THE SLAVES raced down the hall and flung open a door. Beyond, X could hear their wild battle cry. He raced into the room, saw the five slaves standing in front of a steel-barred door. They shook the bars and snarled like animals. They reached scrawny arms through the openings, tried to clutch something.
X kept Betty behind him and approached the grating. In the room just beyond, X could see a man and three women cowering against the wall, just beyond the reach of the madmen.
“Back!” shouted X to the slaves. “Get back to your rooms!”
One of the slaves turned his snarling, skull-faced head toward X. He shook a lean fist. “Kill! Kill the other White-face. He will bleed, too. He is not a god, either!”
The slaves turned, to a man. Betty screamed, ran forward and threw her arms about Agent X as though to protect him. The Agent shook her off. “Back,” he whispered. “We must show no fear.” To the slaves he shouted: “Come on then. Try to kill me. The first to touch me dies a thousand deaths. Come kill, why don’t you?” As he spoke he advanced step by step toward the mad band.
And step by step they retreated, their eyes flickering frightened glances at X. By sheer force of will and the compelling power of his voice, he forced them to back into another room, the door of which was made of steel like that of the neighboring cell. As soon as the slaves were inside, X slammed the door and twisted the key in the lock.
He took the key out and hurried back to where Betty waited in front of the first barred door. Within the cell was Dr. Arden. A girl of perhaps eighteen years of age was in his arms. X noticed the marked resemblance between Arden and the girl. Very probably she was Virginia Arden, the doctor’s daughter. Doris Foster was also in the cell and was all but hysterical. But Vina Trumaine, the fourth prisoner, was perfectly self-possessed, aloof from the others, and quietly smoking a cigarette.
“The fortunes of war lead one into strange places, Mrs. Trumaine,” X said with a smile. He fitted the key, which he had taken from the lock of the other door, into the lock and opened the grating.
Vina Trumaine shrugged lightly. “The fortunes of war sometimes result in one meeting strange people. I have a vague notion that we have met before.”
“And may meet again.” To Betty, X said: “Take care of Doris Foster.”
Betty nodded, went over and put a comforting arm about the commissioner’s niece. “You’ll soon be with your uncle, my dear. The Fury is dead. Everything is over.”
X went to Dr. Arden. The doctor’s scholarly eyes squinted up at him. “A—a policeman?” he asked timidly.
X shook his head. “No. But there is no reason for you to fear the police. Very little explanation is necessary. I know that you tried to purchase your daughter’s life by aiding the Fury. He compelled you to help him just as he compelled Commissioner Foster to protect him. It was you who produced the catalepsy drug for the Fury to use on his slaves.”
“That damnable stuff!” Arden shouted. “I have cursed the day I discovered it. The Fury used it on his slaves. It made them like corpses so that when he revived them he could pose as their god. I heard him telling them that he had restored them from dead bodies and that they owed him their lives. Habitual use of my anesthetic affects the mind. Men may not visit the dark halls of death too often and hope to retain their sanity.”
“Enough, doctor,” X said kindly. “I am sure there is small blame on your shoulders for what you were compelled to do.” He turned to Betty and the others. “We will all go together. We must find the switch that will break the electrical circuit running through the fence. Then I will contact the police and have a boat sent out.”
X HAD no idea where such a switch could be located. It was simply a case of trial and error. He went back down the hall and turned in at the first open door on his left. This led into an expensively furnished apartment, decorated in the modern manner. The floor was made up of black tiles alternated with squares of stainless steel. Furniture was all of chrome and leather. The walls were walnut, inlaid with ornaments of bronze. Beyond, through a curtained doorway, X could see a bedroom similarly furnished.
“It doesn’t look as though there would be a switchboard in here,” X told the others as he started to turn back.
A dull clanking sound. Doris Foster screamed shrilly. Dr. Arden’s daughter renewed her terrified sobs. X turned around to see that a heavy iron grill had dropped from the top of the door frame, completely cutting off their escape. Beyond the grill, X saw an impossibility—the Fury alive.
