Running, the officer led the way down through the ship to King’s stateroom. Detectives stood inside in a huddled, helpless group, staring at the grotesque thing on the floor. The man whom “X” had punched as Clifford Brown was there, a bruise still visible on his chin. He turned to the Agent hoarsely.
“I knocked, and there wasn’t any answer. We couldn’t locate King, so I got the steward to open the door. Then—we found him.” The detective continued, pointing to the dummylike figure on the floor and shuddering. “Where’s this going to stop? We’re dealing with a criminal too big for us to handle, captain. It’s that stowaway!”
“X” drew the man aside. “You mean Doctor Marko?”
“It’s the same man! That stowaway is him. I’m sure of it now. We’ve searched the whole ship, and can’t find him!”
“Don’t let the passengers know about this,” said the Agent. “We’ll be in port soon. The police on shore have been notified. There’ll be a flock of them waiting. If Marko’s still on board, they’ll find him.”
He spoke with a note of confidence he didn’t feel. Marko was more cunning than these men suspected, so cunning that even Agent “X” was baffled. And the sinister doctor seemed to be working alone. He hadn’t made himself known even to Blackie de Coba and Arnold Relli. His powers were so great that he trusted solely to himself.
The Agent’s eyes were bleak. “Lock this stateroom,” he said. “Leave everything as you found it. There’ll be government men coming aboard at quarantine. Let’s see what they can do.”
In the half hour before the Baronia dropped anchor, “X” mingled with the passengers. The ship’s officers on the bridge could take care of the routine details of navigation, though “X” in any emergency could have helped them out.
He studied the faces of those about him, and saw only nervous apprehension. The pall of fear hung heavy over the ship. The Agent’s warning to the detective had come too late. The steward who’d opened King’s stateroom had blabbed. Rumors were running rampant that another murder victim had been found.
Frightened men and women came to him with frantic questions. He soothed them as best he could, covertly watching to see if their hysteria was real or feigned. He passed Count Cariati and caught a lingering sneer on his handsome lips.
“You don’t seem to be making much headway, captain. Another man dead, I hear. And the criminal still loose!”
“X” remained silent, moved on. The chief steward edged up to him in nervous haste. The man’s bald, shiny head was perspiring. He drew a trembling hand across it, said:
“Don’t want to alarm you, captain, but there’s something you ought to know. Miss Rand asked one of my men to see to her luggage when we got near shore. She and Colonel Borden seem to have disappeared. They’re not around, and they won’t answer to any knock. You don’t suppose—”
The grayness of terror spread over the steward’s face. The Agent seized his arm.
“Go in and see! Unlock their room. Here—I’ll come with you.”
The steward’s hand was shaking so he could hardly insert the key when they reached Borden’s cabin. He got the door open at last, said:
“You go in first, captain. I—can’t—”
“X” stepped across the threshold, switched on the lights and gasped realistically. The steward stared, rolled his eyes, and gave a terrified shriek.
“X” strode to the couch where Carlotta Rand still lay, and stooped over her. The steward had covered his eyes, and was backing from the room, moaning. The Agent whirled upon him.
“Quiet, man! She’s not dead. She’s only drugged. Here—call the doctor!”
“But the colonel—this is his room. Where is he!”
“Look for him!” bellowed the Agent. “Don’t stand there like a fool!”
He grabbed the stateroom phone, called the switchboard, and asked for the ship’s doctor.
“Send him to Colonel Borden’s cabin at once. There’s been an accident.”
The steward was still paralyzed, and “X” pretended to make a hurried search. He looked in the closet, opened the door to the next cabin, hunted there, and finally got down on hands and knees and peered under the bed.
“Here—help me pull him out!”
Sweat dripped from the steward’s face as he helped with palsied hands to lift Colonel Borden out.
“I was afraid!” he babbled. “Afraid they’d be like King!”
The doctor came, and “X” barked quick instructions. “Stay with these people till we get to port. Try to bring them to. The police will want to hear what they have to say.”
