“Come on, Smith!” shouted X, as he pushed and half carried Mace toward the door.
The secretary, with a final blow that winded his opponent, sprang to his feet to follow.
Crack! X felt old Mace jerk as a bullet bit into the door frame. He saw the millionaire’s silvery hair was streaked with blood. X pushed Mace into Smith’s arms. He turned. Sam Rubens had found a gun somewhere and had shot from his position on the floor. X dashed through the door, following Smith and Mace. It was his duty, above everything else at the moment, to get Mace to a place of safety. The ante-room was crowded with curious patrons. X and his party quickly broke through to the café.
X hurried his companions to the front door. His car was waiting at the curb. He opened the rear door and pushed Smith and Mace inside. He had no desire to waste time explaining to the policeman who was rounding the corner on the run. He dropped into the front seat, gave the motor a whirl, and accelerated from the curb.
“Badly hurt, Mr. Mace?” asked X as the car speeded down the street.
“Mere scratch, mere scratch,” panted Mace. “Who the devil are you, sir?”
“Government man. We’ll get you home at once. Your address?”
Mace gave a Riverside address and X mentally noted that it was little wonder that Mace and Smith were acquainted. Mace’s home was next door to Clyde Dewarren’s.
Later, after X and Smith had assisted the old man into his magnificent home, Mace sent his personal servant to call the doctor. Then with his strong old fingers closed on the Agent’s wrist, he pulled X to the side of his chair.
“I’m just trying to do my part, that’s all,” said Mace, as he mopped his bleeding scalp with a towel. “My lips are sealed so far as giving you a motive for my actions tonight. Even the police would not understand. We are all in the most dreadful peril. I cannot tell you more. But the very minute you, or anyone else brings me information concerning a man named Emperor Zero, I will draw five thousand dollars as a reward for that information. Now go away and let me alone.”
SMITH followed X to the door. The Agent asked: “Clyde Dewarren lives in this neighborhood, doesn’t he? I’d like to have a word with him.”
“Of course. Next door,” replied Smith. “I’m Mr. Dewarren’s private secretary.”
As they got into the Agent’s car, X saw a man with a small satchel hurrying up the approach walk. Though they were not close enough to him for X to see the man’s features, he noticed that a broad black ribbon dangled from Oxford glasses. Dr. Malcolm Balmer evidently had a lucrative practice; would have had even if only Dewarren and Mace patronized him.
Arriving at Dewarren’s house, a servant informed Smith that Dewarren had not yet come in but that he could be expected at any moment. X told the secretary that he would wait. Smith proffered him a comfortable chair but X seated himself on the edge of the divan.
“I suppose,” began X, “that Mr. Dewarren told you something of what happened on the Franconia roof the other night?”
Smith nodded vigorously. “Shocking! Atrocious!”
“I only learned the details recently,” X told him. “And it seemed odd to me that one of the aerial attackers should have forced Dewarren and his companion into a zone of safety before releasing the gas.”
“Undoubtedly because of the lady’s beauty,” declared Smith. “Those bat-creatures that Mr. Dewarren tells me about must have been men, and being men could not have been immune to the charms of Countess Savinna.”
“True,” X agreed. “But there were other women present, don’t forget. You are acquainted with the countess?”
“Only slightly,” replied Smith. “She has been here to dinners occasionally.”
“And is Mr. Dewarren acquainted with the lady’s reputation? Does he know that she has figured in many internal troubles in European countries?”
“The countess?” gasped Smith, “you must be mistaken. But then, of course, being a government agent, I don’t suppose you could be.” Smith scowled thoughtfully for a moment. “No, I am certain that Mr. Dewarren would know nothing of the kind. Though the Dewarren wealth has been largely the result of international trouble, this Mr. Dewarren heartily dislikes war. ‘Peace, but a prepared peace,’ he is always saying.”
X stood up, and seemed to listen. “I believe I heard a car coming up the drive. Would you mind seeing if it is Mr. Dewarren?”
