Secret Agent X : The Complete Series Volume 3 Read online

  “There was nothing I could do, so I went to the closet in the bedroom, followed your instructions, and got the bag from its hiding place. I am sad, O Brother, because I must bring this sad news about one who I can see is dear to you.”

  Mechanically, “X” nodded his thanks, picked up the black bag.

  Gilly said to him, “Do we go now, Fannon?”

  But he scarcely heard him. His mind was occupied with the news. Betty Dale had been taken away from her apartment by force. He cast around for possible motives, for a mental clue as to who might be behind it. That it was connected in some way with himself, he was sure. He had many enemies. Some, or one of them, could have learned of her association with him. They would consider it an excellent means of striking at the Secret Agent through her.

  There was only one thing to do—get done with the present job as quickly as possible, go to Betty’s apartment and see what clues he could pick up there. He started toward the door, followed by Gilly.

  Lo Mong Yung called after him, “My son, I see that you walk in sorrow. Remember that the men of the Ming Tong ever stand ready to aid you.”

  “I will remember, Father of the Ming Men,” said Secret Agent “X.” “I thank you. But this is a matter that only I can attend to, I am a man who has always thought himself to be sufficient unto himself; but now I learn that no one of us—not even myself, who have trained my body and mind for many years—is above the human instincts that have been planted in our race.”

  Chapter VIII

  MATCHED JEWELS

  AS they sped uptown in a cab, Secret Agent “X” paid little attention to Gilly. His mind was not on the immediate mission he and Gilly had to accomplish.

  He was sorely tempted to stop off at Betty Dale’s empty apartment and look the place over. But that would have interfered with, possibly have wrecked, all the elaborate steps he had taken to worm his way into the Skull’s organization.

  The mind of Secret Agent “X” always worked along clear, logical lines. He refused to jump to conclusions, to indulge in guess work as to who had taken Betty away, unless he had something definite to go on. To speculate at random would only lead to the wrong conclusion, would be a waste of time.

  Recently he had engaged in a struggle with an organization known as the DOACs. Some of these DOACs still were at large, and they knew of his connection with Betty. This might be a manifestation of their desire for revenge. There were many others in the past who had reason to remember the Agent with bitterness, and it was futile to try to guess haphazard at the identity of her abductor.

  By a deliberate mental effort he turned his thoughts to other things for the time being. And hardly soon enough. For Gilly had been watching him in a peculiar way. Now he said suddenly, “What the hell’s eatin’ you, Fannon? You ain’t said a word since we left the Chink’s house!”

  “X” was startled. He had not thought that he appeared so preoccupied that Gilly would notice it. Above all he must not arouse the suspicions of Gilly or the Skull. If he did, he might as well drop this business now and go after Betty Dale.

  He forced a smite. “Nothing is eating me, Gilly. I always like to figure out a job ahead of time. It’s easier to do your thinking before than after.”

  Gilly looked at him queerly, his hand in the pocket where the automatic rested. “Some guys lose their nerve after bein’ in stir, Fannon. I hope you ain’t lost yours. Because if you have, you ain’t no good to the Skull, an’ the best thing would be a slug behind the ear for you.”

  The eyes of Secret Agent “X” bored into the little gunman’s. “Don’t worry about me, Gilly,” he said softly. “I’m going to pull this job at Dennett’s, and pull it right. You take care of your end, and I’ll take care of mine.” His face came closer to the other’s, eyes still fixed on him. “And something else, Gilly, watch your tongue. I’m not used to taking guff from your kind. Do you understand?”

  Gilly’s eyes were the first to drop from that clash of glances. Sullenly he said, “Oh, all right, Fannon. I didn’t mean nothing.”

  Somehow, Gilly knew that this man who sat beside him was in no fear of the automatic in his pocket. Somehow, he knew that that man would complete successfully anything that he undertook. He had felt the force of intelligence and power behind those eyes that had fascinated him for a moment.

  The cab slowed up, pulled in at the curb. The driver called to them, “This is the corner of Willow and Briggs where you told me to stop. Okay?”

