THE express rolled to a stop. The door of the baggage car squeaked as it slid back. From inside the coffin, “X” heard the sound of men’s voices. There was the scrape of feet on boarding, the sudden sense of being lifted.
The coffin moved. A bump as it dropped, his oblique position, and the crunch of wheels on gravel told the Agent that he was now on a baggage truck, moving forward. Then the truck stopped and a moment of silence followed, until he heard the train get under way again, wheels screeching, engines puffing. Men’s voices came indistinctly. The Agent used his microphone once more. He’d planned this. It worked as well inside as out. But the speakers were only baggagemen.
An auto rumbled up. The coffin was moved again, carried to the auto, shoved inside. “X” realized he was now in a van. A long, jouncing ride followed.
It lulled the Agent dangerously close to sleep. He fought to keep awake. But his lids felt strangely heavy, and it was only the van’s squealing stop that roused him. A man spoke close to the coffin.
“Catch hold—easy now.”
The truckman’s voice, but it was answered by another that made the Agent tense suddenly, as it directed, “This way, boys—careful!”
He’d heard that voice before!
The coffin was carried forward, bumped down. “X” heard the soft wash of water, retreating feet. The coffin was stationary once more, but there was a rocking motion. Voices came from a distance, a woman’s among them. He could not distinguish words.
More minutes passed. Then came a pulsing roar of sound that almost split his eardrums. He quickly tuned the amplifier down. Listening tensely he identified the roar. Those were airplane motors. He was in a plane again! But that hissing slap of water against a hulk—it must be a flying boat or seaplane. The hissing stopped. He felt a long sweep upward, the dizzy rocking of the air.
More than ever now he was conscious of the stuffiness inside the casket. Lethargy seemed to have him in its grip. The microphone slid from his fingers.
Something warned him suddenly. Desperately he tried to rouse himself. But he slipped back. His throat felt dry. His tongue seemed huge in his mouth. The roar of the strange plane’s motors was like a roaring in his own head.
A tingling sense of horror spurred him to new effort—but no effort could rouse him from the lethargy now. He was slipping down—down—and he couldn’t move. Then at last the awful realization came into his numbed brain. There was a lingering drug inside the coffin—remnant of the drug that had held Suzanne Blackwell in its grip. But now it was too late. Agent “X” fell helplessly into a black pit of unconsciousness.
Chapter XXI
Trapped
AGENT “X” awoke as from a terrible nightmare. He awoke with horror clutching at his throat. His mind was filled with a sense of appalling catastrophe. He had not anticipated the drug in the coffin. Luck had been against him. He had been outplayed at every turn. Now the last hand had been called—and he had lost. There was coldness on his face. The airplane’s engines no longer sounded in his ears. In their stead a voice was speaking. It was a taunting voice, harsh, inhuman as the scrape of metal. It was the voice of the man in the green mask.
Agent “X” opened his eyelids slowly. He was still lying in the coffin and fingers were poking at his face, exploring his disguise. Over him a man’s head hovered. He saw the startling hue of poisonous green. He saw lips moving; heard harsh words clearly now.
“This is a pleasure,” the green-masked man was saying, “and a surprise. I hope you have slept well—Elisha Pond. I hope your bed was comfortable. I hope you liked the trip.” A chuckle followed the words.
The Agent lay silent, too stunned to speak. This was no nightmare. It was reality more terrible than any dream.
“The coffin’s perfume—was it not pleasant?” the harsh voice taunted. “Very clever, Agent ‘X’! You gallantly rescued a fair lady in distress. But in doing so you got into distress yourself. Shall we call it that?”
The cold gray light of dawn shone in “X’s” eyes. He was staring up at the sky. He was on a ship’s deck. Still he did not sit up. He was seeking to clear from his brain the fumes that had knocked him out. The green mask’s voice continued.
“It has been an exciting game, Agent ‘X.’ I appreciate the clever moves you’ve made. You freed your blonde friend from the island. You gave my Malay colleagues a pleasant chase. Even when they thought they’d burned you, you had the laugh on them. And then—just how did you trace the coffin? That would be interesting to know. Perhaps you’d like to tell me.”
