Secret Agent X : The Complete Series Volume 3

by Emile C. Tepperman

  He was soon to see. The place had been in darkness when they entered, for Frisch had snapped off his headlamps early in the chase. Now a light sprang up toward the rear, showing the interior of the place, stacked with bales of goods, unlabeled, along the walls. The middle of the floor, where the car stood, was entirely clear. The reason for this became obvious in a moment, when a narrow strip of the floor, upon which the car stood, began to tilt downwards, forming a sort of runway down which Frisch drove the car. He stopped on a sort of platform below the floor level, and the strip of floor rose above them. The garage above was now empty of cars in case it should be searched.

  There was a dim bulb down here, similar to the ones used in the corridors of the Skull’s headquarters. Slowly the car began to turn. “X” realized that they were on a turntable. The car stopped turning and “X” looked ahead to see that they were facing a long, dark tunnel. Out of this tunnel came the slouching figure of Binks; Binks, the halfwit, with his hideously scarred and mutilated face.

  “X” stirred in his seat, and Gilly, beside him, poked him savagely with the gun. “Hold still, you!” he snarled, “if you know what’s good for you!”

  “X” said nothing, but subsided, watching keenly. Binks came up to the car, peered in, and cackled. “I see you got’m, fellers. That makes number ten. The Skull will be tickled. Everything goin’ off like clockwork.”

  Frisch said, “We had a tough time. Had to slug a dick an’ kill a cop.”

  “Tell that to the Skull,” Binks cackled. “Hurry up, now. The boss is waitin’. He wants to see this guy that you got here! Put a blindfold on ’im and let’s go!”

  Gilly produced a hood from next to him on the seat, and placed it over “X’s” head. The Secret Agent offered no resistance. With the hood on his head, he could see nothing, of course, but he felt the car proceeding slowly ahead. After a short while Frisch turned the car, backed it up, then drove ahead some ten feet, and stopped. “X” heard the click of the ignition being turned off, heard the motor die. He waited silently, expecting to be taken from the car. Instead he heard Binks’ voice.

  “All right, boys, you can all put the hoods on now. From now on you got to follow me blind. You got to trust Binksy!”

  “X” heard the men donning their hoods, grumbling as they did so. Frisch said, “It’s a wonder the Skull picks a nitwit like you to take us through them passages. Suppose you forgot the way?”

  Binks’ shrill laughter answered him. “That’d be too damn bad fer you boys. You’d starve to death in them passages, ’cause you’d never get out!”

  “I know a guy that got out,” Frisch taunted. “This place ain’t fool-proof.”

  THERE was silence for a moment, then Binks said, “I’ll tell the Skull what you think about the place, Nate. I bet the Skull’ll like to hear that.”

  “Nix, nix!” Nate pleaded. “I didn’t mean nothin’, Binks. You wouldn’t squeal on a guy, would you?”

  “Not if he had a coin to toss in the air that I could catch. I like coins. I save ’em.”

  “Sure,” Frisch cried eagerly. “Here you are. It’s a half a buck.”

  Binks laughed gleefully. “See how I caught it? That’s great, Nate. You’re a nice feller. If the Skull ever gets tired of you, or mad at you, and puts you in the electric chair, I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you—I’ll put you out of your misery quick, with a knife, afterwards. It’ll save you a lot of pain. Would you like me to do that for you?”

  “Aw, shut up!” Frisch growled.

  Binks laughed shrilly. “X” noted that they were moving again, but the motor was not running! They were on some sort of moving platform. There was a continuous sound of clanking from just behind them; otherwise there was silence. None of the men in the car spoke.

  After about fifteen minutes they came to rest slowly. “X” heard Binks open the door of the car and say, “All right, boys, come on out one at a time, and hold hands. Use the cuffs on Hilary.”

  Gilly snapped a pair of cuffs on “X’s” hand, then snapped the other on his own. Frisch did the same with “X’s” other hand. The Agent was now in the middle of the living link that was moving toward the lair of the Skull. Binks went first, holding Frisch’s hand, and the other two men followed after Gilly.

