Randall shook his head. “No — Wait! You’ve heard of Grover Wilkinson, of course?”
The Agent sodded. “The utilities man who was indicted, and escaped from the country. They brought him back, tried him, and he was convicted. But he got off with a two-year sentence. I don’t recall that you had anything to do with that, Randall.”
The banker said vehemently: “I did, in a way. And so did many of the others who have died. You see, just before the crash of his utilities empire, he appealed to us for funds. He wanted a loan of eighty million dollars. We turned him down. He was very bitter after that, and it’s been whispered that he’s mentally deranged. In fact, you know that the reason he got off with such a light sentence was that his attorneys pleaded temporary insanity. Then after his release, he disappeared. Shortly after his disappearance — two of the witnesses who helped to convict him were murdered. There’s been no trace of him since.”
The Agent nodded speculatively, asked more questions. He probed shrewdly into Randall’s private life, touched on matters that Randall never suspected that anyone but he himself was aware of.
Finally the Agent finished. He said: “Now, Mr. Randall, you must understand that what I am doing is for your own good. I am going to keep you here until I have removed the danger which threatens you. In the meantime, I shall go out in your place. If there is any danger, it will strike me instead of you.
“For the time being you must remain here, and I shall make you as comfortable as possible. I shall put you into a comfortable sleep, and when you awake, you will have forgotten this interview. It is the only way. No one must ever know that Secret Agent ‘X’ has been working on this case — not even you.”
Before Randall could open his mouth to utter a protest, the Agent had picked up the hypodermic from the table, and drove the plunger home into the other’s arm. Almost at once Randall’s head dropped back upon the couch, his eyes closed, and he began to breathe regularly, stertorously.
The Agent waited until he was sure that the drug had acted properly, then he released Randall’s wrists, turned out the light, and left the apartment as quietly as he had entered.
Chapter II
THE newsboy’s face was excited, flushed. His armful of papers was dwindling fast; he was doing a rushing business. His thin treble of a voice was raised to its highest pitch as he displayed his wares. The paper read:
MAYOR APPEALS TO SECRET AGENT “X”!
Read all about the mayor’s letter. Read about Murder Number 10!
The lunch-hour crowds were buying his papers as fast as he could hand them out. And at every other spot in the city where newspapers were sold, the same thriving business was being done. The men and women who bought the papers scanned them avidly.
The little newsboy’s last paper was bought by the tall man of dignified bearing who had descended from a taxicab at the corner. Anyone familiar with the features of the dominant figures of the financial district would have recognized this man of imposing mien as Victor Randall; and might have wondered that so important a figure as Randall should be traveling about the city unescorted. It would have astounded such a person even further to have learned that the true Victor Randall was a prisoner in an obscure section of the city, and that this impersonator was none other than Secret Agent “X”.
“X” gave the boy a quarter, waved the change away, and spread the paper open. As thousands of others were doing at the very moment all about him, he read the blaring headlines thrown across the top of the front page:
LEWIS FORMAN MURDERED
Tenth victim in ten days
The tenth grisly murder to take place in this city within the past ten days was discovered early this morning. Lewis Forman was found by his housekeeper with the jugular vein ripped open and the blood drained from his body in the same fashion as the other victims of the inhuman monsters which are terrorizing the city.
Commissioner Foster and the entire police department are without a single clue as to the nature of this horror that has descended upon the city.
Since the day Blaine Prescott was killed in similar manner, exactly nine days ago, every available man in the police department has been patrolling the streets, searching every odd, out of the way place in the city, in an effort to locate the mysterious monsters which have been perpetrating these deeds.
Thus far, the situation has remained a bloody enigma, with all the forces of the law in a frantic scramble to break the mystery before more murders occur.
The slogan of these beasts seems to be — A murder a day!
The Agent ceased reading at that point, and his eyes swung to the column where a last-minute flash had been set in big eighteen-point type:
MAYOR STURGIS APPEALS TO SECRET AGENT “X”!
Below is a copy of an open letter to Secret Agent “X” released by Mayor Sturgis to all the newspapers in the country. The message will also be broadcast over a nationwide network at 5 P.M. tonight. The letter speaks for itself:
OFFICE OF THE MAYOR
To the Man who is known as Secret Agent “X”:
Our city — in fact, the entire nation, is faced by a terror ghastlier than any which could be imagined. Each day one of our prominent men is done to death in grisly fashion, his blood removed for some inhuman purpose. All efforts to discover what band of beasts is perpetrating these horrors have been futile.
You, Mr. Secret Agent “X,” have always been viewed as a super criminal. Many people, however, have other opinions about you. They seem to feel that you are on the side of the law.
As a last resort I am making this appeal to you. If you are not a criminal, if you are really on the side of the law, this is your opportunity to prove it. You admittedly have qualifications and abilities which are far above the average. If you wish to clear your reputation forever of any taint of criminality, come forward now and offer your services. I have instructed the entire police department that you are to be granted immunity for a period of twenty-four hours beginning at 6 P.M. tonight, Eastern Standard Time. From 6 P.M. tonight until 6 P.M. tomorrow, you may present yourself to me personally, to Police Commissioner Foster, or to Chief Inspector Burks at any time, at any place which you may designate. You may come in any disguise which you prefer to assume, and I will guarantee to you that no effort will be made to penetrate that disguise, to discover your true identity.
If you should thus volunteer your services, taking advantage of this immunity which is offered to you, we will lay before you all the facts of the case, and entrust its solution to you. I realise that this is an unprecedented move for an official of the city to make, but the situation is so desperate that it warrants it.
This is your opportunity, Secret Agent “X,” to prove that you are no criminal, that you have the interests of law and justice at heart
Will you accept my challenge?
JOHN F. STURGIS,
Mayor.
The Agent read this letter carefully. Then he gazed down the busy street over the shoulders of the hundreds of scurrying people, many of whom were reading the amazing letter of the mayor of the city to the person known as Secret Agent “X”. His eyes had detected a young woman who was hurrying toward the corner. She was slim, blonde, with a creamy youthful complexion, and a look of fresh innocence that brought a spark of momentary admiration to his eyes.