He said, “Say, Mr. Hilary, do you know anything about extra guards being ordered from the Home Detective Agency?”
“Extra guards?” the Agent asked. “I don’t know of any.” His voice as he spoke was the voice of Hilary to the last subtle inflection.
“Well, there’s four of ’em out here. They’ve been sent to stay here with you day and night. I phoned the Agency, and their office says the men were ordered by Commissioner Foster. He’s using their men because he don’t want to take extra patrolmen off their regular work.”
“X” was worried by this new development. His whole plan would be ruined if he had too much protection. Foster meant well, no doubt, but by this move the commissioner might be destroying the only possible chance of checkmating the Skull. Everything depended upon “X’s” getting back into the Skull’s headquarters.
“X” frowned, and said, “Send them in while I phone Foster and have them called off. This is ridiculous. The Skull must certainly feel flattered to know that the whole police department of the city isn’t enough to cope with him!”
The detective nodded, and went to the door while “X” picked up the phone. The detective opened the door, and four men in the gray-green uniforms, guns in hand, entered. The first of the men was Nate Frisch, and the second was Gilly.
Chapter XVI
SECRET AGENT “X” cradled the telephone as the four men spread out in the room, shutting the door after them. The detective sensed from the pregnant silence that suddenly permeated the room that something was wrong, and he instinctively went for his gun. But Gilly, who was at his left and a trifle behind him, brought the butt of a heavy automatic down on his head, and the plainclothes man tumbled to the floor in a heap.
The other two men stooped and dragged his inert body to one side, while Frisch advanced upon “X,” menacing him with a gun, and grinning savagely.
“All right, Mr. Hilary,” he said, “I guess you know who we are. We ain’t from any detective agency. We’re from the Skull!”
“X” simulated extreme panic, as Hilary might have done. “The Skull!” he cried. “What do you want with me?” He seemed to shrink away from Frisch with just the right degree of fear.
“You’re comin’ out with us, Mr. Hilary. I’ll be on one side o’ you, an’ that little guy will be on the other. We’ll both have guns in our pockets. Our two pals’ll be right behind. If you make one single wrong yap we’ll let you have it from both sides, right in the liver. You’ll take a long time dyin’, an’ you’ll wish you’d have kept your trap shut. Now stand up!”
“X” stood up hesitantly. “You — you’re going to take me to the Skull?” He managed to put a quaver in his voice that would have done credit to any Thespian.
“You’re damn right we are. An’ when that dumb cop in the lobby asks you how come you’re goin’ out, you’ll tell him you’re goin’ on personal business, an’ takin’ your private guards along. Get it?”
As “X” marched to the elevators with Frisch on one side and Gilly on the other, he was compelled to admire the daring simplicity of the plan. The Skull had no doubt established this detective agency address, so that when the plainclothes man called, as he was sure to do, they could answer properly, allaying his suspicions.
The Skull was very thorough. On the cap of each of the four men was a gold shield with the lettering, “Home Detective Agency.” The uniforms were well-cut and expensive, giving the impression of a solid, respectable agency. “X” recalled now, that he had seen advertisements of the Home Detective Agency in several newspapers for some time past.
The Skull had probably built up the fictitious organization for some such use as this. Probably if the police went there to investigate, now, they would find nothing but an empty office. The person in whose name the license had been obtained would no doubt be out of the country, or dead, by this time.
Down in the lobby, just as Frisch had anticipated, the patrolman stared as he saw them come out of the elevator, then walked over. “Hello, Mr. Hilary,” he exclaimed, surprised. “I thought you was staying upstairs!”
“X” felt a hard object poked into his ribs from each side. He could hear Frisch’s heavy breathing, so close was the man to him. The threat of death was close.
“I’m going out on business,” he said. “I — hope to be back soon. These men are plenty of protection for me.”
The policeman was doubtful. “Don’t you think you ought to call up headquarters first, Mr. Hilary? My orders—”
Frisch interrupted him harshly. The words he uttered were not in his usual style. The Skull had evidently made him learn them by rote. “See here, officer. Mr. Hilary is not a prisoner. If he chooses to go out, you have no right to detain him. You may report to headquarters yourself if you wish, but Mr. Hilary is in a hurry, and can’t wait!”
Frisch’s hand on the Secret Agent’s arm urged him on, and they stepped past the policeman. The policeman, however, was not looking at Frisch; he was looking at Gilly.
“Sa-a-y!” he exclaimed. “I know your face! You ain’t a private guard! Why, I’ve seen your mug in the lineup! You—”
He stopped, his eyes wide with horror, as he saw guns magically appear in the hands of the four. In the moment of realization, he started to raise the riot gun, but a storm of lead tore into his body from four guns. He dropped the riot gun, clutched at his stomach, cried, “My God!” and collapsed on the tiled floor of the lobby, his lifeblood gushing out of him.
Cries and shouts arose about them. The desk clerk reached for the phone, then dropped it and ducked under the desk as Gilly threw a shot at him. Still holding “X” between them, they rushed out of the lobby, crossed the street on the run, and piled into the black sedan.
Frisch took the wheel, and the car was spurting away from the curb before any of the passers-by knew what was taking place. Gilly and one of the others had “X” between them on the rear seat, while the fourth sat next to Frisch, looking backward out of the open window, with his gun ready.
“X” simulated great terror, he was eager to know if Jim Hobart was following, but dared not risk a glance through the rear window lest he arouse the suspicions of his captors.
THE sedan wound through several streets under Frisch’s manipulation. They heard the siren of a radio car on the next block, and Frisch turned right, tore across town for three blocks, then headed south. The truck driveway of a large warehouse yawned open at their left, and Frisch turned into it. The door closed behind them, shutting out, partly, the sound of another police car siren outside. When the police car got to the spot where they had driven into the warehouse, the officers would find no single trace of them. They would begin to search the warehouses on the block, no doubt, and “X” waited to see how the Skull had planned to cover up. He was keenly interested in how the Servants of the Skull always managed to disappear without leaving a clue behind.
He was soon to see. The place had been in darkness when they entered, for Frisch had snapped off his headlamps early in the chase. Now a light sprang up toward the rear, showing the interior of the place, stacked with bales of goods, unlabeled, along the walls. The middle of the floor, where the car stood, was entirely clear. The reason for this became obvious in a moment, when a narrow strip of the floor, upon which the car stood, began to tilt downwards, forming a sort of runway down which Frisch drove the car. He stopped on a sort of platform below the floor level, and the strip of floor rose above them. The garage above was now empty of cars in case it should be searched.