Smith didn’t mind at all, and as soon as he was gone, X crossed the room and put his ear to the panel of the door. Some one was moving on the opposite side. X waited until he heard another door opening, then he went into the next room. A door was closing on the other side of the library. X crossed the room stealthily and turned out the light. He looked trough the keyhole. There were two men in the room. One of them was in such a position that X could see only his trouser legs. The other was Clyde Dewarren. He was facing a large walnut cellarette, removing bottles and a siphon.
“How much would you be prepared to pay for the secret?”
It was not Dewarren who had spoken—it was Samuel Rubens.
Dewarren seemed to ignore Rubens’ question. He said: “I am a tired old man. Who cares if the world moves on? Then if there is ultimate destruction—” Dewarren shrugged. He turned around. The tall glasses in his hands were trembling. He was staring straight at Rubens.
“Then you won’t buy it?” demanded Rubens.
“Eh? Who said I wouldn’t!” Dewarren’s jaw was outthrust. “But look here. Why should I trust you?”
Rubens stood up. “I’ve risked my life to make you this proposition. I wouldn’t do that over a fraudulent thing.”
DEWARREN raised his drink, smacked loudly. “Maybe not,” he replied. “But then you might not know that the formula was a fake.” He returned to the cellarette. “Suppose you tell it to me and let me be the judge.”
“Tell you?” snarled Rubens. “You think I’m a fool? I’ve risked my life to get it. And I want hard cash for it.”
Dewarren was silent until he turned around. “Will you tell me the formula?” he asked. “I’ll be square with you if—”
“If—” sneered Rubens. He turned towards the door. “I’ll peddle my wares somewhere else.”
On his feet outside the door, X seized the knob, turned it, and flung into the room. His gas pistol was in his hand. “You’re not leaving yet, Rubens,” he said coldly.
Rubens stared fearfully at the barrel of X’s gas gun.
Dewarren chose to bluster. “Who are you, sir?” he demanded. “And by what right do you break into this house?”
X snapped, “Federal agent.”
“Who’s a federal agent?” a hard voice asked from behind X. The Agent turned his head slightly. Three men had quietly entered the room. The foremost of them had turned back his coat, displaying the gold badge of the Department of Justice. He nodded to the two men who accompanied him, “Frisk Dewarren and the little fellow,” he ordered. “Turn this place upside down. I’ve got an idea that was a straight tip.” He sauntered over to X, blue eyes brittle as china. “I’ve never seen you before. New man?”
X nodded. “New to this district, sir.”
“Mind if I look at your credentials?”
The Secret Agent X pulled out the leather case and flipped it open.
“Jack Archer, eh?” mused the G-man. “And assigned to this district. If you had a roving commission—that might get by. But you see, I happen to superintend this district. And none of my men happen to be Jack Archer.” He smiled. “Odd, isn’t it?”
One of the other federal men pushed a piece of paper into his superior’s hand. “Found this in Dewarren’s wallet. It’s a detailed sketch of parts of the missing airplane that Kroger piloted. Looks like the tip was good.”
Dewarren, who stood beside Rubens under the watchful eye of the third G-man, made no comment. But Samuel Rubens turned a sickly yellow.
In the doorway, the freckle-faced Smith wrung his hands in despair. “Look here, you’re not going to arrest anybody, are you?�
�� he asked timidly.
“About three—”
But the G-man in front of X never finished. Secret Agent X drove his left fist into the man’s mid-section, knocking him into his fellow. Then X sprang across the room, hurled Smith out of the way, and gained the library which was still in darkness. But instead of bolting into the next room adjoining the library, X simply opened the door and slammed it. Then he scurried, under cover of darkness, in the direction of a window.
Two of the federal men bounded into the library, and, deceived by the slamming of the door, continued into the next room. The other G-man had evidently been left to guard his two charges. X quietly opened the window, jumped out on the lawn, and hid himself in a bed of shrubbery. One of his pursuers passed within ten feet of him, but X waited quietly for several minutes. Then he made his way cautiously to the corner of the house. The front door opened. Rubens and Dewarren came out marching ahead of the three G-men.
