“You had your orders not to let any member into this meeting until he gave his signal. Do orders mean nothing to you?”
Stark terror, proving the power that this leader had over his men, trembled in Blass’s reply. The brutal confidence he had displayed during the bank raid was gone.
“I–I was afraid to turn him away in his condition. I weighed the factors — and reached a decision to meet the emergency. I — appeal to you, Mr. Chairman.”
The Chairman’s laugh held no mirth, no mercy. “I shall give the matter thought, and meanwhile—”
“Meanwhile, Mr. Chairman, if Courtney was responsible for a prisoner, something ought to be done. He is in no state—”
“I am coming to that, Blass! Two of you, Doeg and LaFarge, will accompany Courtney back to his apartment at once. If Granville is still there, Courtney will be punished for his misconduct with a whipping only. If Granville isn’t there — I shall consider that Courtney has committed a major breach of discipline and is of no further use to this organization. In that case — I shall decree his death!”
There was another silence in the room, during which there came again the scrape of a chair and a faint click. Then, weirdly, mysteriously, the chamber began to grow light. The masked faces of the men around “X” appeared slowly as out of a haze.
Instantly his eyes swiveled toward the grille at the end of the room. But the chair was empty now. The sinister Chairman had withdrawn. There was some doorway close to that desk through which he had passed. It was he who controlled the falling and rising of the darkness.
TWO masked figures in the group arose at once: Doeg and LaFarge, the members delegated to go with “X” to Courtney’s apartment. “X” stood up also, walked toward the door into the corridor through which he had come. Victor Blass opened the metal door with its slitted peephole, letting them into the outer passage. The two who were now “X’s” guards removed their masks, and he did likewise.
They stared at him with open hostility, pushed him roughly ahead of them along the passage, and Chauncey Doeg, Courtney’s supposed friend, spoke:
“You’ve been a damn fool, Lorenzo! You deserve anything you get! Your conduct reflects on us all. From now on you’d better watch your step. Understand? If you don’t — we know what the Chairman would expect!”
Doeg flipped open his coat, exposing the black butt of an automatic worn in an armpit holster. The other man, LaFarge, laughed mirthlessly and nodded. “X” knew that these two wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him. The disapproval of the Chairman, the sentence of a brutal beating already imposed upon him, gave them little respect for his life. Their own selfish interests swept friendship aside. There could be no loyalty among criminals, except that inspired by fear.
But the Agent did not intend to let these two men accompany him to Courtney’s apartment. The mythical Sid Granville wasn’t there. Ironically, the man who had impersonated Granville was now before them and they didn’t know it.
“X” wasn’t interested in either Doeg or LaFarge now. They were only cogs in the amazing crime organization that the mysterious Chairman had built up. Even Blass had proved himself to be a mere subordinate. The Chairman shared his secrets with no one. Unseen, unknown, he controlled the darkness and gave out the helmets which offset it. It was he who was the guiding genius of the devil-dark group. And his sinister orders would start the pillaging of S. Carleton Company’s great store tomorrow.
The Agent moved like lightning, just as they reached the shadows surrounding the spot where LaFarge had parked his car. Before Doeg was able to draw his automatic, the Agent’s fist cracked sharply against his chin. The Agent whirled, struck again, and the second blow, with the impact of a trained boxer’s behind it, connected with LaFarge’s jaw.
Both men dropped senseless to the pavement while Secret Agent “X” turned and sped away. He ran two blocks, turned a corner, and leaped into his own parked coupé. In a moment he was speeding off into the darkness.
TEN minutes later Agent “X” turned into the mouth of the mews where Vivian de Graf dwelt. The pink stucco building which housed her ground-floor apartment was in the center of the block. A faint light seeped around the edges of drawn shades. In spite of the late hour the woman was still up.
The Agent, still in the guise of Courtney, pressed the bell button.
None of his inward excitement showed on his disguised face as he waited for his ring to be answered. The smell of Courtney’s whiskey was still on his breath. He had paused a few moments before entering the mews to bring his impersonator’s art into play. He had added a few deft touches of discoloration to the plastic material on his face. His lips were paler. There were circles under his eyes. The eyes themselves were bloodshot.
He teetered unsteadily and let his lids and his lips droop in an unpleasant smile as the door before him opened.
Vivian de Graf, clad in a becoming pair of blue lounging pajamas, stood in the threshold. Highlights gleamed on her dark hair and on the clinging silk that covered her. They emphasized the pliant grace of her figure. Her complexion was freshly made up as though she expected a guest. Her scarlet lips were startlingly defined, her eyelashes heavy with mascara. Never had she looked more alluring — never more exotically beautiful.
But her features froze as she saw the man who came as Courtney. She did not move aside. Her voice was hard.
“What is it, Lorenzo? What do you want — coming here at this hour?”
The Agent gave a tipsy salute. He leered at her knowingly. “Jus’ wanna have a li’l’ talk with you, Vivian. Jus’ a li’l’ talk.”
“You’ve been drinking,” she said scornfully. “I can’t see you now.”
She tried to shut the door in his face; but Agent “X” thrust out his foot.
“Bad girl, Vivian! Treat a frien’ like that!”
He pushed her aside, swaggered into the apartment where the faint, but all-pervading scent of the saffron orchids lay. Vivian de Graf was beside him instantly, panting in anger, her chin outthrust. Her beauty now was like the sinister grace of a lioness about to spring, with rending claws hidden beneath sleek fur.
“Get out!” she cried huskily. “You — drunken fool! What makes you imagine I want to see you?”
“Nobody — said — you — did,” the Agent replied slowly. “But — I wanna see you.” He took off his hat, dropped it into a chair, fingered for a cigarette. Vivian de Graf eyed him keenly. A sudden look of uneasiness crept into her gaze.
“How long have you been like this? What did you do with Granville? Where is he now?”
The Agent held up a protesting hand. “Not — so many questions at once, Vivian, m’dear! One at a time, please.”
“Where is Granville now?”
Agent “X” lighted his cigarette, let smoke dribble from his lips before he answered. Eyes half closed, drunken appearing, he watched her growing uneasiness.
“That,” he said haltingly, “is what I wanna talk to you about. He — got away.”
Anger became fury in the woman’s face. Her hands clenched at her sides as she stepped close. Her sleekly clad body was taut in every rippling muscle.
“Fool! Fool!” she said again. “I asked you to be careful! I thought I could trust you — that much!”
“Sorry,” said the Agent. “But I’m the one you wanna worry about. I’m in bed with the boss — an’ you — gotta help me!”
“Exactly what do you mean?”
“X” gave a humorless laugh. He waved a finger close to her face. “There was a meeting tonight, an’ the boss wanted to know what I’d found out about Granville. I stalled. I couldn’t tell him the bird had flown. I said he was at my apartment. Then the Chairman, the boss, sent two fellows back with me to find him. The boss said that if Granville wasn’t there — I’d — be killed. So I shook them — and came here.”