He turned his head toward the hole, and raised the file. It would be a difficult task at best, for he had nothing to rest his arm against while he worked. He couldn’t even turn on his side, as the height of the box prohibited that.
Just as he was about to insert the file in the hole, he stopped, holding his breath. Something had obstructed the light that seeped in through the hole. Some one had come into the garage out of the night.
“X” heard cautious steps, then some one was close to the coffin. The footsteps stole away toward the hearse, then came back. There was silence for a second, then “X’s” heart leaped. Whoever it was, was working on the clasps that held down the lid of the coffin.
The low sounds of a wrench being cautiously employed came to his ears. One clamp came off. Then another. Quick, jerky breathing came to him from above.
In all there were six clamps on the coffin. “X,” lying in anxious silence, had heard five of them removed. Now the sounds of the working fingers became faster, the breathing became quicker.
The sixth clamp came off, was placed on the floor.
Now the cover was lifted, slid over on the floor. Light partly blinded him. “X” started to sit up, and stopped. He was staring into the cold muzzle of an automatic. Behind the automatic was the intent stare of the person he had least expected to see here — the Princess Ar-Lassi.
SHE was still dressed in her red evening dress, with the coral necklace hanging from her throat as she bent forward over the coffin. There was no panic in her eyes, only a deadly sureness. She held the automatic steadily. Her hand did not shake.
“X” waited for her next move, expecting at any moment to see Jurgen or Fleer materialize out of the darkness outside.
The princess’s eyes burned into his. Her red lips formed into a taunting smile. “So the famous Killer Kyle,” she said, “is at last in a spot that he cannot escape from! From jails, yes. From the police, yes. But — from a coffin of living death — no!” She stepped back a pace. “Sit up,” she ordered. “And keep your hands in sight.”
“X” obeyed. He breathed easier on one point — she did not suspect that he was other than Killer Kyle. He said, “What the hell, lady—”
“Stop!” she interrupted. “I’ll do the talking!”
He noted now, that she spoke without accent. It had been an affectation, then, back there at the Clayton Hotel, when she had been present at the interview with Governor-elect Farrell. It had been a pose, assumed for a purpose.
She took a step backward, and ordered, “Get out of that box. And keep your hands in the air!”
“X” obeyed her. He stood outside the coffin, hands above his head, watching her closely.
She said, “Kyle, I can kill you now — or I can let you go free. It depends on you.”
He said nothing, waited to hear more.
She went on. “You do not know me, but I know you. I know that you are fearless — a brave man!” Her eyes were large, admiring. She was a consummate actress. Suddenly she asked. “Kyle, are you a man of your word?”
“X” said, “What is it you want?”
“There is something which must be done — tonight. I can’t do it. You are the kind of man who can.” She smiled at him warmly, though she held the gun steady. “I will do you a good turn and release you — you will repay me by doing this thing for me. Is it a bargain?”
“What do you want done?”
“You will kill a man!”
“Who?”
“Does it matter? It is your life for his!”
“X” was waiting for an opportunity to wrest the gun from her. But she was too far away. She was no fool, this woman; she had stepped back to be out of his reach. He said, “You want Rice killed?”
“No, no! Not Rice. Another man. The man who—”
She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside.
She glanced away, and “X” took a step toward her. But she turned quickly and menaced him with the gun. “Stay where you are!” She backed slowly to the light switch against the wall. The footsteps came closer — one man’s.
The princess said, “I must not be found here — it would mean my death!” She put a hand on the light switch and clicked it off.
The garage was plunged in darkness. “X” heard the voice of Jurgen raised in astonishment. “Who’s in there?”
He didn’t answer, but waited for Jurgen’s form to appear in the doorway. The princess was lurking somewhere in the garage, he knew.
Suddenly he saw Jurgen’s dim form, gun in hand, outlined in the doorway for a second, then Jurgen disappeared into the deeper darkness of the garage. A moment later his flashlight came on, swung around, and bathed “X” in its light.
Jurgen’s astonished voice exclaimed, “Kyle! How the hell’d you get out?”
“X” moved toward him. Jurgen shouted, “Stop! Stop, or I’ll drop you right there!”
There was a rustle of motion in the far corner. Jurgen, panicky, turned toward it, swinging his flash along. The moment the light left “X” he leaped at Jurgen. Jurgen realized his mistake at once, whirled back. He dropped the flashlight and swung his gun in a vicious arc that caught the Secret Agent on the shoulder.
“X” smashed in through the blow, and drove a fist to Jurgen’s face. Jurgen rocked backward on his heels. Before he could recover, “X” placed another blow on his chin, and Jurgen dropped like a stone. The gun clattered away from his nerveless fingers. “X” picked up the gun, felt his way to the switch, and clicked it on.
His eyes darted over the interior of the garage. The princess was gone.
Chapter XIII
“X” WASTED no time in the garage. Fleer would be there at any moment. He had no desire to engage in battle with Fleer. He wanted to come to grips with Rice, or, perhaps, with those who were behind Rice.
The problem of the princess he dismissed from his mind for the time being.
But she was not so easily dismissed. For when he left the garage, he saw a dim form stealing down the edge of the gravel road toward the gate of the estate. There were no lights on the grounds, but he recognized the sinuous grace of the princess.
Hugging the shadows, he followed at a discreet distance. The princess swung open the gate, and as “X” watched, a man with hat brim pulled low, and coat collar turned up, walked into the grounds past her. They stood in earnest conversation for a moment, then they disappeared into the shrubbery that lined the path.
“X” stole up, careful to make no noise. But when he reached the spot where they had been they were no longer in sight. The only direction they could have taken was toward the mausoleum, which loomed squat and dark some two hundred feet to the east of the house.
“X” shrugged. There were things going on at the house, he decided, that should bring him closer to his objective than the princess and her mysterious visitor.
Hanscom, Thane and Gates — if they were together with Rice, now, their conversation should prove very interesting.
There was the danger that Fleer would come after Jurgen — in fact it was a certainty that he would — and find Jurgen knocked out, and the prisoner gone from the coffin. But that was a chance he had to take. There was no time to waste on small fry row.
He made his way back toward the house. The house was built on a sharp slope, the ground being much lower at the front than at the rear. As a result, the second floor in the front became the ground floor at the rear.
“X” worked his way around to the back. The ground here rose up close to the second floor window of a room in which there was a light that oozed through heavy drapes.
“X” came close, and tried the French window. It was unlocked, and swung outward. He was careful to make no noise in opening it. He peered through the curtains and saw four men in a comfortable library. Across the far end of the room ran a balcony that was shrouded in darkness.