Agent “X” whirled as Tasha Merlo drew a small revolver from her sleeve. In a bound, before she could aim at him, he had reached her side and snatched it from her fingers. While she screamed at him wildly, he walked up to the leopards and pressed the muzzle of the gun close. In quick succession he fired a shot into the head of each animal, behind the ears. The growls stilled abruptly in their hairy throats. They rolled over on the floor.
But the rug beneath them where the body of Basson lay was a stained and sodden shambles. The servant was dead, his throat torn horribly by the tawny beasts’ teeth and claws. Agent “X” felt sickened. He turned as the shrill voice of Tasha Merlo rose wildly.
“You have killed my pets,” she cried. “I will kill you — kill you for that!”
Contempt curled the Agent’s lips. He pointed toward the dead man on the floor. “What about him? He is dead. The cats killed him. You seem more worried about them than about the life of a man.”
“Any servant will do,” said Tasha Merlo angrily, “but Satan and Nero can never be matched. You—”
The Agent silenced her by suddenly turning the gun in her direction. His eyes were flaming with the intense, dynamic light that had power to cow those upon whom it blazed. He came close to the woman, looking at her steadily.
“I am not sorry I killed your pets, as you call them. And now you are going to talk. You will answer certain questions.”
The woman flinched; but she tossed her gleaming red hair back with a show of bravado. “I will answer nothing,” she said.
Agent “X” reached into his pocket, and abruptly drew out Quade’s stock certificate. He thrust it before Tasha Merlo, watched her intently, and saw her face muscles stiffen.
“Some of your own merchandise,” he said. “You recognize it, I see!”
Tasha Merlo compressed her lips grimly. For seconds their eyes clashed. Tasha Merlo looked away from the Agent’s piercing gaze. She seemed suddenly unsure of her ground.
“What is this stock?” he pressed. “I know you gave up the lucrative profession of selling stolen goods to peddle it.”
Her look grew more defiant. “Whatever I may or may not have done in the past, my present business is legitimate. Could you tempt me with that necklace? No. If you are a police spy, you have failed. There is nothing illegal about a woman’s acting in the capacity of broker for a corporation.”
Tasha Merlo was stalling. Agent “X” stepped closer.
“And I suppose there is nothing illegal about a stock issue that brings in a dividend of one thousand per cent,” he said softly.
The woman’s baby smooth face seemed to harden. “Who told you it paid that?”
“Never mind — that is beside the point!”
Tasha Merlo was silent. Abruptly “X” spoke again:
“It may interest you to know that I have learned something — this certificate bears the mark of the Octopus!”
AT this the woman’s face went chalk-white. She raised a hand to her breast. Her eyes roved over his face. She breathed quickly, and he edged toward her. Suddenly fear supplanted every other emotion in her expression. Her voice grew husky.
“Well — what of it?”
“You are going to tell me who he is,” said “X” harshly. “Certain facts I’ve already guessed. Others you are going to give me.”
“No! No! No!” the woman said wildly. “You’re trying to bluff me again — as you did with that necklace. You’re lying. You know nothing!”
“I suspect,” said “X” evenly, “that you are selling stock in one of the strangest corporations that ever existed. I suspect that you gave up your work as fence because you found it more profitable to act as the representative of a nation-wide organization of criminals. I am laying my cards on the table, you see.”
The woman nodded slowly, staring at him with new interest, a certain veiled awe in her violet eyes.
“I understand, now,” she said, almost in a whisper. “You must be the man they call Secret Agent ‘X.’ No one else could have guessed — so much.”
Agent “X” was silent. The woman spoke again, as though submitting to a will she felt powerless to combat.
“I will show you all the data I have,” she said. “It is not much. I am acting only under instructions. But come.”
Moving callously by the still forms on the floor, Tasha Merlo led Agent “X” through a curtain and into another room furnished only with a few chairs and a large old-fashioned desk over against one wall. The desk was tall, made of brown, richly polished wood. Tasha Merlo walked directly to it.
“Here,” she said, “is all I have.”
“X,” watching for possible treachery, half expected her to pull another gun or give some secret signal. But he did not anticipate the one thing she suddenly did. For Tasha Merlo abruptly ducked, plunging straight forward through what appeared to be the bottom of the desk. In one flashing instant she had disappeared from sight, and a metal door under the desk, painted to look like wood, had slammed shut. The Octopus’s beautiful, cunning representative had escaped.
Chapter IX
THE Agent stood still for an instant, chagrined that he had allowed this clever, guileful woman to outwit him so neatly. But on the whole he was satisfied. Her words, her desperate desire to escape, were proof that his suspicions were correct.
The Agent walked quickly to the desk, stooped and examined the false bottom, with the door beneath it. He struck the false wood with his knuckles. It was thick and firmly fastened now on the inside. Given time, he could get through into the mysterious passageway that must open behind it. But Tasha Merlo must already be far off. Agent “X” turned his attention to the top of the desk.
He went through the drawers; saw quickly that the woman had been too clever to leave anything incriminating there. A book listed many shares of Paragon Cosmetics. It gave dates of sale. There were references to the collection of dividends. But there was no list of customers.
The telephone on top of the desk rang sharply, interrupting the Secret Agent’s examination of the book. He took the receiver cautiously from its hook and pressed it to his ear.
“Long distance,” the operator intoned. “Boston calling.”
“Hello,” a man’s voice said impatiently. “I want to speak to Tasha Merlo.”
Agent “X” remembered the voice inflections of Basson, the servant who had been so horribly slain. With the consummate art of the born mimic Agent “X” disguised his own voice.
“This is Basson speaking, sir. Miss Merlo is not in at the moment.”
“Not in!”
“She stayed at a friend’s house last night. I am expecting her back any moment.”
There was an instant’s pause. Then the man at the other end of the wire said irritably, “Have her call Fenway 8482 as soon as she comes in.”
“I will, sir.”
Agent “X” hung up. He was tense with interest now. The phone call had been a lucky break. His own talent as a mimic had turned it to good advantage. The man had not given his name but the Boston number could be easily traced. It was the same as having his address.
But first he must learn what the man wanted of Tasha Merlo. “X” frowned. One thing he could not do successfully — disguise his voice as a woman’s. He could not call the man and impersonate Tasha. For a moment the Agent seemed lost in thought. Then he nodded. There was a way.
He strode quickly back through, the room where the torn body of Basson lay beside the two dead leopards, and found his way to the street door. He stepped out into the chill morning air. He strode quickly to his parked car. He slammed through the still deserted morning streets. The traffic signals had not yet gone on. He made sizzling time across town, then cut down, swinging into Twenty-third Street. He didn’t stop till he’d reached the middle of the block, then drew up before an apartment.