He moved forward cautiously, groping with his hands along the corridor walls. The passage was straight for a few yards, then began a long curve to the left.
The Agent’s mind was at work. He had an uncanny sense of direction that had often stood him in good stead. It was operating now. The corridor seemed to him to be heading toward the group of old buildings surrounding the big gas tank he had seen. Every few moments he stopped to listen, but could detect no sounds. He took another chance and flashed on his light.
A hundred feet ahead he saw the oblong of another door. He approached this stealthily, ears acutely attuned to the slightest sound, nerves taut. He rolled the door back. And there in front of him loomed the big car that had disappeared. Excitement made the Agent’s heart race. Here was concrete evidence that he was progressing toward his goal.
He moved cautiously past the car; saw a door in front of it in the rear of this underground garage. The door was fastened with a lock as elaborate as that of a safe deposit box. No ordinary key was used here.
Secret Agent “X” took out his kit of chromium tools. With elaborate care he set to work. Many tests were required with one of his small, delicate instruments before he ascertained the exact nature of the lock. Then he inserted a spidery skeleton key of resilient steel wire that adapted itself to the complex tumblers. A gentle movement of this and the door opened.
The Agent pocketed his tools, groped in the darkness again. His hands encountered what appeared to be a flight of steps. He began the ascent of these cautiously. He was coming nearer and nearer the criminals’ hideout. He knew that death lurked in the blackness around him. Caught prowling here, his life would be worth less than nothing. But the strange, burning glow in his eyes increased. He was experiencing the thrill of the born man-hunter, stacking his wits once again on the other side of the scale against the desperate cunning of ruthless criminals.
He continued to climb the dark stairs until he had almost reached ground level. A faint, pungent smell assailed his nostrils. It was the clinging, unmistakable odor of gas. The ground around him seemed saturated with it. This confirmed his belief as to the direction the passageway had taken. The old gas tank, steel walled like a fortress, was the lurking place of the germ spreaders. But that there were other secret entrances and exits he did not doubt.
THE stairs ended by another door. This opened easily. He walked along a chill concrete passageway, heard the faint sound of voices. They might be far off, or muffled by thick walls. He could not tell which, yet. He moved ahead, and the voices grew fainter. Back again, and they increased in volume till he passed a certain point. There must be doors ahead; but the Secret Agent stopped where this murmur of voices sounded strongest.
Once again he took out his delicate amplifier—the instrument that had plumbed the secrets of many desperate criminals. Quickly he opened it, pressed the small microphone to the wall, put the ear piece to his head, and fingered the rheostats.
It was a simpler task to isolate these voices than it had been to hear in the moving car. There was little else to interfere. The passages, deep underground, were strangely still.
Two men were talking. The words they used were not in gangster dialect. This was the speech of more educated men. The Agent’s heart leaped. It seemed he was now listening to those who guided this hidden and hideous racket. He was separated from them only by a foot or two of steel and concrete. One voice was deeper than the other. The higher-pitched voice was faintly familiar to “X.” He listened spellbound. The men were arguing fiercely. The deeper voice was sneering, contemptuous.
“We’ve gone too far to stop at anything now! At my orders the children of the city commissioners, the mayor, and the aldermen have been inoculated. What have you got to say to that?”
A furious curse came from the lips of the other man.
“You should have asked me about it first. I told you—”
“It makes no difference what you told me! I’m running things from now on. You’ve lost your nerve. I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen it coming. You’re going to take your orders from me like the rest of them whether you like it or not. This racket’s almost washed up. The monkeys are dying. People will be getting wise to us pretty soon anyway. I’m going to get a big hunk of money and then skip—that’s why I dropped the mayor a letter this afternoon.”
“You sent the mayor a letter?”
“Yes. One of his kids has got sleeping sickness. I offered to sell the city all the serum we have left for a million in cash.”
“My God—you’re crazy! They’ll know it’s a racket They’ll never pay. You can’t hold up a city.”
“Why not? They’ll be glad to raise the money to save their kids, I tell you. And it will be our last play. After it goes through, we’ll clear out.”
“But we haven’t enough serum left to— The apes are dying, and Hornaday says—”
A harsh, cruel laugh sounded.
“Serum be damned! We’ll get our money. We’ll hand out water if we have to. They’ll never know the difference—until it’s too late.”
Secret Agent “X” tensed with fury.
“The city will raise the funds, I tell you,” the deep voice continued. “The board of aldermen can do it. There’s more in the public treasury than there is in private pockets.” The laugh sounded again. “You can’t back out now! You’ve gone too far to save your own face, and I’ve got enough on you—”
The last words were lost in a volley of curses. The taunting, deep-toned voice cut through them. “You weren’t cut out to be a big shot. You lack guts. And now you’re taking your orders from me.”
Agent “X” strained forward, listening anxiously to catch every word. Who were these men? The walls made their voices distorted. Through the amplifier it was hard to recognize them, and yet—
Then suddenly his body stiffened. A sound had reached him through the other ear. It was on his side of the wall—the sound of movement in the passage.
The skin along his scalp tightened. A sense of danger made him turn abruptly, muscles rigid. And in that instant an overhead light flashed on.
