He turned his head, saw Betty Dale. His eye lighted in recognition. “Aren’t you the newspaper girl that interviewed me at the Clayton this evening?”
She smiled. “You have a good memory, judge.”
Farrell stopped. He took his arm off Denvers’ shoulder, tried standing alone. “I guess I can make it alone. Thanks, major. Sorry I was so snappy to you back there in the crypt. It’d get on anybody’s nerves. I was beginning to picture myself getting the same dose that poor Mike Crome got. Do you know who’s doing all this?”
“No, sir. But there’re enough suspects. For one thing, there’s Killer Kyle. He’s still loose somewhere. Then there’s your friends, Hanscom and Thane; and a rat named Fleer, and his pal, Jurgen. The last two must be in somebody’s pay—I don’t know whose. And then there’s this mysterious Princess Ar-Lassi, whom I’ve never seen, but who’s also around some place. I don’t know where so many people can hide in a place like this.”
Farrell tapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll get them, major. I have every confidence in you. And now,” he turned back to Betty, “I think I’ll do a good turn. I’ll give this young lady an interview. You can go ahead, major, if you wish, leave a couple of troopers here with us for protection, in case there’s anything you need to attend to at the house.”
Denvers looked doubtful. “If you feel it’s safe, judge. I’d hate to have anything happen—”
Farrell gave him a little push. “Don’t worry. Go along. I’ll be there shortly. Maybe I can identify this Fleer or Jurgen that you mention, as the men who kidnaped me.”
Denvers assigned a couple of men to guard the governor-elect, and went ahead. Farrell took Betty’s arm, and walked along with her, the two troopers keeping a respectful distance.
“And now, young lady, suppose you ask your questions. You’re good at that.”
BETTY smiled. She admired him—admired his thoughtfulness in giving her the interview now, right after his harrowing experience. She took advantage of the opportunity. Her keen little newspaper mind was working smoothly. “I hope you’ll pardon this question, judge—but just now, when Major Denvers mentioned the Princess Ar-Lassi as a suspect, and also as being missing, you didn’t seem to show much concern. Has your attitude toward the princess changed since our last interview with you?”
Farrell stopped short. The two troopers stopped behind them, still keeping their distance.
The governor-elect looked at her long and keenly. “You are really a clever girl,” he said. “Denvers didn’t notice that; I didn’t notice it; you did. Thanks for calling my attention to it. I’ll have to rectify the blunder when we get to the house.”
She gazed at him, puzzled. “What do you mean, judge?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. He took her arm and resumed the walk. “So,” he said softly, with a peculiar inflection of the voice, “the swan has failed once more to spot her hawk!”
It was her turn to be amazed. Her face went pale, she faltered in her stride, but immediately recovered, and walked on. Her arm trembled under his hand. “You!” she exclaimed, aghast.
Secret Agent “X” chuckled. “It was the only disguise that would get me out of that mausoleum. Luckily, I had prepared the material for the disguise from the governor-elect’s picture, before leaving the city. I came here with Fleer and Jurgen, posing as Kyle.” His eyes took on a serious expression. “You mentioned the Princess Ar-Lassi; she’s dead—in the mausoleum—the same way that Crome died, that Rice died. I hope you never witness it.”
She said in a low voice, “I have. Gates is dead in the house—like that.” A cold shiver ran through her body. “What is it? What sort of fiend is inflicting this miserable death on these people?”
He answered soberly, “I intend to find out—before dawn. I also intend to find out where Governor-elect Farrell is, if he has not already met the same fate.”
“Why should the princess have been killed?”
“She knew too much. She wanted to work with both sides. She wanted to sell out to Rice and Hanscom and Thane, double-cross whoever it is that’s fighting them.”
“Do you think Thane or Hanscom can be behind Farrell’s disappearance?”
“It’s possible. That’s another reason why I am appearing as Farrell. If they are responsible for his disappearance, they will not be able to conceal their fear of me when I come on the scene. I purposely sent Denvers on ahead, so he could make the announcement that Farrell had been found. If either or both of them tries to get away now, we will know it is because they are afraid to face Farrell.”
