“Nothing,” said the Agent blandly. “Just a whimsy of mine. Perhaps it was a mistake.”
For a moment von Helvig sat in tense silence, his eyes probing those of the Agent’s. Then he took out his wallet again, adding three more century notes to the two he had offered the Agent before, and held them out.
“I must insist that you take this small token of my good faith,” he said. “I am going to take you completely into my confidence, Renfew. I want you to meet the lady in question tonight. I want you to hear her story — and be my adviser. You are a man of even more remarkable talents than I had estimated, but—“ Von Helvig suddenly leaned forward and laid steely fingers on the Agent’s arm. His blond face became a mask of cruelty. His eyes were pin points of murderous light. “If you value your life, Herr Renfew, you will keep faith with me. I am no man to trifle with.”
“Nor I,” said the Agent. “I think we understand each other.”
“This evening then,” said von Helvig. “We shall have dinner together — you and I and the lady I spoke of. Be in this same spot at six-thirty. I will drive by and pick you up.”
“Very good, Herr von Helvig.”
Conscious that the man’s eyes were still boring into him, Agent “X” turned and shuffled off. His pulses were racing. The lead that the murdered Peters had brought him had apparently been false. This one promised results. Unless von Helvig was setting a trap for him, he might learn, within the next twelve hours, the location of the stolen plans.
BACK in Renfew’s house, Agent “X” gave instructions to Shank and Zeb.
“I’ve got a job for you,” he said. “Go to the German embassy. Wait outside and watch for the attaché, Otto von Helvig. He is tall, blond, blue-eyed. There is a slight scar on each cheek. If he leaves the building at any time during the day, follow him. Check up on every movement he makes — and report back here at six this evening.”
The two men rose from their listless card game.
“We got you, boss,” they said.
When they had gone “X” paced the floor a moment. His nerves tingled for action. He seemed to be getting closer to what he sought. His disguise as Renfew had been a wise move. It had brought him in contact with von Helvig. Was it possible that the lovely lady he mentioned was—
“X” smiled grimly to himself. Then he looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. At twelve the plane he had asked Betty to come in would land at Washington Airport. He’d had no answer to his telegram. He’d expected none. But he wanted to make sure of her arrival. He could not meet her openly; could not, at this time, run the risk of being seen with her, but he could see whether she was on the plane.
At a little before twelve, his disguise changed to that of a sallow-faced young man, Agent “X” crossed the Potomac on the Highway Bridge and turned into Military Road. Arlington was beyond. The Hoover Airport was at his left. The Washington at his right. The deep-throated hum of airplane motors filled the sky. Out-of-town tourists were going up from Hoover Airport on short sight-seeing hops over Washington.
The sky had cleared. The sun was shining. But to “X,” who knew the strange events of the past twenty-four hours, a sinister menace hung over the city. It wasn’t dispelled by the bright sky nor the sunshine.
He found where the tri-motored E.A.T. plane bearing Betty Dale was to land. He waited at the edge of the field, saw the huge ship appear, a great dark bird on the horizon. He saw it come down to a stately landing, taxi up to the field office.
An attendant unrolled a carpet. Steps were set in front of the big plane’s metal door. A laughing group waited for the arrival of friends and loved ones.
In this group Agent “X” saw Suzanne Blackwell. It meant that Betty had sent her a wire. It meant that Suzanne was here to meet the Agent’s blonde ally.
His pulses quickened as the plane’s door opened and the passengers piled out. The loveliest of them all was the trim-figured little blonde who stepped to the turf of the field and ran toward the spot where Suzanne Blackwell was waiting. Hair the color of imprisoned sunlight peeped from under her blue cloche hat. Her fresh young lips were softly red. Her blue eyes were dancing. This flying trip to Washington was a lark to Betty Dale.
Fondly the Agent watched as Betty and Suzanne embraced. For a fleeting second he saw Betty’s eyes rove over the crowd, lingering on each face. He knew she was looking for him, knew also that his disguise had fooled her. He would not make himself known till the time prearranged for their meeting. The time when furtive, crafty eyes which might be watching would be least suspecting.
With her arm linked in Suzanne Blackwell’s, Betty walked toward Suzanne’s waiting roadster. “X” wouldn’t see Betty again until night fell. But he knew now that she was in Washington. He knew that she was ready to help him.
He frowned a moment, a shadow in his eyes. Her fresh, blonde beauty seemed a contrast to the dark forces now in motion. A strange sense of uneasiness filled him, a foreboding, as though some secret voice were warning him. He regretted at that instant that he had asked Betty to come.
Then he remembered that he was Secret Agent “X,” pledged to aid his country. He must put all fear aside, even fear for others, as he had fear for himself. He turned and strode back to his own waiting car.
At six that evening, disguised again as Renfew, he received the report of Shank and Zeb.
“We spotted von Helvig, boss,” Shank said. “We didn’t lose him all day. He had lunch with two guys, one from the Mexican embassy, another who was a newspaper gent. He left the embassy on Massachusetts Avenue, and stopped for a half-hour in a joint on Thirteenth Street. There he talked to a guy in a back room. It was screwy, boss! This guy looked like von Helvig’s twin. He left by the back way and von Helvig went to the Wilmott Hotel. He’s there now!”
“Good work,” said Agent “X” softly. “Thanks.”
AT shortly after six that evening a closed car slid to a stop at the curb near Garfield Park. A tall man was driving. He was dressed in the height of style, a soft gray hat on his head, spats on his ankles, yellow pigskins on his hands.
He was a man who bore a marked resemblance to Otto von Helvig of the German embassy. But there was a hardness about him, a wolfishness, that the more polished von Helvig managed most of the time to conceal. This man was definitely a member of the underworld.
There were three others with him, harsh-faced, flat-chested young men, overly dressed. As the car stopped, the driver asked a question.
“Everything ready, boys?”
The three men with him were busy for a moment. They took wicked-looking automatics from their pockets. Over the ugly snouts of these they slipped awkward cylinders that made the guns seem grotesquely long — silencers.
“All O.K., Al,” one of them said.
“You can handle ’em all right that way?”
“Say — you oughta know us.” There was a note of evil pride in the voice of the man who spoke. “We’ve knocked off bigger mugs than this.”
“O.K. But any slip — and there won’t be a pay-off. The big shot behind this is a hard bird to please. Wait till I give the signal — then do your stuff!”
The blond and dapper man who looked like von Helvig showed his teeth for a moment in a wicked smile. He motioned with his hand for the others to get out.
They left the car and vanished into the shadows along the square like slinking gray wolves.
The man in the car glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was now a quarter past six. He took a cigarette from his pocket, lighted it. Inhaling luxuriously, he, too, got out of the car and sauntered toward the west end of the park.
Now more than ever he looked like the Prussian attaché. Anyone seeing him from a distance would be fooled. When he arrived at the park’s west end, his sharp eyes swiveled. He seemed to be counting the benches.