Fleer, also, was greatly shocked. He did not have the motive that the others had — that is, there was not the same apparent motive.
Certainly, the others had had motive enough — Hanscom might have done it to eliminate a man who was proving a dangerous blunderer; Thane might have done it to ensure that he would have the governorship. Only Gates seemed incapable of having done it. If he was not acting, he was in a state of pure funk.
The fact that the princess had run out, helped more or less to exculpate her in the Secret Agent’s mind. There had been no necessity for fleeing, if she was the murderess; she had only to drop the death-dealing instrument — whatever it was — on the floor, and remain in the room. That would have been the logical thing to do. There must have been some great, impelling motive that caused her to run out that way.
As the Secret Agent surveyed every man in the room in turn, another possibility suggested itself to him — that some one had been hiding on the balcony. There had been ample time, in that period of darkness, for a man to come down from the balcony, deal death, and escape.
Hanscom’s face had become a mottled gray. He said, “God, what a way to die! What is it? What bloats him like that?”
Gates suddenly burst into a high, piping laugh. “Who’s next?” he shrieked. “Who’s next? Who’s next?”
Fleer whirled at him, snarled, “Shut up, you!”
Gates subsided, cowering from the murderous glint in the little gunman’s eyes.
And then Thane pointed an accusing finger at “X.” “Kyle!” he shouted. “Kyle did it! Kyle killed him!”
Hanscom suddenly said, “By God! Of course he did! It’s a good thing the troopers are coming!”
Thane started to raise his gun.
“X” jabbed his own gun out at him, rapped, “Don’t do it, Thane!”
Thane froze at the cold finality of that command. “X,” who was facing him across the body of Rice, reached over and took the gun from his unresisting hand. And as he did so, the Secret Agent saw Fleer, out of the corner of his eye, draw an automatic from an armpit holster.
Before Fleer could bring the automatic to bear, “X” flung Thane’s gun at him. The gun caught Fleer in the face, and he staggered back, dropping the automatic.
“X” had no desire to engage in a gun battle with any of the men in the room, until he was sure which were the plotters. Moreover, he was averse to taking human life. So he pushed Hanscom aside, and leaped through the window, out into the night.
The room behind him broke into an uproar. But no one appeared at the window — they doubtless remembered that he had a gun.
“X” sped around the house, and made for the mausoleum. He had suddenly remembered the stranger whom the princess had admitted through the gate a little while ago, and in whose company she had disappeared in the direction of the mausoleum. He glanced at his watch. The radium dial showed both hands at twelve. It was midnight.
Chapter XVI
IF “X” had gone directly to the mausoleum, as he intended, there might have been averted many of the things that took place between midnight and dawn.
But he had not taken a dozen steps in the direction of the granite bulk of the crypt, before he was startled by a shout from the direction of the garage.
The garage was built into the eastern side of the building, facing toward the mausoleum. The driveway ran around past the front of the house, and ended in a concrete square in front of the garage. The ground had been leveled off here, and it sloped sharply upward from the driveway toward the rear where “X” stood.
He looked down, and saw Jurgen staggering out of the garage. He had apparently recovered consciousness just now. Jurgen saw the Secret Agent as he passed under the light streaming from one of the windows of the house, and had raised his voice to give the alarm.
“X” had no wish to be seen making for the mausoleum. He had chosen to go there for two reasons — first, to see whether the princess had fled there, and second to seek some hiding place from the troopers who would be here at any moment.
He was still Kyle, hunted, a fugitive from the law. The order was no doubt out to shoot him on sight. Rice had seen to that as the last thing in life.
And even as Jurgen shouted at the top of his voice, “Kyle! It’s Kyle! Kyle is loose!” the window of the room he had just quit erupted four figures, one after the other. Hanscom, Fleer, Thane; Gates last of all, because he didn’t want to remain alone with the body of Rice.
The others had finally gotten up enough courage to give chase.
Fleer, who was second, saw “X” and fired at him quickly, a full clip from the automatic. But it was night, and the little gunman was nervous. “X” was not hit. He bent over, and ran, weaving, toward the garage.
A heavy revolver roared out behind him. Probably Thane. A slug whizzed past him, too close for comfort.
Now “X” was down on the concrete driveway in front of the garage. He was illumined by the light coming from its interior, and Thane emptied his revolver. “X” felt a hot finger sear his side, but kept on.
Jurgen was not unarmed. He had hauled out the Thompson gun. “X” had not seen him for a moment, and assumed that he had taken refuge in the garage. He had, but for a purpose.
Suddenly, as “X” sped past the open door, a chattering broke out from inside. “X” knew that sound. Many times in France he had dropped to the ground, hugged the terrain, when that deadly chattering made itself heard. Now he did the same thing, and the first burst drummed over his head. In a moment Jurgen would lower the muzzle, rake him as he lay on the ground.
“X” rolled sideways, away from the lighted entrance. With a sigh of relief he found himself past the entrance, out of range. The chatter of the Thompson ceased for a moment. Jurgen was coming out of the garage, a deadly killer armed with a deadly weapon.
From behind, up the slope, “X” could hear Fleer shouting, “Stand back! It’s Jurgen. He’ll get him!”
THICK shrubbery lined the driveway on the side away from the house. “X,” still on the ground, rolled into this. He got to his knees and crept through it, just as Jurgen came out of the garage. Jurgen had seen him, and with a wolfish smile that shone fiercely under the light from inside, steadied the Thompson at his shoulder, preparing to send another burst into the shrubbery.
There were few times in “X’s” career that he had found it necessary to use a lethal weapon. This was one of them. He raised Jurgen’s own gun, and with a motion so fast that it defied the eye to follow it, he fired a single shot.
It struck Jurgen in the left shoulder, and he staggered back with the impact. The muzzle of the Thompson was raised, and a spattering hail of lead flashed into the air as Jurgen’s hand compressed involuntarily on the lever.
“X” rolled through the shrubbery, away from the spot he had been in; and none too soon, for lead roared from one of the guns on the slope, and slugs tore into the ground close beside him.
The Secret Agent peered out of his place of concealment, and saw them scatter, Fleer rounding toward the mausoleum, Thane behind him. Gates stayed where he was, hugging the wall, while Hanscom came down toward Jurgen, who was sitting against the garage wall, with the sub-machine gun in his lap, and waiting for a sight of the quarry.
Hanscom called out to Jurgen, “Did he hit you?”
Jurgen answered, “Only in the shoulder. Wait’ll I see that—”
The Secret Agent started to make his way silently toward the gate. That was the only avenue of escape. And as he approached it, he suddenly saw a pair of headlights coming up the road outside, toward the gate.