They were close to the house. Betty said, “I got some information about Slawson. On the way out here I stopped in at the Herald office. I had looked in the morgue once before, but hadn’t found anything. This time I stopped at Morgan’s desk to get some expense money, and there was the whole file on Slawson, on his desk. He had had it out for a Sunday feature story on the escape from Riker. So I took the whole thing while he wasn’t looking. I didn’t have time to examine it.”
She took a tightly folded sheaf of papers from her handbag, and gave it to him.
He stuffed the papers in his pocket. “I’ll read them the first chance I get. Good work, Betty.” He wanted very badly to go over those papers at once. But there was no chance to, with the troopers right behind.
They reached the house, walked around it to the front entrance, and went in. A trooper in the hall saluted, grinned. “Glad you’re safe, judge. Go right down the hall. They’re all in there.”
THE Secret Agent and Betty found everybody assembled in the room at the rear—the one in which Rice and Gates had been killed. The medical examiner had left after seeing Rice’s body. They had phoned for him again, but he had not yet reached home. Gates still lay on the floor, covered with an old-rose bedspread that one of the troopers had found upstairs.
Jurgen was back on the couch, lying quiet. Fleer crouched against the wall, sulky. He was handcuffed.
Thane and Hanscom stood in the center of the room, facing Denvers, who was hurling questions at them. Sergeant Plimpton was in the room, as well as three troopers. The place was crowded, stuffy, and although the window was open there was the reek of tobacco smoke.
Betty shuddered involuntarily. A sense of foreboding assailed her, a feeling of impending doom. It was as though the people in this room were just talking, moving, quarreling, uselessly, for she seemed to feel that death was going to visit there again.
They all turned when “X” entered the room. The Secret Agent kept his eyes on Thane and Hanscom. What would be their reactions?
Thane’s poker face betrayed nothing. Hanscom grunted, shifted the cigar in his mouth, said, “Hello, Guy. Glad to see you’re safe.”
Denvers said, “We’ve had some news, judge, and it’s somewhat disturbing. I’ve had a telephone call from John Burks, chief inspector down at the city. He tells me that he raided a flat in a house on Green Street. It was the house that this hearse in the garage drove away from. They found Killer Kyle unconscious in the apartment—haven’t been able to revive him yet. But the important thing is, Inspector Burks suspects that the apartment was one of the hideouts of that criminal known as Secret Agent ‘X’! There were a lot of gadgets found there, and material for all kinds of disguises!”
Betty cast a look of apprehension at the Secret Agent but “X’s” face showed nothing. “You don’t say so!” he exclaimed. “I’ve heard of Secret Agent ‘X.’ How is he connected with this business?”
“We don’t know, judge. But Inspector Burks is certain it was this ‘X’ that impersonated him in helping Kyle to escape, and he also feels that perhaps the Secret Agent has come up here in some disguise, perhaps that of Kyle. So it seems we have to do, not with an ordinary killer, but with a super criminal. That explains a lot of things that have been happening around here.”
“X” looked around the room, then back at the major. “You think, then, that it was Secret Agent ‘X’ who kidnaped me?”
Denv
ers shrugged. “I don’t know. Suppose you look closely at the men in this room. Can you identify any of them as the kidnapers?”
“X” approached Fleer, inspected him closely. Fleer glared at him, but there was apprehension in his face. He seemed to be trying to give him a message. “X” shook his head, turned away. “The men were masked, but I’d know them. It wasn’t this one.” He crossed the room and looked at Jurgen. “Nor this one.”
Denvers asked, “You’re sure it wasn’t Mr. Hanscom or Mr. Thane?”
“X” shook his head.
BOTH Thane and Hanscom looked relieved, as if they had expected a different answer. Hanscom said, “Look here, Guy. Major Denvers thinks a lot of you. Maybe you can get him to stop this damn fool investigation. After all, Thane and I are pretty big men in the state.” He came close to “X,” said slowly, “And you, yourself, perhaps, should not want to have this go on—for a very good reason?”
“X” looked from him to Thane, then to Denvers. “On the contrary, I insist that this investigation proceed. I have nothing to fear!”
