Hornaday answered slowly, a feverish light in his eyes.
“I’m washed up — too sick to work. But I could direct others. They took all my notes when they had the gangsters kidnap me. But I can remember — everything. If the gorillas haven’t died — if they can be taken care of and put in condition again, or others bought, more serum could be made. We’d give the people the cure free. The institute would pay for it.”
Agent “X” breathed a sound like a sigh of relief.
“Good! You’ll have to do it — to save those who are sick now — and keep the epidemic from spreading.”
“I will!” Hornaday gasped. “For God’s sake get me out of here if you can — I’ll—”
Fear leaped suddenly into the sick man’s feverish eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Listen! I hear some one coming. They’ll kill us both if they find you here!”
Chapter XVII
AGENT “X” heard footsteps, too. More than one person was moving along the hall, coming toward them. He stooped, whispered quickly in Hornaday’s ear.
“They may have seen the light already. I can’t turn it out now. If they come in — act as though you were in a coma again. Don’t talk or move whatever happens. You must live — understand — to save the people of Branford!”
Hornaday nodded, his face deathly white. The Agent had offered him hope; now there was a chance that that hope might be snatched away.
Agent “X” had noticed that there was a crack under the door of this room. That was why he dared not turn out the light. He must depend upon his wits again in case—
The footsteps stopped outside the door. The door opened and Agent “X,” bending over Hornaday’s cot, turned quickly. Two men stood there, both in gorilla costumes, one with the hood drawn back. He had the hard brutal face of a gangster.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he asked.
Agent “X” fell easily into the jargon of the underworld.
“This guy made a noise,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Hornaday. “I came in to see what it was. He musta had bad dreams.” A harsh laugh came from his lips — a laugh that disarmed the two gangsters. The man who had spoken asked another abrupt question.
“What about the other guy in room G? You was watching him. How is he?”
Agent “X” made a downward motion with his gloved hand.
“Out cold,” he grated. “Couldn’t take it.”
The other man laughed.
“The boss wants to see you,” he said. “He’s got a job he wants done.”
Agent “X” turned, following the others out of Hornaday’s room. His pulses were hammering. He was going to hear the voice of one of the bosses again. And now, playing a different role, in the confidence of this ruthless gang, he hoped to learn secrets that were as yet unfathomed.
The three of them walked along the chill hallway, into the room at its end.
The man who had spoken to “X,” the man with his hood down and his sinister face showing, rapped on the wall again. A voice spoke presently, the deep voice of one of the heads of this sinister ring.
“Yes?”
“The doctor we squirted juice into has passed out cold, boss. That grade A stuff works like nobody’s business.”
The grating laugh of the man behind the steel wall sounded.
“That is excellent. We’ll have use for that culture again tonight. Members of the mayor’s family, and the families of the aldermen and commissioners have been inoculated, as you know. Now I want one of the commissioners himself inoculated. I’m speaking of Health Commissioner Traub. We can’t have him interfering with our more ambitious plans.”
The laugh of the man behind the wall was almost satanic.
“This is an important job and I want it done quickly. I’m going to send two of you out. Who’ll volunteer?”
The Agent’s mind was working swiftly. This fiend behind the wall wanted to put Commissioner Traub out of the way just when the epidemic would be at its worst. It seemed a diabolical climax to this fearful crime wave — but behind the move Agent “X” read deep significance.
Neither of the two men beside him spoke. Here was a chance for him to leave the building unsuspected, but he kept quiet, waiting for a cue.
“There’ll be an extra grand a piece for those who do it when the job is done,” said the man behind the wall.
Only then did Agent “X” speak.
“Let me in on it, boss,” he husked eagerly.
One of the two men beside him also volunteered at the mention of money. The other tried to cut in. They began quarreling fiercely until the stern voice of the unseen boss silenced them.
“You two who spoke first,” he said.
Agent “X” waited for further instructions. These came quickly. The small door under the eye slit in the wall opened. Two of the toothlike injectors were thrust out.
“They are filled with grade A culture,” the man behind the wall said. “One or both of you can work on Traub. It makes no difference so long as he gets plenty of it.”
He gave them Traub’s address, then added a warning.
“Don’t come back till you’ve done the job. There’s a special meeting tonight in the mayor’s office. They’re going into a huddle on a certain matter. Commissioner Traub will be there. After the meeting’s over, he’ll probably go directly home. Wait outside his house and then get him. Do the thing right or you’ll have to chisel into another racket. I don’t play ball with men who fall down on a job — and I don’t hand out money to them either.” A short laugh sounded. The metal covering of the eye slit closed with an emphatic click.
Agent “X” turned. Following the other gang members he left the room, headed for one of the building’s secret exits. And at that moment a faint, chill sweat broke out on the Agent’s forehead. For he began to feel symptoms of weakness, dizziness. The terrible virus of the encephalitis bacilli was beginning to show itself in his blood. Could he keep himself going during the next hour to accomplish the daring, desperate things that must be done?
IN the office of the mayor of Branford a group of excited men were assembled. They were men whose faces were haggard with worry, whose eyes held somber shadows of fear. The mayor had just read them a letter he had received by special delivery less than an hour ago. It was typewritten, signed by a “Doctor Blank,” the name also typewritten. It offered to sell to the City of Branford serum that would cure the disease of encephalitis.
The charge would be one million dollars in cash. In the event that the offer was accepted, the letter demanded the acceptance be made known by radio broadcast from the Branford station. To prove that “Doctor Blank” was no quack, the letter gave certain references — the names of persons living in Branford who had already received treatment and were on the way toward being cured.
The mayor, a small, thin man, struck the letter fiercely as he eyed his commissioners and the group of aldermen seated before him.
“I’ve looked up these references,” he said. “It’s true. Some of our wealthy citizens have been receiving treatment. They have been cured. This man, whoever he is, is no quack.”
An alderman shot a question.
“Didn’t these ‘citizens’ you refer to give you the doctor’s name?”
“No. They don’t know who he is. The patients were taken out of their houses to be cured. The treatments were made in secrecy and the doctor refused to divulge his name.”
The commissioner of police spoke harshly. He was bending forward, staring at the mayor.
“Your honor,” he said. “In my opinion the writer of that letter is a crook — a criminal. This is an extortion racket.”