The man laughed again. “You can afford to talk now. The game is ended. You have lost. We can chat like old friends, until—”
The laugh that came now was as sinister as death. Looking into those eyes behind the green mask Agent “X” read his doom. But before he could speak another voice sounded—a woman’s voice close by. The Agent swiveled his eyes and saw the sinuous dark form of Lili Damora.
“Don’t trouble him, Ito,” the woman from Budapest said. “I can tell you how he traced the coffin. He found Karl Hummel in my apartment. It was my fault. I forgot about the fool’s having that undertaker’s card.”
The green-masked man bowed. “Very pretty, Agent ‘X.’ Your deductive faculties are good. You played me closely all the way. How unfortunate that in the end you were one move behind!”
“Don’t gloat, Ito,” Lili Damora admonished. “It is such frightfully bad taste.”
“But it pleases me to vanquish a worthy adversary,” the green-masked man replied.
Secret Agent “X” stared keenly now. “Ito,” Lili had called Green Mask. That was Japanese! “X” spoke for the first time.
“You were in doubt, too, about the plans until you tortured Ferris Blackwell.”
“But I hit upon the truth at last. And you are still in doubt.” The green-masked man laughed with grim amusement. “Is it not a pretty game, Lili? Let us show him how very close to the plans he is.”
Green Mask clapped his hands. Like sinister wraiths, four brown-skinned Malays moved out of a hatchway and glided up.
“Get up,” Ito said to Agent “X.” “You see where you are—on board my ship. And I have my friends with me. You know their tricks by now, I think.”
Agent “X” rose slowly. He saw the Malays facing him, knives in their hands.
“Perhaps,” said Ito, “I can’t convince them that this is the man who cheated their god, Tuan. Your disguise was too good for that. But they will be glad to kill at a word from me. Let me show you now where the plans are.”
ITO crossed to the coffin that “X” had vacated. He reached between the lining and the frame, drew out a long envelope. He held it up an instant. Then he shoved it in his pocket.
“I was careful to the last, you see. I paid a compliment to your secret service. If I should be caught I didn’t want the plans found on me.”
The Agent adopted the same suave manner as Ito now.
“And what do you intend to do with me?” he asked.
“Compliment you still further,” said Ito. “Flatter you with death. If you were not so clever I might let you live. But I shall be courteous. You may choose one of several ways. You had a taste of Kep-shak. Would you like to complete the experience?”
Lili Damora shivered slightly and spoke with a note of contempt.
“Can’t you be civilized, Ito? Why not shoot him as I shot Otto? It is so much easier and quicker.”
The green mask turned on her quickly.
“Did I ask for your advice, dear lady? You know how I hate Americans. And I have a right to speak since my father was one. Don’t try to cheat me of my fun. If you don’t like my ways go below!”
Lili Damora flounced off and Ito laughed. The cruel bantering note was still in his voice.
“Choose,” he said. “How do you wish to die?”
The eyes of Agent “X” roved desperately—roved over the cold morning sea, over the faces of the men around him, along the deck of the vessel he was on. He was searching for
a way out. And his mind told him there was none; his mind told him he was beaten.
How did he wish to die? This fiend was calmly asking him that. Death held little terror for Agent “X.” He had been schooled against it. But defeat in this, the greatest thing he had ever undertaken, was a bitter, ghastly pill to swallow. Worse even than the sting of the Kep-shak torture. His country, his chief in Washington relied on him—and he had failed. This masked criminal was sneering at him—this man who had the Browning plans. Revolt flared in the mind of Agent “X.” His eyes turned upward, and suddenly he tensed.
Thin, ghostly wires stretched across the sky between the vessel’s masts—wires that were his last link with the world he knew. Radio! This was a tramp steamer he was on. He’d seen the type before and knew them well. His eyes dropped. He was silent for a moment. Suddenly he raised his hand.
“Look! Over there!”
