A motor roared outside, then was quiet as the car slowed down, stopped before the entrance to the grounds. The headlights were strong, and a moment later they were augmented by a spotlight that swept the grounds through the grille work.
“X” stopped short, crouched low while the beam of the spotlight hovered over him. But it passed on, came to rest on Jurgen and Hanscom.
Hanscom shouted, “The troopers! Thank God!” He started to run down toward the gate. He passed so close to the Secret Agent that “X” could have touched him by reaching out his hand.
Two of the troopers got out of the car and came toward the gate. Hanscom opened it, and they came through, the car following them slowly.
Hanscom seized the first trooper by the sleeve. “Kyle,” he exclaimed. “Killer Kyle is loose somewhere on the grounds! He’s killed Lieutenant Governor Rice! Killed him in a hideous way! Have you got enough men? Search the grounds!”
The trooper said, “Murder, huh?” He turned to the one behind him. “Better go up to the house and phone Major Denvers, Jack. Tell him the lieutenant governor’s been murdered. He’ll want to take charge here himself.”
The trooper addressed as Jack said. “Okay, Hank,” and went in the direction of the house.
THE car was inside the gates now, and two more troopers got out. Hank was apparently in charge. He said to Hanscom, “Call in everybody of your party that’s out on the grounds. Get them all in the house. When we know they’re all safe, we’ll start combing the grounds. Then we can shoot on sight if we see anybody around — we’ll know he don’t belong.”
Hanscom said, “That’s just what I was about to suggest.” He raised his voice, called, “Thane! Come here! The troopers are here!”
From the direction of the mausoleum a flashlight bobbed. There was a hail, and soon Thane and Fleer came into sight.
“X” was crouching not ten feet from the trooper, Hank. They were close to the gate. “X” could, of course, try to make a run for it, to get out of the grounds. He elected to stay; the solution of the terrible death that struck in the dark lay somewhere on those grounds, and “X” was determined to find it.
The task would be doubly hard now, with the state troopers on the scene; it would be even more difficult when Major Denvers arrived. “X” knew Major Denvers. Years ago he had served with him in the same outfit. Denvers was a thorough soldier, a much older man than “X,” and a martinet of the old school. He would prosecute the investigation to the bitter end, no matter whom it involved.
But “X” doubted that he would succeed where Burks had failed. This was no ordinary crime, conceived by an ordinary criminal, but one that was aimed at high places, and planned for the highest stakes in the world — lives of men against power.
“X” noted that he was crouching in almost the same spot that the princess had stood in when she disappeared with the stranger whom she had admitted earlier in the evening. He felt around cautiously in the darkness, careful not to make the slightest sound, for Hank, the trooper, was talking to Hanscom and Thane not ten feet from him. Up by the garage, Fleer had gone up to Jurgen, and was trying to render him first aid. Gates was no longer at the wall. He was nowhere in sight.
“X’s” foot touched a spot in the ground where there seemed to be a hole. He felt it with his hand. The hole wasn’t round. The edge that he touched seemed to extend in a straight line. He felt along the edge a little farther, expecting to feel where it ended.
It didn’t end.
“X” now understood how the princess and her slouch-hatted friend had disappeared. This was no hole. It was a ditch, probably unused now, but formerly used for irrigation purposes on the grounds. It must run along toward the mausoleum.
“X” did not know how deep it was, but he put his foot into it, then stepped in. It was fully five feet deep, and by walking hunched over, a tall man could make his way through the grounds unseen. That, then, was where the princess and the man had gone to. They had merely stepped into the ditch and walked away.
“X” reflected that few people would know about the ditch. It had probably been unused for a dozen years at least, ever since modern pipe lines had been laid on these estates.
“X” walked along it cautiously, feeling his way before him. Gradually the voices of the others were lost to him, as he got farther and farther away, closer to the mausoleum.
Abruptly, the ditch ended. “X” scrambled out. Before him, the white granite mausoleum loomed in the darkness, spectral, forbidding.
HE approached it soundlessly. The massive grilled door was closed. “X” swung it open, slowly at first, to be sure it didn’t creak, then wide when he found it was well oiled.
The darkness was intense. He felt his way down a single step in what he knew to be a sort of outer chamber, and across this to a heavy stone door that opened into the crypt proper. The door was locked. There was a little barred opening in the middle of this door, about the height of a man’s head. The opening was no more than six inches square, and had two bars running up and down.
“X” took out his pocket flashlight, cupped it in his hands, and let its beam trickle through the opening into the interior. The crypt was large, some fifteen feet square. There were niches on two walls, with sliding drawers for the coffins. There was a large stone table against one wall, and a bench against the other.
Three niches were occupied by coffins. Another niche seemed to have been prepared to receive a coffin, for the sliding drawer was open.
In the center of the crypt lay a coffin. The lid had been placed on it carelessly, without being fastened. Otherwise, the crypt appeared to be empty.
“X” snapped off the flashlight. He had seen enough to make him anxious to get in there. His fingers wandered over the lock, determined that it was of the tumbler type, with a rotary bolt.
Swiftly he got the tool kit out of his vest pocket, opened it, and selected a key. There were a dozen keys in that kit, and each was a master key for a certain type of lock. Unerringly, again, he had chosen the right key. The tumbler fell, the bolt clicked, and the door swung open.
“X” stepped inside the pitch-dark crypt, and shut the door. The spring lock clicked. Outside, he heard voices. One of them was very loud, positive, assured. He recognized that voice. It belonged to Major Denvers of the State Police. The major was saying, “This Kyle must be on the grounds. Run the car up the driveway, and rotate the spotlight. We can’t fail to find him. And when you do, shoot to kill!”
“X” retreated from the door. He was trapped, for they would eventually come to search the mausoleum when they didn’t find him anywhere else. In the meantime, though, he could pursue his investigation. Time to worry about that later.
He felt his way to the coffin, ran his hands over it. It was a large coffin — a man’s. “X” wondered if it contained the body the princess had referred to. Hardly, because she had offered to tell Rice and the others where to find a certain body. There was no mystery about the whereabouts of this one.
He raised the lid, placed it on the floor. Then he shaded his flashlight with his hands once more, threw its beams into the box. He looked once, gasped, and clicked the light off.
He remained perfectly still, hardly breathing, a thousand thoughts racing through his brain — thoughts conjured up by the thing he had seen in the box.
For the box contained — not a dead man — but the dead, swollen body of the Princess Ar-Lassi. She had met the same fate as Crome and Rice.