Secret Agent X : The Complete Series Volume 3 Page 15
“Sorry we ain’t got one o’ your papers for you to read, Mister Hilary. Would you like breakfast in bed in the morning?”
“X” did not reply. He waited for the door to close, then took a tentative step in the pitch darkness that descended upon the room. He took one more step and found that he had reached the end of the chain. That was as far as he could go.
He realized that he had but five minutes at the most before he would receive visitors. It would not take the Skull longer than that to have the fingerprints checked, and “X” knew that once the Skull learned his identity he would not delay in taking swift action.
“X” wondered if Jim Hobart had succeeded in following them to the garage; he thought it very unlikely. In any event he must depend on his own wits and resources during the next half hour, which would perhaps be the most crucial of his life.
From the room next to his came the sound of groans, then the babbling of a terrified man. “X” recognized the voice. It was that of Laurens, the jeweler. He, too, was one of the prisoners. Laurens suddenly ceased his babbling, and a moment later his voice came again, high-pitched, speaking quickly, slurring words. “X” listened keenly. It was hard to tell what he was saying through the wall, but after a moment the Agent understood. Laurens was praying. Laurens, cool, phlegmatic, hard-headed, was praying. So strongly did the Skull affect men.
“X” reflected that Laurens had probably never uttered those words since his childhood. Now, in the face of terror they came back to him with facility. It was at times like these that men crept back to the bosom of a Deity they had all but forgotten in the turmoil of their crass existence.
Now there arose cries from other rooms in the double row. Men called out hoarsely to each other from room to room. “X” recognized Grier’s formerly hearty voice, now thick with fear. They were shouting encouragement to each other, giving their names so that they could know who else shared their danger.
“X” did not call to them. He was laboring swiftly, silently, in the dark. He had twisted his arms around so that the fingers of his right hand came up close to the lining of his coat where lay the flat black case containing his chromium steel tools. His fingertips just reached the lower edge of the pocket where it lay, and he tried to nudge it out, inch by inch, so that it would fall to the floor.
He succeeded partially, had it halfway out, when he found he could move his hand no farther forward. He squirmed, trying to force the case out. He estimated that fully five minutes were gone since he had been taken from the Skull’s presence; ample time for the prints to have been checked, and the Skull notified.
“X” clenched his teeth, strained his muscles. His fingers gripped the cloth on the under side of the pocket in the lining, and he wrenched with all his strength. The pocket ripped under the grip, and the case slid out to the floor, struck on its edge, and came to rest in the middle of the room.
It was out of his reach.
With his hands behind his back he had no means of reaching out to pick it up. It lay there, tantalizing, spread open by the fall, the metal instruments which had so often been the keys to safety for him gleaming dully in the dark.
And just then a panel in the wall close beside him slid open, and a blinding spotlight filled the small room. He remembered now, that this was how the Skull had forced Betty to look in on Tyler. There must be such a sliding panel for each of these rooms, so that the Skull could look in on all his prisoners when he chose.
“X” faced the spotlight, blinking. He so placed his body that the kit of tools was hidden from view.
From behind the spotlight came the mocking voice of the Skull. “How do you do, Secret Agent ‘X’? You are very clever, my friend; I had never expected to see you here as Hilary. But welcome back in any disguise. You are going to provide me with a half hour of pleasure before I place you in the chair. Under my gentle persuasion you shall disclose to me all the little secrets that you have; and I shall see your face—perhaps show you mine before you are deprived of your sanity!”
THE Skull laughed long and loud. “You made a terrible mistake when you undertook to outwit the Skull. You see, my friend of a Thousand Faces, you have only ten fingers—and they ruined you!” The Skull raised his voice. “Binks! Go and get him. Keep a gun on him every minute, and don’t take the handcuffs off him. Bring him here!”
The panel slid down, leaving the cell once more in complete darkness. No sooner was it fully closed than “X” broke into action. He recalled how long it had taken Gilly and Frisch to bring him here, coming through the connecting passages—no more than four or five minutes. That was the length of time he had.