The Agent left, knowing the doctor would have an easy task. The effects of the gas must soon be wearing off. He had noticed that Carlotta Rand’s long-fringed eyelids were fluttering.
There was a jangle of bells outside, a throbbing tumult down in the ship’s vast hold. The Baronia was backing water, getting ready to drop anchor. The time for quarantine inspection had arrived.
“X” went to the deck and saw lights bobbing all around. The outside companion ladder had been lowered, and men were swarming up.
FIRST the quarantine officials, then a group of grim-faced police. Two of the foremost were familiar to Agent “X.” Commissioner Foster, head of the city force; and Burks, his homicide inspector. There were federal men and other inspectors behind them, but the Agent’s eyes centered on these two. They were both rabid enemies of his, pledged to get one whom they believed a dangerous menace to society.
Now they had come to battle another menace—Doctor Marko. The crimes on the Baronia had occurred outside their jurisdiction. But they had a right to be here to see that he didn’t land, except as a prisoner.
They crowded up to the man they supposed was the vessel’s captain. “X” had a quizzical, fighting gleam in the depths of his eyes. Guns would appear in their hands, they would shoot him in cold blood, if they guessed for an instant that he was an imposter. Commissioner Foster spoke raspingly.
“A fine mess, captain! We got your radio. No one’s going to land till this murderer, and the stuff he grabbed has been found. You’ve made that clear to all your passengers?”
“X” hadn’t sent the radiogram that told of crime on board. The real captain had done that. He spoke grimly now.
“Search all you want! We’ve been doing it for the last hour. But it’s my opinion that the loot’s disappeared.”
“What’s that?”
“No crook would be fool enough to keep it on board,” said “X,” giving voice to a theory he believed himself. “The vault wasn’t opened till we were close to shore. Why? I’ll tell you! It was chucked overboard at once. There was a boat of some kind waiting to pick it up.”
Foster nodded, swore, and eyed “X” sharply. “Do you figure that Marko went overboard, too?”
The Agent slowly shook his head. “Every member of the crew’s accounted for. Every passenger on the list’s still with us. We’ve got the same number we sailed with, including those two who have been murdered.”
“Two!”
“Yes, gentlemen, we found another a few minutes ago. A lawyer by the name of Robert King.”
Consternation spread among the detectives at this. They, too, had hoped to gain information from King. The Agent swivelled his eyes over the railing suddenly.
The siren of a fast boat blared across the water. It swept up to the ship’s side. There was argument as blue-coated police barred the way. Newspaper reporters had arrived. Commissioner Foster leaped to the head of the flimsy stairway angrily.
“Don’t let anyone up, lieutenant. I’ll talk to the press later! There’s a killer on board, and—”
He choked back his words, for the slim figure of a girl was already halfway up the companion ladder. Foster glared as light from a port fell on her smiling face, and the gleaming golden coil of hair that peeped from under her smart little hat.
“Not even you, Miss Dale! You’ve got to go back.”
The girl paused uncertainly at
the top of the stairs, teetering on her trim high heels. Night wind caressed the lovely lines of her youthful figure. Her blue eyes were bright. Her red lips eager.
“Give me a break, commissioner. I promise not to get in the way. And I won’t hand anything in to the Herald till you’ve censored it.” She flashed him a sudden, appealing smile that dimpled the soft contours of her cheeks.
The commissioner hesitated, weakened, and said gruffly: “All right, but get under foot and—I’ll spank you!”
The Agent had watched the little scene. A faint gleam of admiration shone in his eyes. Betty Dale, courageous girl reporter of the Herald was one of the few people in the world who knew of his amazing work. Modern, daring and independent herself, she had aided him often in his grim battles with crime. There was a bond between them, unspoken, yet deep as life itself. For the shadow of death had at times fallen upon her because of her friendship with “X.” Yet she never flinched, never swerved in her steadfast loyalty to this strange Man of a Thousand Faces.