X watched the party move on down the approach walk to the federal men’s car. Suddenly, X saw crouching bat-like figures rapidly converging on the government detectives from all sides. With a harsh warning cry to the G-men, X sprang from his hiding place.
A G-man turned, fired wildly at the nearest bat-like attacker. One of Zero’s hideous gas cylinders puffed its pinkish vapor. The G-man’s arms flailed the air; his legs twisted in a grotesque death dance.
X dropped flat against the ground, hoping that he was out of range of the deadly fumes. Again the sinister cylinder puffed. And the two other federal agents knew its terrible power. Like black ghosts, Zero’s men vanished into the night, taking Dewarren and Rubens with them. Somewhere a powerful motor roared. The pink cloud of Cartier-site hung in the air, a delicate, yet impassable barrier between the Agent and his mortal enemies. Emperor Zero had scored again.
Chapter VI
THE MARK OF X
IT was several minutes before the gas disseminated so that X was able to reach his car. Even then, he knew that some of the fumes reached his lungs; for there was an alarming throbbing of his heart for a minute that he could account for in no other way.
As he turned out of the drive, he saw a lanky, stooped figure burst from the side door of the Dewarren house and run in the direction of the Mace property. It was Smith, Dewarren’s secretary. X turned his car to the curb, turned out his lights and watched the lean form disappear in a bank of shrubs that hedged the two properties. On the sidewalk that passed the lighted gateway of the Mace property, a second figure moved.
X recognized the newcomer and immediately came to a decision as to his next move. He opened a secret pocket in the door of his car. There, make-up materials were so arranged that he needed no light to find them. Working entirely in the dark, his skillful fingers molded plastic material on his face, neutralized old pigments, and applied new ones.
Then he changed to the sandy toupee that was part of his disguise as A.J. Martin. He locked and deserted his car and was once more A.J. Martin, newspaper correspondent.
The man in front of the Mace driveway disappeared in the shadows as X hurried in his direction. But X noted the spot where the man had stood and reaching it uttered a whispered word: “Hobart!”
“You, Mr. Martin!” Jim Hobart, for it was the redheaded private detective who had been patrolling the gateway, sprang into the open.
“Yes,” said X a little coldly. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t know exactly what I ought to do, Mr. Martin,” Hobart apologized. “I tried to reach you and couldn’t. I’ve been tailing Lieutenant Kroger. Left my best man in charge of the office.”
“What about Kroger? Why trail him?”
“He sneaked out on me early this evening. I don’t trust the man at all. You told me he was drunk when you brought him to the office. He had had a few, but he showed no sign of a hangover. I would have put one of my boys on his trail only I thought he might be a particular friend of yours, and if my suspicions were unjust I didn’t want to put the man in bad with our whole outfit.”
“Perhaps you’re right, Hobart,” replied X. “And he went into Mace’s?”
“Just a minute ago. Anything I can do?”
X shook his head. “Better go back to the office. Had any luck with Countess Savinna?”
“Haven’t been able to pick up her trail yet. Men working on it all the time. If that’s all, I’ll say goodnight.”
X watched Hobart hurry away, then stepped into the Mace driveway and began making minor changes in his make-up. While he retained the sandy toupee, the commonplace features of A.J. Martin had become dominated by a rather large Roman nose. This change gave him an entirely different appearance.
So Hobart insisted that Lieutenant Kroger’s drunkenness had been a clever pose. Could X have misjudged the flyer?
Dr. Balmer had evidently concluded his visit at Mace’s house; his car was no longer standing in the drive. X rounded the house and came to the side entrance. Looking through the leaded glass of the door, he saw that the hall was lighted. He tried the door, found it locked, and resorted to his master keys to gain a stealthy entrance. Inside the hall, he paused, listening. Two doors opened from the room and from the door on the left came the sound of voices—Smith talking to the butler.
“Look here, I’ve got to see Mace,” Smith insisted. “This is something of the greatest importance.”
The butler was equally insistent that Mace was busy and would see Mr. Smith in a little while.
