“A burglar! Help! P’lice!”
“X” hastened his descent, sliding as rapidly as he dared without burning his hands. The woman was still screaming when he found footing on the alley pavement, “X,” sprinting towards the end of the alley, was forced to leap to one side to avoid running headlong into a policeman. The cop yanked at his gun.
“X” drove a smashing, paralyzing blow to the cop’s gun arm. The pistol bounded to the pavement. The cop swung his nightstick over the Secret Agent’s head. But “X” ducked out of the way, and led his right to the policeman’s jaw. The cop was set back on his heels by the force of the blow. “X” took the advantage thus gained to duck around the corner and run up the street.
A police whistle shrilled. The answering signal came from a policeman near at hand. The sound of running feet coming towards him through the darkness halted “X.” He drew himself up to the full dignity that fitted his portrayal of Elisha Pond; for Pond, although an eccentric, would certainly not be suspected of climbing down spouts and tussling with policemen.
The copper accosted “X,” turned a flashlight in his face, but paused only long enough to apologize to Mr. Pond. Then he hurried up the alley to join his fellow policeman.
“X” hastened to a neighboring garage where he kept one of his cars. He backed it out, nosed into the street, and speeded downtown.
A short time later. Secret Agent “X” entered the gleaming, silvery doors of the Falmouth Tower. An elevator whisked him to the sumptuous offices where Abel Corin directed major cogs in the machine of finance. In an outer office he was met by a strikingly beautiful brunette. Her scarlet lips, and warm, dark eyes flashed him a smile of welcome. “X” stood in the doorway, fussing with a small, leather case.
“Eh—young lady, if you will just take my card to Mr. Corin, I—er—”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Pond,” said the woman. “Mr. Corin is expecting you. The meeting is already in progress. Please step this way.” And she led “X” through a lavishly appointed lounge and towards Mr. Corin’s private office.
Though he had never seen the woman before, “X” supposed her to be Alice Neves whose name had been closely linked with that of Abel Corin. She had acted as his secretary for some time, and it was rumored that the announcement of her engagement to Corin was to be expected. Miss Neves opened the door of the inner office and then followed “X” in.
The Secret Agent glanced about the room and saw several men with whom he had come in contact in the role of Elisha Pond. Abel Corin, of course, was there, as well as Police Commissioner Foster. Suddenly the heart of Secret Agent “X” gave a bound. For seated demurely away from the circle of anxious-faced men, was Betty Dale, her reporters’ notebook in hand.
Never had she looked more charming. The arrangement of her golden hair seemed to lend new enchantment to her bright blue eyes. Her slim, lovely figure was attired so as to achieve that rare combination of practicality and smartness. She smiled pleasantly upon Elisha Pond, little knowing that beneath this disguise was the man whom she regarded with respect and admiration—even love, had she permitted herself to admit it.
Gray-haired Mr. Corin advanced, shook hands with Agent “X,” and led him across the floor that was uniquely ornamented with colored tiles representing the playing pieces of a chess game. A short, heavy-set man whose broad face approached the flaming color of his hair was introduced to “X” as Sven Gerlak, Milwaukee’s famed “Gang-buster.”
COMMISSIONER FOSTER called the meeting to order. He plainly stated the condition within the city, then presented Sven Gerlak. The energetic, red-haired little man propped one foot upon a swivel chair and addressed his audience emphatically.
“A grave problem indeed!” he began abruptly, pounding the top of a desk with his big fist. “Frankly, I am at a loss to know just where to begin. The underworld, in which my secret operatives are at work, is strangely inactive, or if not inactive, it is hiding its work so well that no information can be gained. Of one thing we are sure: the leader of the Seven Silent Men terrifies his hirelings into absolute secrecy. That, I think is evident.
“But there is one man, to my knowledge, who could give us immediate assistance.” Gerlak paused, removing great horn-rimmed glasses and polishing them upon his tie. “That man,” he suddenly exploded, “is that mysterious person known as Secret Agent ‘X’!”
