In the rear seat the noise of the struggle had suddenly ceased. Kyle said, “I got’m.”
The Secret Agent looked in the rear vision mirror, and saw Kyle straddling the commissioner. Foster’s arms were pinioned to his sides by Kyle’s brutal hands. He was glaring up at his captor, and breathing heavily from the unwonted exertion. Though he was police commissioner, and head of the entire police department, he was unused to personal violence.
The commissioner turned his head, glared at “X.” He gasped, “You must be the one who impersonated Burks once before! You’re Secret A—”
“X” HAD shifted into high by this time, and the car was doing forty along Cherry Street. He swerved it madly, and the rest of the commissioner’s sentence ended in a gasp as both he and Kyle clutched for balance.
“X” waited, perturbed, for some word from Kyle that he understood what the commissioner had attempted to say. Had he been successful in preventing revelation of his identity to Kyle?
But the convict was too intent on the chase behind them. He growled at Foster, “Don’t make no funny moves, or I’ll brain you!” Then he looked out of the rear window. “They’re afraid to shoot,” he gloated. “They might kill the commissioner!”
“X” saw, in the rear vision mirror, a number of squad cars and several motorcycles strung out behind them, and “X” swung east into a side street. The pursuit roared around the corner a block in the rear.
As if in answer to Kyle’s challenge, a sub-machine gun began to stutter, bright lances of flame sprang at them from behind.
Kyle said, “Jeez, they’re shootin’ at the tires!”
And then it happened.
There was a loud explosion in the rear, followed almost immediately by another. Both rear tires had been hit.
The car lurched, swerved drunkenly across the street. “X” fought the wheel desperately, and got the car out of its mad skid, slowly applied the brake, and brought it to a halt, square across the street. There was no room for another car to pass, but the motorcycles would be able to make it.
The machine gun had ceased firing. The pursuit was thundering down upon them.
“X” got out on the far side, cried to Kyle, “Come on—out!” Kyle swung a wicked fist to the side of the commissioner’s head, and Foster slid unconscious in the seat. Then he leaped out after the Secret Agent.
“X” shouted, “Follow me!” and led the way into the dark hallway of an old house. It was an old law tenement, and the air in here was murky and musty. Outside they could hear the squealing of brakes as the pursuing cars pulled up short.
Kyle said, “Jeez, we can’t get away. They’ll have the block surrounded in two minutes!”
“X” said nothing, but groped through the dark hallway until they came to a rear door. They went out into a yard that was littered with garbage cans, climbed a fence.
There was commotion and shouting behind them. Several windows in the house opened, heads were poked out.
On the other side of the fence was a three-family brownstone, facing on the next street. Alongside it was a driveway, leading to a small garage in the rear.
A car stood in the driveway, its motor running, headlights on. The owner was standing before the door of the garage, in the glow of the headlights. He had just finished opening the garage door when he stopped to see the two strange figures come over the fence.
“X” gave the man no time to retreat. He reached him with a quick leap, and shoved him inside the garage. The man lost his balance, and sprawled on the concrete floor, shouting. “Hey you! What’s the idea?”
Before the man could get to his feet, “X” had slid the door closed, fastened the padlock. He led the way to the car, to the accompaniment of the owner’s frantic pounding at the inside of the garage door. He got in the driver’s seat, and Kyle crowded in beside him.
In a moment he had backed down into the street, and was roaring east again. As he turned north at the next corner, he looked back and got a glimpse of the first of the pursuing officers who had come through the back yard after them.
Kyle said admiringly, “Jeez, mister, you sure work fast. I thought we was goners!”
Chapter IX
Escape
“X” SAID nothing. He drove swiftly, steadily north for almost a mile. Once they saw a radio car a block away, and he quickly turned off into a side street, then swung north again at the next corner. The alarm would be out for them by this time, and he had to be careful.
