A milk wagon was rattling away. A lean cat prowled across the sidewalk. Agent “X” went to the opposite side of the street from the apartment and looked up. A window on the sixth story was up, fresh morning air streaming in. No light showed.
He puckered his lips suddenly, gave that strange whistle that was at once eerie and melodious. It whispered along the still street almost like the call of some wild bird. He waited a few minutes, repeated it.
IN a moment a head showed at the open window — the small oval face of a girl, framed in masses of clustering, sun-gold hair. Then it was withdrawn, and the Agent moved quickly across the street, entered the apartment and ascended to the sixth floor.
He rapped at a certain door, and was met by a girl whose blue eyes were brightly alert. There was an eager look on her face. But her expression was baffled as she stared at him. Her gaze roved over his features with no sign of recognition. She waited for him to speak.
There was a twinkle of grim amusement in the Secret Agent’s eyes. The girl before him, Betty Dale, reporter for the Herald, was one of the few persons in the world who knew the details of his strange career. She was self-supporting, independent, modern. Her father had been a police captain slain by underworld bullets. She hated crooks and crime as much as “X” did.
She trusted the Secret Agent, had aided him often — yet she was never sure it was he until he made some direct sign. For the perfection of his disguises always fooled her.
The Agent looked along the corridor. No one was in sight. He raised his hand quickly, made a motion with his finger — tracing an X in the air.
Betty Dale nodded, smiled. A flush came to her cheeks. The sparkle in her eyes showed the stirring of a deep, abiding emotion.
“You!” she said. “I heard your whistle — woke up. Then I wondered if I had dreamed it.”
As though this betrayed something she did not want revealed, she flushed again. Deep in her heart she loved this man of mystery whose own face she had never seen. He had been a friend of her father’s. She trusted him implicitly, felt his strange dynamic power. Beside him, all other men seemed somehow insignificant.
“I’m sorry to get you up so early, Betty; but — there is a way you can help me if you will.”
Her eyes brightened still more. She was pleased, happy whenever she could aid Agent “X.” Even if it meant danger for herself.
“I’m glad you got me up,” she said. “We can have breakfast together — and a visit before I go to the office. What is it you want me to do?”
“Make a telephone call for me.”
The girl laughed merrily. “I hoped you had some real work for me — something big that I could help you do.”
“It’s not going to be as easy as you think, Betty. You’ve got to change your voice — and appear to be some one else.”
He explained to her then that he wanted her to mimic Tasha Merlo and call the man in Boston.
“You’ll have to be discreet, Betty. I must find out what connection this man has with Tasha Merlo. We must hurry.”
He coached her for nearly ten minutes, both in what to say and how to say it. He had Betty alter her voice to several different pitches before he found the one that resembled Tasha Merlo’s. When Betty had mastered the art of sustaining it she walked toward the phone; but he restrained her.
“Not here, Betty, I wouldn’t have that. You must make the call far from this apartment.”
Something in his voice brought her up sharply, took away some of the bright color from her face.
“You mean — there is danger?”
“There might be, for you, if this call was traced.”
“Who is this man in Boston?”
“I don’t know, Betty — but I suspect he is one of a group of criminals now operating in many States. The same group that is the direct cause of the commissioners’ meeting tonight. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. They are seeking ways to suppress a mounting crime wave.”
BETTY looked searchingly at Agent “X” with worried eyes. Because of her hidden emotion for him she carried a secret dread in her heart.
“I’m not afraid if you aren’t,” she said. “I know about the commissioners’ meeting. I wanted to cover it for my paper. But even the press is barred. I won’t be able to tell you anything about it.”
“You won’t need to, Betty. I intend to be there.”
The Agent spoke calmly. Betty shot him a quick, frightened look. She did not doubt that he would accomplish the seemingly impossible and attend the commissioners’ conference, though how he would do it she had no idea. But she knew that he would be in danger.
She had met the Agent in a becoming lounging robe slipped over her pajamas. Now she retired to her room and dressed quickly, while the Secret Agent waited.
When Betty was ready he hurried her out to his waiting car. She drew in deep lungfuls of the fresh morning air, smiled into his face. “X” felt the contrast of her bright, fresh beauty to the evil forces he knew were in progress even at this moment.
They stopped at a drug store many blocks away.
“Now,” he said, “do your stuff, Betty.”
He waited at her elbow as she called the Boston number. He held a palmful of coins ready, and she deposited them in the box when the operator said, “Ready.”
The conversation was brief. When Betty hung up and turned toward him the Agent smiled his approval. “Good work,” he said. “What was it, Betty?”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “He merely asked me how the ‘paper’ was selling and I said well. He said he was sending me some more today.”
Agent “X” nodded. He was satisfied with the results of the telephone call. He knew that the “paper” the man in Boston was talking about was more issues of the sinister stock. Like slowly moving tentacles the man who went by that name was spreading his influence over the country. Tasha Merlo was probably one of many stock salesmen. Through dividends paid on crimes already committed he was reimbursing his stockholders, and was raising money to finance new crimes.
“X” touched Betty Dale’s arm lightly. “I’m sorry, Betty. I don’t think I even have time for breakfast — but perhaps we can have dinner tonight, if you will.”
“Of course — but what are you going to do now? Can’t I help you some other way?”
“No, Betty — I’ve got to take a little trip.”
“Where?” The question was on her lips before she could check it. She never tried to probe into the Agent’s mysterious comings and goings. But he smiled now, squeezed her hand quickly.
“Boston, if you must know,” he said quietly.
Chapter X
THERE was no humor in the Secret Agent’s eyes as he left Betty Dale. He changed his disguise again to that of A.J. Martin, headed his car toward the suburbs once more. His gaze was grimly, bleakly intent. There would be no rest for him now. Once he had committed himself to a life-and-death battle against criminals, Secret Agent “X” was as relentless as Fate itself.
The trail he was to follow lay straight before him. He had visited Quade and Tasha Merlo. Now he must learn the name and activities of this man in Boston.
He sent his roadster whizzing along smooth concrete roads. He passed suburban houses, their inmates still asleep; passed green fields, sweet with the scent of morning dew on grass. He turned down a long avenue, rolled up to a high wire gate.