It was an old trick. He was pointing out across the sea. But he was counting on its very simplicity to fool the man who used elaborate tortures on his victims. He would not suspect “X” of using a ruse so crude. Moreover, Ito was swollen with the feel of victory—arrogantly sure of himself. Agent “X” had calculated well. At his sudden gesture, the tenseness in his voice, Ito and the Malays turned their heads.
IN that moment, Agent “X” leaped. He heard the shrill cry of anger that lifted behind him. A knife whistled through the air. He sprang aside. The knife hissed close beside him, landed with a thud against the deckhouse.
He sped forward along the vessel’s deck. A desperate plan had formed in his mind. He climbed an iron ladder, ran ahead. The bridge rose before him. He found the door he wanted, burst in. A man who was not a Malay crouched over his instruments in the ship’s radio room. A man who was a weak-eyed river rat. A white man, but a man enslaved by drugs. One of Ito’s craven slaves.
The Agent closed the door behind him. He barred it with a chair. His fist flashed out, crashed into the face of the wireless man. The man slumped to the floor, head lolling.
For a bare second the Secret Agent paused. He studied the dials along the wall, the complicated instrument board. He threw a switch, leaped to the small table where the man had sat. His fingers touched the radio key.
Quickly, expertly, he gave the signal of the Hampton Roads naval station. Seconds that seemed eternities went by. Then there came an answer to his call.
Shouts sounded outside now. Running feet. The Agent paid no attention to them. Bent over his key, eyes burning, he sent a message that might influence a nation’s destiny. For three minutes he used a secret naval code, then stopped. Men were beating on the door.
He switched the light off as evil faces were framed in the wireless room’s small window. The glass broke behind him with a crash.
The Agent leaped across the floor. There was another door beyond, an officer’s room. He ran through this, out to the deck again, doubling back along his tracks. A Malay saw him and gave a howl. “X” plunged into a doorway, down into the interior of the ship.
Death stalked on all sides of him now. But he must fight for time—time. Where was Ito now? “X” didn’t know. He ran forward to the cabin where Lili Damora had gone. A Malay appeared in his path, knife gleaming. The Malay hurled the knife. “X” dodged and fired his gas pistol into the man’s face.
Then he saw a door ahead of him and flung it open. A woman’s piercing scream sounded. Lili Damora stood before him.
“You!” she hissed. A gun appeared in her hand. The Agent sprang aside as it lanced flame. He leaped forward tigerishly, wrenched the weapon from her fingers. She cowered back.
The Agent’s lips curled. Here was the creature who had been playing with the green-masked criminal all the time. She had even used Karl Hummel, outwitted him, and slain him when he was of no further use. The Agent read the whole ghastly story now. Karl Hummel in her hands had been a mere tool.
“Go to the door and lock it quickly,” he ordered.
She obeyed, sliding a heavy bolt home. “X” knew the door had iron cleats across it. It and the room’s partitions formed a stout barrier.
As Lili stepped back a voice came through the wood—the voice of green-masked Ito.
“Clever again, Elisha Pond! You sent a wireless message. But even that is too late. This boat is fast. They will not catch us now. And if they should overtake us, we have a plane on board. Long before help can arrive we shall have broken in—and you will be dead.”
“Leave him alone,” cried Lili. “He will kill me if you don’t.”
The green-masked man laughed.
“You are a dear lady, Lili. But let me make it clear that a threat to your life cannot save Pond. High as I hold you in esteem my enemy comes first.”
As though to emphasize this, Green Mask fired through the door, and the bullet whistled between Lili and Agent “X.” Then there came a series of thuds as Malays battered axes on the door.
Lili hissed like a venomous snake, furious that Ito was willing to risk her life to get at “X.” She turned to the Agent and a torrent of angry words came from her lips.
“I’ll tell you who he is,” she cried. “You’ll understand the sort of animal you’re dealing with. He’s a half-caste—a mongrel—half Jap and half American. Because his father deserted his mother she taught him to hate America.”
A shower of ax blows drowned out her voice for a moment. The door shook and creaked. Lili screamed above the noise so that her words would reach Ito’s ears, too.
“I hate him as much as he hates Americans. I’d like to destroy him as he would destroy them. I tolerated him only because he promised me wealth when the stolen plans were sold.”
