Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 6

by G. T. Fleming-Roberts

The thief nodded. “I could never hit the side of a barn. What’s the idea?”

  “Hunting, Oliver. That thing you saw. We’ve got to bag it.” He drew his robe tightly about him. It would offer little protection against the wintry wind, but at that moment catching cold was the least of Warwick’s fears.

  Oliver Pontius nodded. “Right. We’ll separate. You go out the front door. I’ll go through these windows.” He extended his hand, seized Warwick’s hand, and wrung it. “Whatever this it, I’m with you to the end.”

  But there was some foreboding evil in the way Oliver Pontius had said that.

  Out on the street that ran in front of the Leonard Sanitarium, a policeman patiently plodded along his beat. Suddenly, the cold silence was riddled by a hideous cry that shrieked horribly of unbearable agony. The policeman was frozen to the spot for a moment. Footsteps padded across frozen lawn. Something bucked the hedge near the policeman, at the same time uttering a blood-chilling wail. The figure of a man, a scarlet dressing gown flaunting from his shoulders, plunged through the hedge and struck the sidewalk at the policeman’s feet.

  THE cop flashed his light on the agonized man. His eyes crawled from beneath their lids at the horror the light revealed. The man’s face was unrecognizable. The eyes were burned from sockets behind ragged eyelids. Flesh was sloughing away from white maxillary bones. Lips and gums were gone, only the teeth remaining in the gaping, shrieking hole that had been a mouth.

  Suddenly, the writhing stopped. The night was filled with startling silence. The policeman knew that the man was dead, that pain had killed him. He put his whistle to his lips and blew a cold, piercing blast….

  Some time later a man sauntered within the oasis of light cast by a street lamp at the corner of the Leonard Sanitarium. He was unhurried by the chill wind. A heavy leather jacket was strained across his immense, square shoulders. His dark, serious eyes were shadowed by thick, shaggy, black hair, for he wore no hat. He stopped beneath the street lamp, to stuff the cubical bowl of his pipe with shag-cut tobacco. He clamped the bit between square jaws and lighted the tobacco leisurely. Wind whipped the smoke across his face. He leaned against the lamp post.

  With the accuracy of a master mariner locating a tiny island on a charted sea, Harvey Bates had found the southeast corner of sector 12, zone 3. And he was just a dot ahead of the appointed time when he was to meet his chief, Secret Agent X.

  Hardly was his pipe well lighted than Bates saw a man coming toward him at a rapid rate. As the man drew within the reach of the lamp rays, Bates felt certain that he recognized his face. Quite a pompous-looking person, he was, with a neatly trimmed black beard and piercing black eyes. Bates had seen a picture of Dr. Leonard in the paper when the sanitarium had been opened a year or so ago.

  The bearded man came directly toward Bates. He smiled, almost as though he recognized Bates.

  He said in a familiar, low-pitched voice: “Punctual as usual, Bates. You’re ready for anything?”

  Bates’ square jaw dropped, his broad right palm catching the glowing pipe in mid-air. For a moment, he was too overcome with surprise to speak. When his reply came in his usual crisp manner of speaking, there was no doubting his readiness for anything that Agent X had to suggest: “Right, sir!”

  Agent X, for it was indeed he who had so masterfully impersonated the director of the Leonard Sanitarium, took hold of Bates’ arm and turned in the direction of the sanitarium gate. “This is the most desperate risk we’ve ever taken, Bates,” he confided as they hurried up the walk. “There is an unknown patient in Room Sixteen of the sanitarium.

  “This patient is supposed to be suffering from amnesia induced by an automobile accident which left him pretty badly smashed up. His head and face, I understand, are completely wrapped up in bandages. It is of the greatest importance that we steal that amnesia patient. I must know who he is and learn whether or not his illness is merely a pose. He may be one of the most fiendish killers I have ever encountered. Then again, he may be the helpless victim of a frame.

  “We have to work fast. The police are in the sanitarium. Inspector Burks is there. As yet, Burks has not induced Dr. Leonard to show him this mysterious patient in Room Sixteen. But there’s plenty of the bulldog about Inspector Burks. He’ll have his way in the end, so we’ve got to work fast.”

  “Be action, sir?” asked Bates eagerly as they entered the gate of the sanitarium grounds.

