Secret Agent “X” – The Complete Series Volume 2

by Paul Chadwick

  Mrs. Garwick’s white face lighted in an eager smile. “Perhaps it will be the solution to everything! Perhaps in a few days we will have David on the way to recovery, Victor!”

  The smile faded from her face suddenly as a hoarse, frightened voice sounded, calling:

  “Mrs. Garwick! Mrs. Garwick!”

  Agent “X” turned a startled glance toward the stairs.

  The nurse who had been with David stood on the upper landing, her face as white as death. She descended slowly, clutching the railing with trembling hands. At the bottom she stood motionless, seeming unable to speak. Mrs. Garwick rushed forward and shook the servant frantically by the shoulders.

  “What is it, Kate? What’s happened? Is David worse? Tell me instantly!”

  The servant groped for words, clumsily trying to soften the terrible news she had to convey.

  “I just looked at him a minute ago, mum. You know David’s heart’s always been bad—ever since he was a little feller, Mrs. Garwick, and now he’s—”

  “You mean—you don’t mean—”

  The servant nodded in dumb agony—and Mrs. Garwick, with a piercing scream, sank fainting to the floor.

  Chapter X

  Signals to Satan

  AGENT “X,” watching this tableau, felt his heart almost cease to beat. The death of David Garwick, itself a tragedy, meant double tragedy for him. Just when hope of trailing the criminals seemed closest, just when he had begun to feel he might be able to wrest the suffering city from the grip of this menace, hope was dashed from his hand.

  Kate, the servant, bent over Mrs. Garwick, tears streaming from her worn old face. Mr. Garwick turned wildly to “X.” His face was gray.

  “You’re a doctor! Maybe Kate’s wrong! Come!”

  He turned and bounded up the stairs. “X” followed. But a brief examination of David Garwick showed that the old servant had been right. The young man’s still features showed the marble whiteness of death. There was no pulse. Under the stress of the shock he had received and the ravaging germs of the sleeping sickness, his weak heart had ceased to function.

  Garwick was quiet for seconds, his face contorted, his head bowed in the terrible silent grief of a strong man. Then slowly he raised the covers over his dead son’s face.

  “I most notify Roeber,” he said dully. “A doctor is no longer needed.”

  It was then that Agent “X” spoke, his own voice low and tense.

  His fingers clutched Victor Garwick’s arm.

  “Don’t call anyone, Mr. Garwick! Wait until you’ve heard what I’ve got to say—and prepare to be profoundly shocked.”

  Garwick’s dazed eyes looked into his without any comprehension.

  “What is this you’re saying?” asked the stricken man. “You can tell me nothing that will interest me now.”

  “X’s” fingers tightened on the man’s arm. “Pull yourself together, Garwick! Other lives may depend upon your doing so. Listen to me! The death of your son was not a natural one. Your son was murdered!”

  Victor Garwick seemed to realize slowly what the Agent was saying. He stepped back, groping for the edge of the bed upon which his son’s body lay.

  “What madness is this? What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “Just what I said,” snapped the Agent. “David was murdered by human beings who have the cruelty of fiends.”

  “Good God, doctor—are you trying to drive me mad? Didn’t he come down with sleeping sickness? Isn’t there an epidemic raging? And didn’t the disease and the shock of the ape’s attack stop his heart?”

  “True!” said “X.” “That is all true, Garwick. But hasn’t it ever occurred to you that some things about this epidemic are strange? No—I can see that it hasn’t! The cunning of the criminals has fooled you as it has others, and as it was meant to.

  “But I’m telling you now. I am telling you that your son was purposely inoculated with the germs of encephalitis. That he is a victim of one of the most evil extortion rackets I have ever come in contact with.”

  “Then why didn’t you warn me when you first came? Why aren’t you calling the police now? Supposing I tell you that I don’t believe a word you say?”

  “X” spoke more harshly still. He seemed to tower over Victor Garwick, and he was gazing into the man’s eyes with that strangely compelling look of his, filled with the blazing domination of a powerful will.