In her newspaper work, her vivid personality had carried her far. And, in her contacts with the police, she had a decided advantage over her fellow scribes. For as a little girl she had played around the precinct houses. Her father had been a captain, beloved of the force, shot down by a treacherous criminal’s bullets. This had given Betty a deep-seated hatred of crime, a hatred as keen as the Secret Agent’s own.
SHE smiled again at the commissioner, and stepped on board, showing that she took his threat as a mere fatherly jibe.
When an opportunity came, when the police had questioned him at length, “X” drew her aside.
“Yes, captain,” she said. “It is kind of you to talk to me.”
Her notebook was out. Her pencil was poised in her hand. She thought the ranking officer of the Baronia was going to give her some facts for the news. She started, and paled when he took the pencil himself and made a mark on her pad—the mark of “X.” She stared again at the tall, dignified captain before her, stiff in his gold-braided uniform. Her mouth opened. She dared not speak.
“X” had fooled her a hundred times before. She never knew how he might appear to her next. But it seemed too fantastic to believe that he was now the master of this ship. For he hadn’t mentioned his plan to come aboard.
He smiled. “Quiet, Betty. Don’t say anything. Don’t show surprise. There may be eyes watching.”
“You!” In that one breathlessly uttered word was the force, the tumult of deep emotion. Color swept into her face. She could not help it. She was close to the man she respected, admired above all others. But she rose to the occasion at once, controlled her feelings.
“I understand, captain. You—you wished to give me a story.”
“Yes, just a few things I thought would interest the paper—but nothing about the crime on board. You must take that up with the commissioner. Understand that, Miss Dale.”
“X” dropped his voice suddenly, spoke so softly, that his lips hardly moved, and only Betty Dale could hear.
“Interview Breerton and Count Cariati, Betty! Ask Breerton about his explorations. Flatter the count. Get anything you can. Be sympathetic about his losses in the looting of the vault. Ask him what value he puts the losses at.”
He raised his voice, said sternly: “That’s all, Miss Dale. No, I can’t tell you about the murderers. And watch your step. You heard what the commissioner said.”
He turned on his heel, and stalked away. It was time soon for him to make his exit. Embarrassing complications might arise. He was playing a dare-devil role; posing as the Baronia’s captain with a dozen eagle-eyed police about. And he wanted to get on shore now to direct his own operatives.
But an officer came running up. He touched the Agent’s shoulder.
“You are wanted, sir. Line officials have just arrived. And your brother wants to talk to you in private.”
Chapter VIII
THE AGENT TRAPPED
HIS brother! The Agent’s muscles involuntarily tensed. A dangerous ordeal faced him—one that threatened to impede all his plans. He hadn’t even known the captain had a brother.
Grimly, the Agent went to the deck again. At the head of the companionway stood another group of men. They had just arrived in a boat that was bobbing below. Even the police had not been able to exclude them. For these were the officials of the Blue Star Line.
They were dignified, hard-faced men; men with the mark of wealth and authority upon them, but worried looking now. There was one who caught and held the Agent’s interest.
Thinner and younger than Captain Ferguson, there was still a family resemblance. This must be the captain’s brother.
“Well, captain!” One of the line officials eyed him sternly. “A fine mess you’ve made of the crossing!”
“X,” as Ferguson, squared his shoulders and raised his eyes. “I am a sailor, sir. And I made my run on schedule. I brought the Baronia in on time—as fine a ship as ever floated!”
“The captain should keep order on board as well as sail!”
“X” did not answer, but the man who must be Ferguson’s brother, plucked the speaker’s sleeve.
“You can put him on the mat later, Mr. Barnstead. That’s between you and him.” The man laughed harshly. “But as a qualified lawyer and one of his closest relatives, I’d like a word with him in private first.”
“X” saw then that this younger Ferguson had none of the captain’s rugged honesty of appearance. There was a wolfish quality around his mouth, bitter, crafty lines beneath his eyes.
“O. K., Murray,” the man called Barnstead said. “I suppose you want to get a line on a new client. But all your legal tricks can’t save the crook who pulled the robbery and murders on this ship. He’ll go straight to the hot seat when we catch him.”