  After negotiating a dozen winding passages, they finally came to a halt. Binks said, “You can take them hoods off, boys, but leave Hilary’s on. Cuff his hands behind him.”

  Gilly and Frisch, after removing their hoods, snapped the handcuffs off their own wrists, and joined the two empty circlets of steel behind “X’s” back. He was now handcuffed with two pair of cuffs, with his hands behind him.

  He heard a door open in front of him, and was led through it, with Gilly and Frisch still on either side of him.

  Binks said, “I’ll take the other two boys back to the main room. Gilly and Frisch, you stay here with him till the boss comes.”

  Frisch growled a sullen “Okay.” When the door closed behind Binks, he grumbled to Gilly, “One o’ these days I’ll take that damn half wit an’ break his neck for him—Skull or no Skull.”

  Gilly snickered. “You’re just talkin’ big, Nate. You know you’re dead afraid of the Skull.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?” Frisch demanded. “But Binks, he’s different. We could do without him fine.”

  Suddenly “X” felt Frisch stiffen beside him. Gilly stirred uneasily. A mocking voice spoke from above them. “Well, well. So we are honored by the company of Mr.—ah—Hilary! Take off the hood, Nate. Let me see his face!”

  “X” recognized those hateful tones. The Skull was in the room.

  Chapter XVII

  THE JAWS CLAMP

  NATE FRISCH’S fingers fumbled with the knot, and in a moment he removed the hood.

  Once more Secret Agent “X” faced the Skull across the desk in that room with the four-foot strip of charged flooring. To him it felt as if he had hardly been out of the room; the same leering, fleshless death’s-head sat behind the desk. The weak illumination cast a weird shadow upon the vermilion-hooded face of the Skull. Only the dead rat was missing; it had been removed.

  Under the influence of the familiar surroundings, he almost reverted, unconsciously, to the role of Fannon, whom he had impersonated here that morning. Almost, he felt as if Betty Dale were still a prisoner, under threat of a hideous fate, and that he must still exert himself to the utmost to snatch her out of the clutches of this master of deviltry.

  But the Skull spoke once more, and the words snapped him out of it. “Mr. Hilary, you have been highly honored; you have been chosen by me as one of the first ten men to be kidnaped under my new plan of operations. I am now going to ask you some questions, the answers to which I need; and I counsel you to reply quickly and accurately. You have seen the things that happen to those who arouse my anger. You were acquainted with Ainsworth Clegg, were you not?”

  “X” felt the deep, heavy breathing of Frisch, the wheezy breath of Gilly, one on either side of him. He took a step forward, felt his arms seized on either side by Gilly and Frisch. He said, imitating Hilary’s voice, “You must be crazy, whoever you are. You gained nothing by what you did to Clegg. Now, you kidnap me and the others, and expect to get millions in ransom. I can tell you now that you won’t get it. None of us can raise that much cash. It’s impossible!” He wanted to draw out the Skull, to make him talk. He had observed previously that this master of devilish plans had a slight trace of vanity, and he was now playing on it.

  The Skull said, “Frisch! Gilly! Let him go. In this room I do not need your protection.” He waited a moment until they dropped their grips on “X’s” arms, then he said to “X,” “My actions, Mr. Hilary, may seem insane to you, but believe me they are not As the old saying goes, ‘There is method in my madness.’ You think I gained nothing by breaking Ainsworth Clegg, destroying his mind and his body. You are wrong.”

  The Skull stopped, raised his hand and pointed at “X” to emphasize his words. “Clegg
was an investment in horror; an object lesson in advance—a sort of sales talk to stimulate the eagerness of the public to raise large sums to ransom those whom I may kidnap in the future. And it is immaterial to me whether I get ransom for you and those others in the cells, or not; for if I send the ten of you out into the streets, broken hulks of men, I will be able to collect twice as much on the next batch.”