This announcement created a fervor in the audience. Agent “X,” in the voice that was always associated with elderly Mr. Pond, spoke up. “But, my dear sir, Secret Agent ‘X’ is thought to be a criminal!”
“Precisely!” exclaimed Gerlak, fixing Elisha Pond with eyes that were greatly magnified by the lenses of his glasses. “But he is a most clever criminal. There is an old adage—something about it taking a thief to catch a thief. Why, so clever is Secret Agent ‘X’ that he might be in this room at this very moment!”
“Has it occurred to you,” said Abel Corin, as he reflectively gazed at the wisp of smoke from the tip of his cigar, “that this man who calls himself ‘X’ might be at the bottom of this business?”
“X” glanced at Betty Dale. The girl reporter had turned a little pale. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He knew that Betty would have liked to speak a word in defense of the Secret Agent.
Gerlak shook his head in answer to Corin’s question. “Criminal, Mr. ‘X’ may be, but he is not a member of the Seven. You must admit that there are no police records charging Agent ‘X’ with murder. The Seven gang has no scruples about blood-letting.”
Commissioner Foster had to admit that the records concerning Secret Agent “X” were very few in number. “The man has been too clever,” he concluded.
The meeting was suddenly interrupted by an impatient knock at the door of the office. Alice Neves answered the knocking, and the door had scarcely been unlocked before a detective sergeant burst into the room. Commissioner Foster’s reprimanding glance melted with the explosion of words from the plainclothes man.
“We’ve picked up one of the Seven gang, sir. I knew you’d want to know—”
“Where, man?” cried Foster, springing to his feet.
“Right outside the building here. He was thrown from a passing car—dead! But you can tell by his face. It’s exactly like the face of the man who held up the Suburban National. But there’s something else—”
“Speak up, man!” Sven Gerlak prompted.
“Well, sir,” murmured the detective, “this sounds nuts, I know. But to look at his face—well, it just isn’t like a human’s face at all, and yet—”
“Imagination! Sheer lunacy!” sputtered Gerlak. He sprang for the door of the office. The meeting was abruptly terminated. All crowded out of the office at Gerlak’s heels. And among the others, displaying remarkable vigor for a man of his years, was Elisha Pond.
Chapter IX
THE SILENT HORROR
POLICE had hastily formed a cordon about a sprawling thing on the sidewalk in front of the Falmouth Tower. Following through the opening in the ring of police made by Commissioner Foster, Agent “X,” Betty Dale, and Sven Gerlak came within a few feet of the corpse. Though her life as a newspaper woman had to some extent hardened Betty Dale to the sight of sudden and violent death, the sight of the face of the man on the sidewalk made her gasp.
It was, indeed, as the detective-sergeant had said, an inhuman sort of a face—the doll-like, leering visage of one of the Silent Men. The corpse was clad in a dark-brown suit, but there was no diamond insignia upon his coat lapel.
With a movement of catlike swiftness, Sven Gerlak knelt beside the body. “This is obviously the work of Secret Agent ‘X,’ Commissioner. The body was thrown from a passing car. ‘X’ has taken up the fight against the Seven Silent Men!”
“That’s jumping at conclusions, Gerlak,” said Foster dryly.
“This face, you see,” said Gerlak, pointing at the grinning face of the corpse, “is merely a mask of something similar to wax.” And before Foster could rai
se his voice to check the impulsive Gerlak, the private detective had given the waxen mask a quick tap with the butt of his automatic. The mask cracked from forehead to chin and fell apart in two jagged-edged pieces.
A scream from one of the onlookers; hoarse exclamations from the police; an oath from Foster. “X” turned to Betty Dale. She was braving the sudden shock of the gruesome revelation with eyes averted and lower lip locked between her teeth. Color had drained from her face.
The true face beneath the waxen mask was a hellish contortion. Unseeing, pain-seared eyes stared from beneath beetling brows. A figure seven was burned in the flesh of the forehead. Chin and neck were covered with a beard of clotting gore. Jaws were strained open, and beyond the stained teeth was a hideous vacancy that screamed the revolting truth of the method of murder. The tongue had been torn out by the roots.