  They got out and dismissed the cab, “X” carrying his bag. Willow Street was a short street no more than a hundred feet long, off one of the main thoroughfares. It boasted a row of old, rich looking private homes that had survived the feverish days of demolition and construction which had swept the city during the boom days of 1929. The numbers began at 350, and 363, Harrison Dennett’s house, was only a few doors from the corner. “X” knew its layout, for he had visited it a number of times as Elisha Pond.

  Now, he and Gilly made their way to the street behind Willow with the intention of cutting through the rear. The street behind it, they were surprised to find, was Slocum Street, where they were to meet Binks. In sharp contrast to Willow, it consisted of a row of towering apartment houses, of which number eighteen was the smallest and oldest. The subway spur which Dennett was building started at Briggs Avenue here, and both Briggs and Slocum were all cut up. Men were working, and there was the sound of a steam shovel from one of the excavations.

  “Hell!” Gilly exclaimed. “We can’t make it on this side. There’s too many people around. How come the Skull told us to go in the back way? He musta known there’d be men workin’ here.”

  “It’s all right,” the Secret Agent told him. “In my business we have ways of getting around that.” He opened his bag, took out a gold-plated badge which he pinned inside the lapel of his coat. Gilly grinned in appreciation as he read the inscription on the badge. It said: “Inspector, Department of Water Supply, Gas and Electricity, City of New York.”

  “These things come in handy in this game,” the Agent explained, as he led the way through an alley between two apartment houses, which led into the rear of 363 Willow. “If any one should stop us here, we’re inspectors checking up on gas mains and water connections on account of the subway construction. That’s the way we turn what seems to be an obstacle into an advantage.”

  “Jeez!” Gilly exclaimed. “I guess you got the goods, all right, Fannon. The Skull knew what he was doin’ when he picked you.”

  THE back door of Dennett’s house was unlocked, as the Skull had promised. Gilly said, “Okay, Fannon, go on in an’ do your stuff. I’ll cover the outside, an’ I’ll give you the office if anybody comes, by comin’ up an’ ringin’ the back doorbell three times quick. If you hear that, you know you gotta scram quick. I’ll cover you.”

  He took from his pocket a card which he handed to “X.” It bore on its face the facsimile of a hideous looking skull—the trademark of their master.

  “Leave that when you finish the job,” Gilly grinned. “We always leave ’em our compliments.”

  “Okay,” the Secret Agent said. “See you soon.”

  He went up the three steps of the back stoop, went in through the unlocked door. He was now unlawfully entering a man’s home with the intention of committing robbery.

  There was a pantry just inside the door, and “X” went through this into the kitchen. The kitchen was unoccupied, as was the broad, carpeted hallway beyond. The Skull had planned well. The servants were out.

  As “X” made his way to the library, he felt that for the first time in his life he was working under a great nervous strain. He could not erase from his mind the thought of Betty Dale in trouble.

  At the end of the hall was the library. He knew its location, had often drunk a whiskey-and-soda there with Dennett. Once in the library, he was no longer a prey to worry. He pushed every thought from his mind but the business in hand. He became once more that marvel of selfless efficiency—Secret
Agent “X.” He had a given task to accomplish.

  He knelt before the safe which was in the far wall of the room, between two windows, and opened his black bag. He nodded in satisfaction as he saw that it contained all the instruments that he would need in the next twenty-four hours—not only for this job, but also for his subsequent trip to the Skull’s headquarters. There were no weapons in the bag, however. His gas gun, dart equipment and hypo he generally carried about his person, and not in the bag. These he had left, and very wisely, when he went to the Skull’s lair in the guise of Fannon.

  First he took from the bag a queer framework contraption which fitted under the sole of his shoe. It had clamps around the edges, which held it firmly in place, and when he stood up it was impossible to notice that there was anything attached to the under part of his shoe.

  After that he proceeded to stow several items from the bag about his person. That done, he knelt once more before the safe, and delved into the bag.

