Two stewards were coming along the passage from the rear. The three ship’s officers offered a barrier in the other direction. The sailor who had dodged his gas jet, leaped toward him with a furious cry — Agent “X” crouched, lashed out with his fist. The sailor’s quick feint showed that he was a boxer. He ducked again, flung himself at “X,” hammering in with short-arm blows. They clinched, and Agent “X” swung the man bodily, heaved him forward to crash into the opposite wall.
But five others were on top of him now, and far down the passage he heard the hoarse shouts of the guests rising in a bedlam of sound. Agent “X” went down in the carpeted passage under a crashing weight of human bodies. Using a wrestler’s technique, he squirmed out from under, got a scissors grip on the biggest of the yacht’s officers, and twisted the man on his back. Then something cold and hard was shoved against his neck. A voice shouted in his ear.
“Lay off, feller. Quiet there — or you’ll get a bullet in your brain.”
The cold thing was the muzzle of a gun. Agent “X” arose slowly. The officer that he had squeezed with the crushing scissors hold lay on the carpet breathless and groaning. The second man seized his arm. The third, still holding the gun against his neck, issued another order.
“Walk forward. No funny business — or you’re a dead man!”
Agent “X” was shoved along the passage toward the saloon where the guests were assembled. The orchestra had stopped playing. A tense silence reigned in the big cabin. White, excited faces were turned toward “X” and the officers who held him. The Agent presented a strange figure in the baggy, ill-fitting suit of Sanzoni, hanging loosely now on his powerful frame. His last make-up had been a hasty one. He looked like a tough and dangerous young man.
“We caught this chap aboard, sir,” said one of the officers, addressing Sutton. “He’s a bad-actor — and almost killed Jarvis.”
“Where was he?”
“In the radio room, sir.”
MONTE SUTTON swore under his breath. The guests looked startled. Police Commissioner Foster came forward and buttonholed “X,” taking the authority of the law into his own hands.
“Now,” he growled. “What’s the meaning of this? Who are you?”
Agent “X” did not answer at once. He stared from face to face. Harrigan was standing a short distance away, eyes intent and strained. Mayor Ballantine was watching him closely.
“There’s a criminal on board this yacht,” “X” said quietly. “You’re in the right place, commissioner.” He looked hard at Mayor Ballantine. “Some of you,” he went on, “may have heard of a man who calls himself the Terror.”
The Mayor gave a hoarse gasp. His face twitched. Harrigan turned paler. Commissioner Foster shook “X’s” arm roughly.
“What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”
“No — not crazy, commissioner! You know that a crime wave has disgraced the city, that the police have been ordered to lie low, and that millions have been stolen. What if I should tell you that the loot or most of it is on this boat?”
Monte Sutton spoke then. “This man must be mad. Take him away, men! Lock him up till we can get him on shore.”
Agent “X” fixed his gaze on the yachtsman. Craft was in Sutton’s eyes now. His face was hard, lined.
“Wait!” said “X” harshly. “You have an interesting radio room, Sutton! I might ask you to explain several things I found there — but I already understand—”
A transformation came over the face of Sutton. The mask of the dapper society man fell away. He appeared all at once predatory, criminal, vicious. He crouched forward, fingers crooked.
“So—”
Agent “X’s” voice rose. “I came to this yacht shadowing a man who carried a hundred thousand in stolen cash. He used the Osprey’s tender. He came on board the Osprey. Now I know who the Terror is. First clues pointed to another man. He is now on board the yacht. What do you know about this, Harrigan?”
Commissioner Foster broke in angrily. “Radio the police, Sutton. This man’s a raving maniac.”
“No,” said Mayor Ballantine suddenly. “I don’t know who he is, but he seems to know a lot. I—” He stopped speaking, gave a gasp, for Monte Sutton, dapper yachtsman, had given a sudden signal that the officers of his yacht seemed to understand. They backed away, faces hard. One slipped through a doorway, out on deck. Sutton addressed his guests, staring at Mayor Ballantine.
“So!” he said again, “you decided to disobey the Terror’s warning, Ballantine, and you, too, Foster!”
Agent “X” understood that Sutton thought he was a spy, hired by the mayor and his commissioner of police.
Words that were like a scream rose to the mayor’s throat. “Good God! You, Sutton — you are the Terror! You planted the bombs!”
Chapter XXI
THE mayor’s words had an electrifying effect on the guests assembled in the cabin.
“Bombs!” a woman cried hysterically. “What does he mean?”
“Take me on shore!” another whimpered. “Take me away from here!”
Monte Sutton laughed harshly then. His gesturing fingers swept toward “X”.
“This man, this detective of yours, Foster — let him tell my guests about those bombs! Or, no — I will. It’s true, my friends, there are bombs — but you will be safer here than ashore. The city is to be blown up presently. You will have a nice view of it from here.” Sutton laughed again. His eyes blazed with fury. “I am the Terror!” he cried. “And I am a man of my word! I made a bargain with Ballantine and Foster. They didn’t keep it. Let them and others pay the price!”
A BREATHLESS silence followed his words. Then the mayor spoke in a shaken voice. “No, Sutton! God, no! You can’t do it! This man wasn’t hired by us!”
“You lie!” screamed Sutton. “You tipped him off to come here. And now you’ll see what you’ve done!” He shouted another order at one of his officers. “Get underway! Quick — damn you! We sail at once.” When the man had gone, Sutton turned back to his guests, his eyes brutally mocking.
“Harrigan can tell you as much about these bombs as I,” he sneered. “The explosive in them came from his company. It was he who told me about it in the first place.”
The munitions man made a choking sound in his throat. His face twitched.
“You dirty thief, Sutton!” His trembling hand gestured toward the others. “I hold controlling interests in the Schofield Arms Company. They’ve been experimenting with a new explosive for months — keeping it dark. It’s the most violent thing of its kind in the world — and it was stolen mysteriously a few weeks ago. All our efforts to trace it failed — and now I understand why. I was a fool to mention it to any one — even my supposed friends. But I did — and Sutton was among them! Criminals hired by him made the theft, of course. I half suspected some one was using the explosive to force the hand of the city administration. I even went to the mayor’s house and opened the safe like a common burglar in the hopes of finding some evidence. But I didn’t guess for an instant that Sutton—” Harrigan’s voice trailed away despairingly.
Agent “X,” listening, felt a coldness around his heart. Sutton, he knew, was drunk with a sense of his own power — mixed with fury that his plot had been uncovered before he was ready. Now he was on the point of blowing up the city. The yacht was already moving. These men on board, in spite of their dapper uniforms, were criminals, too. Sutton’s next words showed his determination to make good his hideous threat.
“In a few minutes,” he jeered, “only a few minutes — and all of you will see what those bombs can do!”