He did not deceive himself that he could overcome the halfwit while he was opening the padlock that linked his handcuffs to the chain; Binks, he told himself, was not as dumb as he looked. He would be wary, knowing that this prisoner was not an ordinary one. He must do whatever he had to do before Binks arrived, must be ready for him.
He stretched out on the floor on his face, his hands suspended in the air behind him by the chain. The floor was of wood, moldy and dank, and he felt a furry creature scurrying over his ankle, then another. Rats. A weaker man might have shuddered in revulsion as those rats reminded him of the one that had been electrocuted in the Skull’s office earlier in the day.
“X” set his lips grimly, and not even bothering to shake off the rats, he stretched out his legs toward the instrument case, gripped it with both feet, and turned on his side, straining against his manacled arms. Then he drew up his feet until the instrument case was close beside him.
He let it lie there, squirmed to his knees, then squatted on the floor over the case. His hands were now directly over it, and his fingers flew as he searched it, withdrew a set of keys. In the darkness he felt of them, and unerringly, as always, selected the right one. He twisted his hand, inserted the key in the lock of the handcuffs, just as there came the noise of someone fumbling at the door.
The door began to open, and “X” coughed loudly to cover the click made by the key as it turned in the lock of the cuffs. Binks came into the room, leaving the door wide open. Light streamed into the cell, and Binks saw the open case on the floor. He looked up at “X” in swift suspicion, and stooped for the case. That was a mistake. “X” let the open handcuffs slide to the floor, and seizing the halfwit by both wrists, twisted them behind his back.
Binks emitted a choked cry, attempted to struggle, and then subsided sullenly as the Agent picked up the handcuffs and snapped them on his wrists. Strangely enough he was silent, astute enough to know that a protest would be unavailing.
Yet “X” wondered why he made no outcry. He was prepared for that, ready to spread his hand over the other’s mouth if he should open it to call out. A shout could be easily heard by the Skull, for the voices of the imprisoned men in the other cells came clearly enough.
“X” wasted no time in wondering. He placed the instrument case in the outside pocket of his coat, since the inner pocket was torn, and prodded Binks through the door. Out in the corridor he hesitated for a moment. Was it wise to release the other men now? He could not herd them through all the corridors to safety with the Skull still commanding the situation, sending his gunmen after them, directing them through the hidden amplifiers. They would be so many sheep to be slaughtered in the passages. He could not protect them all. It would be wiser to seek out the Skull—fight it out.
THE thought occurred to him suddenly: suppose the Skull overcame him? These men would still be prisoners. He saw that Binks had half-turned, was regarding him quizzically in the semi-gloom left by the single bulb at the end of the corridor.
The halfwit cackled, and asked, “Whatchu worryin’ about? It ain’t all easy sailin’, is it? You better be smart an’ go back in that cell o’ yo’rn. You can’t beat the Skull, Mister Whatever-yore-name-is!”
“X” made no reply. He prodded him on toward the middle of the corridor, called out in a low but urgent voice, “Dennett! Which cell are you in?”
The discordant voices of the prisoners suddenly ceased. There was stillness in the corridor, and no answer to his question. “X” repeated it, this time a little louder.
From one of the cells came a cautious voice, that of Grier, the stockbroker. “Who is that?”
“This is Hilary. Is that you, Grier?”
“Yes. For God’s sake, where are you?”
“Out in the corridor. I can’t release you all yet, for a certain reason. Where’s Dennett?”
“X’s” plan was to release Dennett, leave him here with instructions to release all the others if he did not return within a certain time. The reason he had chosen Dennett was because he felt from his experience with him that the contractor was the coolest of them all, the least liable to yield to panic.
Grier’s voice came to him. “Dennett’s in one of these rooms. We heard him led in. I haven’t heard him talk since, though.”
The Agent turned to Binks. “Tell me which cell Dennett is in. Quickly, if you want to live.”
