“That you, Knore?” a voice whispered.
“Yes,” X whispered back, recalling Peter Knore’s voice as near as possible. He thought the speaker was Jo Pyle.
“Kelly got this safe open, but the damned thing is empty. You sure that Charlotta dame hasn’t looted the place before we got a chance?”
Guided by the voice, X moved across the room. The toe of his shoe kicked into the leg of a chair. A flashlight snapped on, its white spot centering on the Agent. X had his gas gun in his hand. “Put ’em up!” he ordered.
The light went out. Somebody cursed. A flying body struck X thigh high. He went down under two hundred pounds of beef. Somehow he managed to keep his gun arm free from the heavy man’s body-crushing grip. He brought the gun up in the palm of his right hand to slap his attacker across the side of the head with it. The man groaned and rolled over to the floor. X sprang up. Another voice whispered:
“You got him, Jo?”
“Sure,” X said, imitating Jo Pyle’s voice. “Turn your light on the floor.”
THE MAN’S flash flicked on, found the mountainous form of Jo Pyle lying on the floor. But before the other man could so much as utter an exclamation of surprise, X stepped in and jammed his gas pistol into the man’s ribs. “Got you,” he whispered. “You even so much as take a deep breath, and I’ll let you have it.”
He took the flashlight from the man’s unresisting fingers and turned it on the man’s face. His captive was one of the local toughs X had previously met in the shanty down by the railroad tracks. “Is Peter Knore here?” X asked.
The man nodded glumly. “Somewhere. He fixed it so Jo and I would take all the risks. What is this? A pinch?”
“Where’s Knore?”
X took the gun out of Kelly’s ribs, tilted the barrel slightly, and pulled the trigger. A thin stream of harmless, anesthetizing gas spouted into Kelly’s face. Completely surprised, he gulped it all in and wilted to the floor.
The Agent hurriedly searched the lower floor of the house. Things were turned inside-out in the laboratory and the study. There had been a most thorough search for something. But there was no sign of Peter Knore. X went up the steps, tiptoed down the hall, saw a glow-worm of light moving about in a bedroom. X stepped through the door. Again he resorted to the ruse of speaking in the voice of Jo Pyle. “Find anything, Knore?” he asked.
Knore cursed softly. “I thought I told you to stay downstairs.”
“If you found that gas formula, Knore, I wanted to be in on it, see? Whatever you get out of it, you’ve got to split fifty-fifty.”
Knore turned his light beam on the Agent. X sprang forward, thrust his gas pistol up in Knore’s face. The gun was empty, but formidable-looking. His left arm went around and whipped out Knore’s gun from the latter’s hip pocket. He tossed it into a corner of the room. “Now,” he said, “the truth.” Danger flashed in X’s eyes. He reached out and twitched Knore’s Van Dyke beard. It came loose, nearly tearing part of Knore’s skin away with it. Knore winced with pain.
“That’s a starter,” X told him. “What were you trying to do here?”
“You seem to have that information already,” Knore said. “Why should I tell you?”
“You were looking for the formula to Garvey’s poison gas, then? Yet you were apparently already in possession of the formula or at least some of the gas. Weren’t you using it to kill and drive people insane with the idea of selling fake antitoxin to the wealthy for protection of what Dr. Davies thought was a disease of madness?” X knew this was not so, but his statement might scare the truth from Knore.
“That’s not true,” Knore denied. “Selling the fake serum was -Pyle’s idea. He was simply taking advantage of the plague of madness. I acted the part of the foreign doctor for him. I hadn’t the slightest idea that the madness was caused by a gas.”
“But you were looking for the gas formula? You wanted Garvey’s secret for your own country?”
Peter Knore nodded. “What do you intend to do about it?”
AGENT X reached over to a table and turned on a lamp. He nodded toward a chair. “Sit down,” he ordered. Knore sat down. With one eye on the man, Agent X hurriedly searched the room. Dresser drawers were wide open and the closet had been rifled. On the dresser was a hastily written note scrawled on the back of an envelope. It read:
To the friend of K9. If you read this you will know that there is a small chance of saving my life. I have discovered that I am being deceived by a member of my household. I know that Shaitan will make an effort to kidnap or murder me tonight. Nothing can prevent it.
