There was no chair at the head. Instead there was a boxlike cabinet with a paneled door in its front. It was still, sinister. What did it mean? The Agent waited, hiding his curiosity under the calm demeanor of a lawyer.
He sensed the tense uneasiness of these men around him. They seemed to know each other, but their expressions were strained, uncomfortable. They had assembled from every quarter of the country, all dominated by one sinister power — the Octopus. There was an air of expectancy in the manner of each.
A gangster next to “X” turned his head, spoke in a low-voiced whisper, afraid to raise his voice in that room, afraid that unseen ears would hear.
“If it wasn’t for the heavy dough in this racket, I’d slide out,” he said. “This circus stuff gets on my nerves — and I like to know who I’m working for.”
Agent “X” nodded. Others around the table were muttering, except the Chinaman who sat stolidly, staring before him. “X” pondered the significance of his neighbor’s speech. These men did not know who the Octopus was. This amazed him. He glanced again at that cabinet at the head of the table.
Other directors came in through the door from the mirrored hallway, seating themselves at the table. A small brass clock on the wall struck nine as the last chair was filled. The low-voiced conversation ceased. Every face turned toward that still cabinet.
Another five minutes passed. The tension in the room grew electric.
Suddenly the two panels of the cabinet opened outward. Behind them was a white screen six feet square. Below the screen the lattice work of a loudspeaker showed.
A sound like a sigh went up from those gathered around the table. Eyes blinked. Hands grew taut. On the screen the lifesize head and shoulders of a man had suddenly appeared. A mask covered his whole face. Only his eyes and month were exposed. The eyes seemed to bore into those about the table. The thin, mobile lips moved.
“Greetings, gentlemen.”
The sound came startlingly out of the loudspeaker. The mysterious chairman of the criminal board had made his appearance. The Octopus had arrived through the magic of science, the wonder of television. His image was there on the screen; but he himself was as aloof, as enigmatic as ever. There was no saying where he was, from how many miles distant the broadcast was being made.
A strange smile curved the Octopus’s lips. His dry, disguised tones came again.
“This promises to be an interesting meeting, gentlemen. Our work in the past weeks has been most gratifying. We have done well by our stockholders. We have other ambitious plans for the future. Will the treasurer, Mr. Sullwell, kindly read his report.”
SULLWELL, the promoter who had drawn thousands into financial ruin back in the boom days of ’28 and ’29, rose in his seat. He took a paper from his pocket His hands were trembling. The image of the man on the screen seemed to fill all these others with terror.
“We have five hundred thousand outstanding shares of stock at the present. Disbursements in the last quarterly dividend amounted to four million, three hundred and sixty-two dollars. A surplus of two million one hundred thousand is now on hand.”
The Octopus’s dry laugh sounded. “Our corporation is not yet a year old, but we have been able to enrich our stockholders beyond their wildest expectations. And — you will note, gentlemen — this concern is unique in not having any liabilities.”
The Secret Agent understood the irony of that. There could be no liabilities in a criminal group who took from society what they wanted. A group who plundered, murdered where they chose. The Octopus’s mocking voice went on:
“This, I say, is only the beginning. The dividends we have paid to our stockholders will serve to attract others. The capital we will eventually control will be unlimited. Already many are putting excess profits back into our company’s stock. We have ambitious plans for the future, gentlemen. We are here to consider two projects for the weeks immediately ahead. Both of them give promise of excellent returns on the money we shall invest in them. But, before we begin—” The Octopus interrupted his address to the board to laugh as though at some very good joke— “there is a little matter which must be attended to. It would be wise, I think, to settle it before we go into the intimate details of our projects.”
The Octopus paused. The board members moved uneasily in their seats. There was something dry, calculated, macabre, about the tones of that voice coming through the loudspeaker. The eyes of the Octopus were pinpoints of evil light. He continued.
“It will surprise many of you esteemed gentlemen to know that we have in our midst tonight a spy and imposter, here to learn what he can of our secrets and to bring about our downfall.”
Hoarse gasps went up from those assembled around the long table. Every man looked at his neighbor questioningly. Fear, rage, made evil distortions on the faces of the directors. Then they turned back to the image on the screen, staring expectantly.
“This spy,” continued the Octopus, “has been clever enough to learn all our passwords and signals. He has been clever enough to disguise himself as one of our most distinguished members. But a certain precaution which I insisted upon, gentlemen, completely checkmated his plans. I refer to the invisible ultra-ray tattooing which each of you carries on his chest. When he passed in front of the fluorescent mirror on his way in here even the cleverness of his disguise was of no avail.”
The harsh laughter of the Octopus filled the room. Agent “X’s” whole body had gone cold. He knew now he had stumbled into a trap; knew this master of crime had outwitted him. In the back of his mind he had been half fearful of some such thing. He remembered his thoughts on seeing the mirror in the hall. But he had not guessed it was a hidden fluorescent screen to detect invisible tattooing. No man could have guessed that. The Octopus’s cunning amounted to genius.
“The imposter I refer to, gentlemen, is seated opposite our treasurer, Mr. Sullwell, Mr. Kilrain is on his right. The learned Mr. Lee Wong is on his left. You have deduced by now that he is impersonating director No. 14—our astute legal advisor, Mr. Van Camp. What steps do you suggest that we take to convince him of his error in coming here, gentlemen?”
Chapter XVII
AMAZEMENT and fury blazed in the eyes of those around the Agent. All heads turned toward him. The calm, ironic tones of the Octopus were not reflected in the expressions of his board. Savage ferocity showed on every countenance. An audible hiss arose. A dozen men leaped to their feet, crouched over the table. Guns appeared as though by magic in the hands of most. The black muzzles pointed straight at Agent “X.” Death hung heavy in the room. The voice of the Octopus broke the strained silence.
“Preserve your dignity, gentlemen! This is no ordinary spy who comes to us tonight. Unless I am wrong he is one of the cleverest investigators in the country — a man you have all heard of at one time or another — Secret Agent ‘X.’”
The fingers of the two sinister Belli brothers tightened around the butts of their automatics. For a moment “X” thought they were going to shoot him then and there in cold blood.
“Rat!” hissed one. “Police spy!”
“You should feel flattered,” said the Octopus. “In giving us his exclusive attention for the past week he has paid tribute to our power. I suspected it was he when it was reported that a man shot down by some of our employees in a recent bank raid was later found alive by the police. I ordered that this man be captured. When he escaped by cleverly forcing our men to jump from their plane and later brought the plane to the ground himself, I knew it must be ‘X.’