Binks cackled. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’. An’ I ain’t afraid o’ you, neither. Everybody knows Secret Agent ‘X’ don’t kill!” He said it in a loud voice, and at the mention of the name the voices of the imprisoned men which had arisen in pleas to him to be released at once became hushed.
Grier exclaimed, “God! I could have sworn it was Hilary’s voice!”
Binks cried, “He ain’t Hilary. He’s took Hilary’s place. You look out fer him. He’s worse than the Skull!”
“X” took hold of the halfwit and shook him roughly, pushed him toward the end of the corridor. His plan was spoiled by Binks. There was no use releasing any of those men now; they would turn upon him, demand explanations of his impersonation of Hilary, impede his actions. He would have to risk leaving them there until he had finished with the Skull.
At the end of the corridor he pressed the lever in the wall, and pushed Binks through the sliding panel. He was worried about Dennett; he wondered if the Skull had done anything to the contractor. He remembered that the Skull had insisted on the pearls being taken from Dennett’s safe—an act which could have been expected to ruin him by preventing the loan. Did the Skull have a personal grudge against the contractor, and had he sacrificed him to that hate without waiting for ransom?
As they made their way down the second corridor, Binks unwillingly in the lead, the halfwit seemed to read his mind by some prescience of the mentally afflicted.
“I bet yo’re wonderin’ about Dennett, huh? Well, the boss gave him some o’ that special treatment. He didn’t like him nohow. Dennett’s gonna be picked up in the street tomorrow morning—just like Clegg was. Ha-ha! It’ll be funny. I didn’t like that guy neither!”
“X’s” eyes smoldered. Another strong man broken mentally and physically. The Skull, wrecker of men, must be destroyed. Anything was warranted now—even the thing that he proposed to do with Binks.
The Secret Agent had learned enough about the layout of the place by this time to be able to find his way to the “execution” room unaided. Binks did not appear to be in any special fear of him; either his mind failed to grasp the fact that he was in the hands of the Skull’s greatest enemy, or else he had sublime faith that the Skull would step in at any moment.
In fact, “X” also had the idea that the Skull would undoubtedly become impatient when Binks did not return at once, and be on his guard. He wanted to surprise the Skull in the execution room. No compunctions were going to stand in his way. He was going to kill that monster if necessary. He hoped, however, that he would not be forced to do so. He now had his gas gun, and that should be sufficient to overpower the Skull.
BINKS asked, “Where you takin’ me to, mister? You gonna see the Skull?” He turned toward “X” as he asked the question, stopping in his shuffling walk.
The Agent nodded. They were now in the corridor with the execution room. They stood before the heavy door, which had been left partly open by Binks when he went to get “X.” There was a dim light in the room, and the Agent could see that it was unoccupied. The wire mesh screen that ordinarily cut it in half was now raised.
“X” propelled Binks into the room. He steeled himself for what he was going to do. He hadn’t expected to find the Skull here, had been almost sure that he would have to exert pressure on Binks to make him talk.
He whirled the halfwit around, set him in the electric chair, clamped an electrode around his neck, and fastened it. Then he stooped and examined the cable. It had been repaired where he had cut it. The fatal chair was again in working order.
Binks suddenly whined, terror in his voice, “What you gonna do to me?”
“X” said sternly, “I am going to strap you in and give you a dose of the current that your master has been giving to his victims!”
Binks shouted wildly, “No, no! Don’t do that!”
“X’s” mouth was grim. “Your boss did this to Clegg and Dennett and Tyler, and God knows how many others, without even giving them a chance to get out of it. I’m going to give you a chance, at least, before turning on the current. I want to know where the Skull went from here. I know he was in this room a few minutes ago.”
Binks subsided in the chair. Cunning eyes peered out at the Agent from the horribly distorted face. Panic had given way to scheming. “You couldn’t never reach the Skull. He’ll get you before you even see him. He knows this place like a book, an’ you don’t.” As he talked he cast a side glance up at the niche as if he were expecting his master to appear at any moment to rescue him.