“Good Lord!” breathed Foster. “Good Lord! This isn’t a member of the gang. This—this poor devil is Detective Fletcher of the homicide squad!”
Gerlak’s dynamic energy was unchecked by the gruesome face of the corpse. His exploring fingers had yanked a slip of paper from the breast pocket of the corpse. He hastily opened the paper and read it to himself. Though he was several feet away, Agent “X” had no trouble in reading the large, clear handwriting.
My compliments, Commissioner Foster:
And accept this token of all esteem. The same fate awaits you or any others who pry into our affairs. Fletcher was unfortunate in identifying one Lewey, the Smoke, as a member of the gang which looted the Suburban National. Fletcher’s success was due largely to Lewey’s indiscretion. We have no room for bunglers in our organization, and Lewey has taken temporary quarters in the East River, where your police will eventually find him. Why don’t you imitate our example in regard to the removal of bunglers? You’ve quite a number on the police force, you know.
Seven.
“X” turned suddenly and seized Betty Dale’s arm. The girl’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Young lady,” said “X” in the voice of Elisha Pond, “if you have any influence with your editor, do not permit him to dwell upon this incident in tomorrow’s paper. The people are already beginning to lose confidence in their police force. Any hint that the police are not capable of grappling with this evil may be the brand that fires many a mob into action. Such a thing as this note which Gerlak has, has been sent for the sole purpose of goading the people to action. Do you understand?”
And without waiting for an answer, Elisha Pond, who was expected to make abrupt movements, elbowed his way through the crowd and disappeared.
SECRET AGENT “X” drove his car to a sedate old office building. There he maintained a hideout which was of great importance to him because of its location near the very center of the business world. He enacted a marvelous change, assuming one of his stock disguises—a red-haired, freckled reporter. Then he called the Herald office and asked for Betty Dale.
He knew that she would be at her desk turning out her story of the meeting in Corin’s office and the grisly manner in which it had been terminated. When he heard Betty’s pleasant but businesslike voice over the phone, he said: “Wouldn’t you like to meet a gentleman of the press in about twenty minutes?”
“Who is speaking?” asked Betty, a note of cold restraint in her voice.
One of those brief, infrequent flashes of merriment appeared in Agent “X’s” eyes. He puckered his lips and uttered a peculiar, vibrant whistle.
Betty gasped in surprise. “You! Why, of course, I’ll meet you. Where?”
“At your apartment, please. And just as soon as you can possibly make it.”
“Leaving right away,” replied the girl.
“X” forked the receiver, and left the office. He drove as swiftly as traffic would permit to the modern apartment building where Betty Dale lived. Alighting from the elevator, some time later, he proceeded at once to her door. His knock was unanswered. She had evidently not yet returned from the news office.
Though special master keys would have permitted him to enter the girl’s apartment, he refrained from doing so rather than run the slightest risk of jeopardizing Betty’s reputation. He waited in the hall until he heard her brisk step. She took no notice of the freckled-faced man who was standing watching her. As she was unlocking the door, “X” stepped up to her and touched her arm. She was startled. Her eyes searched his face, waiting for him to speak.
“I’m Mr. Harris,” The Secret Agent whispered. Then he quickly drew an “X” on the panel of the door with his finger.
“Why, Mr. Harris!” Betty smiled, falling into the little act which was obviously for the benefit of any prying eyes. For since “X” had returned from the Seven gang’s headquarters, he believed that Betty Dale would be watched as carefully as the man whom the gang believed to be Pete Tolman. “Just come in, please,” Betty invited. “I’m sure we can iron out that little difficulty concerning that story in yesterday’s paper.”
On closing the door, Betty turned around, leaned against the panel, and looked earnestly into his face, or rather the face of the reporter called Harris. Neither Betty nor anyone else had ever seen the true face of Secret Agent “X.”
“Something is troubling you,” she said decidedly. “A master of disguise though you may be, I can read that much in your eyes.”
“X” SMILED. “It has been my great misfortune never to see you unless there is something of the gravest importance to worry about. Betty, I have now partially succeeded in establishing myself as a member of the gang known as the Seven Silent Men. Will you help me when I tell you that you will be put to the most severe trial of your life?”