The emotionless white mask, the heartless gleam of the slotted eyes, the tall, powerful frame—all were there. Yet there was no acid burn on the man’s throat. X realized that here was an impossibility which made all of his deductions possible. The appearance of this second Fury revealed the whole clever criminal scheme.
On the other side of the grill, the Fury stamped his left foot angrily. “So, you would have escaped, would you?” he cried. “You have escaped. You’ve walked straight into hell.”
No one moved. The Fury chuckled. “You will try to get out, eventually. They all do. This is the room where men go mad—or die. This is my own conception of hell. You notice the large amount of metal work in the room? Some of that metal is safe. Other pieces in walls, floors and furniture are heavily charged with electricity. There are even charged spots in the floor. Do you see?”
“I see, Fury,” Vina Trumaine said calmly. “It’s a game. Guess where the safety spot is.”
The Fury laughed. “A woman with a sense of humor. Yes, this is a maze of death. There is no electric chair that could kill more quickly than certain articles in this room. Some of the most harmless looking are the most deadly. And I will be glad to be rid of you all. You—” he shot a glance at Agent X who had removed the white celluloid mask before releasing the prisoners—“I don’t know you, but I can imagine that you are some sort of investigator. Perhaps you are the notorious Agent X. I’ll know you better as a madman or a corpse. And Dr. Arden, I am through with you.”
“But surely my daughter has a right to her life,” the doctor pleaded.
“No, she and the reporter are too wise. As for Miss Foster, her weeping has annoyed me. I will still be able to bluff her uncle into protecting me. He need not know what has happened to her. As for you, Vina Trumaine, you know why I brought you here.”
Vina Trumaine nodded coldly. “Because my persistent efforts to get the Bastion Ray were troublesome.”
“Exactly. Too bad you wasted your efforts on something worthless. You would have learned, had you tried to sell the ray to some foreign government, that as a death ray it was a failure. Bastion knew that. His demonstration was faked. The box he apparently destroyed was fired by thermite. Bastion hoped that he could interest some one in backing his future experiments if he could prove the ray of value.
“Some time ago, I learned that the only value of the Bastion Ray was its ability to wipe out radio reception. Its rays are not unlike the rays of the sun when the sun is affected by what are commonly called sun spots. It was Bastion himself who told me that. Yet he had not the slightest idea how to make money out of his know-ledge. It took a genius to figure that out.”
“What do you intend to do with us?” Arden asked.
“Do with you?” The Fury emphasized his words with a stamp of his left foot. “You will either be electrocuted or go mad trying to guess where to put your foot or lay your hand without being electrocuted. This room was to be used in another extortion scheme I have yet to work out. For the moment, I shall use it as a punishment for meddlers. Torture by hope, you might call it. You hope the next thing you touch will not be charged. But then you never know until it is too late.”
THE MAN in the white mask was gone. The Fury was still the master chess player. His chess board was the floor on which they stood and they were the playing pieces. The manner in which the prisoners stood, scarcely daring to breathe, made the simile more exact: they might as well have been carved from wood.
At last, Vina Trumai
ne drew a long breath. Her slow smile was for Agent X alone. “What have you to offer, Agent X?” she asked finally. “You are Agent X. No one else could have penetrated this fortress.” She opened a mesh bag and took out a package of cigarettes. She lit one and threw the match to the floor. “Cigarette?” she asked the Agent.
“Please.” And as she started to toss him the package, X added: “The whole bag if you please.” Vina Trumaine tossed the metal mesh bag and he caught it deftly.
“You—you mean you see a way out of this?” asked Dr. Arden.
“P-please get us out,” Doris Foster whispered.
“Keep talking sane things,” X urged. “And don’t move. Miss Arden!”
The doctor’s daughter raised tearful eyes. “Yes?” timidly.
“You are inclined to move your right foot too much. Watch that,” X warned. “There is absolutely no danger if you don’t move.”
“But good heavens—” gasped Arden.
