“X” smiled at the thought of the use to which that closet was now going to be put. He placed his hands under the arms of the scantily clad inspector, and dragged him into the closet, propping his body against the wall.
“X” shut the closet door, scooped up his own discarded clothes and placed them behind the desk. He seated himself at the desk, and inspected a row of buttons on a small board at the edge. One of the buttons was labeled “messenger,” and “X” pressed this. He assumed one of the inspector’s characteristic poses, and waited.
ALMOST at once there was a knock at the door, and it opened to admit a uniformed patrolman on messenger duty.
“X” said sharply, crisply, “Go downstairs and tell Sergeant Nevins to bring up the prisoner, Kyle!”
The patrolman exclaimed, “K-Kyle, sir? You — you want him up here?”
“Didn’t I make myself clear?” the Secret Agent demanded in the biting manner of the inspector.
The patrolman saluted. “Y-yes, sir.” He turned and left, but with a look of amazement.
“X” was satisfied. He had passed the first test; the patrolman had taken him for Burks. Well and good. But would the canny Sergeant Nevins be fooled by it? “X’s” mind went back to another time when he had had occasion to impersonate the peppery Inspector Burks. It was like tempting fate to try the same thing twice. He shrugged, fatalistically, and waited.
Soon there was another knock at the door, and Detective sergeant Nevins entered. Nevins was the plodding, meticulous type of man, with eyes that missed no details. He was alone.
“Look here, inspector,” he began. “Reilly tells me you want Kyle brought up here. Is it wise? I know you’re the boss, but I distinctly heard the commissioner say that Kyle was to be kept down there, and not brought up for any reason, until the morning. Why, we’ve got a cot set up for him down there. I hope you don’t mind my talking like this—”
“X” roared at him in imitation of Burks. “I certainly do mind! I want to talk to Kyle, not to you! Since when have you become my guardian?”
Nevins was stubborn. “I’m sorry, inspector. The order was so strange that I thought there might be some mistake, so I came up myself to make sure that was what you meant. If it’s necessary to have him up here, don’t you think you’d better phone the commissioner first — or else wait till he calls up?”
Nevins had been in the department thirty years, and he took liberties with his superiors that would not have been tolerated from any one else. On many occasions he had been outspoken with the commissioner himself.
“X” met the situation as he thought Burks might have met it. He arose, came around the desk, and towered over Nevins. “Sergeant,” he said in an ominous voice, “you will remember that I am chief inspector, and your superior. I find it necessary to interview Kyle — here. Will you bring him up, or will I relieve you of your post?”
Nevins looked at him for a long moment without saying a word. “X” waited tensely for some sign that Nevins had penetrated his impersonation — some flicker of the eye that would indicate he knew the man before him was not Burks. But Nevins had a poker face, and it remained calm. Finally he shrugged. “If you put it that way, inspector, all right, I’ll bring him up. But the responsibility is entirely yours.”
He turned and went out.
“X” walked back and forth. Much depended on the next five minutes. If Nevins had been fooled, well and good. But had he? It was possible that his shrewd eyes had noted some little thing amiss, and that he had gone out to get help to seize the impostor.
WHILE “X” waited, a groan issued from the closet where Burks lay. The Agent frowned. The gas would soon wear off. It was not intended for the purpose of keeping a person unconscious for any great period of time, and a man of Burks’ great stamina might recover even sooner than the average.
“X” took a hypodermic syringe from one of the receptacles in his vest. This syringe contained a nicely measured dose of a drug prepared by himself. It was sufficient, if injected, to keep a man under its influence for three hours. He approached the closet with the syringe. It would be best to make sure that Burks made no sounds when Nevins returned with Kyle — if he did.
But just as “X” had his hand on the closet door, the telephone on the desk burst into sound. With a philosophical shrug he put the hypo back in its receptacle, and went to the phone.
He picked it up, said, “Yes?” He turned cold as he heard Commissioner Foster’s voice crackle over the wire. “Look here, Burks, what’s this they tell me? Nevins just called up, and says you’ve ordered him to bring Kyle up to your office. I didn’t countermand the order, because I repose full confidence in your judgment — but I’d like to know what it’s all about. Couldn’t you at least have told me in advance what you intended to do?”
“X” thought quickly. He was unfamiliar with the terms of intimacy upon which the commissioner and Burks talked. He might say the wrong thing — one little word, perhaps, which would give Foster grounds for suspicion. It would then be an easy matter for the commissioner to hang up and phone back to the switchboard, ordering him held there.
He had to trust to luck here — to luck and his uncanny instinct for saying the right thing. “I’m sorry, commissioner, but this thing arose so suddenly that I had no time to phone you. There’s been a man here from the attorney general’s office, and he gave me a tip that may open up a new line of inquiry on Kyle. I thought it best to have Kyle up here where I can talk to him in private.”
“A man from the attorney general’s office?” the commissioner demanded. “What’s his name? I know all those boys.”
“X” could not afford to hesitate now; the least pause would have raised Foster’s suspicions. “His name is Black — James L. Black. His credentials are all in order.”
“Black,” Foster mused. “I don’t know any Black in the attorney general’s office. Tell you what — hold everything. Keep Kyle and this Black in your office. I’m coming over myself to take a look. So long. See you in a few minutes.”
The commissioner hung up.
“X” replaced the receiver, his mind racing. He would have to work fast now. Once the commissioner got on the scene, the play would be over.
THE door opened suddenly, without any preliminary rap, and Nevins walked in, looking sulky. He held a big service revolver in his right hand. Kyle was handcuffed to his left, defiant as ever.
Kyle’s stained teeth were in evidence, for he was grinning broadly. “What’s eatin’ yuh, Burks?” he asked. “Think you can wear me down?”
Nevins said, “Here he is. I should tell you that I phoned Commissioner Foster before bringing him up. I think it’s a crazy stunt — with this bird’s record of escapes.” He shrugged. “But as long as the commissioner said okay, okay it is.”
“Thanks,” the Secret Agent said dryly. He was listening, taut, for a sound from the closet. He would have to get rid of Nevins quickly — before Burks groaned again. If he had only had the time to administer that drug! He said to Nevins, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone with the prisoner!”
Nevins almost shouted. “Alone!”
“That’s what I said!”
Nevins suddenly grinned. He waved the revolver at “X.” “Sorry, inspector, but it can’t be done!”
“X” advanced upon him in Burks’ best truculent manner. “What do you mean — can’t!”