Thane’s lips curled in a snarl. “Nothing to fear, eh?” He pointed to the body on the floor, said to Denvers, “Show him how Gates died!”
Just then there was a commotion in the corridor outside. A moment later, two troopers entered, supporting a third man between them. The man seemed to be in bad shape, on the verge of exhaustion.
Betty Dale uttered a gasp of dismay when she saw his face. The others in the room stiffened, looks of amazement appearing on their countenances. Hanscom exclaimed:
“Good God! What—” and seemed to choke on his cigar. Major Denvers’ eyes narrowed in suspicion.
For the man whom the two troopers were supporting was—Governor-elect Farrell.
He and “X” might have been twin brothers for all the difference between them.
There was one point, however, that did not coincide. “X” wore no rings, while on the third finger of the governor-elect’s right hand—the hand that was flung around a trooper’s shoulder, there gleamed the strange Egyptian ring that he had worn at the interview at the Clayton.
The two troopers who had brought him in stared in stupefaction at “X.” One of them murmured, “What the hell—how many of them are there?”
Of them all, “X” alone was cool. His eye strayed to Betty, and he nodded to her in reassurance. But her apprehension was far from quieted. “X” would surely be shown up now, as an impostor. Nothing could save him.
Major Denvers was the first to recover from his astonishment. “Close the door!” he roared. “Plimpton! Stand guard at that door. Allow no one to leave this room!” He motioned to one of his men. “You, lock the window and take your post before it.” Then he demanded of the troopers who had just come in with Farrell, “Now, what’s it all about?”
Farrell’s eyes had been half closed. He had evidently been through some terrible experience. At the sound of Denvers’ voice, he raised his head, but continued to lean for support on the two uniformed men. He said meekly, “These two troopers found me in the cellar. I’m sure I’d have been killed if they hadn’t found me. I was kidnaped!”
One of the troopers said, “We found Judge Farrell down at the east end of the cellar, sir. He was partly unconscious.”
Denvers said, “Yes, yes. But—” he turned to “X” and pointed at him—“who’s this?”
“X” said, “I, as you know, am Judge Farrell. This man is an impostor.” He had cleverly taken the offensive, though there was little, if any chance, of succeeding in the bluff.
Farrell shook his head violently to clear it, and tried to stand on his own feet, succeeded. He looked at “X,” apparently saw him for the first time, and cried, “That man—he looks like me! What’s he doing here?”
Denvers said dryly, “That’s what I’d like to know. And I’m going to find out.”
He turned to Hanscom, who had almost bitten through his cigar in the stress of his amazement. “Look here. Mr. Hanscom, you know Judge Farrell quite well. I confess that I myself am puzzled. Is there any way that you can tell which of these men is Judge Farrell, and which an impostor?”
Hanscom’s eyes rested on Farrell’s ring. “That,” he said, “is the ring that Judge Farrell has worn for the last few days. This man,” he indicated “X,” “has no ring.”
The Secret Agent said, quickly, “The ring was taken from me when I was kidnaped. This man must have put it on and come here to pose as me. He knew I had been kidnaped—probably directed it himself—so he arranged to be found in the cellar.”
Judge Farrell’s eyes flashed. “This is preposterous! I demand that you test this man—ask him some questions!”
Denvers suddenly snapped his fingers, eyes flashing. “I’ve got it! Inspector Burks told me on the wire about the clever impersonator who got Kyle out—he told me who he suspected it was!” He stopped a moment, then went on, slowly, portentously. “Gentlemen, we know that one of these men is an impostor. I know that one of these men is—Secret Agent ‘X,’ the most notorious criminal of the age! And I propose to expose him now!” He glared from Farrell to “X.” “One of you two has make-up on his face. It’ll be easy to tell which!”
Chapter XIX
Hunted
SERGEANT PLIMPTON had drawn his gun when he took his place at the door. Now, Major Denvers drew his, and the two of them dominated the room.
Thane stood smiling easily. He was enjoying the situation, for some obscure reason. Hanscom looked puzzled, and at the same, time apprehensive. Fleer and Jurgen were entirely beyond their depth.