In its glare Agent “X” had the reeling sudden sense of being in the midst of a horrible nightmare. For a half-dozen hideous, hairy faces were staring at him. The strong light revealed them plainly. Creatures that seemed neither men nor apes, who had crept upon him as he bent intent over his amplifier. One of them gave a hoarse cry. Before the Agent could move, they leaped upon him.
Chapter XV
Death to the Agent
“X” tried to draw his gas gun out, but the apelike forms were too close. They appeared as gorillas until a human voice issued from behind one hideous face.
“Get the rat—kill him.”
The truth of a thing that the Agent had already guessed was now apparent. These prowlers of the night who had been terrorizing the city, spreading disease and horror, were not gorillas, but men dressed up to look like them.
It explained the strange encounter he had had on his first night in Branford, explained the mystery of the toothlike injector; explained how the crime ring controlled their movements and inoculated the victims they selected.
In a blasting wave of fury, Agent “X” fought, but there were too many of them. They rained murderous blows on his head with fists encased in repulsive hairy black gloves. Another spoke hoarsely.
“Don’t kill him! Wait! The bosses will want to know about this. They’ll want to talk to him and find out who he is.”
In this speaker’s voice was a shade of fear. The mystery of the Agent’s inexplicable presence there seemed to have impressed one at least of these grotesque creatures.
But they didn’t handle him gently. The futility of fighting was soon borne home to him, and his heart leaped at mention of the “bosses.” To be taken before them, to find out who they were, was what he most desired.
He collapsed under a shower of vicious blows, lay limp as two of them picked him up. One had a drawn gun pressed against the
Agent’s side.
“Keep quiet, rat—or I’ll burn your guts.”
This was gangster talk. Here were men of the same calibre as those who had talked in the car; perhaps the very same individuals.
Agent “X” made no reply. He was thrust forward along the dim corridor, thrust through one of the doors he had seen at the passageway’s end.
The sense of being in a nightmare persisted. The costumes these men wore were so lifelike, the hoods over their heads so hideously real, that they seemed like apes with the power of human speech. No wonder a whole city, seeing them only at night, had been fooled. Here was more evidence of the daring and cunning of the fiends.
“How didja get in?” one of them demanded hoarsely. But still Agent “X” remained silent.
They took him through another door into a high-ceilinged windowless room which had the chill of steel and concrete.
He looked around in wonder, expecting to see the two other men. But the room held no one save those who had come in with him.
One of these went to the farthest wall. Agent “X” saw that it was formed of steel plates welded together. The ape-like man rapped out a series of signals with his knuckles. He stepped back, and a small slit opened in the steel wall. Through it a voice issued, the deep voice of the man Agent “X” had heard before.
“What do you want?”
“We caught a guy in the hallway, boss. He was listening. We got him here.”
The air of the room became deathly still. It seemed charged suddenly with the power of hate—and fear. Agent “X” could feel eyes fixed upon him—eyes that bored out through that single slit in the wall. He understood now that he was not to see the brains behind the racket after all. They had taken clever pains to protect their identity. But the voice sounded again, harsh with fury and amazement.
“You found him in the passage outside, you say? He had come all the way in?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Bring him closer!”
The men dressed as apes obeyed. Agent “X” was pushed nearer the wall, hands pinioned to his sides.
“Turn a light on his face.”
This was done also, and again Agent “X” had the uncanny sense that the eyes behind the wall were a tangible force—a force of evil unparalleled in his experience.
“Who are you?” the voice said. “Speak quickly—or you die.”
“An agent of the governor,” said “X.” “I came to Branford to investigate the epidemic.”
“Search him!”
THE Agent’s pockets were searched. His wallet was brought out. In the name place of it was a card bearing the words, “Doctor Preston, State Sanitation Department.” One of the men passed it through the slit in the wall. There was another moment of tense silence.
“And how did you get in here?” the deep voice abruptly demanded.
For a bare instant the Secret Agent was baffled. His identity was something he guarded with his very life. He did not intend to reveal it now. Yet how could he explain his entrance without giving away the fact that he was not what he appeared? One of the apelike men, fingering the Agent’s kit of chromium tools, answered for him.
“He’s got house-breaking gadgets here, boss. He must’ve picked the locks.”
The man behind the screen laughed mirthlessly.
“A doctor who thinks he’s a dick, eh? Pretty smart to get in here—a little too smart. You’re investigating the epidemic, you say?”
“Yes.”
“And how much do you know about it?”
“Enough,” said “X” quietly.
His piercing gaze swept the room, figuring his chances of escape. They were nil now. All six of his captors were alert. They had taken his gas gun from him. To make a break now would invite quick death.
“And you are all alone?” asked the voice.
“Yes.”
“Go to the door and see,” snapped the man behind the wall to those who were his underlings. There was fierce suspicion in his voice. A minute or two of silence followed while one man left the room. “X” could hear the others breathing tensely. The man returned.
“There’s nobody else, boss. He even locked the doors behind him.”
The harsh laughter of the man behind the steel sounded devilishly.
“You came to investigate the sleeping sickness, doctor! You shall have some first-hand experience of it!”