  “Plenty of it for you,” X replied. “I’ve entrusted the most important part of the job to you. The room is on the second floor but a fire-escape extends to the window. You will enter the room through the door and leave by the window with the patient. Here—” X thrust a small, leather-covered box into Bates’ hands—“is a hypodermic syringe fully loaded with a harmless narcotic in that box. I’ve showed you how to use it on previous occasions. Give the patient the full shot before you make any attempt to move him. That clear? Wait as near the window as possible. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

  THEY were climbing the steps of the building. X glanced at his lieutenant. No need to tell Bates to take it easy. The big man was extremely serious but perfectly self-possessed.

  The woman at the information desk looked startled when the two put in their appearance.

  “Why, Dr. Leonard!” she exclaimed, “I understood that you were in conference with the police inspector.”

  X understood that, too. He would never have entered the building had he not first made certain that Dr. Leonard was occupied in his private apartment. White teeth above his false, black beard flashed in a smile. “I slipped out the back door to meet a friend of mine—Mr. Dobins, here. He imagines that he can be of some help to me in solving that appalling mystery of Mr. Jerrico’s death.” He turned to Bates. “Now, Dobins, if you insist, I shall show you the scene of the crime. And afterwards,” he added with a shudder, “we shall go down to the mortuary and have a look at the body.”

  Holding Bates’ arm, X steered him up the steps to the second floor of the building. They passed the desk where Nurse Vine had again taken up her duties. There X stopped, cleared his throat importantly, and said: “Nurse, you may go to your quarters. It seems a shame that you should be forced to spend the night on duty after the harrowing experience you have had. I will have one of the other nurses replace you here.”

  “But not more than ten minutes ago you told me that I should be forced to remain on duty inasmuch as there was no one else to take my place.” And Nurse Vine examined the man she supposed to be the director of the sanitarium with eyes that frankly doubted his sanity.

  It was the first mistake the Agent had made in his impersonation. But he was used to covering such flaws. “Tut-tut, my dear. I have found some one to take your place and until she arrives I myself will be in charge here. Go get some rest.”

  Nurse Vine thanked the Agent gratefully, got up from the desk, and in another moment had stepped into the elevator. X and Harvey Bates went to the closed door of Room Sixteen.

  “Take your time,” X whispered. “Rest assured that there will be no slip-ups. I shall stand outside the door and no one will enter the room until I am certain that you have got away with the patient. Remember, drug him first.”

  Bates nodded gravely. He put his hand on the knob, turned it cautiously, and entered a room of total darkness. He slipped a pocket flash into his hand and flicked the beam about a room that was severely white and clean. Flat on his back in a narrow, hospital bed, was something that looked like a man. An immense head, swathed from crown to neck in bandages, rested upon a thin pillow.

  Bates’ first move was to discover his means of exit. He went over to the window and opened it wide. Outside, he found the iron grating of a fire-escape platform. He thrust head and shoulders out cautiously. Room enough for even his big body to beat a hasty retreat. He went to the bed and knelt, resting his lighted flash on the floor while he opened the leather-covered box which X had given him. Just as the Agent had said, it contained a fully charged hypodermic syr
inge. Gingerly, Bates picked up the instrument and bared its needle point.

  He got to his feet and bent over the cot. The beam of his torch sprayed over the bandaged head of the motionless figure on the cot. He pulled back the covers, and for a long minute, he simply stood and stared.

  BENEATH the sheets was a wad of old clothes, grotesquely formed into something that approached the shape of a man. The head, fastened to the collar of a coat, appeared to be a wad of newspaper covered with white bandages. The “patient” which X had sent him to kidnap, was an exceedingly crude dummy.

  “Put up your hands,” a muffled voice behind Bates ordered. At the same time, something nudged in between his shoulder blades. He didn’t have to be told it was the muzzle of a gun. Slowly, Bates obeyed.

  “Turn around,” came the muffled voice again. Bates obeyed to stare at a ponderous head on the level with his own. But it was a head without a face. Bandages crossed and recrossed, unbroken by nose or mouth. For eyes, the creature had something that resembled a new design in sun glasses—black glass lenses with open molded slots or tubes extending out from the lenses. Framed by these slots, were eyes that seemed to pierce the very back of Bates’ brain.

