He glanced at his watch. It was after ten now. The hours since his car had been run off the bridge had been filled with excitement. The hours of the night that still remained promised to be even more strenuous. If his plan succeeded, he would before long establish contact with the cleverest band of criminals he had ever run into.
The shrill ringing of the telephone cut through his thoughts like the thrust of a sword. He stiffened and met the stare of Victor Garwick, who rose, his face paling.
A maid crossed the hall and entered the telephone closet. She came to the door of the drawing room.
“Some one wishes to speak to you, Mr. Garwick.”
“Who is it?”
“He will not give his name.”
“Very well, Estelle.”
When the maid had left Victor Garwick turned to the Agent and gestured mutely for him to take the call. The Agent nodded. Silently he crossed the hallway and entered the telephone closet. He closed the door behind him, picked up the receiver, and his lips framed the words.
“This is Victor Garwick speaking. Who is it?”
There was a moment of complete silence; then a strange voice sounded. To the Agent’s expert ears the pitch showed plainly that it was disguised.
“This is the man who called you before,” said the voice. “I have heard your broadcast, Mr. Garwick. I am listening.”
Agent “X” made his own disguised voice quaver. “For God’s sake, come at the earliest possible moment. I’m ready to try anything. David is getting worse. His heart is weak. If you have a cure—I am ready to try it.”
A chuckle sounded at the other end of the wire. It was mirthless, unsympathetic.
“I anticipated that you might reconsider, Garwick. Your change of mind comes sooner than I had expected, but your son’s condition accounts for that.”
“Hurry,” said “X.” “I assure you I will co-operate.”
“That is well!” said the cold voice. There was a relentless calculation in it that chilled the Secret Agent’s blood. “You understand that absolute secrecy must be maintained. I have only a small amount of my cure left. Feeling is running high in Branford tonight. If it should be suspected that I possessed a cure, I would be attacked and robbed before I could reach you. Furthermore, the charge will be high—”
“That doesn’t matter!” exclaimed “X” in the broken accents of a stricken father who thinks only of his sick son. “I will pay what you ask.”
“It must be cash,” continued the guarded voice. “The charge for the first treatment will be ten thousand dollars. Can you have that amount available by midnight—at which time you and your son will meet us?”
“Yes, yes!” said the Agent hoarsely. “Do you guarantee a cure?”
“That is a foregone conclusion,” said the strange voice. “I am a man of honor. It was I who treated the Vorse girl. You must have heard that she is recovering. I have treated others. They, too, are now on the road to health again. My cure is infallible. That is why my price is high. You agree to my terms of cash and secrecy?”
“I agree!”
“THAT is well. You would not want to jeopardize your son’s life, would you, Mr. Garwick?”
The Secret Agent felt a wave of loathing sweep over him.
“No, of course not,” he said.
“Then have him ready at midnight. Put warm clothing on him so that he can be taken out. Get your chauffeur to help carry him to your car. Then drive slowly along River Boulevard.
“Have your headlights on, but dimmed. See that the left parking light is out, the other lighted. If my assistants have not met you by the time you reach the end of the Boulevard, turn and come back again.
“When they meet you they will flash their lights three times. You will then stop. One of them will open the door of your car and give your son the first hypodermic injection of curative serum. You will give him the payment, and drive on after he has gone. In a few days I will call you and arrange for the next treatment. That is all. Is everything quite clear?”
“Quite!”
The receiver at the other end clicked up. Agent “X” backed slowly out of the telephone closet. For the first time in his career, his hands were trembling with excitement. The cunning of these criminals amazed him. They were using the methods of the most expert kidnapers. They were taking no chances. Like silent, evil vultures, they were feeding on the fear of the city, working with smooth efficiency.
Victor Garwick’s eyes were alert and questioning as the Secret Agent returned to the drawing room.
“Well?” he asked sharply.
“It is settled,” said the Agent. “I have spoken with one of the criminals. You and I are to meet them according to their directions at midnight.”
He outlined the arrangements to Garwick, and added a warning.
“You will have to play your part, too—or everything will fail. They will be watchful. Your manner must not betray the facts in any way that will arouse their suspicions.”
“Couldn’t we arrange to have a squad of detectives following them—ready to nab them?”
AGENT “X” shook his head sternly. “No. That is just what they have taken precautions against. They will trail us. If our car is not alone—if they have the slightest suspicion of anything such as you suggest, they will not even make contact. Only strategy can succeed in this. They must be put off their guard.”
“You are going to attempt to capture them single-handed?”
“No. These men we will see will be only the assistants of the real brains. My only hope is to follow them—and learn what I can.”
The Agent looked at his watch again.
“Ten-thirty. I’ve got an hour and a half to prepare. Good-by, Mr. Garwick. I’ll be back shortly.”
Secret Agent “X” left the Garwick home and sped swiftly to the hideout he had established in the city. There he collected his make-up materials and returned to the Garwick home. Everything depended on the perfection of his disguise tonight—and it was a disguise that must go more than skin deep. He must appear to be a man desperately ill with sleeping sickness. For this reason, he had selected one of several drugs and slipped that into his pocket also.
