“X” walked around it, tapping the cement. It seemed solid, forming a firm foundation. At the sides and end of the garage it appeared to be flush with the wooden framework.
He turned his light upward. It revealed nothing but dusty rafters and the roof above his head. For a moment Agent “X” stooped and pressed the disc of his tiny amplifier to the hard cement.
A faint, hollow roaring reached him. Second by second the sound diminished, then ceased altogether in a barely perceptible jar. Silence followed. But the Secret Agent’s eyes were burning with excitement.
Mysterious as had been the disappearance of the car, he believed he had found the explanation. But proving it would take time. And just now minutes were precious. Paula Channing had been marked for inoculation — and Paula was Betty Dale’s cousin.
The thought that his blonde ally would be close when one of the night-prowling germ-spreaders attacked troubled Agent “X.” Betty and the Channings must be warned before anything else was attempted. He left the garage, locking the sliding doors behind him. He walked swiftly away through dark streets. He was definitely on the trail of the criminals, now. As soon as possible he would take it up, return to this place, and systematically search the garage.
The lighted front of a small cigar store glowed in the darkness and he hurried toward it. He flipped the pages of the city telephone directory, then plunged into a booth. His fingertip made the dial snarl as he called the Channing’s number. The voice of a servant answered and Agent “X” spoke quickly.
“Doctor Preston speaking. I believe Miss Betty Dale is visiting Miss Channing. I’d like to speak to her.”
The servant’s reply was impersonally precise.
“Hold the wire. I’ll tell Miss Dale you are calling.”
Agent “X” heard the servant’s footsteps receding. A full minute of silence passed. The servant did not return. The voice of Betty Dale that “X” was eagerly awaiting did not reach his ears. Then, suddenly, something else did!
Faint at first, the sound spread like a clutching chill through the Secret Agent’s mind. It was a girl’s shrill scream. The crashing tinkle of breaking glass followed it.
Fiercely Agent “X” clattered the telephone receiver on its hook. He cursed the servant. Dread made him tremble. Long since, he had cast out fear for his own safety. The strange and terrible dangers his work led him into had built up immunity to personal fear. But he could not stifle his emotions where Betty Dale was concerned. She was the one person, outside his chief in Washington, who knew the nature of his activities — the one whose faith and loyalty had never wavered. He couldn’t calmly contemplate the possibility of danger overtaking Betty Dale.
Agent “X” slammed the receiver on its hook and tore out of the booth. Like a man possessed, he strode through the dark deserted streets till he spotted a single cruising taxi. Leaping in, he pressed a five-dollar bill into the driver’s hand, gave the address of the Channing house.
“Step on it! Get there as fast as you can!”
THE driver responded instantly. Passengers were scarce in Branford these days. The heavy cab lurched forward, whined around corners, bored steadily ahead. Traffic regulations were non-existent in the nightly quest for the gorillas. In the dark interior of the cab the Agent’s hands worked miracles, changing his disguise once more to that of Doctor Preston.
White-lipped, tense, he waited impatiently as the taxi crossed the city. It rolled at last into a short driveway that led to a handsome brownstone house. Agent “X” flung the cab door open and bounded up the steps of the house.
It was seconds before his ring was answered. Those seconds seemed eternities to Agent “X.” Then the door was opened cautiously by a servant whose hands trembled. His face was livid and fear writhed like a live thing in the depths of his eyes.
“X” spoke hoarsely, his fingers clutching the man’s arm.
“What has happened!”
“Your name, sir?” whispered the servant.
“Doctor Preston. I called fifteen minutes ago,” snapped “X.” “I asked to speak to Miss Dale on the phone. You didn’t send her. What has happened?”
The frightened servant admitted Agent “X” into the hall.
“It is terrible!” he gasped. “Another doctor is here already. The ape attacked, sir — just as you called! It smashed a window. It entered the room where Miss Paula and her friend were talking. Both have been bitten!”
The man’s words cut through the Agent’s heart like a cold knife blade. The human horror he was fighting had struck abruptly, fearfully close. Betty Dale attacked!
His mind cringed away from the fact — shuddered as he seemed to see her face set in gruesome rigidity. All the vivid life, all the young loyalty of her, frozen in the cast of death. A groan escaped the Agent’s lips. This savage shock was more awful than the impact of gun-lead.
The old wound in his side — the wound that he had received years ago on a battlefield in France — throbbed with pain. He had to shake his head to clear his faculties. That wound in his flesh seemed the sign and symbol of the indomitable, driving will that would not let him submit to defeat. The wound had not killed him — and even this crushing blow could be mastered. He would fight — fight for her sake now, as well as for the humanity he had struggled for impersonally.
“Where is she? Take me to her at once!” he commanded.
“This way, sir.”
The trembling servant led “X” along a hallway to a room beyond. Betty and Paula were there. With them was a doctor, talking to Paula’s father, Mr. Channing.
The Agent’s throat tightened as his eyes rested on the sunny gold hair and sweet face of Betty Dale. She turned toward him as he entered. She started — then, even in the terror and distress of the moment, she remembered not to betray him. Nothing could ever make her do that.
“Doctor Preston,” announced the servant. “He telephoned you, Miss Dale. I was coming to tell you when — it happened. Then I forgot.”
“I heard a scream over the wire,” said “X.” “I got here as quickly as I could.” His words were meant for Betty, and he saw the warm, sweet look she gave him in return.
Mr. Channing turned a haggard face. “James has told you, of course, doctor. One of the apes came through Paula’s window. It broke open a shutter. Both girls were attacked — my daughter and my niece. We need all the medical advice we can get. If you have anything to offer, for God’s sake, tell us…. This is Doctor Barnes, Doctor Preston.”
“X” nodded to the short, thick-set physician who was attending the wounds in the girls’ arms. He looked efficient, but “X” saw that his fingers were not steady.
THE Agent lifted Betty’s wrist and stared at the livid teeth marks on her white skin. He shuddered, knowing that they had been made with a murderous device. The girl’s eyes met his bravely.
“You find me in trouble again, Doctor Preston,” she said. Then she explained to the others. “I was caught in the mob that tried to burn the institute, as I told you. In the crush I fainted and fell in the street. Doctor Preston here happened to find me and took me to my aunt’s.”
No one was listening. Paula, her father, and Doctor Barnes seemed overcome with dread, each expressing fear in a different way. Doctor Barnes was tense, trembling, absorbed. Channing watched him in gloomy silence. Paula Channing was biting her lips and trying to keep back her tears.
Betty Dale’s lips trembled in a smile that touched the Agent’s heart. He had seen her smile before in the presence of danger. But never had she come under the shadow of such horror as this. Already, he knew, the dread bacilli were circulating in her veins. Nothing that he could do would save her. Nothing — unless—