  But hypnotic as was the gaze of the Faceless One, the mind of Harvey Bates was actively at work. The fingers of his right hand were closed upon the hypodermic syringe and it contained one of the Secret Agent’s most powerful drugs. Once that needle had been driven home, delivering its charge of drug, a man would be rendered helpless for a long time.

  Bates drew a long breath. It took nerve to attack an armed man with no more formidable weapon than a slender needle. Suddenly, his powerful muscles went into smooth, swift motion. But in spite of his speed, he had not deceived the watchful eyes of the Faceless One. As Bates drove down with his hypodermic syringe, the Faceless One side-stepped and brought his gun hand up in a short, chopping blow. The barrel of the gun connected with Bates’ temple. There was a sudden burst of colorful light before Bates’ eyes, and he fell back on the bed unconscious.

  Mummylike hands now closed upon Bates’ shoulder. Slowly, laboriously, he dragged his victim across the room to the open window through which he had entered, got out on the fire escape, and hauled Bates after him.

  Outside the door of Room Sixteen, Secret Agent X paced anxiously back and forth, stroking the false black beard that covered his chin. Mentally, he counted the ticking seconds and wondered if Bates had finished his job. Bates was slow, he knew, but that was because Bates was thorough. The big, square-jawed man could move fast enough when emergency demanded.

  Suddenly, X stopped his pacing. A loud, harsh voice extremely familiar to X, sounded from the other end of the hall: “I tell you that Dr. Leonard or no Dr. Leonard, I’m going to find out what this rubbish is about the patient in Room Sixteen. Amnesia, my eye! I’ve seen too many criminals try to fake some sort of insanity to try to beat the rap. This man in Sixteen is probably trying to preconstruct an alibi.” The thud of hard heels on the resilient flooring became louder. Then red-faced and irate, Inspector John Burks of the Homicide Bureau came around the corner of the corridor.

  As soon as he had heard the familiar voice of Burks, X decided the course he would take. There had been time enough to retreat before the inspector put in his appearance. But that left the door of Room Sixteen unguarded. Burks would not hesitate to enter, probably to find Harvey Bates making off with the patient. That meant that X would lose whatever information he hoped to glean from the amnesia patient, and what was more important, a valuable assistant would fall into the hands of the law. There was absolutely nothing for him to do but stand directly in front of the door of Room Sixteen, hoping to keep inspector Burks occupied until Harvey Bates carried out his kidnaping.

  There was a barely perceptible moment of hesitation in Burks’ advance. He thrust both hands into his coat pockets and X knew that Burks’ right hand closed over the butt of a police positive.

  “Hello, Leonard,” Burks boomed. “Let’s have a look at that mysterious patient you’re guarding so carefully. Come now, you’d think I was a spook that goes around frightening amnesia patients out of what little wit they have left. Why, you don’t know but what I might be able to scare his memory back to him.”

  Agent X cleared his throat and in the voice of Dr. Leonard said: “You can’t imagine that you’re fooling me, Inspector Burks. That gun in your pocket is ready to shoot.”

  Burks face flamed, “And don’t get the idea that you’re fooling me!” he roared. The gun came out of his pocket with a jerk, its steely eye centering on the Agent’s forehead. “I left the real Dr. Leonard not a minute ago. At last, Secret Agent X, I’ve got you where I want you!”

  INSPECTOR BURKS was highly elated. Not only was he taking Secret Agent X, but he was doing the job single-handed. But he was too experienced to underestimate the ability of his opponent. He advanced slowly, his legs wide apart.

  He knew that the Agent wore a bullet-proof vest. A man’s head didn’t make a good target and if the inspector’s bullet went home, the wound would probably be fatal. Burks hated the Secret Agent not only as a criminal but as a man who had frequently pricked his vanity. But Burks was not a killer. Personification of the law itself, Burks killed only when he could not avoid it. As he neared the Agent, he would have given a good deal if his quarry had moved so that he would have had an excuse for putting a bullet through X’s leg, thus rendering him helpless.

  But that was the trouble. Agent X didn’t move. He stood like a statue, his arms raised above his head, a taunting smile on his lips.