At a street near the river they left the car, and “X” led the way around the block. The owner of the car would be well compensated for the use of his car as well as for his rough treatment. In a day or so he would receive in the mail an envelope with no return address. This envelope would contain a sum sufficient to satisfy him. He was evidently a man in modest circumstances, and would no doubt be able to make good use of the money.
Kyle followed along now, making no protest. He had seen that this man was definitely bound on getting him out of the clutches of the law, and after witnessing his efficiency, was content to let him have the lead—for the time being. He had other plans, however, for the time when the danger would be over.
“X” took him to a large apartment building facing the river. This was one of the newer buildings that had been erected on the site of a former slum.
As they entered, Kyle noted the address—17 Green Street. He said, “What you got here, mister, a hide-out?”
“X” nodded, led him into a self-service elevator, and they ascended to the eighth floor. The Secret Agent opened the door of apartment No. 806, and snapped on the lights. They were in a room of a well-furnished apartment. There were rooms beyond a doorway at the other end.
“X” stepped over to a secretary in the corner. He kept here various makeup materials, mechanical devices, just as he did in all of his retreats. He was about to open it, when suddenly he tensed. Behind him, Kyle had snapped, “Put ’em up, mister, whatever your name is! I got you covered!”
The Secret Agent turned slowly, half raising his hands. Kyle had a heavy service revolver in his hand. He menaced “X” with it, and snarled, “Now you can gimme the lowdown. What did you get me out of headquarters for?”
The revolver was pointing straight at “X,” and Kyle’s eyes had a killer’s light in them. His finger was curled tautly around the trigger.
“X” said, “I see you got yourself a gat. Where?”
Kyle smiled cunningly. “You’re smart, mister, but you ain’t got eyes in the back of your head. I took this off the commissioner while you was driving!
“Now, give us the lowdown on who you are. I know you ain’t Burks, but you got a damn good make-up. You fixed me up swell, too.” Suddenly his eyes sparkled. “I got it! I bet I know what the commissioner was goin’ to call you when you swerved the car like that. He was goin’ to call you—Secret Agent ‘X’!”
“X” kept his hands in the air, eyed Kyle shrewdly. “What does it matter who I am? I saved you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. Sure you did. That’s what I want to know—why?”
“I saved you because I wanted to ask you two questions. If you’ll answer them I’ll pay you well and see that you get out of the country!”
Kyle laughed. “I can get taken care of now, without you. The boss will take care of me from now on. But let’s hear what you want to know.”
“In the first place,” the Secret Agent replied, “I want to know who hired you to attack Governor-elect Farrell. Secondly, who killed Michael Crome? I think you know, or can help me to find out.”
Kyle held the gun steady. “Where do you fit in on all this? What’s it to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. Will you talk?”
Kyle grinned savagely. “You look like Burks, an’ you talk like Burks. But you ain’t. I know that.” He took a step closer. “No, mister, I ain’t doin’ business with you. But I’m gonna find out who you are. Maybe the commissioner was right. I got a yen to see your face under the make-up. Stand
still—I’m gonna scratch that stuff off your face an’ take a look at it!”
He advanced toward the Secret Agent, gun thrust forward. There was no doubt as to his intention. He was going to satisfy his curiosity first, then he would shoot—to kill. There was no mercy, no gratitude in him.
“X” had been edging imperceptibly toward a spot in the rug not far from the secretary. His eyes were on Kyle, hands half raised, but he knew where that spot was. It was marked by the figure of a leopard woven into the design of the rug. He placed one foot on the leopard’s paw, which was extended before it, and the other foot upon its tail.
There was a tiny button under each of these points, which had to be pressed in a particular way. He did so, and immediately the room was plunged into darkness. A short circuit had been caused by the pressure on the two buttons, and the fuse had blown.
Kyle uttered a grunt of surprise.
The Secret Agent bent at the knees and plunged at the place where he knew Kyle was standing. He encircled Kyle about the waist with one arm, raised the other and swept it in the air until it encountered Kyle’s gun hand, which was raised to strike at him. His fingers caught Kyle’s wrist in a grip of iron, and gave it a sudden, vicious twist. Kyle cried out in pain, and dropped the revolver.
