“X” watched the Skull pick the pad out of the basket. But the Skull did not bother to read what he had written; instead he tore the cardboard back off, holding it carefully by the edges. “Most of the information that you have written here, Mr. Hilary, I already have. What I really wanted was the cardboard back which has been specially treated to take the impressions of your fingerprints. You see, though I do not suspect you of being anybody but yourself, I am very thoroughgoing; it is possible that a certain man may try to work his way in here under a disguise, and I am therefore taking the prints of everyone who enters here.”
“X’s” eyes narrowed to slits. He had not looked forward to this. He had anticipated, of course, that any new recruit would be fingerprinted, and he had deliberately conceived the idea of entering the stronghold of the Skull as a captive, thus turning suspicion away from himself. But he had not anticipated that the Skull would be so careful as to check on the very men he kidnaped.
He hid his uneasiness with an artful bit of acting. “I must hand it to you, Mr. Skull. You don’t leave any loopholes, do you?”
“In this business,” the Skull replied didactically, “there must be no loopholes. I am at war with society, and in war a careful general never leaves himself unguarded.” The Skull arose. “All right,” he snapped at Gilly and Frisch. “Take him away. Put him in cell number ten. And send Griscoll in to check these prints for me.”
Chapter XVIII
THE cell where Frisch and Gilly conducted the Secret Agent was one of the rooms in the corridor where he had first seen Tyler tied to the wall. The doors now all had numbered cards tacked on them. Number ten was the first room on the left as they entered the passage. It was next to Tyler’s room, which was nine.
They left the handcuffs on him, and in addition they picked up the end of a chain set in the wall, snapped the padlock at its end onto the links of the cuffs. The chain was less than four feet long, and was attached to a ring in the wall close to the floor. They went out, and Gilly peered back from the corridor to throw him a last taunt before he slammed the heavy door.
“Sorry we ain’t got one o’ your papers for you to read, Mister Hilary. Would you like breakfast in bed in the morning?”
“X” did not reply. He waited for the door to close, then took a tentative step in the pitch darkness that descended upon the room. He took one more step and found that he had reached the end of the chain. That was as far as he could go.
He realized that he had but five minutes at the most before he would receive visitors. It would not take the Skull longer than that to have the fingerprints checked, and “X” knew that once the Skull learned his identity he would not delay in taking swift action.
“X” wondered if Jim Hobart had succeeded in following them to the garage; he thought it very unlikely. In any event he must depend on his own wits and resources during the next half hour, which would perhaps be the most crucial of his life.
From the room next to his came the sound of groans, then the babbling of a terrified man. “X” recognized the voice. It was that of Laurens, the jeweler. He, too, was one of the prisoners. Laurens suddenly ceased his babbling, and a moment later his voice came again, high-pitched, speaking quickly, slurring words. “X” listened keenly. It was hard to tell what he was saying through the wall, but after a moment the Agent understood. Laurens was praying. Laurens, cool, phlegmatic, hard-headed, was praying. So strongly did the Skull affect men.
“X” reflected that Laurens had probably never uttered those words since his childhood. Now, in the face of terror they came back to him with facility. It was at times like these that men crept back to the bosom of a Deity they had all but forgotten in the turmoil of their crass existence.
Now there arose cries from other rooms in the double row. Men called out hoarsely to each other from room to room. “X” recognized Grier’s formerly hearty voice, now thick with fear. They were shouting encouragement to each other, giving their names so that they could know who else shared their danger.
“X” did not call to them. He was laboring swiftly, silently, in the dark. He had twisted his arms around so that the fingers of his right hand came up close to the lining of his coat where lay the flat black case containing his chromium steel tools. His fingertips just reached the lower edge of the pocket where it lay, and he tried to nudge it out, inch by inch, so that it would fall to the floor.
He succeeded partially, had it halfway out, when he found he could move his hand no farther forward. He squirmed, trying to force the case out. He estimated that fully five minutes were gone since he had been taken from the Skull’s presence; ample time for the prints to have been checked, and the Skull notified.
“X” clenched his teeth, strained his muscles. His fingers gripped the cloth on the under side of the pocket in the lining, and he wrenched with all his strength. The pocket ripped under the grip, and the case slid out to the floor, struck on its edge, and came to rest in the middle of the room.
It was out of his reach.
With his hands behind his back he had no means of reaching out to pick it up. It lay there, tantalizing, spread open by the fall, the metal instruments which had so often been the keys to safety for him gleaming dully in the dark.
And just then a panel in the wall close beside him slid open, and a blinding spotlight filled the small room. He remembered now, that this was how the Skull had forced Betty to look in on Tyler. There must be such a sliding panel for each of these rooms, so that the Skull could look in on all his prisoners when he chose.
“X” faced the spotlight, blinking. He so placed his body that the kit of tools was hidden from view.
From behind the spotlight came the mocking voice of the Skull. “How do you do, Secret Agent ‘X’? You are very clever, my friend; I had never expected to see you here as Hilary. But welcome back in any disguise. You are going to provide me with a half hour of pleasure before I place you in the chair. Under my gentle persuasion you shall disclose to me all the little secrets that you have; and I shall see your face — perhaps show you mine before you are deprived of your sanity!”
THE Skull laughed long and loud. “You made a terrible mistake when you undertook to outwit the Skull. You see, my friend of a Thousand Faces, you have only ten fingers — and they ruined you!” The Skull raised his voice. “Binks! Go and get him. Keep a gun on him every minute, and don’t take the handcuffs off him. Bring him here!”
The panel slid down, leaving the cell once more in complete darkness. No sooner was it fully closed than “X” broke into action. He recalled how long it had taken Gilly and Frisch to bring him here, coming through the connecting passages — no more than four or five minutes. That was the length of time he had.
He did not deceive himself that he could overcome the halfwit while he was opening the padlock that linked his handcuffs to the chain; Binks, he told himself, was not as dumb as he looked. He would be wary, knowing that this prisoner was not an ordinary one. He must do whatever he had to do before Binks arrived, must be ready for him.
He stretched out on the floor on his face, his hands suspended in the air behind him by the chain. The floor was of wood, moldy and dank, and he felt a furry creature scurrying over his ankle, then another. Rats. A weaker man might have shuddered in revulsion as those rats reminded him of the one that had been electrocuted in the Skull’s office earlier in the day.
“X” set his lips grimly, and not even bothering to shake off the rats, he stretched out his legs toward the instrument case, gripped it with both feet, and turned on his side, straining against his manacled arms. Then he drew up his feet until the instrument case was close beside him.