  The Secret Agent found it difficult to repress a gesture of loathing for the cold-blooded callousness displayed by the Skull. Instead, he allowed his eyes to grow wide in simulated admiration. “A man like you could conquer the world. You have no conscience—no compunctions about anything; there is nothing to stop you!” He could see the skeleton head nodding as if its owner were pleased. “X” had gauged correctly the extent and the nature of the man’s vanity. But that was only the first step. His work was still to do. He wanted very much to discover how the Skull proposed to get ten million dollars out of his captives.

  The Skull said, “As you say, there will be nothing to stop me from conquering the world. Money, today, is, more powerful than weapons. And I shall have ten million dollars to start with!”

  “X” felt Gilly and Frisch stirring restlessly beside him. This sort of talk was beyond their comprehension. He took advantage of the Skull’s momentary relaxation of mood to broach the subject uppermost in his mind. “I can’t imagine a man like you making a mistake,” he began. “But I don’t understand how you expect me and the others to raise a million dollars apiece. Frankly, I couldn’t raise a hundred thousand in cash; and I know that Grier and Laurens couldn’t, either.”

  The Skull laughed in a pleased manner. “I am making no mistake, Hilary. I realize that you and your friends aren’t able to produce any sizable amounts in cash; but I know where the cash can be forthcoming. And it will be, never fear!”

  THE Agent waited, hoping that the Skull would elaborate. And he did.

  “I might as well tell you now, for it will be public property in a few hours when I release my notice to the newspapers. You see,” he leaned forward over the desk as he spoke, eyes gleaming in the half light, under the flap of the vermilion hood, “you see, each of you is insured to the hilt. That means that each of you carries approximately six million dollars of life insurance.”

  The Secret Agent tensed. He had suspected something like this. Now his suspicions were crystallized into certainty. The plan was devilishly ingenious.

  The Skull went on. “Do you understand now where the money will be coming from? I am asking the insurance companies to chip in one million dollars for each of you—a total of ten million dollars, which is less than the sixty million they would have to pay if you all died. The companies will be eager to do it, for they know I mean business. They will have to pay out about five or six million on Clegg when he dies, as he surely will within a day or so. No man can live long after the treatment I give him!”

  “X” nodded. He was compelled to admit that the plan was a sound one. The companies would pay. Men like Jonathan Jewett were shrewd, hardheaded business men, but they knew when they were licked. They would pay the ten million to save sixty million, and they would reduce the policies by the amount they paid out, so that in the end they would not be the losers at all.

  The Skull was almost sure to get his ransom. And then—what couldn’t a super-criminal like him do once he had the resources which ten million dollars could procure for him. There would be no stopping him. Atrocities would pile up with breath-taking rapidity. The city, the nation—the world, possibly—would offer an open field for his vicious depredations.

  Only he, a lone man, with his hands manacled behind his back, might, by some lucky break, be able to stem the mushroom growth of this vilest criminal since the Borgias.

  The Skull continued arrogantly, “I have already notified the insurance companies of my terms. They must pay me one million dollars a week for ten weeks; and each week, upon payment of the installment, one of you will be released. If the money is not forthcoming one of you will be released anyway—but not until I have played with him awhile. I am sure, my friend, that neither you nor your friends in the cells here wish to be found in the street some gray morning, in the same state that Ainsworth Clegg was found. So you’d better pray that your insurance companies be prompt!”

  “X” wondered if the Skull was wholly sane. He asked, “How in the world do you expect to get away with such a sum of money? Don’t you know that the numbers of the bills will be recorded? You could never use that money.”

  The man in vermilion laughed. “I have taken care of that, too, my friend. The money is to be in one-thousand-dollar bills. It is now ten P.M., and I have specified in my ultimatum to the companies that the first million dollars is to be delivered at midnight. Tomorrow morning I shall send out all of my men to change the bills at various banks. They will go in boldly and change them for small bills. They will not be molested, for,” he wagged a finger at “X,” “I still hold you.

