Secret Agent X - The Complete Series Volume 4

by Emile C. Tepperman

  Agent “X” bent over the girl, holding the iron as close as he dared.

  “Wait, Number Three,” commanded Number One. He got up from his chair and walked across to Pete Tolman. That moment, when all eyes were fastened upon Number One and Tolman, gave “X” his opportunity. He had noted as soon as the girl had been brought into the room that the plastic material, with which he had insulated Betty’s forehead, was still intact. He knew that the material had sufficiently poor conductive qualities to prevent the heat of the iron from reaching her skin.

  “Don’t be frightened, Betty,” he whispered softly as he bent over her. “Keep your eyes closed. Scream at the proper time; then pretend to faint.”

  Betty nodded her head slightly. “X” saw her fists clenched. She was bravely preparing herself for the ordeal to come.

  “Secret Agent ‘X,’” said Number One to Tolman, “consider carefully the torture you are about to inflict upon Miss Dale. A word from you will prevent that. I must know how much you have learned about our group, and how much of that information you have turned over to the police. Then, I am extremely curious to know just who you really are.”

  Tolman laughed madly. “You think I’m nuts enough to go to the police with anything? Every cop’s on the lookout for me. You’re nuts!”

  Number One signaled the Agent. “Proceed with the torture.”

  Very slowly, “X” brought the glowing iron towards Betty’s forehead. She screamed, closed her eyes, and at the instant the hot iron sizzled against the plastic material that covered her forehead, she became limp. “X” could not tell whether her unconsciousness was pretense or not. As he jerked the iron away, the scar of the brand in the plastic material was so realistic that he could not suppress a shudder.

  Pete Tolman was unmoved. “Give her the limit, chief,” he muttered, “and just see if I give a damn!”

  Number One shrugged his shoulders impatiently. “Number Five, take the girl to Number Seven. When she has revived, we will see if the Bishop can get any information out of her. As for this man—” indicating Tolman—“either he has the nerves of iron and the heart of stone, or he is not Agent ‘X.’ Bishop, you will remove him to the execution chamber. Number Two, Number Three, and Number Four will accompany me. Perhaps on the scaffold, this man will talk!”

  The Bishop backed up to the chair in which Tolman was tied. He hoisted chair and man upon his powerful back. Number One led the way through a sliding panel, down a short hall, and into a square, barren room. In the very center of the room, a scaffold had been constructed. The Bishop and Number Four, whom “X” knew to be Milo Leads, untied Tolman’s legs and dragged him up the scaffold steps.

  Tolman shouted vile epithets and struggled desperately. But he was like a child in the mighty arms of the Bishop. Tolman’s legs were rigidly tied. Then he was centered on the trap door. The Bishop busied himself with the rope, while Number One went over to the lever that operated the trap door.

  Suddenly, the Bishop seized an instrument not unlike a pair of pointed tongs. He leaped upon the helpless Tolman and thrust the point of the tongs between Tolman’s teeth. Held helplessly in the arms of Number Four and Number Two, Tolman could not jerk his head away. “X” understood the purpose of the tongs now. They were pivoted so that the Bishop could slowly force his victim’s jaws apart. Tolman’s screams echoed and re-echoed about the chamber. The Bishop seemed to relish the torture and would have prolonged it had Number One permitted him to do so.

  THEN the Bishop picked up the rope and “X” saw that in place of the noose was a sort of clamp. For a moment, “X” was so astonished by the brutality of the scene that he was unable to speak. He saw the crippled madman thrust the clamp into Tolman’s mouth. Tolman’s screams were gagged. Slowly, the Bishop tightened the clamp on Tolman’s tongue.

  “X” knew the fiendish murder method employed by the Seven gang. He knew that in another moment, Number One would open the trap. The force of Tolman’s fall would actually tear his tongue from his throat. The result could well be imagined. Even if Tolman withstood the shock, he would slowly bleed to death, would be strangled by his own blood lodging in his throat. Then Tolman’s body would be dropped in the street as an appalling example of the fiendish cruelty of the Seven Men; as a graphic symbol of the silence they imposed.