Murray Ferguson! The Agent had heard that name before. One of the greatest criminal lawyers in the country. Murray Ferguson, a mouthpiece who had snatched a half hundred malefactors from the law. The State Bar Association had threatened to keep him from practicing. But Ferguson, ace of legal humbugs, always managed to win out.
And Ferguson was smiling now, showing long teeth in that wolfish grin of his. He came close to the Agent, slapped him on the back.
“Well, Mac, old boy, you got yourself in trouble, eh? Brought a cargo of criminals! Mind coming with me to your cabin a minute?”
“X” nodded. He was on his guard, cautions to make no break that might arouse the suspicion of this shrewd-eyed lawyer. Once in the captain’s cabin, Murray Ferguson’s geniality vanished. He eyed the Agent with curious, wolfish interest.
“These crimes!” he said. “Has any one been suspected? Were they pulled off pretty slick? I wanted to get your opinion on that Mac.”
“X” stared at Ferguson’s brother. The man seemed to have a hidden personal interest in Marko’s activities. His eyes were bright. He was leaning across the table, eyeing the Agent shrewdly.
“No one’s been caught,” said “X” bitterly. “A stowaway was seen on board—but they haven’t found him. No trace of the stuff from the vault has been found. The man behind this thing is a criminal genius. It—the thing’s going to break me. It may mean my resignation from the line!”
There was no sympathy in Murray Ferguson’s eyes for the elder brother whose career might be ruined. Instead, there seemed to be a strange exaltation in his gaze. He struck the table sharply.
“He’s a marvel!”
“Who?”
“I was only thinking, Mac.”
A knock sounded at the door. “X” said:
“Come in.”
The first mate entered.
Murray Ferguson turned on him. “Can’t you leave us alone?”
“Sorry, sir, the president of the line wishes to speak to the captain.” The mate stood waiting.
Murray Ferguson shrugged, and opened a briefcase suddenly. “All right, Mac, but before you go there’s something I want you to do. These papers need your signature. The family inves
tments you asked me to take care of. That’s really what I came on board for.”
He shot the first mate a covert glance, shoved the papers toward the Agent.
“X” had risen. He waved his hand impatiently. “They can wait, Murray!”
“Murray! Say—you haven’t called me that since we were ten years old!”
The Agent saw he had made a slip. Captain Ferguson evidently had some nickname for his younger brother. But the lawyer’s gaze was upon him now, hard, inscrutable.
“Do you know, Mac, you act funny! You haven’t asked me about the kids!”
“X” put his hand to his face, tensing inwardly, aware that he was on thin ice.
“Those murders! They’re enough to drive any man out of his mind. How are the kids?”
Lawyer Ferguson didn’t answer. He’d drawn a fountain pen from his pocket. He held it out, stared at the Agent sharply.
“Your signature, Mac. It won’t take a minute.”
The Agent hesitated. He had never seen the captain’s signature. “X” turned on the first mate.
“Go outside. Leave us alone a minute.”
Looking perplexed, the officer obediently withdrew. But Murray Ferguson seemed to have grown more suspicious. He stepped close to the Agent, said:
“What ails you, Mac? Here take this pen, and sign those papers. They’re the things you asked me to fix up.”
HE was making an issue of it, his eyes fixed glitteringly on “X,” as though the Agent were a witness at the bar. And, as “X” still waited, caught by a twist of circumstance he hadn’t foreseen, the lawyer’s voice suddenly rose.
“Sign them!” Breath gasped between Murray Ferguson’s teeth. Suspicion became conviction in his eyes. Fear, wonder, amazement spread across his face. “That stowaway!” he breathed. “They couldn’t find him. He disappeared! And now you—you’re Secret Agent ‘X’!”
There was awe mixed with hatred in Lawyer Ferguson’s tone. He was close to the underworld, and the police. To him the Agent would be a desperate criminal playing for the highest stakes.
“What did you do with my brother?” he suddenly screamed. “You—”
Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 5 Page 5