“X” released his hold about Kyle’s waist, and brought the edge of his open hand around in a slashing blow to the other’s neck. In the darkness he miscalculated slightly, and the edge of his hand struck Kyle’s head behind the ear. Kyle caved in without a sound. “X” caught his body and eased him to the floor.
Then he got his pocket flashlight, groped along the wall behind the secretary, and pulled over a switch. This switch threw the electric current through an auxiliary set of fuses, and the room was instantly illumined once more.
He stared for a moment at Kyle, who was twitching on the floor. He was about to regain consciousness. “X” looked speculatively at the phone on the table. He tried to put himself in Kyle’s place. If Kyle came to, and found himself alone here, what would be the first reaction of a man of his mentality? The chances were that he would phone to his unknown boss for assistance.
“X” nodded to himself, and decided to try the experiment. He picked up the commissioner’s gun, and locked it in the secretary.
Kyle was starting to open his eyes when “X” crossed the room and went out into the corridor, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter X
A Killer’s Threat
INSTEAD of going away, however, he quickly made his way around a bend in the corridor, and let himself back in to the apartment through the service door. He went through the kitchen, making no sound, into a bedroom. There was an extension phone here. He picked it up slowly and gently, so that if Kyle were already talking on it he would not hear the click.
Just as he had expected, Kyle was already at the phone. He must have come to at once, and pounced on the instrument, for “X” heard him giving the number, but was able to catch only the last three words: “Four-two-three.”
What had the number been? He waited tensely, his hand over the mouthpiece. Soon a voice said faintly: “Yes?”
Kyle spoke eagerly. “Boss! This is you-know-who! I got away!”
The voice at the other end exclaimed, “Yes, yes! I just heard about it. You shouldn’t have called.”
Kyle said, “Shouldn’t have called! I ain’t outta the bag yet. You gotta help me. I’m right in the city, an’ there’s a dragnet around the town by this time.”
The other’s voice bore a trace of culture, education. It was not the voice of a lowly plotter, but of some one who must wield power, have influence. “I don’t see how I can help you, right now. Why don’t you lay low till the search quiets down—”
Kyle’s coarse laugh interrupted.
“Lay low! I’m in a spot right now. The guy that saved me—”
“Yes—I meant to ask you that. Who was it? Why did he do it?”
“I don’t know, boss. But I got a hunch. Whoever he is, he wanted to know a hell of a lot about you.”
“Did you—tell him anything?” This anxiously.
“Not yet. I’m in his place now. He thinks I’m knocked out. I guess he’ll be back. You better get me out of here, or I’ll spill everything to him. An’ make it snappy, too.”
There was a short silence. Then, “All right, I’ll take care of getting you out of there. What’s the address?”
“Seventeen Green Street, apartment eight-o-six. How you gonna work it, boss?”
“I’m too far away to get there myself, but I’ll phone a couple of the boys in the city, and tell them to get to work at once. I’ll have them there in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. An’ listen, boss, they better be here. What I mean, otherwise I open up to this guy—an’ he’s plenty anxious to get the dope on a couple of things—including Crome’s—”
The voice at the other end rapped fiercely, “Shut up, you fool, keep mum. The boys will be there.”
“That’s jake with me, boss. Tell ’em to knock on the door—three times fast and twice slow—so I’ll know it’s them.”
There were two faint clicks, and the conversation ceased.
“X” tingled with the awareness that he was close now to the solution of the murder of Crome. The man at the other end was the answer. He had to trace that call, find out who it was.
But first he had to attend to Kyle.
HE stepped out of the bedroom, walked through a short hall, and entered the living room. Kyle was at the secretary, trying to pry it open. At the sound of “X’s” step, he whirled. For a moment his face bore a look of astonishment, then he snarled, “You tricked me! You were listening in!”
“X” crossed the room with the lithe stride of a panther. “Yes,” he said softly. “The last time I put you to sleep for a short time. You got over it quickly. Now my friend, it is going to be for a little longer.”