  “You’ve got to believe me! Listen! Stephen Vorse’s little girl has been cured. And how? By this person you thought was a quack. He called the Vorses, too. They met his demands. He sent his assistants to get the girl. She was taken out of the house in an automobile, treated several times—and she has recovered. The man who telephoned was no quack. He was a member of the criminal ring behind this. He could have cured your son David if the boy’s heart had not been weak. That was why I advised you to follow his instructions if he called again.”

  “But you said nothing about all this!”

  “No! Would you have let David be placed in his hands if I had? I knew your reactions might jeopardize the boy’s life and put the criminals on their guard. So I advised you without explaining the motives behind it. I wanted to save your son and if possible capture the criminals.”

  “And now—it is too late,” said Victor Garwick brokenly.

  THE Secret Agent’s eyes seemed to gleam like polished steel. His low-spoken words were vibrant. “Too late to save the boy—yes. But not too late perhaps to trace these fiends!”

  He stared at Victor Garwick for seconds. The man shook his head.

  “I don’t know what you mean. David is dead. If I sent for them now, they would become suspicious at once.”

  “Mr. Garwick,” said “X,” “are you willing to help me catch those who killed your son? Are you willing to aid in sending these fiends to prison or the chair?”

  Victor Garwick swore harshly and clenched his fists. “If these incredible things you say are true—if my boy was really inoculated—I’ll devote the rest of my life to running down the criminals who did it. Come—we’ll call the police at once!”

  Agent “X” held the man with detaining fingers. “You still don’t understand,” he said. “These are no ordinary crooks with whom we are dealing. They are fiends so clever that they’ve been able to hoodwink a whole city. The police cannot cope with them. And, once warned that the law is on their trail, they will escape!”

  “What do you advise, then?”

  “Follow my instructions. I know what I’m about.”

  “You are not a doctor? You are a state detective?”

  “It makes no difference what I am. I came to Branford to investigate this thing. Certain odd facts which had escaped others interested me.”

  Victor Garwick frowned. “If the police cannot cope with the criminals—how can we hope to catch them? What is your suggestion?”

  “This,” said “X” tensely. “The man you thought was a quack must be summoned. He must not know that David is dead. His demands must be met. His price must be paid.”

  Victor Garwick sharply withdrew his arm and recoiled away from Agent “X.” A fierce look sprang into his eyes—a look of deep suspicion.

  “I—see!” he barked. “You yourself have a motive! You stand to make something out of this! What if I tell you I think you are one of the criminals? You know too much! You want me to pay thousands of dollars to a crook who can do my son no good!”

  The Secret Agent’s laugh was short and bitter. “Your suspicion is natural, Garwick. I admit that. But here is concrete proof that I am not trying to get your money. Here’s proof that I am as anxious to catch these fiends as you are.”

  “X” reached inside his coat, to a deep inner pocket. He drew out a wallet bulging with bank notes. From it he drew a sheaf of bills, dozens of them, of startlingly high denomination.

  “Whatever this man charges,” he said, “whether it’s a thousand, five thousand, ten thousand, or more—I will pay it. Money means nothing to me i
f I can bring these fiends to justice.”

  Victor Garwick stared at the money, then studied the Agent’s determined face. He drew a long breath, and his tense attitude relaxed. A man of affairs, used to dealing in the hard facts of life, this offer was the last thing needed to convince him of the Agent’s integrity.

  “I’m sorry, doctor,” he said. “Whoever you really are, whatever your motive, I’m with you. And you can keep your money. It is my son who has—been murdered. All I want to do is help you in any way I can.”

  Garwick grasped the Agent’s hand and wrung it. Then he shook his head with a puzzled frown.

  “But I don’t understand how you expect to outwit these men by getting them to treat David! They’ll see at once that he is dead!”

  Agent “X” spoke rapidly.

  “I’ll make my plan clear, Garwick. Wait here a moment.”

  “X” hurried downstairs. He had to make sure that no one in the house let news of David Garwick’s death reach the outside world.

