She passed the white-haired, distinguished-looking Englishman and took a seat farther along and on the opposite side of the aisle. As she moved by him the Englishman gave a sudden, visible start.
It was the first time in hours that he had betrayed any emotion. A strange look flashed in the depths of his eyes. He stared with rapt intensity at the piquant profile of the blonde-haired girl. She turned, as though sensing eyes upon her. But her gaze, meeting his, showed not the slightest flicker of recognition.
A faint gleam of humor appeared in the eyes of the white-haired gentleman. Then it vanished, and was followed by a worried frown. What was this girl’s destination? Was it possible that—
For minutes Agent “X” pondered the situation behind the mask of his ruddy-faced disguise. He saw the girl open a magazine and settle down as though for a long trip. When the conductor came down the aisle to take her ticket, he watched carefully.
The blue uniformed official glanced at the bit of pasteboard in his hand and shook his head sharply. His face showed worry as he stooped and spoke rapidly to the girl. Agent “X” could hear a few words.
“No place for you to go — quarantined — better change your mind, miss.”
The girl’s pretty face, as she looked up at the conductor, broke into a sunny smile. Her answer was too low for “X” to hear. But he saw the conductor nod somberly, punch her ticket and stick it beneath the upholstery of the seat in front.
The gleam was bright in the Secret Agent’s eyes now. He waited until the conductor had left the car, then made his way down the aisle to the girl.
“Pardon me miss — your face is familiar.”
The girl looked up with startled incomprehension into the white-haired Englishman’s ruddy face. Her blue eyes studied his features. She shook her curls.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met. There must be some mistake.”
The man disguised as Doctor Vaughton smiled. He sat down in the other half of the seat and continued speaking with a clipped English accent.
“I am Doctor Vaughton, and I interviewed a lot of newspaper people this morning. I’m on my way to Branford to see about this epidemic of sleeping sickness. I had an idea you were among the reporters at my hotel.”
THE girl gasped. “That’s the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of!” she exclaimed. “I am a newspaper reporter — but I wasn’t at your hotel. The Herald sent a man to see you. I’m going to Branford myself to cover the epidemic.”
“But surely your paper didn’t send you!”
“Not exactly. I — er — volunteered. I’ve got an aunt in Branford. I’m going to stop over with her, and do a feature story while I’m there. The Herald will be glad to get it.”
“But, my dear young lady, do you know the risk you’re running?”
The girl nodded. A determined gleam shone in her blue eyes, and her small pointed chin lifted aggressively.
“I know — and so do the doctors and nurses working there. If they’re not afraid, why should I be? The rest of the country ought to be told just what’s going on in Branford. I want to open everyone’s eyes to the danger. I want to tell them of the courage of men like you, Doctor Vaughton — men who aren’t afraid to fight for the safety of humanity. They wirelessed you on the ship. I heard about it in the Herald office last night.”
Agent “X” spoke softly, “Could nothing persuade you not to go?”
“Nothing!”
The man disguised as Doctor Vaughton spoke strangely then.
“I might have known Betty Dale would go where there was danger — and where she could be of service!”
The girl’s face drained of color. Amazement darkened her eyes as she stared into the face of the man beside her.
“I–I don’t understand! You know my name!”
Secret Agent “X” smiled. His fingers closed momentarily over hers.
“The Man of a Thousand Faces knows more than just your name. He knows that Betty Dale is one girl in a million — with the blood of her fighting father in her veins.”
The effect of his words upon Betty Dale was electric. Her lovely eyes dilated and the fingers holding the magazine in her lap trembled. Then her breath caught. The stranger had extended one finger and made a quick motion on the cover of the magazine. His finger tip had traced the outline of an invisible X.
Color flooded Betty Dale’s pale cheeks then. The conflict in her eyes, where hope had seemed to struggle with disbelief, gave way to a look of sheer happiness.
“I never dreamed!” she whispered. “You — you fooled me again!”
In the instant when the man beside her had revealed himself as Secret Agent “X,” Betty Dale’s glowing blue eyes and the deepened flush of her cheeks had betrayed an emotion she struggled to master.
For, though she had never to her knowledge seen his real face, Betty was one of the few people in the world who knew the details of the Secret Agent’s glamorous, amazing career. She was aware of his strange talents, sensed his dynamic power, and had proof of his courage. He had been a friend of her dead father’s, the father who had been a police captain, slain by gangster bullets. In her heart she scorned and hated criminals with the same intensity that drove Agent “X” again and again into danger against them.
And in her heart she loved this strange man. He made all other men seem tame and ordinary by comparison. That was perhaps why she had not married, why she had rejected a dozen proposals and had chosen to make her own career as a clever, talented newspaper woman — waiting, without quite admitting it to herself, for the time when Agent “X” would finish his battle against crime — and they might be more to one another than mere loyal friends.
In months past, her one thought had been to help him. She had kept her own emotions hidden lest they interfere with his dangerous, desperate work. She hid them now, and spoke composedly.
“Why are you going to Branford? Is there some crime there, also?”
“X” hesitated a moment. Then he spoke in the strange, enigmatic manner he often used.
“If the signs are true, there are wolves as well as apes behind the plague. If the signs are true, crime holds the high card in this game of death.”
Betty Dale’s slender fingers became tightly interlaced.
“You don’t mean — it can’t be—”
Agent “X” nodded. “But it is! Be careful, Betty. Say nothing of this to anyone — and keep your eyes open every instant. You understand?”
“Of course! Oh, how glad I am that I decided to come,” whispered the girl. “Something seemed to tell me— And now perhaps I can be of some help to you—”
She gave him the address of her aunt. He told her she could reach him at the Hotel Regis. Then, assuming again his role of Doctor Vaughton, “X” went back to his own seat as the train rolled on toward the city over which the spectral figure of Death kept ceaseless watch.
AGENT “X” was prepared for the greeting accorded Doctor Vaughton by the citizens of Branford. Otherwise it might have taken his breath away.
As the train pulled into the Branford terminal, he saw the gleaming instruments of a brass band. It was stationed just beyond tight lines of armed police that guarded the station platform to see that no one broke the quarantine by boarding the train. He saw, too, several cars filled with city-officials; and a sea of faces behind them — thousands of Branford’s citizens, eagerly awaiting a sight of the great doctor.
A group of Red Cross workers descended from the train first. They, too, were risking death to help combat the terrible malady, and their appearance was greeted with cheers. Then came Betty Dale, her slight, golden-haired young figure causing a ripple of question and comment among the onlookers. Lastly, Agent “X” in his remarkable disguise stepped to the platform.