  The Secret Agent’s sense of humanity overrode his better judgment. Tolman was a killer. The law would have hanged him. But Secret Agent, “X” could not stand idly by, watching a man hang by his tongue!

  “X’s” hand crept towards the pocket where his gas gun was kept. He would use it if he had to. But first, one desperate effort to talk Tolman out of such a fate. As the Bishop backed away from Tolman in order to stand clear of the trap, Agent “X” shouted:

  “Stop!”

  All eyes turned towards him. “X” resumed the soft-spoken manner of Dr. Kousha. “Number One, have you considered how valuable this man may be to us? Do you remember what he said a moment ago about knowing something he would be willing to trade for his life?”

  “Sheer bluff,” rapped Number One. “He knows nothing. By what authority do you retard the punishment to which I have sentenced this man?”

  “X” looked up at the platform of the scaffold. Tolman’s agonized eyes stared beseechingly. His tongue was slowly turning black, so tightly had the torturous clamp been screwed.

  “I have no authority,” said “X” quietly. “But if this man is Pete Tolman then he may know where those five and ten dollar engraving plates, which Fronberg hid, are kept.”

  “True,” said Number One thoughtfully. “But I doubt if it will be necessary to issue more counterfeit money. I have very nearly accomplished my ends. Still—”

  The door of the execution chamber was flung open by one of the gang. “X” knew by the diamond studded number on his lapel that he was Count Camocho.

  “Senor!” cried Camocho, “Senor Number One! You have succeed! You have accomplish!” he shouted, in his excitement forgetting to take his usual care in his grammar.

  Number One strode across the room and seized Camocho by the shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that New York is yours! I receive a radiogram stating that a great body of people of all classes are gathering in a parade! They will march the streets. They will shout! They will fight! It is revolution!”

  Number One turned, looked enquiringly about the room. Then he fixed the excited Camocho with his eyes. “Who sent that message?” he asked with cold emphasis.

  “Why—why, Number Three,” Camocho stuttered. “Number Three—who is Dr. Kousha!”

  Chapter XIX

  “HE IS ‘X’!”

  SECRET AGENT “X’s” heart leaped into his throat. Dr. Kousha had been unable to get into the Seven headquarters because he had lost his penny-badge which would have admitted him. But he could still communicate with Number One by radio.

  Number One asked: “But where is Number Three at this time?”

  “At the counterfeiting headquarters in Jersey. He radioed from there since he was unable to come in person.”

  Number One turned slowly towards “X.” “Take off your mask,” he demanded icily.

  “Impossible!” shouted the Agent. “Surely the secret of my identity must be kept from some of these men here. Number Five must be mistaken. Perhaps it is some trick.” But while he talked, “X” was gauging the distance to the door. His fingers closed upon the gas gun in his pocket. He knew that his life was not worth a penny. But the black box in his pocket was dearer to him than his life. If he could only find a way to get that to the police. It contained evidence that would put an end to the Seven Silent Men for all times to come. Then, there was Betty Dale. What would happen to her?

  “Take off that mask!” Number One insisted.

  “X” saw that Number Two had come down from the scaffold and was edging towards the door. If that door was closed, he would be hopelessly trapped. From complete immobility, every muscle and sinew in the Agent’s we
ll knit body sprang into life.

  He hurled himself towards Camocho who barred his way. So fast did he move that the Spaniard had not time to duck the powerful upward swing of “X’s” right arm. The blow met Camocho’s chin and flattened him to the floor. “X” gained the door just as Number Two snatched an automatic from his pocket. The Agent’s gas gun spurted. The powerful anesthetizing gas struck Number Two squarely in the face. He staggered back on his heels. Even before Number Two had struck the floor, “X” was racing down the passage beyond.

  But on the instant he gained the Oak Room, a panel slid back. Pouring through the opening, as eager as hounds unleashed, came a score of gangmen—the hard-faced hoods “X” had seen in the lounge on entering the headquarters. Number One had evidently signaled to them and opened the door of the oak room by remote control.

  Down the passage came Number One’s crisp order: “Take him alive. He is Secret Agent ‘X’!”

