“Okay. Drive right through the gate and straight up the road. The garage is built into the side of the house.”
They got into motion again. Gravel crunched under the heavy tires. Once more the hearse stopped, and this time the motor was shut off. Electric lights went on, and “X” peered through the hole to see that they were in a concrete garage.
Fleer said, “Let’s get that box out.”
A moment later “X” felt the coffin lifted. It was carried out of the hearse, and deposited on the floor.
Jurgen said, “I don’t see no blood.”
“You wait here,” Fleer ordered. “I’m gonna get the boss.”
“X” heard him go out.
Jurgen said to the coffin, “You ain’t hit, Kyle. I don’t see no blood.”
“X” was silent, his mind turning over means of getting out of that coffin. He lay flat on his back. It was impossible for him to turn over, difficult even, for him to get at the kit of tools in his vest.
Soon there were footsteps outside, and two men came in. Fleer was one of them. He said, “There he is, boss, all delivered, just like you ordered.”
“X” put his eye to the peephole, and started. The man who had come in with Fleer was Lieutenant Governor Alvin Rice. His suspicions had been correct.
Rice wore a tuxedo, and his polished patent leather shoes glinted in the light. He was tall, very thin, with sparse hair and a gaunt face. It was easy to see why he was unpopular with the public, why “Boss” John Hanscom had found it necessary to run some one else for governor when the election was in doubt.
Rice asked, in a peculiarly cold, toneless voice, “Did you have any trouble?”
“We sure did,” Fleer told him. “Some one must have seen us an’ phoned in an alarm. We got chased by a radio car, an’ I had to open up on ’em wit’ the Thompson. I hit the car, an’ that makes two cops less to worry about.”
Rice’s lips compressed thinly. “You idiots! And you came here with the hearse? After that fight? We’ll have the police down on us in no time!”
Fleer shrugged. “What could we do?”
Rice said, “Well, you’ll have to work fast, now, get rid of him, and take the hearse out of here.” He turned toward the coffin. His face bore a look of cold satisfaction. “So you thought you could threaten me, Kyle? Nobody ever does that and profits by it. You’ve learned a lesson, but one that won’t do you much good. You won’t be able to benefit by it.”
“X” said, mimicking the voice of Kyle, “You can’t get away with this, Rice.”
“No? Perhaps you will be convinced that I can when you are in a niche in the mausoleum!”
“You — you goin’ to bury me alive?”
“Correct. It’s less messy than any other way I know. However, if you care to tell me some things, perhaps I could spare you that.”
“What do you want to know?”
Rice leaned down toward the coffin, eagerly. “Who was the man that got you out of headquarters?”
“X” WAS silent for a while. Was there any way of talking himself out of the horrible death that Rice had prepared for him? He doubted it. Rice would have him buried, no matter what he said. Still, it was worth a trial. “Let me outta here, an’ I’ll tell you.”
Rice laughed harshly. “You better tell me now.”
“X” decided to draw a bow at a long shot. “All right. It was Sam Slawson!”
The effect of his announcement was far greater than he had expected. Rice’s face became paper white. He began to gasp for breath. “Sam Slawson!” he repeated. He bent closer to the coffin. “You mean — Slawson — knows—”
“X” waited breathlessly for the next disclosure. He had suspected all along that there were ramifications to this business that went far beyond Rice. Now, he felt, he was going to learn something of tremendous importance. Rice himself was in fear of something — perhaps of a greater, more ruthless criminal than himself.
But Rice did not go further. He stood up, strode up and down in the narrow garage, reflectively. “It’s possible,” he muttered. “Slawson could have acted the part of Burks. He has the ability. There is no one else who could have done it, except—” he stopped and faced the coffin. “How much more do you know, Kyle? Do you know where Slawson is now?”
“X” said, “No.”
Rice came close to the coffin again. “I’m sorry, Kyle,” he said softly, “but if there was a chance of my going easy on you before, there is none now. You know too much. You have to die.”
He turned to Fleer and Jurgen. “Go and prepare the niche in the mausoleum that I pointed out to you before. Then come back here one at a time, and move the coffin. If anybody stops you on the grounds, tell them you’re the new caretakers. Take off those black coats, roll up your sleeves. Go ahead now, get started. Then take the hearse out of here and get rid of it. I’ll be in the house if you need me.”
As he was about to go, Fleer asked, “How about some dough, boss? We’re broke.”
“I’ll bring you some in a little while — before you’re through. I have to go back now — there are some people at the house.”
“Can’t you get rid of them?” Jurgen asked. “This is a hell of a job to do with people around. Suppose he yells while we’re carryin’ him?”
“I’ll worry about that!” Rice exclaimed impatiently. “They won’t pay any attention to yells. I can’t get rid of them. I’ve got distinguished company. There’s John Hanscom, boss of the Conservative Party, State Senator Thane, and Cyrus Gates, the public utilities man. You don’t tell people like that to get out.”
Fleer shrugged. “You’re the boss. Let’s get to work.” He motioned to Jurgen, and they went out with Rice, after removing their coats and hats.
Rice cast a single nervous look behind at the coffin. “You sure he can’t get out of there?” The Secret Agent heard him ask the question from outside the garage door. And he heard Fleer answer, “No chance. He’s clamped in tight.”
“He’s a dangerous man with a gun. If he ever got loose, after what we’re doing to him—” Rice’s voice died away in the night.
SECRET AGENT “X” was alone in the coffin in the garage. The things he had just heard gave him ample food for thought. It was queer that Rice should have three such men as those he had mentioned, as his guests here tonight, when he was engaged in such treacherous work. “X” considered the possibility that they were all involved in the crime with him.
But “X” put these thoughts from his mind, and turned to seek a solution of his immediate predicament.
First he donned a pair of thin rubber gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. Then, in the confining space of the coffin, he strove to wriggle around so that his hands could get to the receptacle in his vest where he kept his kit of tools. He finally managed to get the vest open, and the kit out. Though there was light in the garage, it was dark within the coffin, for practically no light seeped in through the two bullet holes in the wood.
He opened the kit on his chest, and felt around till he found what he wanted. It was a keen, broad-toothed file, that would saw through wood. His intention was to insert it in one of the holes and work away with it till he had an opening large enough to smash through.
This, however, would probably take a good deal of time — more than he expected to have. For if they were in a hurry to get the hearse out, they would return immediately after preparing the niche; and preparing the niche would not take them more than a matter of minutes. On the whole, the chances were slim of his getting out of the coffin before Jurgen, or Fleer, or both, returned.