The shrill ringing of the telephone cut through his thoughts like the thrust of a sword. He stiffened and met the stare of Victor Garwick, who rose, his face paling.
A maid crossed the hall and entered the telephone closet. She came to the door of the drawing room.
“Some one wishes to speak to you, Mr. Garwick.”
“Who is it?”
“He will not give his name.”
“Very well, Estelle.”
When the maid had left Victor Garwick turned to the Agent and gestured mutely for him to take the call. The Agent nodded. Silently he crossed the hallway and entered the telephone closet. He closed the door behind him, picked up the receiver, and his lips framed the words.
“This is Victor Garwick speaking. Who is it?”
There was a moment of complete silence; then a strange voice sounded. To the Agent’s expert ears the pitch showed plainly that it was disguised.
“This is the man who called you before,” said the voice. “I have heard your broadcast, Mr. Garwick. I am listening.”
Agent “X” made his own disguised voice quaver. “For God’s sake, come at the earliest possible moment. I’m ready to try anything. David is getting worse. His heart is weak. If you have a cure — I am ready to try it.”
A chuckle sounded at the other end of the wire. It was mirthless, unsympathetic.
“I anticipated that you might reconsider, Garwick. Your change of mind comes sooner than I had expected, but your son’s condition accounts for that.”
“Hurry,” said “X.” “I assure you I will co-operate.”
“That is well!” said the cold voice. There was a relentless calculation in it that chilled the Secret Agent’s blood. “You understand that absolute secrecy must be maintained. I have only a small amount of my cure left. Feeling is running high in Branford tonight. If it should be suspected that I possessed a cure, I would be attacked and robbed before I could reach you. Furthermore, the charge will be high—”
“That doesn’t matter!” exclaimed “X” in the broken accents of a stricken father who thinks only of his sick son. “I will pay what you ask.”
“It must be cash,” continued the guarded voice. “The charge for the first treatment will be ten thousand dollars. Can you have that amount available by midnight — at which time you and your son will meet us?”
“Yes, yes!” said the Agent hoarsely. “Do you guarantee a cure?”
“That is a foregone conclusion,” said the strange voice. “I am a man of honor. It was I who treated the Vorse girl. You must have heard that she is recovering. I have treated others. They, too, are now on the road to health again. My cure is infallible. That is why my price is high. You agree to my terms of cash and secrecy?”
“I agree!”
“THAT is well. You would not want to jeopardize your son’s life, would you, Mr. Garwick?”
The Secret Agent felt a wave of loathing sweep over him.
“No, of course not,” he said.
“Then have him ready at midnight. Put warm clothing on him so that he can be taken out. Get your chauffeur to help carry him to your car. Then drive slowly along River Boulevard.
“Have your headlights on, but dimmed. See that the left parking light is out, the other lighted. If my assistants have not met you by the time you reach the end of the Boulevard, turn and come back again.
“When they meet you they will flash their lights three times. You will then stop. One of them will open the door of your car and give your son the first hypodermic injection of curative serum. You will give him the payment, and drive on after he has gone. In a few days I will call you and arrange for the next treatment. That is all. Is everything quite clear?”
“Quite!”
The receiver at the other end clicked up. Agent “X” backed slowly out of the telephone closet. For the first time in his career, his hands were trembling with excitement. The cunning of these criminals amazed him. They were using the methods of the most expert kidnapers. They were taking no chances. Like silent, evil vultures, they were feeding on the fear of the city, working with smooth efficiency.
Victor Garwick’s eyes were alert and questioning as the Secret Agent returned to the drawing room.
“Well?” he asked sharply.
“It is settled,” said the Agent. “I have spoken with one of the criminals. You and I are to meet them according to their directions at midnight.”
He outlined the arrangements to Garwick, and added a warning.
“You will have to play your part, too — or everything will fail. They will be watchful. Your manner must not betray the facts in any way that will arouse their suspicions.”
“Couldn’t we arrange to have a squad of detectives following them — ready to nab them?”
AGENT “X” shook his head sternly. “No. That is just what they have taken precautions against. They will trail us. If our car is not alone — if they have the slightest suspicion of anything such as you suggest, they will not even make contact. Only strategy can succeed in this. They must be put off their guard.”
“You are going to attempt to capture them single-handed?”
“No. These men we will see will be only the assistants of the real brains. My only hope is to follow them — and learn what I can.”
The Agent looked at his watch again.
“Ten-thirty. I’ve got an hour and a half to prepare. Good-by, Mr. Garwick. I’ll be back shortly.”
Secret Agent “X” left the Garwick home and sped swiftly to the hideout he had established in the city. There he collected his make-up materials and returned to the Garwick home. Everything depended on the perfection of his disguise tonight — and it was a disguise that must go more than skin deep. He must appear to be a man desperately ill with sleeping sickness. For this reason, he had selected one of several drugs and slipped that into his pocket also.
Back in the Garwick home, his work of make-up began. He took careful measurements of David Garwick’s face as the young man lay still and silent on the bed. Then, with the door closed, he set up his mirrors, took out his strange materials, and his long, sensitive fingers roved over his own features.
The face of Doctor Preston disappeared. For a few seconds Agent “X” appeared as he really was. Then, with the volatile plastic materials, he duplicated the face of David Garwick.
Five minutes later the room harbored a gruesome, uncanny sight. Two young men, twins having exactly the same appearance, seemed to be there. But one was dead, and one alive.
Agent “X” went to the door and called softly to Mr. Garwick. He knew the man was in for a shock, and he wanted to make it as gentle as possible. He dimmed the lights in the room.
“I have made my preparations,” he said, his back turned to the older man. Then he slowly turned, facing the other. Pallor spread over Garwick’s face as he gazed into what appeared to be the face of his dead son. He swayed a little, leaned against the wall for support. His breath came hoarsely.
“My God — it isn’t possible! I— Doctor Preston, you amaze me!” Garwick licked dry lips, glancing from the bed where his own son lay to the man who had so faithfully simulated the boy’s appearance that the effect was almost brutally startling. “We mustn’t let Stella see this! I know it would unnerve her.”
“You are right,” said “X” gently. “Keep her in her room until we have gone.”
GARWICK continued to stare at the features of Agent “X” as though he were seeing a ghost.
“Remember,” warned “X.” “I am supposed to be a sick man. I’m going to wrap blankets around myself now. Then I shall take a small dose of a drug to slow down my pulse and respiration in case they examine me.”
He drew his wallet out and produced ten thousand dollars in large bills. He handed it to Garwick.