For an instant, he struggled fiercely. It was an involuntary reaction. The laugh of the man behind the wall rang in his ears.
“That frightens you, doctor! You prefer to study sleeping sickness at long range. But the ideals of medicine must be upheld. You shouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice yourself in the interests of science. We’ve developed cultures which vary in the degree of their potency. We’ll give you grade A. Its effects are most rapid.”
The men around “X” waited, except one who moved close to the steel wall. A tiny door opened outward below the eye slit. One of the strange hypodermic injectors in the form of teeth was thrust out by the man inside.
“It is ready,” he said harshly. “Give our doctor guest a forearm injection.”
At that instant time seemed to hang suspended. The Agent’s heart almost ceased to beat. Anticipating that he would attempt another break, four of the five men held him. Another pressed a gun at his back. The sixth, the man with the injector, approached.
“Roll up his sleeve!”
THE quick order was obeyed. The Secret Agent’s arm was shoved forward, bared to the elbow. With impassive cruelty, the man with the injector thrust the strange thing out. A thumb lever snapped the metal teeth open. Agent “X” got a brief detailed glimpse of this hypodermic instrument that had fooled a whole city.
Then the sharp teeth of it sank into his arm. The stabbing pain shot to his shoulder. He saw the hairy, gloved fingers of the man squeeze the injector device. The teeth were withdrawn. He, too, was now harboring the bacilli that had brought terror to Branford.
For a moment the room rang with peal upon peal of mocking laughter which issued from behind the wall.
“You won’t have long to wait, doctor! Our grade A culture is remarkably efficient. Its microbes produce the most poisonous virus of all. So far we have not used it—and I shall be interested to see just how efficacious it is. Meanwhile, you may wait and study your own symptoms. Shall we provide you with a notebook and pencil, doctor, that your experiences may not be lost to posterity?”
Agent “X” remained silent. His body was rigid, apparently, with fear. But it was the rigidity of deep emotion. He must make as much use as possible of the little time left him.
“Take him to room G,” ordered the man behind the wall. “See that he does not have his little playthings with him. One of you keep an eye on him until—”
The Agent’s gas gun, amplifier, and tool kit were removed. His other pockets were searched and emptied. The man with the gun and two others led him out into the corridor. He was pushed along it to a rusty iron door. The door was yanked open, the Agent was thrust inside, and a bolt on the outside was shoved home.
There was a small peephole in the door. The man in the corridor clicked on an overhead bulb, looked in for a moment, then walked off. Agent “X” was alone to face the slow relentless encroachment of the encephalitis bacilli, the germs that would bear him to the land of the living dead.
Chapter XVI
The Forgotten Man
HE looked tensely around the room. It was windowless, exit-less, except for that one bolted door. A couple of old oxygen cylinders were tumbled in a corner. There was not even a chair. The room had apparently been used as a storage chamber in former days by a now defunct gas company.
The Secret Agent paced back and forth. Another man might have given in, resigned himself to the inevitable, but the burning, flashing light of battle was still in the Agent’s eyes. Suddenly hope flared in his mind.
He recalled the ride along River Boulevard in Garwick’s car; recalled the injection of serum h
e had received as Garwick’s son. Would not that nullify the virulent germs in his blood for a while? His body was now a laboratory where a horrible battle was taking place—a battle between a horde of dread invaders and the serum.
With the terrible pressure of lack of time eased somewhat, Agent “X” could think more freely. He went back over the events of the last hour, recalling in every detail what he had seen—and heard. The man behind the screen had mentioned a name that had made his blood tingle. Hornaday! The young scientist from Drexel Institute was mixed up in this somehow.
It was more than possible that Hornaday had provided the serum with which the criminals were effecting cures. Was the brilliant young student working willingly with these fiends, or had they taken him prisoner? Where was he now? Agent “X” resolved to find out.
His pockets had been searched and emptied. But the gangsters dressed as hideous apes had not known with whom they were dealing. Neither had the man behind the steel wall known. And in his battles of wit with criminals, Agent “X” always tried to keep an ace in the hole.
Deep in the linings of his clothing, padded with strips of felt, were other pockets that hadn’t been discovered. The Secret Agent went through these, taking stock of the things that had been left him. A tiny cylindrical flashlight with a bulb hardly larger than a grain of wheat. A vial of anesthetizing drug with a minute needle injector. A few compact, portable make-up materials. Another miniature tool-kit contained in the hollow barrel of what appeared to be a fountain pen.
This latter Agent “X” fingered. The pen point of it unscrewed leaving a strong metal socket into which the slender tools contained in the barrel could be set. These extra tools had been selected with the greatest care. There was a small screw driver, a rat-tailed file, an auger, and a diamond studded bit.
Agent “X” approached the door and examined it. But there was no lock. There was no keyhole on the inside. The old-fashioned bolt that shuttered the door offered a greater obstacle to the Agent than any modern lock mechanism could have done. All his detailed studies of tumblers were futile in the face of it. The fittings of the bolt were riveted to the door. The rivets’ heads came through to his side.
Secret Agent “X” – The Complete Series Volume 2 Page 11