Unhesitatingly she nodded her head, “I’m not very capable; not very brave, either,” she replied. “But I will do my best for—for your sake.” Her eyes dropped. Her face flushed a little.
“For our country’s sake, primarily,” the Agent corrected her gently. “I must explain to you that every member of the Seven Silent Men is compelled to commit murder. In this manner his lips are sealed against squealing on his fellow members. In my case, the leader of the gang insists that I kill some one who is very dear to me. Of course, since he does not know who I am, he does not know this. Naturally, I must pretend to murder this person, and I must coach you in the part you are to play in order to carry off this deception.”
“You mean—you mean that I am the one?” Her cheeks flushed a deeper hue.
“Yes, you are the one.”
For a moment, Betty was unable to speak, for the pounding of her heart warned her that if she opened her lips she would cry out: “I’m glad! I’m glad!” For though she had often guessed that this mysterious man held her in high regard, he had never openly stated that she was dear to him. Yet she knew that the important work of Secret Agent “X” must not be hindered by any emotion. When she was certain that she had complete control of herself, she asked: “What am I to do?”
“In a very few hours,” he explained, “you will be confronted by a band of assassins. I will be among them. Rest assured that no hands but mine shall touch you. You will pretend to be terrified. I will pretend to stab you. You must feign death. It will be difficult, I know, but we dare not fail. According to present plans, you will be taken to the river front and thrown into the water. I would not ask you to do this if I did not know that you are an excellent swimmer. Upon striking the water, you must swim beneath the surface as far out from shore as possible. As soon as you break the surface, there will be a boat not far distant waiting to pick you up. I will make all arrangements. Are you game?”
“You know I am. It doesn’t sound so very hard. But just how do you pretend to stab me?”
“We must prepare for that at once.” And Secret Agent “X” took a flat leather case of make-up materials from the inner pocket of his coat. He opened it and took out a flat, rubber bladder that he had brought from his hideout. “This,” he explained to Betty, “contains an aniline dye of such color and consistency as to deceive the average
person into thinking that it is blood. Though the little sack contains just a small amount of the liquid dye, I hope that it will be sufficient for our deception.”
Agent “X” then told Betty to sit down. With a strip of light adhesive tape, he fastened the rubber sack to her throat. Then he covered the sack with plastic volatile material, modeling like a sculptor in clay until he achieved the desired effect. Carefully tinted with pigments, the make-up material concealed the small bladder perfectly. Next he placed a thin metal plate over Betty’s forehead. This was similarly covered and tinted. Thus the white skin beneath was protected from the acid with which the Seven Silent Men were accustomed to brand their victims.
“Now,” said the Agent as he repacked his make-up kit, “you must not be afraid of anything, but you must act afraid. Remember that when the gang members come, I will be there, too.”
Secret Agent “X” pressed Betty’s hand warmly, reassuringly, and left the apartment.
Chapter X
A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE
IT was ten minutes later that Secret Agent “X” drove his car in front of the apartment building where the crippled pencil vender still watched. He noted, to his satisfaction, the silhouette thrown on the blind of his front window. Certainly it had served its purpose in fooling the crippled spy of the Silent Men. He promptly returned his car to its garage and hurried up the alley behind the apartment. This time, there were no curious watchers to call upon the police when Agent “X” scaled the downspout and returned through the rear window of his apartment.
His first act in entering was to change his make-up back to the Pete Tolman disguise. To this outfit he added the red wig and mustache that the Seven gang had furnished him. This done, he went into a small dining room and approached what appeared to be a sideboard. Actually, the cabinet concealed special radio receiving and transmitting equipment.
He drew a chair up before the instrument, sat down, and made several minor adjustments in the transmitting set. Then, using a telegraph key, he sent out spark transmission to a man by the name of Bates who maintained a large group of men and women employed by “X” for the purpose of obtaining information for him. Bates knew his employer only by the sound of his voice and by the special code he used in telegraphic messages.
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