“The fox knows many tricks,” Agent “X” answered, lapsing once more into the mysterious, indirect form of speech he was fond of. His eyes strained through the darkness. The shore was two hundred feet away. But if he turned, going side-wise to the current, he and Betty would be overtaken before they reached it.
Agent “X” thought quickly. The roar of the motor boat behind was like the pulsebeat of some drum of doom. Caught by the Malays again, he could not hope to escape. Neither could Betty. She would be taken back, and the green-masked criminal would make good his threat. She would be tortured horribly, and left paralyzed for life.
Breath hissed between the Agent’s teeth. He leaned over then, spoke hoarsely.
“There is one way,” he said. “You must slip out and swim to shore, Betty — while I lead them after me.”
He knew that Betty was an expert in the water. The river would hold no terrors for her. She could make the shore easily. But she made a protest that sounded almost like a sob.
“I can’t,” she said. “They will catch you — and kill you. Let me stay with you — and be caught — too.”
For a moment her words betrayed a secret of her heart; the secret that she felt more than friendship for this strange man; the secret that he had become part of her own life. Her eyes were misty. Her voice trembled as she leaned out and touched his arm.
“Let us fight — together,” she said.
The Agent caught the significance behind that word “fight.” Die was the word she should have used, the word she really meant. He kept the tremor from his voice as he answered.
“It is our only chance, Betty. And more than our lives is at stake. There is the work that brought me to Washington.”
“Then you swim!” said Betty eagerly. “Let me lead them off. They won’t hurt me if I am caught. They’ll just hold me prisoner till the police come.”
“X” didn’t frighten her by repeating the green-masked killer’s threat, but his voice was firm.
“No, Betty — we must both escape. And perhaps we can.”
He looked behind him, touched Betty’s arm quickly. “Now! In a moment it will be too late.”
A sound like a sob came from Betty Dale’s lips. She reached forward, drew her high-heeled slippers from her slim feet — the same slippers that had moved so gaily over the dance floor at Senator Foulette’s house a few hours before. She was still clad in evening dress, white arms and shoulders bare.
The Agent’s fingers touched hers for a moment, gripped them reassuringly.
“It will be all right,” he said. “But you must promise, Betty, to leave Washington at once.”
“Then how will I know — if you are all right?” she asked.
“Call the Herald as soon as you can. I’ll do the same. You’ll hear from Raphael Sancho. Now, Betty — good-by.”
The Agent leaned far over, bracing the canoe against his paddle. Betty Dale, slim and lithe as a nymph, slipped overside into the dark water. He saw her dive beneath the surface, saw her blonde head reappear twenty feet distant. For an instant that frightened him. What if the Malays saw her, too?
He swung the nose of the canoe around, paddled back, screening Betty’s movements. Then he swung again in the other direction.
A DARK shadow bulked on the river’s rim behind. He could see the speed-boat now. That meant they could also see him. His heart leaped with relief, for the other craft’s nose was turning. Betty Dale was safe.
He bent over his paddle. With Betty no longer in the canoe it seemed to leap over the water like a skimming bird. He dug the spruce blade in, gripping it in powerful fingers. He thrust savagely, turning toward the opposite shore.
The thunder of the speed boat crept closer. Death rode the wind behind, death in its most hideous form. But Agent “X” was fighting to escape; fighting the battle of his life. Now, with Betty Dale safe, he was free to pursue his strange work in Washington; free to continue his quest for the stolen plans.
But could he make the shore? The motor boat was plainly visible now. He could see the white froth at its prow, froth that was like foam flecking the mouth of a snapping, snarling beast. He was nearer shore than he had realized. The smooth surface of the river was broken by a mat of reeds — a marsh. Last year’s dry growth still raised thick stems. He could plunge among them and be hidden from the poison darts behind. But they were still a hundred feet away.
He swung his paddle to the other side, strained fiercely, cutting across the current. He calculated the best angle to make it, but still the speed boat was gaining on him. A guttural shout rose behind him. A strange chant followed. The Malays in the boat were singing their song of death.
They were sure of victory now; sure they would recapture him. But an instant later their chant turned to shouts of anger. They, too, had seen the dark barrier of reeds. The motor’s roar reached a higher note. It swept down out of the night like a savage demon’s growl.
Something struck the water close to “X’s” canoe. For an instant he saw a tiny feathered stick before it sank out of sight. A dart! The high wind had made the Malay’s aim poor. He must gamble now — on the wind, to send the darts wide of their mark; on the reeds ahead, to shelter him.
His lips were white as he swept forward over the last fifty feet of dark water. The thunder of the speed boat-beat in his ears. A dart sang past his head, buried its deadly point in the canoe’s gunwale. There was a spat against his paddle, and, looking down, he saw another quivering in the soft spruce.
A swish and the canoe’s bow slipped in among the reeds. Thick stems closed in behind it. For a moment he was safe from the flying darts, protected by a mat of vegetation.
But he leaped from the canoe, floundering ahead toward boggy land. And as he moved, the speed-boat lunged in amid the reeds also. Agent “X” lurched sidewise, heard the boat’s sharp prow crunch against the canoe’s frail side.
Swiftly, determinedly, he plunged ahead, deeper and deeper into the reeds. Dry stems cracked and broke. He was making noise, but the speed-boat’s throbbing motor drowned it out. Let them follow if they wanted! He had a start now. His own legs would be as fast as theirs. A great purpose spurred him on.
The speed-boat’s engine slowed. He heard the suck and slap of its propeller as it backed out. Then he stiffened. Raising his head, he sniffed the air, then turned startled eyes behind. In that instant new horror clutched his heart.
Between the thick reed stems he saw a faint glow. It brightened. A slim flame shot skyward. Above the speed boat’s throttled motor rose a vicious crackling sound.
Fire! The Malays had put a light to the dry marsh reeds! And the wind was sweeping off the river toward him!
Like an evil ghost a gray cloud of smoke drifted overhead. It seemed to spread huge arms above him. It was torn, thinned by the wind, but more followed it. Then the first glow became a crimson, blazing light. The speed-boat’s motor ceased. Across the still river, above the crackling hiss of flames, the death chant rose again.
“O Tuan, Great One, the gods of fire have aided thee in thy wrath! He who is guilty shall be punished. He shall be consumed in hot flames.”
As the strange chant rose, the fire seemed to spread its hungry arms. It leaped along the river’s edge and swept forward toward the spot where Agent “X” was floundering. And each instant the threat of its red fangs increased.
Chapter XIX
HORROR constricted Agent “X’s” throat. The crackling flames seemed to sound a death knell to the victory that had been so near. This was a peril he had not foreseen. Had the devil god, Tuan, won after all? The deepening smoke clouds seemed to form a curtain lowering upon the defeat of Agent “X.”