“X” said impatiently, “You have one more chance before I strap you in. Talk up.”
Binks said triumphantly, “You can’t turn on the current. The switch is up in the niche, an’ you can’t reach it from here. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’, mister!”
“X” bent and opened the handcuffs, then swiftly strapped his ankles and wrists. Binks was now helpless in the chair, as Betty Dale had been a few hours before. The Agent turned and made for the door. “You forget,” he threw over his shoulder, “that I’ve been around in this place. I know how to get up to that niche from the outside.” He had the door half-opened. “It’s too bad you won’t talk, Binks.” He hoped fervently that the halfwit would weaken.
He was sure that he could never throw that switch, never submit even the vilest creature living to the inhuman punishment of that chair. But it was imperative that he find the Skull, and quickly. Even now the master of the leering death’s-head might be approaching along one of the tortuous corridors, planning to take him by surprise. The Skull must certainly know by this time that he had escaped from the cell.
Binks’ hoarse, pleading voice stopped him. Binks did not know that he was as safe in that chair as out of it. In the vicious world he lived in it was difficult to understand that anyone would hesitate at inflicting cruel and painful torture upon an enemy. He fully believed that “X” was going to pull that switch.
“Wait, wait!” he begged. “Come back. I’ll do what you want.”
With a surge of relief, “X” came back into the room and approached the chair. He stood over the other and asked, “All right. Where is the Skull?”
Binks peered up at him, cunning once more now that the immediate danger was over. “The boss is gone to his private room where I was supposed to bring you. Only him an’ me knows about that room. If I take you there, an’ you put it over on him—” he reminded “X” now of a rat that was deserting a sinking ship “—will you let me go free?”
“X” hesitated only a moment. Binks was small fry compared to his boss. The destruction of the Skull was worth the freedom of a hundred Binkses. “I will,” he promised.
Binks seemed almost eager now, to betray his master—too eager, the Agent thought. “Unstrap me!” he pleaded. “I’ll take you there. An’ you let me go. Remember, you promised!”
“X” bent and opened the straps. Binks hoped to outwit him on the way—that was evident. He was playing both sides; if he didn�
��t succeed in outwitting the Agent, he had his promise to go free. If he did succeed by some ruse in outwitting him, the halfwit would earn the commendation of the Skull.
“X” helped him up, clamped the handcuffs once more on his wrists, behind his back. “Now,” he ordered, “get going. And if you try any tricks—” he produced his gas gun and flourished it under Binks’ nose “—I’ll give you a dose of this.”
BINKS’ eyes widened. “I won’t try no tricks, mister. To tell you the truth, I’ll be glad to get rid of the Skull. All the time I been with him, I never know when he’s goin’ to put me in that chair, like the others. He’d kill his own brother if he took the notion. It ain’t been no pleasure, I’m tellin’ you!”
“X” did not relax his vigilance as they went through a new set of passages that he had never seen before. They met no one; and “X” reflected that the Skull’s system of locking his men in when they were not working was boomeranging against the boss now, for they proceeded unmolested. He wondered that the Skull had permitted Binks to come alone to get him, without assistance.
This might be explained by the fact that the Skull did not want any of the other men to learn of this section of his headquarters; and he might also have felt that “X,” handcuffed helplessly, would not be too much for Binks to handle.
The halfwit was strangely silent now, as he preceded the Agent. They passed from one dimly lit corridor to another, “X” keeping his gas gun in evidence. Binks was unaware that the gun was not a lethal instrument, and probably was in dread of doing anything that might cause his captor to use it on him.
At the end of one corridor, Binks used his key and they stepped into a narrow elevator, descended for what might have been two stories. “X” was keenly observing everything. He was curious as to the location of this headquarters. It was a tribute to the Skull’s ingenuity that the Agent had not yet been able to guess just where he had been able to build so complicated a series of passages and rooms in the heart of the city.