JIM HOBART nodded eagerly. “I understand, Mr. Martin. I’ll be careful, all right.”
“You will note where they go, and remain on watch there, for an hour. At the end of that time you will go to police headquarters and ask to see either Commissioner Foster or Inspector Burks. You will tell them that you saw where Hilary was taken, and lead them to the place. Tell them to bring along a wrecking crew. Is everything clear now?”
“I got it, Mr. Martin. I’m all set.”
“X” got out. “Of course, I may be wrong in my deductions, in which case I’ll be right back. Well, good luck.” He turned and strode off in the direction of the hotel.
As soon as he got abreast of it, he saw that his deductions had been correct. For parked opposite the entrance was a black sedan, and at the wheel was Nate Frisch. Nate Frisch, dressed in a peculiar gray-green uniform, with a visored cap.
Inside the lobby he saw another one of the Servants of the Skull, a man named Orson, whom he recognized at once. He might be too late; perhaps the Skull was already striking here. Orson was lounging in a corner, smoking a cigarette and surveying the lobby through slitted eyes. He glanced at “X,” then allowed his gaze to slide away. He did not recognize in the man who was posing as A. J. Martin, the Frank Fannon who had slept in the same room with him the night before.
“X” hurried up to the desk. Near the desk a uniformed patrolman stood on guard, with a riot gun under the crook of his elbow. He frowned as “X” said to the clerk, “I would like to see Mr. Hilary, please.”
Before the clerk could answer, the patrolman came up close, demanded, “What’s your name, mister, and what do you want to see Mr. Hilary for?”
“X” took a card from his pocket and handed it to the policeman. It was the card of Mr. Elisha Pond, and on the back was written in ink, “Dear Hilary, This is Mr. A. J. Martin, whom I phoned you about. He has a matter of great importance which he must see you about at once. E. P.”
The patrolman said grudgingly, “Yeah. Mr. Hilary phoned down an’ said to send you right up when you came. Go ahead. We got to be careful,” he explained. “There’s another man on guard upstairs. Not a soul is allowed on the fourteenth floor unless we know who he is. This here Skull has got the whole department buffaloed!”
“You don’t say so!” Mr. Martin commented. “I’d think you’d arrest him or something, if he’s so dangerous. My, what the city is coming to!”
The policeman snorted, and picked up the phone to notify the officer on the fourteenth floor that a visitor was coming up. “X” entered the elevator, noting that the eyes of Orson were now following him with interest. He had noted the conversation with the policeman.
Upstairs, a plainclothes man with a gun openly holstered at his hip met “X” and conducted him to the suite of the newspaper publisher. Hilary was alone in the sitting room of his three-room suite. He was settled comfortably on the sofa, reading, with a whiskey-and-soda beside him. “X” suspected that Hilary had deliberately placed himself there with the book, as a pose, when he learned that he was going to have company. Hilary was distinctly ill at ease, too worried about something or other to have been able to read so quietly.
He rose and shook hands with “X.” “I don’t know your business with me, Mr. Martin, but Elisha Pond said you were okay, and I’ll take his word for anything. Sit down. Here, have a drink. Pour it yourself. It’s fourteen-year-old Bourbon.” His tone of cordiality seemed forced, with an undertone of nervousness in it.
“Thanks,” said the Secret Agent. “I never drink when I’m working.”
HILARY eased himself onto the sofa again, picked up his glass with a shrug. There were dark rings under his eyes. “Just as you say, Mr. Martin. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve come here, Mr. Hilary, about — the Skull.” The Agent stopped a moment as Hilary started, then went on. “I have reason to believe that the Skull intends to kidnap you tonight.”
Hilary’s face went ashen. “How — how do you know?”
“I have means of getting information. It doesn’t matter how, but I’m almost sure of what I say.”
Hilary gulped down the rest of his drink, put the glass on the table beside the couch. His hand shook so that the glass wobbled and fell to the floor when he released it. It struck the thick carpet on its edge, and did not break, but rolled over. Hilary looked down at it stupidly, then raised his eyes to “X.”
“W-why do you come here to tell me this?”
“Because I intend to prevent your kidnaping. I believe that Mr. Pond told you on the phone that you could rely implicitly on me, could do anything I suggest without any fear. How far do you trust Mr. Pond?” He leaned forward in his chair to emphasize the question, his keen eyes burning into the other.
Hilary seemed fascinated by those eyes. “Why, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Mr. Pond. I owe most of my success to him. I’d do anything he asked.”
“Would you allow me to change places with you?”
“You mean — you want to be kidnaped instead of me?”
“I mean just that”
“You couldn’t get away with it. The Skull’s men would know me. They’d know in a minute you weren’t I. They’d kill you.”
“Suppose you let me worry about that, Mr. Hilary. Now, quickly — there isn’t much time, if my guess is correct — will you do it?”
“I’ll do it,” Hilary agreed. “But I don’t understand why you want to. I’ve got a police guard—”
“So did the others — Grier, Laurens. But the Skull got them. Do you think that if he goes after you those guards outside will be a barrier?”
“You’re right, Martin.” Hilary was almost eager now. “What must I do?”
“Come into the next room.” The Secret Agent picked up the open bottle of Bourbon and the bottle of charged water. “Take your glass, and come on. We must hurry.”
As he led the way into the next room, “X’s” fingers were busy. From his pocket he extracted a small pellet which he had kept there in readiness. He knew Hilary’s habit of drinking when he was alone, and had planned accordingly.
The next room was a bedroom. Hilary came in with him, sat down on the bed, and reached for the bottle. He poured himself a stiff drink, downed it straight, and coughed. “I needed that,” he muttered apologetically. “You don’t know what a strain it’s been today; not knowing whether I was going to be the next victim or not. And I want to tell you that there are plenty more men in the city who’ve been worried, the same as I. This Skull, nobody knows where he’ll strike next. And he’s so clever; no precautions—”
His voice trailed off, his head sank to his breast, and in a moment he sprawled on the bed, breathing stertorously, inert and unconscious.
“X” was already moving swiftly, efficiently. He peeled off his outer clothing, undressed Hilary, and donned the publisher’s habiliments. Then he took from his inner pocket the flat black case containing make-up material, and set to work. Within ten minutes there were two Hilarys in the room.
The Secret Agent wasted no time in practicing the speech of the man he was impersonating. He dragged the body of Hilary to the clothes closet, and placed him on the floor there, propping his head up with his discarded clothes.
He had hardly straightened the room up, put away his paraphernalia and carried the bottles and glass back into the living room, before there was a discreet tap on the door. He went to the door and unlocked it. The plainclothes man on duty in the hall pushed his way in.