Then he searched around the room till he found an old safe concealed inside a big desk. At the end of ten minutes the Agent had opened this. With eyes intent he began going through the spy’s private papers.
Most of them were in code, but he remembered the tattered, well-worn book he had taken from Renfew’s pocket. He would have been able to decipher the code without it, but time was an important element.
He opened the book, found the code key, and began reading the papers.
Here were brief reports of espionage deals that would have shocked the State Department. Records of military secrets being bartered, records of the bribery of public officials. Entries that hinted at dark, unspeakable things done to gain information which could be sold.
Then Agent “X” suddenly raised his head. He listened a moment, thrust the papers back into the safe and closed it.
The faint jingle of a bell had sounded eerily in the still house. Someone was at the front door.
Chapter VIII
THE bell’s note was repeated as he tiptoed down the dark stairs. He might be facing a bad situation. This might be one of Renfew’s friends. Would his disguise work?
Strange echoes were still sounding through the old house as he reached the front door. Small leaded windows were set in its side frame — more of Renfew’s precautionary measures.
Agent “X” used one of them now. At first he could see nothing. Then his eyes got used to the gloom of the street outside. It was at least brighter than the room he was in. Light from a distant pole lamp filtered along the pavement.
A man was standing outside. He was hunched over. His collar was turned up. His hat pulled down. Agent “X” caught a glimpse of his profile. He had never to his knowledge seen the man before. The man was just about to turn away when “X” opened the door. He started violently, peered forward.
“I was afraid you weren’t in, guv’nor!” the man said.
His accent seemed to indicate cockney extraction.
“A fine time to wake a man up,” said Agent “X,” imitating Renfew’s cracked voice. “What do you want?”
“I’d like a few words with you, Mr. Renfew.”
The man stared behind him along the street. There was a look of uneasiness in his squinted eyes. When “X” told him to come in, he entered the house with the quick, slinking gait of a furtive animal.
“Now what is it?” said “X.” He turned on his little light. It was pointed straight into the man’s face. In his other hand was his gas gun.
“It’s all right,” said the stranger hoarsely. “You ain’t never seen me before, guv’nor — but I’ve heard of you. Don’t get excited.”
“What’s your name?”
“It ain’t important, guv’nor — if you don’t mind — I’ll — I’ll tell you later — after we’ve had a talk.”
“What is it you want of me?”
The man came closer. There was an odd, hungry look in his eyes. “We might as well play square with each other,” he said. “You buy — things. I know that. I ain’t no fool, and I’ve got something to sell — information you might call it.”
“Information?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me,” said Agent “X.”
He led the stranger up the stairway and to a room on the second floor which had served as Renfew’s office. He pulled down the shade, turned on a light, and seated the stranger before a cracked desk. He took a seat behind the desk himself.
“Now what is it?” The Agent’s burning eyes were watching the stranger’s face. The man was at least not dangerous. But he was furtive, tricky-looking — a type common no doubt in this house of espionage.
“Well, guv’nor,” the man said, “there was something stolen tonight right here in Washington — something important enough so that the bloke that stole it killed the bloke that had it. And maybe if I wanted to I could tell the Government where to find it. I ain’t saying I could, but maybe I could.”
The man stared at Agent “X,” licking greedy lips now. The hungry light in his eyes was itching avarice.
“I’m a poor man,” the stranger continued. “I work hard and don’t get nowhere. If it just happens that I get information that somebody else might buy, there ain’t no harm in my selling it, is there?”
“No,” said the Agent. He tried to keep back the excitement that he felt. Here was a development apparently more quick and fortunate than he had dared hope.
“It ought to be worth a lot of dough to someone,” the man said. “Thousands.”
His thin fingers moved as though he were already enjoying the feel of many bank notes. “I could leave this bloomin’ country and go back where I came from,” he added.
“Just what is this thing that was stolen?” said the Agent. “If you’ll tell me what it is perhaps I can give you a better idea of its worth.”
THE man leaned forward. His voice was a hoarse, dramatic croak. “A thing that could turn a whole army into stiffs in a second,” he said. “A thing so ’orrible that ’alf the countries in the world would like to get it—’cause they love each other so much!” A shrill cackle of laughter came to his lips. He spread his fingers, struck his hands together. “They’d go down like that — the sojers — if you turned this thing on ’em. An’ the country that gets it can wipe out the rest.”
“You are English,” said “X.” “I should think you’d want to let your country have this thing.” He was baiting the man now, seeing what else he could learn. The man shook his head.
“England ain’t never treated me no better than America. I’m like you. I’ll sell to any bloke who has the price. An’ I didn’t say I could get this thing — I said I knew maybe where it could be got.”
“Did a man named Browning invent it?” asked the Agent suddenly.
The man recoiled, fear veiling his eyes. Then he cackled again. “You old fox, Mister Renfew! You’re smarter than I thought — pretending like you didn’t know. Yes, it was a bloke named Browning. You know about it then. You know how much it’s worth. You—”
The man stopped speaking suddenly, turned his head toward the window.
“Did you hear anything?” he said.
“No,” said the Agent.
“I thought I did. Pull that shade down — all the way. There’s a crack! I thought some bloke followed me here.”
The Agent rose, walked to the window, drew the shade farther down. He saw that the stranger’s face was white with fear.
“Tell me your name,” the Agent said calmly, “and perhaps we can do business. I deal in the sort of thing you have to sell. I have wealthy customers.”
“No,” said the man, “I can’t tell you my name — not now. I’m hired by a bloke who’s a big gun in this city, an’ the country, too. I work fer him, you understand. I happened to hear him make a threat against the bloke who was killed tonight — the bloke that had what was stolen. When the bloke was killed it wasn’t ’ard to figure who killed him. It wasn’t ’ard either to figure who ’ad the thing that was stolen.”
“What’s your employer’s name?”
A crafty look came into the stranger’s eyes. “Say, listen — not too fast!”
The Agent extracted two thousand-dollar bills from his wallet. He flung them down on the desk.
“Maybe this will make it easier to talk.”
The man swallowed twice. He stared at the money. His hands twitched as though he could hardly contain himself. His voice was a husk when he spoke.
“I can’t tell you nothin’ now,” he said. “It’s all got to be arranged businesslike. I just wanted to find out — whether you was in the market. You are — I can see that. I got to have papers drawn up — a lawyer an’ everything — to see I don’t get into trouble.”