AGENT “X” saw a tall, ruddy-faced, slightly stout Britisher. Dunsmark had on a baggy gray suit. A pair of eye glasses hung by a cord from his vest. He was vastly flustered at the news the commissioner delivered in a low, tense voice.
His face had paled a trifle. He was a man unaccustomed to violence. Most of his days had been spent in quiet, luxurious offices where people spoke in subdued voices and where there was an air of efficiency and stability.
“I am terribly sorry, Sir Anthony,” said the Agent. “But we can take no chances. You had better come with me at once, to avoid danger later when the boat docks.”
Puffing with excitement, Dunsmark issued orders to his secretary.
“Your baggage can wait for the customs men,” said the Agent. “Your secretary can stay and take care of that. This is all very unusual.”
“Very,” echoed Dunsmark.
“But it is made necessary by the pressure of circumstances. We must combat crime as best we can.”
“Quite!” said Dunsmark.
He was hustled off the boat so quickly and efficiently that he hardly knew what was happening. Sailors from the Victoria held the slim speed-boat while he climbed in. If they or the captain thought it strange that the police commissioner should come out alone, they said nothing. This was an extraordinary condition of affairs, met in an extraordinary way.
Speeding back across the harbor Dunsmark recovered some of his composure. He chatted with the man whom he thought was the commissioner.
“You Americans,” he said, “are independent fellows. Fancy an English official being able and willing to pilot his own boat like this!”
It was only after they had reached shore by means of an ill-smelling dock and climbed into a parked roadster that Dunsmark began to show signs of nervousness again. Several times he glanced uneasily at the man beside him.
His uneasiness visibly increased as the car rolled into a maze of streets that were dark, rough, and cluttered; streets that seemed to have about them a sinister atmosphere of crime. He spoke at last.
“Look here, commissioner. I don’t quite understand this. I thought—”
His words ceased in a startled, choking gasp. His eyes bulged from his head. For the commissioner had drawn a gun. It gleamed wickedly under the glow of the instrument-board light, and it was pointed straight at his side.
“I’m sorry,” said the commissioner softly. “You will have to come with me and do what I say, Sir Anthony. Any attempt on your part to cry out or escape will have very serious consequences.”
Chapter XVIII
AGENT “X” sensed at once that Dunsmark was not a man to cause him trouble. The Britisher was certainly no coward. His many courageous acts and decisions in the world of finance had proved that. But he wasn’t used to physical action. And he was still overawed by reports read of crime conditions in America. He sat slumped in his seat, white-faced, silent, ready for the worst.
“X” drove the car on through the night into the shadow of the great warehouse where hideous things had been done and where others would be done again, if he didn’t prevent them; where the seeds of murder had been planted and nourished.
He ordered Dunsmark out of the car, and told him to stand quietly in the shadows for a moment.
“There are others about, Sir Anthony,” he said. “Do as I tell you. Take no chances. Vital issues are at stake.” How vital he did not try to explain. Dunsmark could think what he chose for the time being.
Agent “X” went to the back of the roadster, unlocked the cover of the rumble seat and lifted it. In the spacious compartment in front of the seat was the body of a man doubled up. The man was not dead, only unconscious, for he was breathing regularly. It was the body of Professor Morvay.
The Agent reached in, grasped Morvay, and lifted him out. At sight of his limp figure Sir Anthony Dunsmark gasped with fear. Death, mystery, and horror had met him on his landing in America. He regretted that he had come at all. But the sight of a man who appeared to be dead paralyzed his will. He took pains to obey the Agent’s orders.
Carrying Morvay over his shoulder, the Agent motioned Dunsmark to the side of one of the old buildings, and opened the door. He motioned Dunsmark inside, then quietly closed and locked the door, and deposited Morvay on the floor. Then, standing Dunsmark close to the wall, he turned a flash light on his face and studied him for long moments.
“Sorry,” he said again. “But you must do as I tell you.” His calm voice seemed at odds with his strange actions.
He took the black hood and robe from the closet by the door and adjusted them on his body without even removing the disguise of the police commissioner. He had to work quickly now, make every move count in the desperate game he was playing.
With the hood over his head and his eyes glittering through the slits, he looked far more terrible than he had as the well-dressed police commissioner. Dunsmark’s face went a shade paler. He moved forward like a somnambulist as the Agent made motions with his gun.
Carrying the body of Morvay, and thrusting Dunsmark ahead, the Agent went slowly down the corridor. It was fortunate that the deaf-mutes could hear nothing. It was fortunate, too, that Van Houten and Bartholdy entered and left by different ways. He would not encounter them till he arrived at the council chamber.
Twenty feet from the door of the secret room, in a closet under a stairway that he had previously noted, he thrust the still form of Morvay. Then he flicked on his light for a moment and motioned Dunsmark on.
In silence they at last entered the chamber where so much evil had been plotted.
There was a dim light burning in the room; and two spectral black-robed figures sitting on chairs. They gave harsh exclamations at sight of the British financier. Their eyes gleamed with a fierce, avaricious light.
“I kept my word,” said Agent “X” quietly.
FOR a moment there was awed silence, then the man at the Agent’s left pressed his foot on a bulge in the carpet. The spotlight on the ceiling above flashed on. It bathed Dunsmark’s face in brilliant radiance. The paleness of his features, the tenseness of his attitude, the combative look in his eyes, testified to the fact that he had been brought unwillingly. Agent “X” had relied on that. It was why he hadn’t dared take Dunsmark into his confidence. The unpleasant interlude had been necessary if his plans were to succeed.
“Does he know the reason for his being here?” came a voice from behind one of the hoods.
“No,” said the Agent. “I have told him nothing. I have kept my word — brought him. Inform him of what we have in mind.”
The man at the Agent’s right spoke in a harsh measured voice.
“You are an important man, Dunsmark — important to your country and to the world. Neither your country nor the world can afford to lose you. They will, for that reason, take pains to see that you are returned to them uninjured.”
The British banker slowly nodded his head. A sudden surge of blood swept across his face. His cleft chin jutted.
“I understand everything, Dunsmark. You understand, of course, that ransom is expected for your safe return. A child could understand that. You can guess that the amount of ransom for such an important person as you will be large, staggeringly large, but not too large — not more than your country will gladly pay. But you don’t understand just where you are. You don’t realize what will happen if you fail to meet our demands.”
Dunsmark’s right fist tightened into a ball.