  The criminal mob was upon him. “X” met the first man, seized his out-thrust arm in a jujutsu hold and threw him over his shoulder. Then he plunged into the midst of the mobsters, his arms working like twin windmills. His fists slammed into the noxious faces, cracked jaws, pounded fleshy bodies. Men went down before his pitiless onslaught; yet where one man fell, there were two to take his place.

  “X” fought nearer and nearer the fireplace, dragging half the weight of the mob with him. He snaked one arm free from a hood’s grip, brought it up to his pocket, and seized the black, cubical box. He had only a split second of freedom, but he used it well. His aim was perfect. He threw the box containing the Seven gang’s confessional record straight into the blazing fireplace.

  And not a moment too soon. The full weight of the gang was upon him. Blows were telling, exhausting even his superb strength.

  He was thinking of Betty Dale now. He must save her. The vision of the Bishop’s foul hands pawing over her loveliness while he planned some sadistic torture for her, drove “X” to desperation. He fought like one gone mad. His fearful blows wrecked one man after another. Again, he got his hand into his pocket, this time to clutch the penny which would open the doors of the headquarters. Now, if he could slip one of those tear gas bombs from his pocket, he might gain a moment in which to rush from the room, a single minute in which to find Betty.

  Something came hurtling through the air. Before he had time to duck, the missile struck Agent “X” on the forehead. The waxen mask he wore was shattered to fragments. His brain swirled, his eyes swam in red mist. But on the instant that he fell, he had presence of mind enough to put that all-important penny in his mouth. His tongue clamped down on it hard, holding it flat against his teeth. Oblivion caught up with him.

  A PLEASANT sensation brought Agent “X” to his senses. Soft, cool fingers were gently stroking his hands. At first, he was under the impression that he had been thrown into the same room with Betty Dale. He opened his eyes. His head felt swollen, his mind feverish. He looked around a room barren of furnishings and without doors or windows. And he was alone. The hands that had caressed his brow were then but figments of his imagination.

  He lay on the floor and for the moment relaxed. Then he drew a deep breath and slowly hauled to his feet. There was a strange, metallic taste in his mouth. He remembered the penny which he had put in his mouth just before he had been knocked out. He returned it to his pocket.

  Then Agent “X” made a slow and careful inspection of his little prison. But though his rapping knuckles could detect the position of the sliding door panel, there was no electric lock into which he could fit the penny.

  He had been carefully searched. All his weapons had been taken from him. None of the secret compartments in his clothing had remained unexplored—with one exception. “X” dropped to the floor. Unless Number One was more clever than he appeared to be he would not have thought of examining “X’s” shoes.

  The Secret Agent gripped the heel of his right shoe and quickly unscrewed it. Inside the heel was a compartment where he concealed small objects that had at times been extremely useful to him. His heart gave a bound. The contents of his heel had not been tampered with. The small opening contained a miniature tube of his make-up material, a little vial of his special narcotic and two small, hollow needles.

  He took out the vial together with one of the needles. With extreme care, he loaded the needle with enough of the drug to knock a man out and keep him unconscious for some time. Removing a small, leather plug from the toe of his shoe, he inserted the needle in the socket revealed.

  If he were to kick some one, plunging the needle into that person’s flesh, enough of the drug would be driven into the blood stream to knock a man out in a few seconds. It was a ridiculously small weapon, impotent beside the mighty organization he was up against. Still, it was the only weapon remaining to him. He resolved that it should give a good account of itself.

  He had hardly time to replace the heel of his shoe before the door of the cell opened and Number Four, who was Milo Leads, entered. Behind him were four armed gangsters.

  “Okey, you!” said one of the men gruffly. “Up on your feet. Do you walk or do we drag you?”

  Secret Agent “X” did not utter a word. He stood up, and two of the men seized him by either arm. He might easily have pricked one of them with his doped needle, but now was not the time for his counter attack. Agent “X” knew that if his plan was to succeed he must wait until his efforts would create the greatest surprise.