(Signed) Lorin Garvey.
X crushed the piece of paper into his pocket and turned to Knore. “You knew Garvey was going to be kidnaped, didn’t you?”
“No!”
“Why, then, did you pick tonight to search the house? You mean to say that you didn’t know that Garvey wouldn’t be here?”
“Whether Garvey was here or not, I had decided to make an effort to obtain the gas formula. Now that you know the truth, what do you intend to do?”
X wasn’t at all sure that Knore had told him the truth. He strode over to the spy. “I’m going to do this!” He brought his right hand up fast, landing a blow with the gun barrel on the side of Knore’s head. It was so perfectly timed and placed that the spy hadn’t a chance to escape its stunning force. He sagged forward in the chair and tumbled to the floor unconscious. X went to Garvey’s dresser. He picked up Garvey’s hair brush and pulled out a single pale hair that clung to the bristles. This he carefully wrapped in paper before going downstairs.
In the hall below he called police headquarters. Without giving his name, he left a message for John Morris, saying that the spy, Peter Knore, was unconscious in the Garvey house together with two local toughs. He advised Morris and the police to act accordingly. Then he hurried from the house to join Bates and Charlotta.
“We’re so near the end of the trail,” he said, “and yet just far enough from the end that we can’t quite touch the man we’re after. You two better get in the back part of the truck. You don’t stand in so well with the police after that jail break and we can’t risk an argument with the law when every second counts.”
Bates and Charlotta climbed over the back of the cab seat and into the truck. X got the motor started and drove at once to the hospital. Then he got out and told Bates and Charlotta to keep dark until he returned.
“What do you suppose X is going in there for?” Charlotta asked. She was standing in the back of the truck, peering out through a crack in the rear door. Bates joined her.
“Hard to say,” Bates clipped.
“He always does queer things. Have you known him very long—I mean as well as anyone could know Agent X.”
“Haven’t known him more than a year,” Bates told her, “though I’ve worked for him for a long time.”
“And you’ve never seen his face?”
“No one sees his face.”
Charlotta was silent a moment. Then: “What did you think when I came into the jail tonight and—” She stopped.
Out of the night came a hoarse shout: “Ex-tree! Ex-tree papah! Ex-tree!”
“What do you suppose that is?” Charlotta asked.
“Paper boy.” Bates took out his pipe and lighted it. They listened to the newsboy as he came nearer. Bates pushed the back door of the truck a little farther open. “I’m going to find out.”
CHARLOTTA’S hand went out to clutch at his sleeve. “No! Some one might see you. They still think you’re Shaitan, you know.”
“Too dark.” Bates ignored her warning and sprang to the street. He hailed the newsboy, jingled coins in his pocket. The boy ran across the street. “What’s up?” Bates asked as he pressed a dime into the boy’s hand and took a paper.
“Rumor some guy will wipe out the town, sir. Terrible, ain’t it?”
“Keep the change.” Bates folded the paper.
“The chief of police and the mayor got a note from a g
uy with a funny name. Sounds something like Satan when you say it. He’s the guy that wants to do the dirty work.” The boy ran down the street, shouting out his sensational wares.
Bates got back in the truck, struck a match, while he and Charlotta bent over the paper. A black scare-head screamed:
SHAITAN STILL AT LARGE!
And further down, Bates read aloud: “It is rumored that Chief of Police Hurd has received a warning signed by Shaitan—”
The match went out. At that moment, Agent X leaped into the cab of the truck. Charlotta hurried forward to lean over the back of the seat where X was starting the motor.
“Shaitan will destroy the town,” said the Agent.
“Just a rumor, sir,” Bates put in calmly. “Can’t go on these papers. Maybe just a scare.”
