The woman eyed him, suspicion in her veiled glance.
“I have been told that Mr. St. John is a blonde,” she said, “like most Englishmen.”
Agent “X” nodded. He reached up suddenly, drew the dark wig from his head, leaving the blonde one exposed.
“You are right,” he said. “But — you may have read! I escaped from jail. I came across — a stowaway. I landed only last night. Naturally I didn’t want the police to suspect me if I were caught.”
“Naturally not,” echoed Tasha Merlo. She showed white teeth for the first time in a smile. She took a cigarette from a box on the table, lighted it with a small mother-of-pearl lighter. She blew smoke delicately through her shell-pink nostrils. “You are very clever, Mr. St. John — but why do you come to me? We have not, I think, had the pleasure of meeting.”
“No — but there was a man in prison who told me about you. You had helped him once, and—”
Agent “X” reached into his pocket again, drew out the glittering necklace. Even the most expert gaze could not have told that the diamonds were not genuine. A chemical test would be necessary to prove that. Tasha Merlo’s eyes rested on it speculatively.
“I thought perhaps,” said the Agent with assumed hesitancy, “that you could — er — dispose of this for me.”
Tasha Merlo laughed merrily. She shook her gleaming red head. Her eyes shone with a light that might have been amusement.
“I am no longer in the business which your friend no doubt told you about. I am sorry that I cannot help you.”
“You won’t pay me anything for this then?” the Agent asked. Deep disappointment seemed to be in his tone.
“No — I am sorry, my friend.”
The Agent took two steps nearer the woman, the diamond necklace dangling from his hand.
“It’s true then — you have gone into another line of work? I heard rumors of that; heard you’d become interested in stocks.”
This time Tasha Merlo threw back her head and her laughter was a silvery tinkle in the quiet of the room. The white curve of her throat was childlike. The Agent watched her narrowly, sensing a strange undercurrent behind her mild actions, an undercurrent as sinister as the unseen forces of evil menacing the nation. Her next words gave his suspicion startling proof.
“You amuse me — Mr. St. John. You are a good actor — but facts are against you. Three days ago I received a certain cablegram from England, asking for a loan. It was from an escaped jewel thief — the real St. John. I happen to know you are an imposter. And — if you will look behind you, not too quickly — you will see why it doesn’t pay to trick Tasha Merlo.”
With the woman’s soft laughter echoing in his ears, Agent “X” turned, slowly, as she had suggested. A faint prickle that seemed to start at his feet and work up along his whole body followed.
On the floor directly behind him two great dark shapes were visible. Predatory, triangular heads swung low, green eyes staring at him fixedly, two fierce leopards crouched there. They had entered the room and crept up so silently that he had not heard the whisper of their padded feet. Their taut bodies and snaky, quivering tails showed that they were ready to spring.
The woman’s voice sounded, low, mocking.
“At a word from me, Mr. — er — St. John, they will tear your throat out. The slightest move on your part means death!”
Chapter VIII
THE great cats’ merciless eyes backed up the woman’s statement. Ferocity and bloodlust gleamed in them. These beasts were eager to kill. Agent “X” had been close to death many times. He knew now the chill whisper of its wings beat about his head. He stood motionless.
“Satan and Nero,” the woman drawled. “They are my pets, my watchdogs. They have killed for me before. They will do so again. My will is their only law.”
Tasha Merlo laughed, betraying the subtle cruelty that lurked behind her innocently childish face. Her words revealed a hidden strain of sadism. Agent “X” sensed that she would enjoy seeing him torn by the cats. She clucked at them softly. They remained where they were, frozen statues of menace.
The woman sidled up to Agent “X,” faced him. Her violet eyes were alert; the pupils contracted to cold pinpoints of cunning. Her childish lips twisted mockingly. She tapped his chest with one flexed finger.
“Now,” she said, “you will tell me who you are and why you came here posing as St. John!”
The Agent stared back at her, his own eyes unfathomable. She repeated her question more harshly. He shook his head.
The woman stepped back, then struck her hands together. For an instant he thought it was the signal that would send the leopards leaping upon him with slashing fangs and claws. But instead the tall man servant entered the room. The mulatto’s nostrils dilated at sight of the animals. His huge body trembled.
Ignoring the servant’s evident terror, Tasha Merlo snapped an order, gesturing toward Agent “X.”
“Search him, Basson. Take everything from his pockets and bring what you find to me.” She turned her back, walked in lazy, languorous strides toward the couch, seated herself. The mulatto, Basson, keeping an eye on the crouching leopards approached “X.”
The Agent stiffened. He couldn’t afford another search of his clothing. He couldn’t afford to have his mysterious personal effects found again.
Disarmingly he reached up, unclipped the fountain pen from his vest pocket. Tasha Merlo, her violet eyes alert, hissed a warning. But she was too late. A slight pressure of the clasp on the pen under the Agent’s quick finger, and a thin jet of tear gas shot into the manservant’s face. Basson cried out, lurched away, rubbing his eyes.
Tasha Merlo had risen from the couch, her soft childish face convulsed in fury. She shouted one strange word. And the crouching leopards, like streaks of snarling, spitting lightning, launched themselves at Secret Agent “X.”
Only the springlike coordination of nerve and muscles saved the Agent from that first fierce leap. He hurled himself sidewise, dropped to one knee, ducked. The raking claws of one of the leopards passed so close that he could feel the swish of air on the taut skin of his neck.
The leopards checked, turned furiously to spring again. But Agent “X’s” hand flashed out He swept the end of his fountain pen in a flashing circle, spraying tear gas into the deadly, gleaming eyes. The beasts snarled and spit viciously, huge bodies convulsed, green eyes closed.
Then the full effects of the smarting chemical in the gas took effect.
One of the leopards opened his huge mouth in a coughing roar. He pawed at his eyes, tail lashing furiously. Agent “X” stood perfectly still. Basson, the mulatto servant, made the mistake of trying to slip from the room. His own eyes still blinded with gas, he stumbled against the small table, fell, fumbled to get up again.
Instantly one of the pain-crazed leopards detected the movement, sprang toward it with blind fury. Its ripping, terrible claws imbedded themselves in the servant’s shoulders. The man’s horrible scream split the air as he crumpled beneath the animal’s weight. The other leopard leaped to join its mate. Basson, helpless under the ravenous claws, screamed chokingly again.
Tasha Merlo gave an answering scream. Her face had gone dead white. “Satan! Nero!” she commanded shrilly. “Stop! Come here!”
BUT the leopards had tasted blood and the pain of the tear gas still in their eyes had driven them to savage frenzy. They ignored their mistress. Agent “X” fired his gun again straight at the animals’ huge heads. But this second spurt of gas sprayed futilely against the cats’ closed eyes. He flung the pistol at a sleek, tawny body. The leopard roared as the weapon struck, but he only clawed the servant more furiously.