THIS girl approached the corner more or less hesitantly, glanced at the Agent, and then approached him. “Mr. Randall?” she asked diffidently.
He nodded.
“I was told to meet you here,” she went on, “by a — a friend. He suggested there was something you can tell me which I could use for my paper. My name is Betty Dale.”
“This friend,” said “X”, “What is his name, Miss Dale?”
She hesitated. “He — he wouldn’t want me to mention it.”
“Then perhaps I can name him. I see you have a newspaper.”
He gently took the newspaper which she was carrying folded under her arm, spread it open. “Is he by any chance the man to whom this letter was addressed?” His long, slender finger pointed to the open letter from the mayor to Secret Agent “X”.
Betty Dale gave an involuntary start of surprise. Her eyes grew wide with consternation. “Why — no — of course not!”
He smiled, and his voice took on a different inflection — somehow it deepened, softened. He said: “You needn’t worry, Betty. You are not giving me away.”
Betty put a slim hand to her throat, stared at him in amazement. She exclaimed huskily: “You! Disguised as Victor Randall!” Her face lit up in a happy smile. “But — but why are you disguised as Randall? What has happened to Randall?”
He took her arm, led her down the street to a quiet restaurant. When they were seated and had ordered coffee, he explained: “These murders that are being committed — there is apparently no motive, no reason for them. The newspapers hint, as you know, that more men are to be killed and there are ugly rumors going around, about a mysterious band of blood-drinking beasts.”
Betty Dale shuddered. “Yes. People are afraid to go out at night. And they’re afraid to stay home, too. These beasts attack anywhere. No one would believe it possible — that wild jungle beasts should be roving through our city—”
“There is more to it than that, Betty,” the Agent interrupted her gently. “The police are hysterical and in their frame of mind they are ready to believe anything. If I thought that this were merely a matter of wild beasts killing at random, I would not be working on it. It would then be a matter for a concentrated hunt, and nothing else. I am afraid, though, that there is something here that is far more evil — something that will test the powers of all of us to the utmost!”
Betty looked worried. “They’re talking of other things, too. They say that perhaps Grover Wilkerson has something to do with it. You know, he’s really insane — a paranoiac of the worst kind.”
“X” nodded. “That is why I wanted to talk to you. At the Herald you have every opportunity of picking up all the rumors that are floating about the city. I want you to make a complete report on these rumors — no matter how silly they sound. Keep track of them carefully. Try, if possible, to ascertain their source. I will call you later in the day.”
Betty asked: “Are you accepting the mayor’s challenge?”
“X” gazed at her somberly. “Yes, Betty,” he said slowly, “I am accepting the mayor’s challenge.”
She put her hand impulsively on his arm. “But you mustn’t. You’ll be walking into a trap!”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because,” she hurried on eagerly, “the mayor is exceeding his authority in granting you immunity. You have been accused of murder!” Her hands trembled on his arm. “I know, of course, that you have always helped the law. I know that you are good and fine and brave. But the others — Commissioner Foster and Inspector Burks — they’ll never believe you innocent. They’ll never let you get out of headquarters!” Her voice rose slightly. She was controlling herself with an effort.
“Nevertheless,” the Agent said firmly, “I shall be at headquarters at six o’clock.” He took her hand from his arm, pressed it gently. “I have already thought of everything that you tell me, Betty, but I must take the chance — if it will help to prevent more men from having their throats ripped open, and the blood sucked from their bodies.”
Betty sighed. She knew the futility of trying to swerve this man from the path indicated by his sense of duty. “What — what disguise will you assume?”
“I shall go as I am now — as Victor Randall. Randall is safe in one of my apartments, and I shall take his place. I will be there, but the mayor will not know it. I am going to accept the invitation — in my own way.”
He smiled, nodded in kindly fashion. For a moment Betty thought that she detected a glow of warmth in the depths of his usually inscrutable eyes. But it faded as quickly as it had come. It was as if he had drawn a veil across his soul. Once more he was the cold, masterful, strange man without feeling or sentiment — a superb machine devoted to the destruction of crime.
He raised his hat, bowed. Then he turned and walked swiftly away.
Betty bit her lip to keep back the tears which were welling into her eyes. She watched him until he disappeared into the throng.
Chapter III
THAT evening, Secret Agent “X” descended from a cab, a block from headquarters. As he walked down the short remaining distance toward the main entrance of the imposing building within which were housed all the law enforcing agencies of the city, he noted that several squad cars were drawn up along the street, but that there were no officers in sight. He glanced at his wrist watch. It was 6 P. M.
Apparently the way had been left clear in case Secret Agent “X” should choose to come. On the opposite side of the street, he noted a small, shiny black sedan at the wheel of which was seated a gorgeously beautiful woman. She was parked a little distance from the street light, but the Agent’s keen eyes noted her sharp, clearly cut profile, and the black bobbed hair which was combed back behind her ears under a smart little green hat. Hers was a dark, beautiful face, and the semi-darkness in which she sat added mystery and piquancy to her appearance.
The Agent did not slow his gait, but two things registered in his mind. One was the license number of the automobile which he would be able to recall to his mind effortlessly at any time in the future. The other was the identity of that woman. His memory for faces was one of the things that had contributed to making him a nemesis of criminals.
If he should see this woman again after a lapse of ten years, that peculiar faculty of his would at once call up to him a picture of her in the car in front of headquarters. And just so did the sight of her face now bring up to him a picture of several years back, when he had been in South America, in Asuncion.
He had seen her there only for a few moments, in a night club where he had had an appointment with one of his operatives. This woman in the car had been dancing there — a paid performer on the stage. The Agent had never learned her name, had never heard anything about her. But that one flash had come back to his mind automatically as he saw her now in the car.
He filed the item away in the back of his mind. What was this beautiful Paraguayan dancer doing here in front of headquarters? Could she have any connection with the murders that had shocked the city for the last ten days?
Within the headquarters building the Agent was ushered in to Commissioner Foster’s office.
Here was gathered a varied group of men. The commissioner had relinquished his chair behind the broad mahogany desk to the mayor of the city. Mayor Sturgis was a stocky, florid man with an immense capacity for work, and a highly developed sense of civic duty. His square-cut, honest countenance was now pinched in worried lines as he surveyed the gathering in the room.