Her voice broke into his desperate thoughts. “I might have expected it, doctor, coming to Branford as I did. I knew it was a rather foolhardy thing to do. But think what a story this will make! Girl Reporter Sleeping Sickness Victim! This is one time I’ll crash the front page of the Herald.”
Channing gave an impatient exclamation. But Agent “X” understood Betty Dale’s bravado. She was trying to keep up her own courage and comfort him at the same time. The pallor of her face showed that she was fully aware of what that wound on her wrist signified. She had seen the effect of the disease in Branford. But her contact with Agent “X” had helped to give her Spartan courage. Under pretext of examining her wound, he pressed her slim fingers, noticing their coldness. Betty was keeping calm through sheer power of will.
A sudden impatience seized Agent “X.” A light like a living flame burned in his eyes. Hatred against the criminals rose in his heart like a red wave. They had brought Betty Dale into the shadow of a slow and horrible death. He must follow the one lead he had uncovered — the lead of the mysterious garage.
Before he left the Channing house, he drew Betty Dale aside. There was a grim smile on his lips as he took her cold hand.
“Don’t worry, Betty. The men who did this have the serum that will cure sleeping sickness. Tonight I trailed them close to their hideout — and tonight I plan to follow them farther.”
Chapter XIV
THE Agent’s words had a vibrant ring in them. They were meant to reassure Betty Dale, and they did. He wanted to lift the cloud of fear from her mind while he followed the hideous crime trail.
“Be careful,” she breathed pleadingly, forgetful now of herself.
Agent “X” was like an avenging nemesis as he went back to that section of the town where the mysterious garage was located. And once again he unlocked its door. Then, with the patience of Job, he set about examining the building. He had a theory. There was only one possible explanation for the enigma of the disappearing car.
Carefully he began a minute scrutiny of the floor, playing his tiny flashlight around the edges of the concrete. There was a two-by-four framework around its base. This overlapped the cement. He shifted his concentration to the sill of the door over which the car had passed, drew out a small sharp knife from his pocket and pried at the sill. At last he rose with brightly gleaming eyes.
Next he searched the building’s interior. His fingers roamed over the inside of each beam. His eyes followed his flashlight, probing, searching. Suddenly he stopped, hands tense.
On the inside of a supporting beam, close to the door, he found a tiny electric button. It did not control the overhead lights. The switch of that he had located easily at once. This one had been deliberately hidden, tucked away in a place that no one, unless he searched patiently, would ever find.
Agent “X” paused a moment. Was it a signal button? Or did it operate the concealed mechanism that the Agent’s keen mind had guessed existed?
He took a chance and pressed the button. He waited. A second passed. And then a strange thing happened. The concrete he was standing on, the floor of the garage, began sinking slowly. With the gradual movement of a smoothly running elevator it dropped below the level of the side beams that overlapped it.
It was an elevator, cunningly supported on plunger rods beneath — a wooden platform finished off with a thick covering of concrete. As it sank, with the Secret Agent upon it, he seemed to be going into the bowels of the earth. The floor had dropped twenty feet, and he was in a dark, damp well before anything else showed. Then, at the rear of the pit left by the elevator, twenty feet below the back of the garage, the top of an underground doorway showed in the glow of the Agent’s light.
As the concrete platform sank, the doorway seemed to rise. The elevator stopped at last, flush with the bottom of this hidden door. The amazing cleverness of the criminals was proved by this device. These were the most elaborate precautions against shadowing that he had ever seen. Years might go by and no one would ever guess the secret of that ordinary-looking garage with its sinister purpose.
He found that the door in front of him rolled sidewise. His fingers manipulated it. A cold draft of air struck his face. He waited tensely. But no sound came down the corridor he had opened up. It was densely dark. The only noise was the faint purring of the electric motor that had operated the cement platform. This was in a small chamber at the side of the passage. The elevator seemed to be automatic. It was his pressure on the button that had started the motor and made the floor descend.
He stepped into the corridor, closing the door after him. The elevator ascended. Its rise was automatic, too, brought about by the closing of the door.
DARKNESS and mystery lay ahead. Never had Agent “X” felt so completely alone in any battle with criminals. Entering this underground corridor he had stepped into another world, a world of unknown danger and terror. He had no idea what he would find. At any moment, death in some ghastly form might spring out of the darkness upon him.
He moved forward cautiously, groping with his hands along the corridor walls. The passage was straight for a few yards, then began a long curve to the left.
The Agent’s mind was at work. He had an uncanny sense of direction that had often stood him in good stead. It was operating now. The corridor seemed to him to be heading toward the group of old buildings surrounding the big gas tank he had seen. Every few moments he stopped to listen, but could detect no sounds. He took another chance and flashed on his light.
A hundred feet ahead he saw the oblong of another door. He approached this stealthily, ears acutely attuned to the slightest sound, nerves taut. He rolled the door back. And there in front of him loomed the big car that had disappeared. Excitement made the Agent’s heart race. Here was concrete evidence that he was progressing toward his goal.
He moved cautiously past the car; saw a door in front of it in the rear of this underground garage. The door was fastened with a lock as elaborate as that of a safe deposit box. No ordinary key was used here.
Secret Agent “X” took out his kit of chromium tools. With elaborate care he set to work. Many tests were required with one of his small, delicate instruments before he ascertained the exact nature of the lock. Then he inserted a spidery skeleton key of resilient steel wire that adapted itself to the complex tumblers. A gentle movement of this and the door opened.
The Agent pocketed his tools, groped in the darkness again. His hands encountered what appeared to be a flight of steps. He began the ascent of these cautiously. He was coming nearer and nearer the criminals’ hideout. He knew that death lurked in the blackness around him. Caught prowling here, his life would be worth less than nothing. But the strange, burning glow in his eyes increased. He was experiencing the thrill of the born man-hunter, stacking his wits once again on the other side of the scale against the desperate cunning of ruthless criminals.
He continued to climb the dark stairs until he had almost reached ground level. A faint, pungent smell assailed his nostrils. It was the clinging, unmistakable odor of gas. The ground around him seemed saturated with it. This confirmed his belief as to the direction the passageway had taken. The old gas tank, steel walled like a fortress, was the lurking place of the germ spreaders. But that there were other secret entrances and exits he did not doubt.
THE stairs ended by another door. This opened easily. He walked along a chill concrete passageway, heard the faint sound of voices. They might be far off, or muffled by thick walls. He could not tell which, yet. He moved ahead, and the voices grew fainter. Back again, and they increased in volume till he passed a certain point. There must be doors ahead; but the Secret Agent stopped where this murmur of voices sounded strongest.