“Doctor!” X said sharply. “Get a grip on yourself. Your nerves are farther gone than those of the women and I assure you that your daughter and Miss Dale and Miss Foster have been through more trying times than you. I am going to try an experiment. If it works, we walk out of here in perfect safety.”
X flattened Vina Trumaine’s metal hand bag after he had removed the cigarettes. Then he stooped without moving his feet and sent the bag sliding across the smooth floor. Nothing happened.
“Well?” asked Dr. Arden impatiently.
“What’s the experiment?” asked Betty Dale.
X mustered a cheerful smile. “That was the one that didn’t work. Lots of experiments don’t. I was trying to touch two charged spots on the floor at once with the metal bag. I hoped to produce a short circuit that would put the whole electrical system on the blink. Have to think of something else.”
“We—we’ll have to start guessing soon,” Virginia Arden whispered. “The guessing game with Death.”
“Stop that!” X snapped. “Miss Arden, where do you go to school?”
“Why, City College—”
“Talk about that,” X urged. “What studies do you enjoy most? Doris Foster, that fine man who is your uncle is planning to show you the sights of the city as soon as you get back. How long do you expect to stay in New York?”
“I—I don’t want to stay at all,” the girl whimpered. “I want to go back to Kansas.”
X laughed. “Oh, you’ve got to see a Harlem hot spot before you go back.”
“Don’t talk drivel!” Dr. Arden shrilled. “I can’t stand this. I can’t stand anything. I’ve got to move!”
“Doctor!” X cautioned.
“You fool!” shouted Arden. “Do you think I can stand here until I’m paralyzed? I—I—” And with a harsh, mad laugh, he lurched across the room. Only Betty’s quick action prevented his daughter from following. Betty reached out, caught the girl by the arm, held on. Her teeth were grinding and there was a deadly, determined light in her blue eyes.
ARDEN staggered across the room, threw himself against the steel grating. For a moment, his writhing features were illuminated by sizzling, crackling blue flame. His body was a gyrating, squirming mass of muscles seeming to pull one against the other in a fruitless revolt against the charge of current coursing through his body.
The doctor’s daughter uttered a pitiful, hurt cry, and sagged against Betty. Doris Foster’s knees gave way and let her drop into a chair. She sat there, white-faced and tense, utterly unable to move even so much as an eyelid. Back from the grating where his death dance had carried him, the body of Dr. Arden lay on the floor.
“Betty,” X whispered, “can you hold the girl a little longer? I think I see a way out.”
Betty nodded grimly. “I’ll do my best.” It was easy to see that holding the Arden girl taxed all her strength.
“Don’t move, anybody. Doris Foster, don’t even so much as touch the arms of your chair. Understand?”
“I won’t,” the commissioner’s niece replied. “I don’t want to die like that.”
Vina Trumaine lifted her lovely head proudly. She smiled slightly and extended one slim foot in front of the other.
“Vina!” cried the Agent. “Stand still!”
Vina Trumaine took another step. Her smile seemed painted on her deathly white face. Then she reached out her hands and took hold of the shoulders of Dr. Arden’s daughter. “I’ll help you, Betty,” she said quietly.
Agent X said nothing. In his mind revolved a strange pattern of black and white tiles. He saw the crooked footsteps of a man running headlong into hell against that checker board pattern. Could he do it? Could he cross the floor exactly as Dr. Arden had done? Could he touch only the exact spots that Arden had touched? The grating was charged. All other things that Arden had touched were not charged.
But first he had to get to the exact spot where Arden had stood before he made his wild dash. That spot was about a foot from the chair where Doris Foster now sat—fully six feet from X. X bent his knees and suddenly sprang. His standing broad-jump was so perfectly timed and executed that he landed both feet on the spot where Arden had stood. For a moment, it seemed that he would lose his balance. He waved his arms like a wire walker executing a dangerous feat.
“Please don’t try it,” Betty wailed.
X LOOKED into her eyes, saw the tears that glittered there. He looked hastily back to the floor, lest emotion crowd that pattern of tiles that indicated Dr. Arden’s path from his memory. He took another step.