  “Every day for a week they will continue to change them. No doubt they will be followed, attempts will be made to locate this place. These attempts will fail, for as you saw, my men are able to disappear at will by entering this place through any one of fifteen entrances—the one you came through is an example.” He paused, then snapped, “All right, Hilary! We have had enough of this! Take that pad and pencil, and write the names of all the companies you are insured with, and the amounts.”

  At the same time he pressed a button, and the bamboo pole slid out from the side of the desk. The basket hooked on its end stopped within a foot of him. In the basket was a small pad of paper, and a pencil.

  The Skull ordered, “Frisch! Open his handcuffs the same as you did with the other prisoners. But keep each of his wrists cuffed to your own while he writes.”

  FRISCH extracted a key from his pocket, opened one set of handcuffs, and snapped the empty bracelet on Gilly’s wrist. Then he did the same with the other handcuff, attaching it to his own. Then he swung his hand around, bringing “X’s” right hand in front of him. “X” could now move both hands, but only with the wrist of one or the other of the gunman accompanying it. It was awkward, but permitted him to reach the basket and to write. If he tried to escape he would have to carry both gunmen with him.

  He reached into the basket and picked out the pad and pencil, appearing to do so reluctantly.

  The Skull said, “Do not hesitate, my friend. You seem to be an intelligent man. You can comprehend how terrible it would be for you to have that intelligence—destroyed—like Clegg!”

  “X” was in a quandary. He did not know the particulars of Hilary’s insurance policies; he knew that the publisher carried a large amount with Jewett’s company, and he also knew, by chance, of one other company that covered him for a large sum.

  It was possible that the Skull already had some of the information, and would discover at once that he was bluffing. He started to write, saying, “I really don’t recall the exact amounts. I leave most of that to my agent. But I’ll put it down to the best of my recollection.”

  He wrote the names of some of the larger companies, setting fictitious sums next to each. He could not be far wrong, for a man like Hilary would have his insurance spread over as many companies as possible.

  When he finished, he replaced the pad and pencil in the basket. The Skull pressed another button, and the bamboo pole slid back. Gilly and Frisch swung his hands in behind his back again, but this time they did not leave the two handcuffs. They removed one, and cuffed his hands with the one set, thus leaving the Agent even less play for his hands than he had had before. He offered no resistance.

  “X” watched the Skull pick the pad out of the basket. But the Skull did not bother to read what he had written; instead he tore the cardboard back off, holding it carefully by the edges. “Most of the information that you have written here, Mr. Hilary, I already have. What I really wanted was the cardboard back which has been specially treated to take the impressions of your fingerpri
nts. You see, though I do not suspect you of being anybody but yourself, I am very thoroughgoing; it is possible that a certain man may try to work his way in here under a disguise, and I am therefore taking the prints of everyone who enters here.”

  “X’s” eyes narrowed to slits. He had not looked forward to this. He had anticipated, of course, that any new recruit would be fingerprinted, and he had deliberately conceived the idea of entering the stronghold of the Skull as a captive, thus turning suspicion away from himself. But he had not anticipated that the Skull would be so careful as to check on the very men he kidnaped.

  He hid his uneasiness with an artful bit of acting. “I must hand it to you, Mr. Skull. You don’t leave any loopholes, do you?”

  “In this business,” the Skull replied didactically, “there must be no loopholes. I am at war with society, and in war a careful general never leaves himself unguarded.” The Skull arose. “All right,” he snapped at Gilly and Frisch. “Take him away. Put him in cell number ten. And send Griscoll in to check these prints for me.”

  Chapter XVIII

  PRISONERS OF SATAN

  THE cell where Frisch and Gilly conducted the Secret Agent was one of the rooms in the corridor where he had first seen Tyler tied to the wall. The doors now all had numbered cards tacked on them. Number ten was the first room on the left as they entered the passage. It was next to Tyler’s room, which was nine.

  They left the handcuffs on him, and in addition they picked up the end of a chain set in the wall, snapped the padlock at its end onto the links of the cuffs. The chain was less than four feet long, and was attached to a ring in the wall close to the floor. They went out, and Gilly peered back from the corridor to throw him a last taunt before he slammed the heavy door.