“In the papers? Did they put out an extra edition?” X asked. “Let’s see that paper a moment.” Bates handed him the paper and X held it close to the dashlight of the truck. He read quickly. “Not much here. Maybe just a rumor, but I’m inclined to take it seriously. Shaitan has Garvey’s gas. He could do exactly what he threatens to do. Charlotta and I know he would do it. We’ll have to move!”
He started to nose the truck into the center of the street and opened it up. Two blocks west, he turned into Elm Street and headed for the City Administration Building. There were quite a few people going in and out the door as X sprang from the cab and ran up the steps.
“What’s this I hear?” X asked of a man just leaving the building.
“About Shaitan? Just a threat. He can’t do that, you know. We’re getting up a volunteer organization to prevent panic. That fool Kennedy would sell his soul to put out an extra edition to scare folks crazy.”
X went into the building and hurried straight for Kurd’s office. There were so many other people going in and out that he knew he could pass unnoticed. George Franks, the insurance man, was there, as were Dr. Davies and the mayor.
“Most audacious nonsense I’ve ever seen,” declared Davies, waving a paper above his head. “Why, killing everybody in the town wouldn’t be anything but war. One man can’t declare war on a city.”
“It would be war with all the loss on one side—the city’s side,” Agent X said. He reached out and snatched the paper from Davies’ hand.
“Here, what business is that of yours?” Dr. Davies cried out as he endeavored to retrieve the paper.
“It’s the business of every man in the city,” X said. He glanced down at the paper. On it was printed in pencil:
The original demand was one million dollars from the insurance people. Because you have been slow in paying and because the people of this city have tried to interfere with my plans, I agree to spare Brownsboro only on the condition that you pay the original demand plus one half of all the money in the city treasury. Lorin Garvey is completely in my power and will be compelled to aid me if I have to wipe out all life in the city. A red lantern on top of the Administration Building will be your signal to agreement. Better pay me and have your lives in exchange, than die and thus enable me to loot your city anyway.
(Signed) Shaitan.
P.S. Any attempt on the part of Secret Agent X to interfere with my plans will result in the immediate death of Betty Dale.
With cold, numb fingers, X handed the paper back to Dr. Davies. He pushed back through the crowd without feeling the elbows that jostled him. Betty in the hands of a man who had terrorized Asia where life is cheap and pain the heritage of every man and woman! The city threatened with destruction while the city officials treated the whole matter as an impossibility. With Garvey’s gas in his hands, Shaitan had reduced the impossible to the probable.
CHAPTER IX
Cavern of Terror
“WHAT news?” asked Bates and Charlotta together as X came out to the truck.
“The worst,” X said hoarsely. “Shaitan has given his ultimatum, to a people he has already tied hand and foot. There is not the slightest doubt but what he has a quantity of Garvey’s gas and is prepared to use it. If I don’t move against him, there’ll not be a living or sane creature in this town. If I do move against him—” He shook his head despondently. He walked around the track, stood in the middle of the street, moistened his finger and held it above his head for a moment.
“From the west, sir,” Bates said.
X nodded his agreement and got in beneath the wheel of the truck.
“What do you mean, ‘from the west?’ ” asked Charlotta.
“The wind,” X explained. “If Shaitan intends to wipe out the town with gas, he’ll have to discharge that gas to the west of the city so that the poison will be carried across the town. That means that somewhere among those black hills to the west of town, Shaitan is waiting to turn loose his cloud of madness and death.”
“What would he gain?” Bates asked.
“The sheer pleasure of destroying,” Charlotta said, with a shudder. “The man is a fiend.”
“A very clever fiend,” X said. “Not averse to killing, but not a man to kill without motive. When the gas has swept the town, Shaitan will come down and loot the banks. Then, Brownsboro will act as an example for other cities he will threaten afterwards. Only there isn’t going to be any afterwards for Shaitan. I’ve got to stop this.”
X drove on, his jaw set doggedly, his eyes staring straight ahead. They passed the great Bedford house, standing dark and deserted, a monument to the cruelty of Shaitan. They drove out to the old turnpike and jounced into a rutty lane that led on toward the hills—black hills, frowning with the wrath of Shaitan. The moon, hanging above the ragged horizon, was as placid and pale as the face of a corpse.
