Mr. Pond asked, “Where is Arnold Hilary?” Hilary was another one of the group that frequented this corner of the Bankers’ Club after dinner. He was the proprietor of the Herald, the newspaper that Betty Dale worked for, and had, on occasion, received substantial financial assistance from Elisha Pond. The use of his unlimited resources in this way had often aided the Agent in his work, by establishing powerful connections for him. The use of these connections had often meant the difference between success and failure.
In answer to his question Foster told him, “Hilary is keeping close to his home. I’ve put a guard around it. We think he might be in danger of abduction, too.”
“What leads you to believe that?” Pond asked with quick interest.
Foster coughed behind his hand, hesitated a moment, then said, “Look here, Pond, this is strictly confidential. It hasn’t been released to the papers. It was reported that a card with a drawing of a skull was found in Dennett’s car when he was kidnaped, and that similar cards were found in the homes of Grier, Laurens and the others. That is true. But there was a message on those cards that was not printed in the newspapers.”
“Yes?” Pond asked.
“Those cards are downtown at headquarters now, but the message on each was identical. I remember it word for word: ‘Do not prepare to raise ransom money. No ransom will be demanded from the family or business connections of my prisoners. Ten men are to be abducted today. Let them not offer resistance, lest they receive the same treatment that Ainsworth Clegg and the others received. Tomorrow I will make known the terms upon which I will release these men. Until then, do nothing.’ And it was signed, ‘The Skull’!”
Foster finished reciting the message, stopped and lit a long cigar that he extracted from his pocket. The match trembled a little. He did not see the swift gleam in Pond’s eyes as he heard the strange wording on the cards.
It was Jewett who broke the silence that followed. “I tell you, Pond, it’s like fighting the darkness! This Skull, as he calls himself, is fiendishly clever. And he’s Satan himself. Imagine Grier, Laurens, Dennett and the others being in the power of such a being; why, we don’t know when we’ll find their broken bodies in the street. We don’t know what he plans! Why, he even says that he isn’t going to ask for ransom from their families! The man must be a maniac!”
“I don’t think so,” said Elisha Pond. “I think he has a definite plan, which we shall learn tomorrow when he makes his announcement. But why, Jewett, are you so wrought up? You seem to feel that he has done you a personal injury.”
Jewett’s eyes blazed. “You’re damn right, he has! Do you know that every one of those men who’ve been taken by the Skull is insured to the hilt? Approximately six million dollars of life insurance is the maximum that anybody can get, and each of those men has the maximum. Ten men. Sixty million dollars. Can you understand what that would do to the life insurance companies of the country if they were all killed? Not only that, but if ten men can be kidnaped, why not a hundred? Why not a thousand? It would be disaster for the institution of life insurance, which it has taken decades to build up to its present strength!”
“I see,” Elisha Pond said very quietly. “I begin to see more clearly.” Suddenly he arose. “I must go now, gentlemen. If there is anything I can do, commissioner, please let me know.”
“I will,” Foster said glumly. “But I’m afraid we’re all helpless. This Skull must be a genius of crime; and I fear the police are not equipped to combat him. It’s a bitter admission to make, but there’s no use glossing the facts. So far, we’ve been worse than useless. Take care of yourself. Do you want a guard?”
“Hardly,” laughed Pond. “I don’t think the Skull is interested in me — not if he’s after insured men. I haven’t much insurance.”
“He can’t get it,” Jewett explained to Foster. “He lives too dangerous a life — exploring in Africa, flying planes. Why, he’s even got the rank of general in the Chinese Army!”
As Pond was at the door, Jewett called after him, “Tell you what you can do, if you want to, Pond. You can stop in at Hilary’s hotel and buck him up a bit. He’s heavily insured, and he seems to be pretty scared about this business.”
“That’s an idea,” said Elisha Pond. “I was thinking of doing that myself.”
Chapter XV
SECRET AGENT “X” never underestimated an opponent. He was far too intelligent for that. Therefore he was quite sure that it would be useless to return to the cellar behind the pool room in an effort to win into the Skull’s headquarters through entrance number seven. He put himself mentally in the Skull’s place, and imagined what the Skull would do. Either he would destroy the entrance as being of no further value since its existence was known, or else he would lay some sort of trap in anticipation of the Agent’s attempt to come back that way.
The rear of the apartment house on Slocum Street, where he and Gilly had been originally supposed to meet Links, offered another slender thread that might lead him back into the lair of the Skull, but this too he thrust aside. The Skull would no doubt have taken similar precautions there, and, possibly, at every one of his other entrances.
From the Bankers’ Club, “X” had gone to an apartment that he maintained near the waterfront. Here he stepped out of the character of Elisha Pond, and became A. J. Martin, an Associated Press correspondent. Before going to the apartment, he had phoned Jim Hobart at the farm where he was keeping the real Frank Fannon a prisoner, instructed him to give Fannon a dose of a powder which would keep him unconscious for another twenty-four hours. Hobart was then to come to the city and meet “X,” whom he knew only as A. J. Martin.
The Secret Agent paid particular attention to his equipment now, realizing that if his line of reasoning was correct, he would be placing himself in greater jeopardy than ever in his life by doing the thing that he now intended doing.
He left the apartment, went to a near-by garage and got a small sedan which was always kept ready there for him in the name of Martin. He drove in leisurely fashion up to the East Eighties, and parked there for fifteen minutes. Soon a cab drew up at the corner and Jim Hobart alighted from it, minus his army chauffeur’s uniform. The young man was bubbling with excitement as he ran to his employer’s car.
“Say, Mr. Martin,” he exclaimed as “X” drove farther uptown, “that Colonel Delevan that you sent me to do the job for is certainly a wonder. You should have seen him make himself up like Fannon. I turned around, and did I get a jolt when I saw that there were two Fannon’s in the back of the car. Why, they might have been twins. He’s a genius, that Colonel Delevan!”
“Thank you,” the Agent murmured.
“Eh, what did you say, Mr. Martin?”
“Nothing at all,” the Secret Agent said hastily. “Now listen carefully, Jim. I’m going to give you a job now that is of the utmost importance. I know I can rely on you.”
“You bet your boots, Mr. Martin. I’ve been having a better time since I met you than I ever had in my life.”
“I know that, Jim, and I’m taking advantage of it.”
“X” braked the car just then across the street, and about a hundred feet from a large residential hotel. “In that hotel,” he said, “is staying a man named Arnold Hilary, who is the proprietor of the Herald. I am going to leave you now. If I do not return, I want yon to remain here and watch for him. If he comes out alone, don’t bother about him any more, but go back home and wait to hear from me. But — if he comes out with anybody else, I want you to follow them; discreetly. It’ll be as much as your life is worth if you should be noticed. So be extremely careful. Do you understand?”