There were stacks of papers in the inner compartment, and in the corner lay a chamois bag. “X” took the bag, opened it, and poured into the palm of his hand two pearls so beautiful that they seemed to live in his hand. They were a perfect pair, and from them emanated rays of a dozen brilliant hues. Truly, they were worth every dollar of the Skull’s estimate. Matched pearls — the most priceless jewels in the world.
And then Dennett stepped forward, raising the gun, and said, “Don’t move!” as “X” started, began to turn. “I’ve got you covered, and I’ll shoot to kill!”
“X” remained frozen on the floor, the pearls in his hand. He had recognized the voice of Harrison Dennett; he was trapped as a common housebreaker.
Chapter IX
HARRISON DENNETT stayed in the doorway, keeping a safe distance between himself and the intruder. “Now,” he said, “get up slowly, keep your hands in front of you, and turn around. I want to see your face.”
“X” obeyed, faced the contractor.
Dennett’s gun was steady, centered on “X’s” heart. His eyes were hard.
This was the end; “X” was posing here in the guise of Frank Fannon, a hardened ex-convict, caught in the commission of a felony. Prison. If he tried to escape, Dennett would be justified in shooting him without compunction; and he could not, and would not, injure Dennett. It was against his policy to kill even dangerous criminals.
It would not be any better — perhaps be even worse — if he disclosed his identity as Secret Agent “X.” Commissioner Foster and Inspector Burks would each give much to arrest Secret Agent “X”—would free ten Fannons to do it.
Dennett’s mouth was grim. He said, “You were after those pearls, and nothing else. And you’re an expert, I can see that by the instrument you were using to listen for the tumblers. No expert would go after those pearls for their own value. You could never sell them. What did you want them for?”
“X” assumed a sulky appearance. “What difference does it make? You got me cold. What’re you going to do?”
There flashed through his mind the disturbing realization that Gilly had not warned him of Dennett’s approach. Gilly wasn’t yellow — he would have made sure to sound a warning. Which meant that Dennett must have been in the house all the time; the Skull had been wrong. Or — had the Skull intended to be wrong? Had he deliberately sent him out to be caught here in Dennett’s house? If he had, then he knew that Fannon was not Fannon. It would be death to go back, even if he did succeed in escaping from the menace of Dennett’s gun.
He glanced up as he heard the contractor say, “Who sent you here?”
“X” veiled his eyes. “I came on my own.”
“That’s funny. All my servants happen to be away. Isn’t it a coincidence that you should pick this time to break in here?”
“Suppose it is?”
Dennett’s cold eyes were on the two pearls which “X” held in his hand. He said coldly, “Some one sent you here to get those pearls. No ordinary thief would go after them. Who sent you? Tell me that and maybe I’ll be inclined to go easy on you.”
“X” maintained silence, merely shook his head.
“I think,” Dennett said, his eyes narrowing, “that I know the answer to that question. You are one of the Servants of the Skull! Speak up, quick! Are you?”
“X” shrugged. “I’m not saying a thing.”
“All right,” Dennett exclaimed, his jaws snapping shut with an ominous grimness. It’s your funeral.” He waved the gun. “Put those pearls back in the safe. Put them back!” as “X” hesitated.
THE agent’s body was taut, his fingers tense. He knelt before the safe, opened the chamois bag, started to pour the two pearls back. The first one slipped to the floor as if he were awkward with his hands. He picked it up. And now, instead of being awkward, his hands moved with lightning speed. It was a little trick of prestidigitation which had deceived shrewder men than Dennett. The pearls seemed to be going into the bag. In reality, what went into it were a couple of keys from the open, silk-covered case on the floor.
“X” palmed the pearls, and slipped the chamois bag into the safe under Dennett’s eyes. The safe door clanged shut. Dennett relaxed a bit. He was sure — would have sworn — that those pearls were in the safe. It was as quick a sleight-of-hand trick as had ever been executed on the stage.
Dennett said, “Now hand me that instrument you were listening to the tumblers with. I am interested in it.”
“X’s” hand felt on the floor, while his eyes locked with the contractor’s. He gripped the amplifier, raised it, and hurled it straight at Dennett.
Dennett saw the swift motion of “X’s” arm, started back involuntarily, and his finger tightened on the trigger. But his aim had been spoiled. He fired just as the amplifier box struck his shoulder, fell to the floor and was shattered. The shot went wild.
“X” scooped up his bag, leaped from his kneeling position half-way across the room, and was out through the hall door before Dennett had recovered his senses enough to fire another shot.
He sped toward the rear of the hall. As he swung into the kitchen, another shot from the contractor’s gun barked through the house, crashed into a shelf of chinaware, smashing several dishes.
But “X” was already out through the back door, dashing across the small strip of yard of the rear. Gilly was running too, just ahead of him, looking back. Gilly stopped, waited for him. “What the hell happened?” he demanded.
“X” kept on running beside the gunman. “Dennett jumped me with a gun,” he explained. “I had to take a chance on a fast one to break away from him. And he almost got me at that!”
They were through the alley between the houses now, out on Slocum. Workmen looked up from their work in the subway cut, but none made a motion to interfere with them. Gilly was waving his gun. He shouted to “X,” “There’s number 18, across the street. Let’s get over there!”
They dodged across the crosswalk over the excavation. From behind them came a wild shout.
A policeman down the street saw them and came running, tugging for his gun. Gilly threw a shot in his direction, and just then, as if by pre-arrangement, one of the workmen, down in the excavation started a riveting machine going. The staccato carvings of the riveting machine drowned the sounds of Gilly’s shot, and of the policeman’s answering blast.
“X” and Gilly dashed into the entrance of number 18, ran through the empty foyer, and out through the rear. They found the door in the back fence, slid through it; but there was no Binks. Gilly consulted his wrist watch, and cursed.
“Hell! It’s only half past two. He wasn’t supposed to meet us till three. This is a hell of a mess!”
On the other side of the fence they could hear the policeman shouting, could hear many people talking. “X” had noticed a bar in the door through the fence, and he slid this home. “It’ll give us another minute,” he remarked. “Now we better get out of here.”
He looked around, and whistled. They were in an empty lot facing the river. Along the curb stood a black sedan, a driver at the wheel, looking over toward them. When he caught “X’s” eye, he motioned toward them. “X” nudged Gilly, who looked in that direction, snarled, and brought his gun around. “X” knocked it up, exclaiming, “You damn fool! Don’t you see the ‘S’ on the door? That’s the Skull’s car! Let’s go.”