X took out his watch. It was ten-thirty. An hour and a half in which to search through country with a thousand hiding places. And then, if he was successful in finding Shaitan, what could he do to keep the fiend from killing Betty? What could he do against the terrible gas?
X slammed on the brakes, turned almost angrily on Bates and Charlotta who sat silently beside him. He had forgot them entirely, so engrossed had he been with his own problems. “I’m getting out here,” he announced. “You two drive back to town. Do all you can to get the people to get in cars and evacuate the city. And if they won’t move, see that by midnight you’re miles away from here. I can’t be responsible for getting you into a jam like this.”
CHARLOTTA smiled slightly. She reached over and took Bates’s hand. “Is there anything about us that reminds you of a couple of washouts?”
“You think we’d let you go on alone?” Bates asked.
“You must go back,” X insisted. “Don’t think I’m not grateful for your offer, but I can’t jeopardize you in this way.”
“There’s only one way you can stop us,” Bates said. “A shot of anesthetizing gas. And with that stuff in us, we won’t do much running when Shaitan turns on his gas.”
X sighed. “For once, I’m sorry for devotion.” He started the car jogging up the lane that was climbing steadily into the hills.
A little farther on, the car refused to climb another foot. They got out and plunged into the thick underbrush to work wearily upward toward the highest peak in the range. X knew that it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but he kept carefully on, using his flashlight sparingly. The brush thinned out after they had mounted a few hundred feet. There was considerable more rock formation and less foundation for vegetation. Suddenly, Charlotta uttered a little cry. X whipped around, sent his flashlight beam streaking in her direction. The girl held up a little scrap of cloth.
X sprang to her side. “Let’s see that!” He snatched the piece of cloth from her hand and held it close to the light. It was a piece of silk from a woman’s dress, possibly Betty’s, though he had never seen the material before that he remembered.
“A piece torn from the hem of a woman’s skirt,” Charlotta told him.
X started fanning the flashlight around in all directions, searching for more bits of cloth until his eyes ached. “Keep
your eyes open for more. It may mark the trail to Shaitan’s hiding place. Let’s go on.”
“Looks like another up ahead,” Bates whispered.
X broke into a run that carried him far ahead of the others. He stooped, picked up the second piece of cloth. It matched the first. They hurried forward as the bits of cloth marked the trail. At last, they found a piece fully six inches long dangling from a thorny bush. And there was nothing farther. Just beyond the bush, a rocky wall towered high above them. And there was no break in the wall in either direction that they could see.
Cautiously, X parted the bushes and scarcely suppressed an exultant cry. Beyond was the mouth of a cave.
“Charlotta behind me,” he whispered. “Bates at the rear. Now forward and keep quiet. We haven’t a ghost of a chance if Shaitan hears us coming.”
Once within, X risked one searching gleam from his flashlight. The ceiling of the natural rocky corridor was far beyond the reach of his light. Ahead the floor was smooth and without any treacherous openings that X could discover. X moved on rapidly, groping his way, fearing to use the light any more than was necessary. The passage turned and climbed. Beneath his feet he felt a soft carpet of dust. He stopped, turned the light down toward the floor. Footprints in the dust—large, round-toed prints and beside them, the mark of small, pointed-toed shoes.
X’s heart pounded. He was near Betty, he felt certain. So near and yet so far away. He couldn’t take his eyes off that small footprint. He regarded it almost worshipfully. “Bates,” he called, “Charlotta. They came this way.”
Footsteps hurried along the passage behind him. In another moment, he would hear Charlotta’s eager young voice questioning—
Something struck the Agent’s head with terrific force. It was as though an explosion had taken place within his brain. Blinking light fluttered and flashed like angry lightning before his eyes. He knew he was going under—under the black curtain of oblivion. Had Charlotta played them false? Had she struck that blow? Or had both Bates and Charlotta fallen into the iniquitous hands of Shaitan?
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 7 Page 30