  He did not see the figure of Harrison Dennett which appeared in the open doorway connecting with the inner room; did not see Dennett stop short upon seeing him, glide back into the other room, and reappear with a heavy automatic which he directed at the intruder’s back.

  “X” worked swiftly.

  HE took from the bag a small box with earphone attachment. This was a listening device perfected by himself, which magnified sound. He placed the diaphragm of this box close to the door of the safe, alongside the dial. With the long, sensitive fingers of his right hand, he twirled the dial slowly, listening for the drop of the tumblers which would be magnified so that he could hear it through his ear phones.

  This was one of the most delicate tasks in the world; a task which the real Frank Fannon could probably perform without the aid of an amplifying instrument. It had been this instrument that “X” had wanted in particular, for without it he would never have been able to tackle the job.

  Dennett, holding the gun tight, bent forward interestedly as he saw the use to which that amplifier was being put. He watched tensely, his face in the shadow, as the Secret Agent twirled the dial back and forth; took an involuntary step forward, then checked himself, as “X” gave the dial a final twirl and swung open the door.

  Inside was a second door; with a keyhole. “X” put the amplifier down, and picked out of the bag a flat, silk-covered instrument case. He examined the keyhole for a second, then, out of the instrument case which he unfolded, he picked unerringly, a single key, from a collection of perhaps two dozen. A turn of the key, and the inner door was open.

  There were stacks of papers in the inner compartment, and in the corner lay a chamois bag. “X” took the bag, opened it, and poured into the palm of his hand two pearls so beautiful that they seemed to live in his hand. They were a perfect pair, and from them emanated rays of a dozen brilliant hues. Truly, they were worth every dollar of the Skull’s estimate. Matched pearls—the most priceless jewels in the world.

  And then Dennett stepped forward, raising the gun, and said, “Don’t move!” as “X” started, began to turn. “I’ve got you covered, and I’ll shoot to kill!”

  “X” remained frozen on the floor, the pearls in his hand. He had recognized the voice of Harrison Dennett; he was trapped as a common housebreaker.

  Chapter IX

  LOOT FOR THE SKULL

  HARRISON DENNETT stayed in the doorway, keeping a safe distance between himself and the intruder. “Now,” he said, “get up slowly, keep your hands in front of you, and turn around. I want to see your face.”

  “X” obeyed, faced the contractor.

  Dennett’s gun was steady, centered on “X’s” heart. His eyes were hard.

  This was the end; “X” was posing here in the guise of Frank Fannon, a hardened ex-convict, caught in the commission of a felony. Prison. If he tried to escape, Dennett would be justified in shooting him without compunction; and he could not, and would not, injure Dennett. It was against his policy to kill even dangerous criminals.

  It would not be any better—perhaps be even worse—if he disclosed his identity as Secret Agent “X.” Commissioner Foster and Inspector Burks would each give much to arrest Secret Agent “X”—would free ten Fannons to do it.

  Dennett’s mouth was grim. He said, “You were after those pearls, and nothing else. And you’re an expert, I can see that by the instrument you were using to listen for the tumblers. No expert would go after those pearls for their own value. You could never sell them. What did you want them for?”

  “X” assumed a sulky appearance. “What difference does it make? You got me cold. What’re you going to do?”

  There flashed through his mind the disturbing realization that Gilly had not warned him of Dennett’s approach. Gilly wasn’t yellow—he would have made sure to sound a warning. Which meant that Dennett must have been in the house all the time; the Skull had been wrong. Or—had the Skull intended to be wrong? Had he deliberately sent him out to be caught here in Dennett’s house? If he had, then he knew that Fannon was not Fannon. It would be death to go back, even if he did succeed in escaping from the menace of Dennett’s gun.

  He glanced up as he heard the contractor say, “Who sent you here?”

  “X” veiled his eyes. “I came on my own.”

  “That’s funny. All my servants happen to be away. Isn’t it a coincidence that you should pick this time to break in here?”

  “Suppose it is?”