  Burks began to feel just a bit nervous. The Agent’s merry eyes weren’t looking at the inspector at all. They stared persistently over Burks’ shoulder. It was an attempt at a very old trick, Burks knew. There wasn’t anyone behind him. In another moment, X would be telling some imaginary person to grab the inspector. And the inspector solemnly vowed that he would not flinch when the Agent said that. He watched X’s lips part slightly. Now, it was coming! Burks’ teeth were on edge. He took another step forward, the muzzle of his gun still tilted toward the Agent’s head.

  “Who’ve you caught there, inspector?”

  And for an instant, Burks relaxed. He wasn’t playing a lone hand now. That voice, seeming to come from directly behind him, was that of Detective Sergeant Keegan, one of the inspector’s most capable men. Burks had brought Keegan with him, and the detective sergeant had been busy asking questions of the sanitarium staff members ever since Burks had closeted himself with Dr. Leonard. If anything did happen to throw Burks off his guard, capable Sergeant Keegan was there to back him up. So Burks relaxed for just one moment.

  It happened so quickly that Burks’ eye could scarcely follow it. He knew that Agent X was in motion. He fired his gun, scarcely knowing that his finger closed upon the trigger, for the Agent’s quick kick to Burks’ wrist had all but broken the bone. X was upon him, unscathed by the shot. Burks’ gun had actually been pointed at the ceiling when it had gone off.

  Burks regained his balance, shouted at Keegan, got his gun into his left hand, and turned around. But Keegan wasn’t there. Burks knew instantly that his detective had never been there. He understood now that X was a skilled ventriloquist and something of a magician, perhaps. But for all that, X had not disappeared. He was zig-zagging down the hall toward the stairs. Burks bellowed a warning, brought up his gun, then groaned a curse. Coming up the steps, directly in front of Agent X, were several people. Pale and lovely Mimi Clarice leaned upon the arm of gray-templed Theodore Mulkin. Behind them was the lank raven who was Ghurst the sculptor.

  “Out of the way!” roared Burks. “I’m trying to shoot. That’s Agent X!”

  Mulkin flung Mimi Clarice back against the wall. But at that moment Agent X took a jagged turn that carried him to Nurse Vine’s desk. He disappeared behind it and Burks started to turn the desk into a sieve. There was a splatter of blue flame then no light at all. A pell-mell of footsteps, and Burks knew his gun was useless. />
  He plunged forward in the darkness, shouted: “Head him off!” Then it was his own good fortune to bump into some one who was trying desperately to get away. Burks’ arms lashed out and encircled powerful shoulders. The man writhed in his grasp. Burks slipped up an arm and got a headlock on the man. Then his fingers contacted a coarse, black beard, and he was all exultation again.

  “Turn on the lights!” Burks shouted. “Got him!”

  BUT the circuit had been shorted by the wily Agent. Some one brought out a flashlight and turned on its beam. It was Theodore Mulkin who held the light and winked nervously with first one eye and then the other. Burks’ was the grip of steel, his powerful arms clamped like a vise on the head of his captive whose body wriggled helplessly.

  “Meet Agent X, Mulkin,” yelled Burks cheerfully. “You think this whiskered devil is your friend Doc Leonard. Well I left the doctor downstairs just a while ago. Now have a look at the real face of Agent X! And all this stuff that looks like flesh is putty. See? I just—” Burks crooked his finger and gouged sharp nails into the cheeks of his captive.

  A cry of pain and proper indignation bellowed from the black beard of Burks’ captive.

  A.H. Ghurst’s laughter sneered. “For mere putty, the cheeks of your friend are doing a deal of bleeding, inspector!”

  And it was not until Burks had tried to deprive Dr. Leonard of his beard that he was convinced that once again Secret Agent X had scored. Wrathfully, he pushed Dr. Leonard from him. “Where did you come from?” he roared.

  Ghurst replied for Leonard. “He was coming up the steps with me. Are you perfectly certain you are in your right mind, inspector? I saw no one who could have possibly been your Mr. X.”

  “I did,” Mimi Clarice replied weakly. “They were as much alike as two peas. One of them must have been the man you were looking for.” She stepped unsteadily up to Burks and took his great hands in her small ones. “Oh, inspector, if you would only find the man who killed George Jerrico!”