  Mrs. Garwick was lying on the couch in the living room still unconscious. The servants were bending over her. Agent “X” stopped a maid in the act of reaching for a phone. “Not now!” he said sternly. “I’ll take care of Mrs. Garwick. There is good news. David is not dead. It was only a heart attack!”

  The nurse who had reported his death gave a cry of thankfulness. The others burst into excited exclamations. This lie was necessary to keep the news of the young man’s death a secret. It was the only way for “X” to carry out the strange plan he had in mind. He went back upstairs quickly and resumed his talk with the boy’s father.

  “The man who phoned must be summoned at once—tonight!” he said. “Before the death of your son is known.”

  “How?” gasped Victor Garwick.

  “By radio,” snapped “X.” Thorough in everything he did, Agent “X” had investigated Garwick’s social and financial connections together with those of Branford’s other leading citizens. “You are a director on the Branford Broadcasting Company, Garwick. An order from you would clear the air so that a message could be sent out instantly, would it not?”

  GARWICK nodded. “Yes, that is true,” he said. “But you said you wanted to keep this thing under cover. Any message we send out will reach everyone in town.”

  “Exactly!” agreed the Agent. “But we will word the message so that only the criminals will know what it means.”

  Quickly the Agent took out a pencil. “Your telephone number, Garwick?”

  “River Hill 5407.”

  Agent “X’s” penciled moved swiftly over a piece of paper.

  “Will the man who called River Hill 5407 call again at once,” he wrote. “Circumstances have rendered change of decision necessary. Vitally important.”

  He handed the note to Garwick, and said swiftly:

  “Not even the servants must learn of this—unless we can possibly take the nurse into our confidence. The others must think David is still alive. Call the broadcasting station. Get them to put that message on the air at once. If it does not bring results, we’ll have it repeated.”

  Anxious now to do anything that would bring the killers of his son to justice, Victor Garwick sprang to a telephone. Agent “X” closed and locked the door of David’s room, then followed the boy’s father. He spoke to a male servant.

  “Help me get Mrs. Garwick upstairs at once. I can treat her better there.”

  While the master of the house was telephoning his strange order to the broadcasting station, they carried his wife upstairs. Agent “X” dismissed the man who had helped him, then called the old servant, Kate, to his side. A shrewd judge of character, he eyed the woman long and earnestly. She returned his intent gaze without wavering.

  “Why do you do nothing for Mrs. Garwick?” she asked the Agent. “I must get back to my patient. Thank God he is all right. But they’ll never forgive me for giving them such a scare.”

  Agent “X” laid his hand on the old woman’s arm.

  “David is dead,” he said slowly. “You must know the truth. But there is a reason why the others must not know. You’ve been with the boy for years—seen him grow up. You’ve loved him. He was murdered, Kate—I can’t tell you all about it now. But we’re going to try to catch those who killed him. Our success depends on how well you keep our confidence. If you want to see the devils who murdered David brought to justice, go in and stay with him. Guard his door and say nothing of this to a living soul.”

  The woman crossed herself. Tears tolled down her wrinkled cheeks.

  “I’ll not breathe a word of it. I’ll stay with him, sir, as I did when he was alive, so help me!”

  She turned and walked slowly away. Agent “X” knew that he could trust her.

  He took out his small vial of restorative fluid and applied it to Mrs. Garwick’s lips. She was on the point of returning consciousness when her husband came slowly back up the stairs. Agent “X” left him to tell her the truth about her son—to explain why they must co-operate with “Doctor Preston.”

  He went down the stairway again and turned on the huge radio that stood in the drawing room.

  At first, soft-toned jazz issued from it. Then suddenly the music stopped and the announcer’s voice sounded.

  “We are interrupting the program for a few moments, friends, to deliver an unusual message. Here it is: ‘Will the man who called River Hill 5407 call again at once. Circumstances have rendered change of decision necessary. Vitally important’.”