  Dennett’s cold eyes were on the two pearls which “X” held in his hand. He said coldly, “Some one sent you here to get those pearls. No ordinary thief would go after them. Who sent you? Tell me that and maybe I’ll be inclined to go easy on you.”

  “X” maintained silence, merely shook his head.

  “I think,” Dennett said, his eyes narrowing, “that I know the answer to that question. You are one of the Servants of the Skull! Speak up, quick! Are you?”

  “X” shrugged. “I’m not saying a thing.”

  “All right,” Dennett exclaimed, his jaws snapping shut with an ominous grimness. It’s your funeral.” He waved the gun. “Put those pearls back in the safe. Put them back!” as “X” hesitated.

  THE agent’s body was taut, his fingers tense. He knelt before the safe, opened the chamois bag, started to pour the two pearls back. The first one slipped to the floor as if he were awkward with his hands. He picked it up. And now, instead of being awkward, his hands moved with lightning speed. It was a little trick of prestidigitation which had deceived shrewder men than Dennett. The pearls seemed to be going into the bag. In reality, what went into it were a couple of keys from the open, silk-covered case on the floor.

  “X” palmed the pearls, and slipped the chamois bag into the safe under Dennett’s eyes. The safe door clanged shut. Dennett relaxed a bit. He was sure—would have sworn—that those pearls were in the safe. It was as quick a sleight-of-hand trick as had ever been executed on the stage.

  Dennett said, “Now hand me that instrument you were listening to the tumblers with. I am interested in it.”

  “X’s” hand felt on the floor, while his eyes locked with the contractor’s. He gripped the amplifier, raised it, and hurled it straight at Dennett.

  Dennett saw the swift motion of “X’s” arm, started back involuntarily, and his finger tightened on the trigger. But his aim had been spoiled. He fired just as the amplifier box struck his shoulder, fell to the floor and was shattered. The shot went wild.

  “X” scooped up his bag, leaped from his kneeling position half-way across the room, and was out through the hall door before Dennett had recovered his senses enough to fire another shot.

  He sped toward the rear of the hall. As he swung into the kitchen, another shot from the contractor’s gun barked through the house, crashed into a shelf of chinaware, smashing several dishes.

  But “X” was already out through the back door, dashing across the small strip of yard of the rear. Gilly was running too, just ahead of him, looking back. Gilly stopped,
waited for him. “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

  “X” kept on running beside the gunman. “Dennett jumped me with a gun,” he explained. “I had to take a chance on a fast one to break away from him. And he almost got me at that!”

  They were through the alley between the houses now, out on Slocum. Workmen looked up from their work in the subway cut, but none made a motion to interfere with them. Gilly was waving his gun. He shouted to “X,” “There’s number 18, across the street. Let’s get over there!”

  They dodged across the crosswalk over the excavation. From behind them came a wild shout.

  A policeman down the street saw them and came running, tugging for his gun. Gilly threw a shot in his direction, and just then, as if by pre-arrangement, one of the workmen, down in the excavation started a riveting machine going. The staccato carvings of the riveting machine drowned the sounds of Gilly’s shot, and of the policeman’s answering blast.

  “X” and Gilly dashed into the entrance of number 18, ran through the empty foyer, and out through the rear. They found the door in the back fence, slid through it; but there was no Binks. Gilly consulted his wrist watch, and cursed.

  “Hell! It’s only half past two. He wasn’t supposed to meet us till three. This is a hell of a mess!”

  On the other side of the fence they could hear the policeman shouting, could hear many people talking. “X” had noticed a bar in the door through the fence, and he slid this home. “It’ll give us another minute,” he remarked. “Now we better get out of here.”

  He looked around, and whistled. They were in an empty lot facing the river. Along the curb stood a black sedan, a driver at the wheel, looking over toward them. When he caught “X’s” eye, he motioned toward them. “X” nudged Gilly, who looked in that direction, snarled, and brought his gun around. “X” knocked it up, exclaiming, “You damn fool! Don’t you see the ‘S’ on the door? That’s the Skull’s car! Let’s go.”

  Gilly shouted, “Jeez, Fannon, you’re right!”