Back in the Garwick home, his work of make-up began. He took careful measurements of David Garwick’s face as the young man lay still and silent on the bed. Then, with the door closed, he set up his mirrors, took out his strange materials, and his long, sensitive fingers roved over his own features.
The face of Doctor Preston disappeared. For a few seconds Agent “X” appeared as he really was. Then, with the volatile plastic materials, he duplicated the face of David Garwick.
Five minutes later the room harbored a gruesome, uncanny sight. Two young men, twins having exactly the same appearance, seemed to be there. But one was dead, and one alive.
Agent “X” went to the door and called softly to Mr. Garwick. He knew the man was in for a shock, and he wanted to make it as gentle as possible. He dimmed the lights in the room.
“I have made my preparations,” he said, his back turned to the older man. Then he slowly turned, facing the other. Pallor spread over Garwick’s face as he gazed into what appeared to be the face of his dead son. He swayed a little, leaned against the wall for support. His breath came hoarsely.
“My God—it isn’t possible! I— Doctor Preston, you amaze me!” Garwick licked dry lips, glancing from the bed where his own son lay to the man who had so faithfully simulated the boy’s appearance that the effect was almost brutally startling. “We mustn’t let Stella see this! I know it would unnerve her.”
“You are right,” said “X” gently. “Keep her in her room until we have gone.”
GARWICK continued to stare at the features of Agent “X” as though he were seeing a ghost.
“Remember,” warned “X.” “I am supposed to be a sick man. I’m going to wrap blankets around myself now. Then I shall take a small dose of a drug to slow down my pulse and respiration in case they examine me.”
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br /> He drew his wallet out and produced ten thousand dollars in large bills. He handed it to Garwick.
“The man I talked to demanded a first payment in cash. I’m sure you haven’t this amount on hand. Give it to the man who injects the serum into me.”
“Very well,” said Garwick. “But I shall insist on reimbursing you later for this. I want it to be my donation to the cause.” He pocketed the bills, and “X” spoke again.
“It is now twenty minutes to twelve. Does your chauffeur know which room David is in?”
“No.”
“Good. I shall go into a vacant room on this floor and lie on the bed. You and he will have to carry me down to the car. There will probably be a spy watching outside the house. Everything must appear right—and let your chauffeur think I am really David. Call him now. Tell him to dim the headlights, and to take out the bulb in the left parking light. The other must be on.
“We are to drive slowly along River Boulevard until a car approaches and flashes its lights three times. If we don’t pass it the first time, we are to turn and retrace our course. Is that clear?”
“Clear. And what will you do after we have been stopped?”
“That,” said “X” softly, “will depend on the circumstances.”
Victor Garwick descended the stairs after showing the Agent to an empty guest room down the hall from David’s room. In a few moments there was the sound of a car coming up from the garage. It turned into the driveway and stopped with running motor before the front steps of the mansion.
Agent “X” lay down on the bed and pulled the covers over him. When Garwick and the chauffeur came into the room, he lay still, his eyes almost closed. The drug he had taken made him feel slightly dizzy, but he was acutely aware of all that was happening.
He saw the scared look on the chauffeur’s face. “X” had already wrapped himself up in blankets to conceal his street clothes. Garwick and the man added others, swathing him securely. Then they lifted him and the Agent made his body rigid. They carried him down to the waiting car and deposited him in the tonneau. “Go to River Boulevard. Drive slowly up it,” said Victor Garwick to the mystified chauffeur. “Stop when I tell you to, and obey any direction I may give you instantly.”
The car turned slowly out of the drive into the road, its one parking light goggling lopsidedly. Apparently unconscious in the back of the car, the Secret Agent’s heart was beating with elation and excitement. At last he was getting somewhere. At last he felt he was on a trail that would lead definitely to the man he sought.
Chapter XII
Murderer’s Magic
GARWICK and the chauffeur were silent as the car rolled into River Boulevard. Secret Agent “X” leaned back in the seat, his eyes still half closed. The drug he had taken had cut his pulse down so low that if a doctor had been there to take it, he would have pronounced the Agent a very sick man. But all his faculties were alert, both mental and physical!
From time to time, Victor Garwick’s gaze swivelled toward Agent “X.” The look of awe was still there. Garwick seemed to find it hard to credit his own senses, even now—this man looked so exactly like his dead son.
The car rolled on at a steady pace. On their left flowed the river, gleaming blackly in the faint light of the stars. “X” saw the lights of the state troopers’ camp on the opposite bank. A grim, faint smile twitched at his lips. He pictured the consternation that would fill the camp with turmoil if they could know of the drama taking place on the dark boulevard almost within range of their vision.
His eyes probed ahead between narrowed lids, watching for the first glimpse of the criminal’s car. A police patrol cruiser came around a bend in the road, shot by and out of sight without slackening speed. A half-mile farther along a large closed car passed. It held three men—a driver up front, and two in the seat behind.
The Secret Agent’s keen eyes had caught the intent stare of the men in that car. Without doubt, these were the emissaries of the master mind.
