the point of collapse. “Yes,” he said dully. “He came tonight and demanded them. I don’t know who he is, but he’d got the truth from Ferris—tortured the boy. Don’t look at me so, captain. I gave them to him! It was the only way!”
“And when did he promise to bring back Suzanne?”
“Tonight sometime. He wasn’t clear.”
A harsh, mirthless laugh came from the Agent’s lips. But he stepped forward, laid a hand on Blackwell’s shoulder.
“I understand, senator. Keep quiet about this. Say nothing to anybody. Nothing at all, do you understand?”
Agent “X” picked up his army cap. He turned toward the door—looked back as the senator’s voice rose.
“What are you going to do, captain? How can I save Suzanne? How can I be sure?”
“There is no surety,” said “X.” “There’s only hope. I’m going to talk to the inspector. I want to see him alone.”
The senator spoke in sudden panic. “You’re not going to tell him—about Ferris—and the plans? Wait—the police don’t know!”
“It’s something else entirely, senator,” said “X” harshly. “You may trust me—to keep silent.”
He strode through the door, crossed the hall quickly, and entered the drawing room. Inspector Clyde turned at sound of his step. His sharp face was palely set. The Agent nodded, spoke abruptly:
“We’ve met before, inspector. At Senator Dashman’s home, you may remember. I’d like a word with you?”
Inspector Clyde nodded surlily. His pride was ruffled apparently because the Agent’s visit had interrupted his own interview with Blackwell.
“What is it you want?” he snapped. “I’m a busy man tonight.”
AGENT “X” asked a blunt question. “When you reached Senator Foulette’s after the robbery this evening, just what did you find, inspector?”
“Jewels had been stolen and three persons were missing. Miss Blackwell, Raphael Sancho, and a girl named Betty Dale. We believe they were kidnapped.”
“Who called the police—the servants?”
“No—they were knocked out, too. A man named von Helvig called us—an attaché of the German embassy.”
“He revived first, you mean?”
“Yes, he was among the first.”
“And when did he leave?”
“After we’d finished questioning him.”
“Did you make a list of all those present, inspector?”
“Certainly, as a matter of routine. They’d been robbed and f
iled normal complaints.”
“Did you happen to talk to a Miss Lili Damora?”
“Yes, she’d lost a diamond ring valued at five hundred dollars. She was with von Helvig. Was she a friend of yours?”
“Yes, inspector, exactly. And I sympathize with her loss.”
Inspector Clyde shrugged coldly. “What’s a bit of a jewel compared to human lives. Three people were kidnapped, I tell you. We have every reason to believe they are in danger,”
The irony of the situation held grim humor. Clyde was talking to one of the supposedly kidnapped people now. But the Agent’s face was masklike.
“Thank you, inspector,” he said. “I appreciate your information.”
A sly gleam of curiosity came into the inspector’s eyes now. “You’re not trying to cast suspicion on von Helvig, are you? It doesn’t seem likely that a man attached to a government legation would be a jewel thief, does it?”
“It doesn’t, inspector. You are right. Thanks again, and good-night.”
Secret Agent “X” turned and strode quickly from the room. The light of excitement was in his eyes now. There might be nothing in what the inspector had told him; but again, there might. Von Helvig was a murderous criminal. He had been a ruthless spy, and he had been the one to summon the police. Suzanne Blackwell hadn’t been taken to the island. Where was she—and was von Helvig responsible for her abduction?
“X” went straight to the Hotel Wilmot and was told that von Helvig hadn’t been in all evening.
The Agent pondered a moment, then left the hotel and drove swiftly through the night streets again. This time he went to the fashionable apartment where Lili Damora had her suite. The doorman had long since gone off duty. Agent “X” didn’t announce himself to the sleepy-eyed girl at the switchboard. He walked past, ascended in the all-night elevator, pressed the bell of Lili’s apartment. But there was no answer to his ring. Seconds passed. He pressed the button again. Still no answer.
The Agent took his tool kit from the lining of his coat then and entered the apartment by deftly and silently picking the lock.
The place was dark and quiet. An inexplicable sense of eeriness hung over it. He turned on his tiny light, moved cautiously. The bed hadn’t been slept in. It was not even turned back. He went into the drawing room next, stood still a second looking about, them bent sharply forward.
Secret Agent X – The Complete Series Volume 1 (Annotated) Page 54