AGENT X quietly opened the door on his right and entered a small, richly appointed study. He had only time enough to spring behind an elaborate Japanese folding screen before the door opened to admit Mace, his head neatly bandaged, and Lieutenant Kroger.
“I have the damnedest luck at waking up in funny places!” Kroger was saying. “Came to in the office of a private detective this time. The Hobart office, you know.”
Mace nodded. “Yes, yes. But aren’t you well paid for it?” He fixed the flyer with eyes blazing fiercely. “Now once more, go over what happened the day the mystery plane was stolen. And this time—think! You were knocked out by a group of men who were waiting for you when the plane came down. You came to in a doctor’s office. He was fixing your head. You were still fuzzy in the brain. You can’t remember what the doctor looked like, but you’d know him again, you said. Now think!”
Kroger nodded emphatically. “I’d know him all right. I saw him tonight. That’s why I’m here.”
“Where?” asked Mace excitedly.
“Coming out of this house.”
“Balmer? Look here, young man, Balmer’s a personal friend of mine! What the devil do you mean?”
Kroger shrugged. “You can take it or leave it.” He flipped a lighter and applied the flame to his cigarette. “It’s just like this—” he emphasized the words by drumming his right forefinger against the palm of his left hand—“I woke up in Dr. Balmer’s office. He looked scared. And he was the one who must have doped me.”
“Not Balmer!” bellowed Mace. His voice actually vibrated the screen behind which X was standing.
“Balmer,” repeated Kroger calmly. “He fixed me up, drugged me, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in a doorway on Tenth Avenue. I was scared of bumping into G-men. I guess I looked scared when you ran into me, recognized me, and then nearly knocked me over by offering me this job.”
Mace clenched his fist. “Get out of here, will you? I’ll give you your check later.” And as Kroger left the room, Mace went to the door and unceremoniously called to his butler. “Show that young whippersnapper in!” Then he paced to his desk, opened it, and took out an automatic.
Smith entered, hands fluttering. “You’ve got to do something for Mr. Dewarren. He’s in a frightful mess. It’s a disgrace!”
“Well, what is it?” Mace growled.
“He’s been arrested, I guess. Government agents found some incriminating trifle in his wallet.”
Mace’s eyes narrowed. “Young man, federal agents don’t arrest men on
trifles.” Mace polished his automatic on his coat sleeve. “What was the evidence?” he asked after a moment.
“Plans for something. I didn’t notice what.” Smith gripped Mace’s arm. “You’ve got to do something. You’ve influence.”
“Was the lad who made the arrest that fightin’ fool who helped me out of that rat’s nest tonight?”
SMITH snapped his fingers. “Nearly forgot that. Our G-man was a fake. He tried to pinch Dewarren and the other man, too, but the real federals queered his game. He was no more a federal agent than I am. And who do you think that I think he was?”
“Secret Agent X,” replied Mace promptly. “Nobody else would try to get by disguised as a G-man and not have anything to back it up with. He’s got nerve.”
Smith knotted his fingers. “I was thinking he was the mysterious Zero you’ve been talking about.”
“Humph! That’s a long shot. No sense to it. Dewarren had some one else with him when he was captured by the federals?”
“Your old friend, Samuel L. Rubens.”
“Rubens!” the millionaire moved toward Smith.
The startled secretary leaped back, inadvertently bumping the Japanese screen. The thing toppled. And as Smith made a vain attempt to right it the screen fell forward.
Grover Mace acted the part of the seasoned old war dog that he was. He whipped up his automatic.
With a twisting motion that the eye could scarcely follow, X wrenched the automatic from Mace’s hand and hurled it across the room. He sprang to one side to avoid the flying body of Smith as the secretary tried another of his knee-high tackles. X gained a door and slammed it behind him.
He had learned much in the space of the last few minutes and he must follow up that information. The incident of the stealing of the government’s mystery plane had, for the first time, been laid clearly before him. The events that had followed the theft knitted three persons closely together—Kroger, the mysterious Zero, and Dr. Malcolm Balmer.
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 6 Page 6