Kyle was like a cornered animal. He had acquired a healthy respect for the Secret Agent during the last hour, but he had his back to the wall now. The steady purpose that he saw in “X’s” eyes lent him the courage of desperation.
With a low, animal-like growl, he launched himself at the Secret Agent. He was some thirty pounds heavier, as was evidenced by the fact that “X” had found it necessary to use the metal plates to pad his shoulders and chest. If his body had struck “X” as intended, the fight would have been over, for the wind would have undoubtedly been knocked out of the lighter man. But “X” sidestepped gracefully. He was no amateur at these tactics himself.
Kyle, however, was an old-timer at the rough-and-tumble game. The sobriquet of “Killer” had been earned by him, not as was popularly supposed, through his criminal activities, but had been bestowed years earlier, when he had been a barnstorming wrestler. His career as a wrestler was marked by the death of two opponents in a year, and he had earned the moniker that stuck to him through the following years.
Kyle’s rush ended just as “X” sidestepped. Kyle sprang upward, jolted “X’s” midriff with his elbow, and at the same time stuck a foot out behind him. “X” tripped backward. The back of his head struck the wall jarringly. In another moment Kyle had him in a deadly headlock.
The sweat stood out on the foreheads of both men. The agony of that grip was almost unbearable. Kyle knew it, and grinned wickedly through the sweat. “X” knew its deadliness, and did the only thing that would save him. It was a trick he had learned years ago in Yokohama.
He pressed his thumb into a spot in Kyle’s body just below the left armpit. Steadily he increased the pressure, until Kyle had to release the hold or suffer excruciating pain. Kyle gasped and loosened his grip involuntarily. Immediately, the Secret Agent broke the hold, and rolled away. Before Kyle could attack again, the Agent was on his feet. He stepped in, exhibiting superb footwork, feinted once; then his right fist flashed in too fast for the eyes to follow, there was the crack of bone on bone, and Kyle went jolting backward till he hit the wall, where h
e sank down. He was unconscious before he struck the floor.
“X” lost no time now, though his breath was coming short and fast. He had heard Kyle’s boss say that some one would be there in fifteen minutes.
He got to the phone, jiggled the hook till the operator answered. “What number,” he demanded, “was just called from this phone?”
The operator said, “Just a minute, sir.” It was two minutes before she came on again. “That was a long distance number, sir. It was Catskill 423.”
“X” said, “Thanks,” and asked the operator to give him information. To the information operator he said, “Kindly give me the name and address of the subscriber at Catskill 423.”
He waited impatiently. In another moment he would have the name of the man who had paid Kyle to attempt the life of Governor-elect Farrell, of the man who had tortured and killed Michael Crome in that hideous manner. And then information came back on the line to say, “I’m sorry, sir, but Catskill 423 is an unpublished number, and we are not permitted to divulge the name of the subscriber.”
“X” HUNG up in deep disappointment. It was useless to pursue the inquiry further along those lines. There were ways of getting that name and address. But they would take more time than he could afford.
His eyes rested moodily on the form of Kyle who, though unconscious, was breathing stertorously. His mind was working out a dozen alternate plans. None of them would click. He glanced at his wristwatch. Nine minutes before Kyle’s friends were scheduled to arrive—if they were prompt. Time to call Betty Dale, anyway, see if there were any developments that had a bearing on the case.
He picked up the phone once more, asked for Betty’s number. In a moment her soft, troubled voice answered him.
His own voice changed as if by magic when he spoke to her, assuming the mysterious phrasing that he often used. He said, “The hawk seeks aid of the swan. Have you any news?”
She exclaimed, “I’m so glad you called. I just got in. I was covering the story of Kyle’s escape. I was so happy to learn that you were safe.” Her voice took on a note of gayety. “And it was funny, too. Wait till you see tomorrow’s papers. They’ll all have pictures of Inspector Burks running out of headquarters in his underwear!”
Secret Agent “X” – The Complete Series Volume 2 Page 19