Betty Dale felt most poignantly of all of them. The moment she dreaded was here—the moment when “X” would be exposed, when his life work would be ended—ignominiously.
The Secret Agent stood in the center of the room, his hands at his sides, and if he felt any perturbation, he concealed it marvelously.
Betty suddenly came to a decision. She would not stand there idly and let the man she admired most in the world be ruined in this tragic manner. She edged, unnoticed, toward the door. Plimpton paid her no attention; his eyes were following Denvers, who had strode up close to “X,” and peered into his face, gun barrel almost touching his chest. “You first, mister,” he said. “I’d have sworn you were Judge Farrell. Perhaps you are. But we have to make sure.” He raised his free hand to scrape “X’s” cheek. “Pardon me, but this is necessary. If that’s make-up on your face, it ought to come off.”
And just then, Betty Dale tensed, her hand flew to the electric light switch, pressed, and the room was plunged in darkness.
Hanscom’s voice, fraught with deep terror, cut through the blackness. “God! The killer! He’ll get some one else!”
But Hanscom’s voice was drowned out by the reverberation of Denvers’ thirty-eight. He had squeezed down on the trigger when “X” gripped his wrist and swung the muzzle away from his chest under cover of darkness. Now “X” brought up his fist to the major’s jaw, and Denvers staggered back, dazed, ran into Thane, and the two of them grappled. The dark room was full of moving, struggling bodies, reeked with the fumes of gunpowder.
The Secret Agent made his way swiftly to the door. He had his gas gun out, now.
Sergeant Plimpton discerned his shadow approaching, shouted, “Nobody leaves. Stand back from the door!” He reached to put on the light switch, but Betty Dale was in his way. A moment later, “X” discharged his gas gun full in Plimpton’s face, and the sergeant slid to the floor, unconscious.
“X” found Betty’s arm in the dark, pressed it, murmured in her ear, “Good girl,” then opened the door and slid through into the lighted hallway.
He heard Denvers’ shout, “He’s gone! Through the door! After him!”
“X” sped along the corridor, to the staircase. The trooper on guard at the outside door turned, raised his gun. “X” had discharged the last cartridge from his gas gun, had not had time to reload. He hurled the empty weapon at the trooper. It struck him in the temple, fell
ed him. The trooper’s finger contracted on the trigger as he fell, and the revolver was discharged into the wall.
“X” spun toward the staircase, leaped upward, just as the door behind him burst open and Denvers erupted from the room, followed by Thane, Hanscom, and the troopers.
At the first landing “X” bowled over a servant who had come running out of one of the rooms at the sound of the shooting.
The Secret Agent continued upward. The house consisted of three floors. The master bedrooms were on the second, the servants’ quarters and a couple of additional guest rooms were on the top floor. The sounds of the pursuit were close below when he rounded into the top hallway from the staircase.
“X” was at the end of his rope. There was no place to retreat to now. They would search every nook and cranny of the top floor, would eventually find him. He heard Denvers’ voice on the second landing, “Three of you, take this floor. The rest, come up!”
Hanscom’s voice also made itself heard. “It must be this Secret Agent ‘X.’ Shoot to kill!”
And Governor-elect Farrell: “This is outrageous! That fellow must be demented!”
“X” sped down the corridor to the last room at the front, opened the door, and slid into the room.
Feet clattered on the landing. “X” heard Denvers order, “Be careful. Search every room, thoroughly. Shoot on sight—the man is a desperate criminal!”
“X” TURNED the catch on the door, locking it. That would give him another minute or so. Then he went to the window and peered out. Below the house he could discern dim shapes patrolling the grounds. There was a drain-pipe that ran down from the roof, less than two feet from the window. It would do no good to take that, though, for he would be seen by the men below before he reached the ground.
He looked up. The roof was the last refuge. Up the drain-pipe—an almost impossible feat, yet not beyond the ability of “X.”
Even as he considered the drain-pipe, a hand in the corridor turned the knob of the door, pushed, found it locked. A trooper’s voice called out. “Major Denvers, sir. This room is locked!”
Secret Agent “X” – The Complete Series Volume 2 Page 25