  Several times the announcer’s precise voice repeated the message. The Secret Agent listened tensely. He knew the message was being heard all over the city of Branford. Wherever there were radios—in homes, restaurants, clubs, places of amusement—people were pausing to listen and wonder at those strange words. Would it, he wondered, reach the ears of the criminals for whom it was intended?

  Chapter XI

  Disguise of Death

  JAZZ poured from the radio once more. Agent “X” quickly turned it off. He ascended the stairs and knocked at the Garwicks’ door. His battle with the spreaders of the sleeping death had begun. But there were strange details yet to be worked out.

  Mr. Garwick admitted him to the room where his wife was sitting on a chaise longue, her face drawn and pale. The manner of both parents of the dead boy showed that they were ready to place complete confidence in Secret Agent “X.”

  “Doctor Preston,” said Garwick, “I’ve told my wife everything you told me. She is just as anxious as I am that these murderers be caught.”

  “I’ve just heard our call broadcasted,” said “X.” “Unless I am mistaken we won’t have to wait long for results.”

  “Suppose the man does call,” said Garwick. “What will you tell him? When his assistants get David, they’ll realize at once that they’ve been tricked. We might conceivably catch them, but the real heads of this crime ring will get away.”

  Agent “X” nodded slowly. Garwick, he could see, had a shrewd analytical brain.

  “You’re going to be amazed and perhaps skeptical of my plan,” he said softly. “I intend to pose as your son and let the criminals take me away instead.”

  “Good God!” Garwick’s exclamation was one of sheer astonishment. “Why, man, you can’t possibly succeed! The criminals must have seen a dozen pictures of my son. His picture has often appeared in the social columns of the Branford papers. You can’t fool them. They’ll only kill you and escape.”

  The Secret Agent held up his hand. “I ask you to have faith in me, Mr. Garwick. I know something about disguise. I’m going to gamble that the criminals will think I’m your son.”

  “You mean that you’re going to make up as David?” Mrs. Garwick’s voice held a quaver of amazement and disbelief. Her face had grown a shade whiter, too, and “X” sensed that this would mean an added ordeal for her. He spoke gently:

  “It’s the only way, Mrs. Garwick.”

  “You’ll never succeed!”

  Victor Garwick was paci
ng the floor nervously now, clenching and unclenching his hands. Agent “X” was tense. He couldn’t tell these people about himself; couldn’t reveal that the face they thought was his own was an elaborate disguise. That would shatter the belief in him that he had managed to create.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” he said. “When this man calls, Mr. Garwick, I want you to let me answer him. The thing is too close to you. Your emotion might give you away. Let me make whatever arrangements are necessary.”

  “But supposing,” said Garwick, “this man is some one who knows me—some one who would recognize my voice! A strange voice answering for me would cause suspicion at once and wreck all our plans.”

  Agent “X” faced the two. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. His lips moved. “This is Victor Garwick speaking,” he said. “Yes, I sent out the radio broadcast tonight. I am willing to consider your offer now. My son is—”

  Mrs. Garwick gasped and clutched her husband’s arm. She stared at Agent “X” with baffled wonder in her eyes. Mr. Garwick seemed speechless with amazement, then said slowly:

  “I see! You have a most remarkable power of mimicry, Doctor Preston!”

  The Agent eyed the man closely, to see if there was any hint of suspicion in Garwick’s gaze. He was relieved to find there nothing but admiration.

  “If I hadn’t seen his lips move,” said Mrs. Garwick, “I should have been certain it was you speaking, Victor. I didn’t believe such things were possible.” She turned away. “You go downstairs with the doctor so you’ll be near the telephone. I—I’m going to stay with David for a while.”

  As Mr. Garwick descended the stairs with the Agent, his manner held a respect that was almost awe. It was as though the trick of mimicry had given him new insight into this strange man’s character. He sensed that there were depths of mystery and power behind the calm face of Doctor Preston.

  IN the drawing room, Agent “X” paced up and down. Would or would not the criminals answer the broadcast? They must have a radio. News of the epidemic had been sent out from time to time. It was almost certain they would want to use every possible means of keeping in touch with all that was going on in Branford.