Lili Damora looked like a sinister harpy now. Fury distorted her face, drove her beauty from her, seemed to add years to her age. She screamed a curse.
“Ito with his high-society airs! Ito who calls himself—”
TWO more pistol shots rang out as Ito fired furiously through the door. Ax blows half deadened their reports. But Lili stopped speaking and gave a piercing shriek. She clutched her left side, crimson staining her fingers.
“You’ve hit me—you devil! You’ve—”
The words choked in her throat. She took a staggering step forward, then collapsed and lay still on the floor—a murderess slain by her own partner in crime.
Whether it was intentional or not “X” didn’t know. He stood aghast, tense and silent as the Malays hacked the door to pieces.
Five minutes—ten—went by. Death would come soon now—death—
Then a new sound came, filling the air, rising above the ax blows. It was a sound that pulsed through the Agent’s blood, thrilled him. The roar of airplane motors—the planes the Agent had summoned by radio. They circled the ship, signaling for it to stop—but the vessel forged ahead. Then suddenly the Agent started.
There was a noise out on deck. The staccato rattle of a machine gun. This sinister craft was armed. He stared from an open port.
One of the planes, sweeping low over the gray sea, suddenly tilted, thrusting its broad wing toward the sky. A column of black smoke trailed behind it. Its engine coughed, sputtered. There was a blinding, rending flash of flame. The gray plane was torn apart before his horrified eyes, its gas tank hit and exploding.
The other navy planes rose higher. One of them swept down over the ship. Something black dropped through the air. It struck the sea close by. There was an explosion, a geyser of water. The Malays howled in fear. “X” heard the machine gun chattering again. Now was the time he had waited for.
He crept back to the cabin door, unlocked it. The arrival of the planes had taken the Malays out on deck. Ito was with them, urging them to fight.
The Agent charged across the deck, a bounding, leaping streak. Before Ito knew what was happening, Agent “X” had caught him in his arms. His swift charge carried them both over the rail. Thay went tumbling head over heels down into the sea. Malays lined the deck above, blowpipes in their hands, sinister darts ready. But t
hey dared not shoot for fear of hitting their master.
The two below were locked together, but Ito fought like a trapped animal. In a frenzy at being defeated he scratched, kicked, and bit. His eyes behind the mask glared with inhuman hate. His fingers were like clutching talons as he sought for “X’s” throat. But Agent “X,” spurred on by the great cause for which he fought and with victory close at hand, battled with every nerve and muscle in him, battled—and finally won.
As in a daze he saw the swooping gray planes overhead. A bomb struck the vessel’s stern. Flame leaped out.
Then one of the big planes landed on the water and taxied over to the spot where “X” held the furious Ito, now subdued. “X” pulled the green mask from Ito’s face—and was not wholly surprised at what he saw. The face before him was that of Sam Barkley—supposed American sportsman—the man who had pretended to be an ardent suitor of Suzanne Blackwell’s. It was from her no doubt in some indirect way that he had finally guessed the truth about Ferris.
The Agent’s hand reached into Barkley’s coat, drew out the Browning plans and transferred them to his own pocket. They were wet; but the water-proof ink wouldn’t run. The plane came up and stopped. It was a big naval amphibian.
“Ahoy there!” cried a voice.
THE plane carried a crew of four. Strong hands reached down for Agent “X” and Barkley; but, as they did so, one of Barkley’s arms moved suddenly. A gleaming vial was in his fingers. Before “X” could stop him he put it to his lips, pulling out the cork with his white teeth. With a movement swift as lightning he swallowed the vial’s contents, made a choking sound, then gave a strange, harsh laugh.
“X” smelted the fumes of bitter almonds—prussic acid.
The scared men in the plane swore fiercely and yanked Ito up. But they were too late. Barkley’s face was changing color. He coughed, writhed a moment, and lay still.
“What in hell does this mean?” one of the navy men asked.
“It means a master spy and murderer has committed suicide,” said “X.”
“And who are you?”
Secret Agent X – The Complete Series Volume 1 (Annotated) Page 56