  GUARDED by the four men and followed by Leads, “X” was taken from the cell, down a short hall and into the execution chamber. In the room were Number One and his hideous aide, the Bishop. The crippled man mounted the scaffold steps, his ugly mouth twisting in a grin.

  “X” saw that the floor below the scaffold was stained with blood. He knew why his execution had been delayed. Had Pete Tolman been the last victim, or had it been—

  “X” dared not think lest his mind suggest that Betty Dale had been the last to mount those scaffold steps.

  “Secret Agent ‘X’,” said Number One, “I had hoped that you would be a more worthy opponent. I regret that our little encounter has to terminate so abruptly and, for you, ignominiously. Your removal is imperative. Therefore, I sentence you to hang—by the tongue!”

  Two guards dragged “X” up the scaffold steps. The Bishop centered him on the trapdoor. “X” saw that Number One had walked to the end of the platform supports to where the lever that operated the trap was located. Two gunmen, with automatics drawn, stood at the bottom of the steps. One guard covered “X” with his gun while his companion picked up a piece of rope, preparatory to tying “X’s” arms and legs.

  At the moment that the man with the rope stooped to tie the Secret Agent’s ankles, “X” kicked out with his right foot. The doped needle caught the guard in the calf of the leg. The gunman tumbled back against the legs of the man with the gun.

  “X” leaped clear of the trapdoor, evading the clumsy fingers of the Bishop. The two guards at the foot of the stairs fired instantaneously and started up the steps. But Agent “X” swung around, leaped over the railing of the platform for a ten-foot drop that landed him directly upon the shoulders of Number One. Both “X” and the gang chief went sprawling. “X” recovered his feet in a moment, ducked behind a supporting member of the scaffold, seized the lever that operated the trap, and gave it a yank.

  The trap sprung. Two men dropped through the opening, arms and legs sprawling as they struck the floor. An automatic, dropped by one of the criminals, slid within six feet of “X.” He sprang for it, swept it up not a split second before a shot gouged wood from the piece of scaffolding only inches from his head.

  “X” swung out from under the scaffold. A gunman, who had dropped from the steps, raised his automatic. Though he disliked lethal weapons, Agent “X” did not hesitate a moment. He fired two quick shots. The first shot took the gangster in the thigh. The second crashed the lighting fixture in the ceiling. The room was plunged into da
rkness.

  “X” knew well the location of the door. Yet he supposed that all shots would be aimed in that direction. He ran silently on his rubber soled shoes across the room until he encountered the wall. Darkness was splintered with gun flame. Shots crashed, and reverberated throughout the room. “X” waited his chance. The gunmen were shooting at random now, hoping that a chance shot would find its mark.

  “X” sprang for the door and swung it open. The sound of the opening door drew fire instantly. As “X” leaped through the opening, slugs screamed about his head. He slammed the door into place, ran the length of the hall, and into the Oak Room.

  There he stopped. It would take many valuable seconds to locate the door that led into the lounge. Even so, the lounge would not be where Betty Dale was held prisoner—providing that she was still alive. Two doors beside the one through which he had just passed were open. One, he knew, led to the gang chief’s office—a cul de sac, he knew. The other opened on a narrow flight of steps.

  Though he did not know what was at the top, “X” chose the stairs. Behind him, he could hear Number One roaring out commands to his men.

  AT the top of the steps, “X” ran squarely into one of the Seven who was just coming out of a small room. Unhesitatingly, “X” swung. His gun connected with the man’s head directly behind the ear. The man dropped quietly at Agent “X’s” feet.

  “X” seized the man by the collar and dragged him into the room from whence he had just come. The room was empty, and “X” saw at a moment the purpose for which it was intended. A large bench held the layout of a powerful radio transmitter.

  “X” kicked the door shut behind him, knelt beside the man he had just knocked out, and removed the wax mask. Beneath was a face unfamiliar to him. Because of the man’s pugnacious aspect and scarred cheek, “X” knew that here was a man who had risen from the underworld to the criminal empire of the Seven Silent Men. Probably he was the raucous-voiced individual who was known as Number Two. Evidently the medical skill of Milo Leads had succeeded in reviving Number Two after “X” had blown the charge from his gas pistol into his face.