I should like to hear the story of the robbery as you observed it, Mr. Krausman. Just when did you first realize that the store was being held up?”
“X” seated himself on the edge of the telephone desk. “I knew that it would be held up nearly ten hours ago. I really don’t know just how I would have managed to be here at the exact moment, if it hadn’t been that Krausman left town this morning.”
Betty’s white forehead crimped into a tight frown. “You knew it ahead of time? I—I don’t quite understand.”
“Then don’t bother your pretty head about it any longer. Perhaps this will clarify matters for you, Betty.” Secret Agent “X’s” forefinger traced the letter “X” on top of the desk.
“No!” she exclaimed excitedly. She smiled happily. “I should have known! But—but I never do. I had no idea that these strange robberies were so serious as to attract your attention.”3
“Not serious, Betty? Do you realize that in the last two weeks nearly a score of police have met death in conflict with that black car?”
“Then there is a definite connection between the mystery car and these robberies?”
“Assuredly. As soon as a robbery call goes out over the radio, that black, torpedo-shaped car puts in its appearance. With total disregard for the lives of innocent bystanders, the machine gun on the killers’ car opens up. Slugs rake the squad cars hurrying to the scene of the robbery. Not once have the police reached the scene of the robbery in time to prevent the crime from being committed.” The face of the man who looked like Krausman became suddenly grim. “It is the most ruthless butchery I’ve ever encountered! The man behind it all must be bent on wiping out the entire police force. And through it all, he remains hidden, as invisible as a black panther at midnight and far more dangerous.”
“Have you any idea who the hidden criminal may be?” Betty asked.
“Not the slightest,” replied “X” without hesitation.
A worried frown crossed Betty’s face. “Commissioner Foster thinks he knows,” she said. “I was in his office this morning when he received a mysterious note. He permitted me to make a copy. But I just can’t turn it into the Herald. It’s too absurd!”
“May I see it?” “X” asked.
The girl reached into the pocket of her jacket, and took out a piece of Paper. “It—it frightens me,” she said simply as she handed the note over to “X.”
The Secret Agent opened the paper and read through the letter quickly.
Dear Foster:
This is an open challenge. Dare you pick up the glove? For every man who has met death at the hands of the law, I shall take the lives of ten members of the police force. A vaster army than you can muster is behind me. It is the Legion of Corpses. The secret of life eternal is mine; yet to my enemies, I mete out certain death. Dare you take up the glove?
The paper jerked almost imperceptibly in the Agent’s hands. For this open challenge from the lawless to the law was signed, “Secret Agent ‘X’.”
“X” looked at Betty. A fear that his smile could not dispel was in her deep blue eyes. “You know what that means?” she asked. “Foster will demand your capture, alive or—or —”
The Agent laughed quietly. “There’s been a price on my head before. Go ahead and publish that note in your paper. If you don’t, some other paper will. It doesn’t matter, anyway.” He handed the piece of paper across the desk.
As Betty extended her hand for the note, her elbow knocked over the telephone. The girl uttered a startled: “Oh!” and started to recover the instrument.
Agent “X’s” hand shot out and closed over her wrist. A strange change had come over his face. His eyes were like bright points of gleaming steel. Gently, he disengaged Betty’s fingers from the phone, picked up the instrument, and stared at it a moment before setting it down. Then he slid from the desk, crossed the room on tiptoe, one finger on his lips. He beckoned to Betty. Wonderingly, the girl got up, and followed him. The Secret Agent put both hands on her shoulders, bent his head, and whispered into her ear:
“Go back to the desk, sit as you were sitting, and keep talking for about a minute. Then, newspaper or no newspaper, leave this office immediately. I don’t want to hide from you the fact that you are in deadly danger. Avoid all strangers. Take care of yourself, but don’t be afraid. Go back now.” He gave her a gentle push, and turned toward the door.
* * * *
Agent “X” unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped outside. Reporters were waiting for him, eager with questions. With his back to the door, “X” inserted the key in the lock, and turned it. Then he dropped the key to the floor, found it with his heel, and kicked it under the door.
“Where’s Miss Dale?” demanded one of the reporters.
“Inside,” the Agent explained. “She’s putting her notes in some order. Don’t worry; she’ll not hold out on you.” Then he pushed past the reporters, turned abruptly to the left, and entered another office. It was empty. He hurried over to the desk and bent over the telephone. A moment’s scrutiny told him what he wanted to know. Beneath the receiver hook of the instrument, was a small wooden wedge driven far enough in to open the telephone circuit. A similar wedge he had seen on the phone in the room in which he had talked to Betty.
It was safe to wager that every phone in the building had been similarly opened so that anyone listening at any of the extension phones on the circuit might have heard his conversation with Betty Dale.
As “X” hurried from the little office he was wondering if the robbery attempt that afternoon had been the failure he had thought it to be. Perhaps there was another motive—one that spelled danger for himself—and for Betty Dale. He wondered, too, if Krausman’s absence from the city that afternoon was as innocent as it appeared to be.
Avoiding Commissioner Foster and Major Derrick, who were busy with the police investigation, “X” hurried along the wall of the store, stopping at every door to look in the rooms beyond. All were empty. The police had herded all the store’s employees into one group, and were busy firing questions at them.
Agent “X” turned to the back of the store, glanced into Krausman’ s office, and hurried on to another room where were the vaults in which Krausman kept certain valuable jewels. The door was locked.
Taking from his pocket a bunch of master keys, without which he never ventured forth, he selected one that would fit the lock. In another moment, he was inside the room. It, too, was empty. But “X” immediately noticed the absence of the telephone which usually sat upon the desk. The phone wire itself passed beneath the slightly raised window and out into the alley.
“X” picked up a straight office chair and quietly tiptoed to the window. Raising the chair level with his chest, his arms shot out like two pistons. The chair crashed through the glass. “X” followed the chair, leaping over the sill to drop ten feet into the alley outside. Recovering his balance immediately, he glimpsed the phone swinging against the outer wall. A small window-washer’s ladder leaned against the wall. But these were minor details and the matter of only a moment’s observation. Near the window was a sleek, cream-colored roadster. The door
