On these features that were really his own, he began building up a new face. The pigments came first, changing the color of his skin. Then strips of tissue-thin adhesive, creating new muscular contours. Then the mysterious volatile substance that dried almost instantly. The substance so flexible that it responded to every facial movement. He had the rugged, blunt features of a hard-bitten army officer now. Once again Agent “X” had wrought a masterly disguise.
In his natty uniform he seemed to have stepped straight from the General Staff offices, or from some drill ground. But even the uniform was not as simple as it looked. It contained secret, hidden pockets. Into these Agent “X” transferred certain small things that he carried in his other suit. There was even material for a quick change of disguise, if that became necessary.
Leaving his apartment quickly, he summoned another cab and gave the address of Senator Dashman’s home.
Rain still spattered on the pavement. Lightning flashed on the horizon. The storm that refused to leave the vicinity of the city seemed an expression of the menace that hung over the nation’s capital.
The cab sped along wet, glistening streets, came at last to a big house in a fashionable suburb — a house that expressed the dignity of a man who was one of the country’s lawmakers.
Agent “X” strode up the steps and pressed the bell. He had begun his campaign of action. He had a pretext for his visit to Senator Dashman carefully thought out. His inquiries about Captain Nelson would seem natural and in order. But it was seconds before his signal at the bell was answered.
Then a scared-faced, trembling servant came to the door. He was a colored man with features that showed the dusty grayness of fear. He stood on the threshold, making ineffectual motions for “X” to enter.
“X’s” muscles grew rigid. He sensed in that first instant that something was wrong.
In quick strides he brushed past the servant, entering the carpeted front hall. A group of white-faced people were crowding close to a doorway across the hall. They turned as Agent “X” came toward them. He grasped the arm of a young man.
“What is it?” he barked. “What’s the matter?”
The young man’s voice rose hoarsely. He raised a trembling hand and pointed through the doorway.
“There has been a robbery — and — look!”
Agent “X” followed the direction of the man’s shaking finger. An older man was seated at a desk in the room beyond, a man whose face “X” had seen in the papers many times. A man whose photograph he had in his possession, as he had the photos of all important Government officials. Senator Robert Dashman.
In that first swift glance Agent “X” saw why these men and women in the hallway were crowding close with a look of fear in their eyes. For Senator Dashman was toppled sidewise in his big armchair. His eyes were wide-open, glassy. His skin had the leaden hue of putty, and from his distended nostrils and open mouth came the hoarse sound of stertorous breathing. Senator Dashman was paralyzed — a horrible living corpse.
Chapter V
AGENT “X” stood stunned for a moment. There was a ghastly suggestion in Dashman’s stricken state. Was this the work of the terrible Browning ray? Doubt came instantly. How could it be, since only the plans of the ray mechanism had been stolen?
Agent “X” pressed forward into the room where the senator sat. A white-faced, trembling girl whose features showed a family resemblance hovered by his chair. “X” looked at the girl and said quickly, “A doctor should be called at once.”
The girl nodded. “One is on the way. He will be here any moment. And you—”
“Captain Stewart Black,” said the Agent. “I came here to question your father about—”
He paused and turned to stare at the group in the doorway. ln the first moment of excitement he had made no close inspection of those in the house. Now he stood rigidly transfixed, his face muscles stiffening.
A blond, powerfully built man was in the group. There were three others — two young women, one of whom he knew by sight, and the dark-haired young man whom “X” had first questioned. But the blond man was the focal point of interest.
The man’s face, too, was familiar to “X.” There had been a change, a drastic one. Plastic surgery had evidently been used. The chin and nose were different. But to “X,” who had made a life study of facial lines and planes, even the magic of the surgeon’s scalpel was not sufficient to conceal true identity. He had seen this man before.
Names, faces, dates flashed through his brain. The years unrolled like the faded page of a parchment strip. He found the name he sought.
Karl Hummel — Prussian spy! The brain of Agent “X” raced with excitement. He was gazing at a man who had played his part in the World War with ruthless cunning, the cunning of a person who believes the end justifies the means.
The Agent’s manner grew studied, calm. He turned back to the young woman again, the girl he guessed was Senator Dashman’s daughter. He started to ask a question, stopped. The front door was opening. Three men were entering the house.
“Doctor Stoll!” cried the girl. “Hurry! Something terrible has happened to dad! The house was robbed a little while ago — and now—”
A sob choked off the girl’s speech. She pointed to her father.
The foremost of the three men strode forward, a physician’s case in his hand, deep concern on his face. The Agent’s glance wandered past him, rested on the second man.
This man was thin, sharp featured, with eyes that showed penetrating intelligence. A small, carefully clipped mustache darkened his upper lip. His features were familiar to one who knew the city and its environs as Agent “X” did. Inspector Clyde of the Washington municipal police!
While Doctor Stoll began his examination of the senator, Inspector Clyde spoke to the senator’s daughter in the abrupt manner of a man accustomed to authority.
“Your servant reports there has been a robbery, Miss Dashman. The city, as you may know, is experiencing a wave of robberies. I came myself when I heard your father had been injured. If you will please give me the details.”
But the girl shook her head and turned from him. The doctor’s coming had relieved her of the need of keeping her emotions in check. She gave way to sobs and another young woman in the group stepped forward. This was the girl whose face was familiar to “X”—a girl who was a college chum of the Agent’s closest and dearest friend. She touched Inspector Clyde’s arm as the Agent looked on.
“Valerie’s in no condition to answer questions, inspector. The rest of us will tell you what you want to know. We were here, too.”
“And who are you?”
The girl’s answer was haughty. She stared at the inspector with chin held high.
“Suzanne Blackwell,” she said.
“Go ahead,” said Clyde gruffly. “I’m listening.”
“Sam, Lili, Otto, and I dropped in a little while ago to see Valerie. Her father was in his study here. The door was closed. Valerie sent Thomas, the butler, to tell the senator that guests had arrived. He didn’t answer Thomas’s knock. Valerie became uneasy because her father has been under a strain from overwork lately. She opened the door and found him as you see him now. The safe was open, papers scattered about. It seemed like a robbery — the window was open, too. That’s all we know.”