They passed no other vehicle as they traveled the length of the Boulevard. At the end, they turned and came back. In another fifteen minutes Agent “X” saw the closed car approaching them from the opposite direction.
Almost as he spotted it, its headlights winked three times.
“Stop!” Garwick’s voice rang out sharply to his chauffeur. “Draw up beside the road.”
The millionaire’s whole body was taut. His arm, resting against the Agent’s, trembled perceptibly. “X” grasped the man’s wrist firmly to steady him, and to show Garwick that he was still alert and master of himself.
The muffled engine of the car throbbed softly in the stillness as it stopped at the roadside. It was a spot between the widely strung lights on the Boulevard, and darkly deserted. The other car drew up opposite among the shadows. Its door opened. A figure jumped out.
Agent “X” watched tensely through eyes that seemed closed in the stupor of sleeping sickness. He saw a man in a long overcoat approaching. There was a small black case in the man’s hand. The faint glow of the car’s tail-light revealed that he wore a mask. It was a ghostly white mask of the kind used by surgeons to cover the lower part of the face when in the operating room.
The stranger came close and laid a hand on the door of Garwick’s car, wrenched it suddenly open. His voice came low and gruff through the folds of the white mask.
“Your name?”
“Victor Garwick.”
“You have the fee?”
“Yes.”
The man held out his hand. For an instant, Garwick hesitated. “X” realized that he was recalling the instructions he had given him to hand over the fee after the hypodermic injection had been made. He nudged the millionaire with a slight pressure of his arm. Garwick at once placed the roll of high denomination bank notes in the palm of the stranger.
The masked man pocketed the money after a swift inspection of it. This callous member of the extortionist band was evidently taking no chances on not getting his money. Only after he had stowed the bills safely away did he open the small black case he carried.
He withdrew a small hypodermic syringe and unscrewed the cap. Agent “X,” watching with hawklike attention, noted at once that the man’s movements were clumsy. Here was no expert surgeon or doctor trained in the use of scientific instruments. This was an uneducated layman carrying out an order that had been given him.
The man reached forward and lifted Agent “X’s” arm.
“Roll up the patient’s sleeve,” he ordered gruffly.
VICTOR GARWICK complied, while the chauffeur, half turning in his seat, looked on in amazement. When the Agent’s arm had been bared from wrist to elbow the man holding the syringe flashed on a tiny light. He felt awkwardly for the Agent’s pulse, held it a moment, and seemed satisfied. He then inserted the point of the hypo needle close to a large vein and pressed the plunger home.
It was not done very dexterously. The most unskilled nurse could have done better. But the serum contained in the reservoir of the needle entered the Agent’s blood stream.
And now for the first time he asked himself what its effect might be. He was not a sleeping sickness victim. Was it possible that the serum would bring on a mild attack of the dread disease?
The sharp jab of the needle made a stabbing pain in his arm. He didn’t wonder that the little Vorse girl had complained and been frightened.
The man turned away and without another word strode back to the waiting car, slamming the door of Garwick’s car behind him.
At that instant Agent “X” moved with an abruptness that made Victor Garwick gasp. As the door on the left of the car closed—the door toward the other motionless vehicle from which the masked man had come—Agent “X” wrenched open the right-hand door. He kicked off the blankets that swathed him and sprang out into the darkness. He hissed a low, sharp order to the astonished chauffeur.
“Drive on! At once!”
He crouched between the curb and the right-hand wheels o
f the Garwick limousine as it rolled away. His dark clothing, his collar drawn up about his face, made him indistinguishable in the deep shadows.
The man who applied the hypo needle got into his own car. Agent “X” crept across the roadway. Low to the ground, his body seemed to blend with the black asphalt of the boulevard. He was like a huge quick-moving spider. Just as the strange car began to roll, the Agent’s steely fingers grasped the spare tire on the rear. He swung up his legs, hugged his body close. He was an uninvited passenger as the car lurched ahead.
Those inside were utterly oblivious of what had happened. Once a face peered out the back window. But Agent “X” was crouched too low to be visible.
Seconds passed. The car rumbled on. Then the Secret Agent reached into his coat pocket and drew out a device that looked like a small portable camera.
HOLDING himself tightly with one arm hooked through the tire case, he opened the camera-like object. It wasn’t a camera, but one of the smallest, most delicate amplifying devices in existence. Often before it had served the Agent well. But never had it been put to more important use than now.
He drew from its center a small disc with a black cord attached. This was a tiny microphone. There were two cylindrical dry cells in the box of the amplifier, placed in a corresponding position to roll films. The inside of the cameralike thing itself was the earphone.
Agent “X” placed the whole instrument to the side of his head and, with the hand that was hooked through the tire, he pressed the disc microphone on its black cord against the metal back of the car.
At first only the crashing rumble of the vehicle, magnified to the thunder of a Niagara, reached his ear. But there were rheostats in the tiny instrument. In spite of his precarious clinging position and the bounce of the heavy car, Agent “X” managed to move them with sensitive fingers, electing sounds according to the wave-length of their vibrations. The rumble of machinery, coarse and long-waved, was easily excluded.
Secret Agent “X” – The Complete Series Volume 2 Page 9