In the room where men went mad there was utter silence. There was not a face but what was beaded with sweat as all eyes watched the Agent’s thoughtful, sure-footed progress toward the charged grating.
“What in heaven’s name do you expect to do?” Vina Trumaine gasped. “You can’t unlock the door.”
“Hush!” X whispered. He took a wide swing to the right—a step that took him off the straight course to the door. But it was a step that Dr. Arden had taken and he dared not risk the short cut. His brain was on fire. He had to drive back the impulse to make a dash for the door, regardless of the path Arden had taken. Some devil of encroaching insanity within his brain whispered: “Take a chance. You may win. Plunge right into it. It’s so much quicker and less torturing.”
But doggedly X continued his labored progress and eventually arrived unharmed within a foot of the steel grating. Then he stood upright and took a long breath. “Courage,” he whispered. “In a minute this grating will be open. The Fury will open it for us.”
He hoped the Fury would open it. His entire scheme was based upon the assumption that the Fury Number Two had not seen the body of his partner, the dead Fury. For there were two chiefs in the crime. There had to be, simply because no one man could be in two places at the same time. X knew as well as he knew his own name the identity of the white-masked man killed by the slaves. Yet there was another Fury still alive— the one that had trapped them in this room of madness and sudden death.
X knew the identity of this living Fury, too. Both of the villains were men of about the same build. Wearing the white masks, both must have looked very much alike. But there was a slight difference in their voices and mannerisms that a keen mind like that of Agent X was bound to notice.
X reached under his coat and produced the white mask he had found in the Fury’s office. He slipped it over his face. Now, if Fury Number Two didn’t know that his partner was dead, the scheme might work, for X could imitate any voice and he was about the same height as the two criminal leaders.
X cupped his hands over the mouth opening in the mask. “Help!” he called. “Help. Come let me out of here. What in hell is the matter with you?” The voice that came from the mask was the voice of the Fury—the dead Fury.
“Uncanny,” whispered Vina Trumaine.
A moment later, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Then footsteps moved across a floor. The white face of the living Fury matured from the gloom of the hall. The man stopped, stared at X. Was there a gleam
of suspicion in his eyes?
X shook his fist at the Fury. “What do you mean by locking me in this room and turning the current on?”
“How did you get in there?” the Fury asked coolly.
“Get in here? Why I was in here all the time. I was back in the bedroom dozing. Let me tell you, had I not known every danger spot in this apartment you might have killed me.”
If the Fury had the least suspicion, X’s last statement should have dispelled it. It was for that purpose that X had chanced following Dr. Arden’s footsteps. Such a move must convince the Fury that X was familiar with all the danger spots in the room.
“Will you let me out?” X cried. “This place gives me the chills.”
Without a word, the Fury stepped to the side of the door. He returned a moment later, took out keys, and unlocked the grating. “Come out,” he said quietly. “Next time, be more careful where you take your naps.”
X knew now how a man approaching the electric chair felt. The Fury had made no move to open the grating. Perhaps the lock was insulated from the other metal. Perhaps the current still moved through the metal door. The Fury might have fathomed X’s scheme and was using this way to trap him.
But a moment’s hesitation would have excited suspicion. X reached out boldly, seized one of the horizontal bars, and lifted the grating back into its slot.
“Thank heaven!” came an audible whisper from some one in the room. The Fury’s head jerked sideways as X passed through the door. X turned, too. Relief was so clearly indicated on the faces of the four women in the torture room that the Agent’s ruse must have been apparent.
THE FURY’S icy gaze turned on X. “Take off that mask,” he said softly, emphasizing his words with an impatient tap of his left foot.
“Why should I?” X asked.
The Fury kicked out with his left foot, touched a catch at the side of the door. The steel grating once more dropped over the doorway. “Take off that mask,” the Fury repeated. “I must see your features.”
X lifted his hands to the white mask. “May I suggest that you take off your mask, too. I know very well who you are.” X slipped off his mask and dropped it to the floor, revealing the hawk-beak nose and red hair that were parts of his disguise as Neihart.
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 7 Page 21