The Secret Agent bent his knees, seized Rufe by the legs, and heaved.
Rufe went into the air, over “X’s” shoulder. At the same time a gun barked behind them. Rufe’s body was just coming down behind “X” when the shots sounded; “X” sprang through the opening in the wall, inserted the metal key in the slot. The panel started to close.
Rufe’s voice came from the floor, in a bubbling groan. “Damn you, you halfwit! You got me instead o’ him. I’m — dying!”
Binks’ cackling tones demanded, “Who was it, Rufe? It’s too bad yore dyin’, but you ought to thank me. The Skull’d fry you for missin’ up like this, an’ lettin’ him git away. Who was it?” Rufe’s only answer was a weak groan.
The panel slid shut with a click. “X” was left on the other side, not knowing whether Rufe had lived long enough to utter his name, or not. He shrugged. The chance had to be taken. He twisted the metal key in the slot until it jammed there. The panel wouldn’t open now without trouble.
Then he silently made his way along the corridor to the concealed elevator, and down to the passage below. The alarm hadn’t spread to this part — the walls were apparently sound-proof. “X” encountered no one on his return trip to the main room. He stopped long enough to remove the piece of leather he had jammed into the lock, then stole into the dormitory after shutting the door. The men were all asleep. He crept into bed silently, composed himself in an attitude of slumber. Some one would surely be down soon to check on them.
He turned on his left side, so he could watch the door out of half closed lids. Soon the outer door opened, padded footsteps sounded, and Binks entered. “X” closed his eyes, pretended to breathe stertorously. He heard Binks prowling about the room, felt more at ease; if Rufe had uttered his name, Binks wouldn’t be prowling — he would have reported to the Skull.
Binks had stopped at the outer door as he came in to examine the lock. “X” reflected that Binks could not be imbecilic as he looked, if he was cagey enough to have surmised that the lock might have been jammed in some fashion.
Binks wandered from cot to cot, stopping at each for a moment. “X” wondered what he was doing. Soon he discovered. The halfwit had paused at Nate Frisch’s cot, next to his, then he came over to stand beside him. He risked opening one eye, and saw that Binks was feeling his clothes.
It was clever — too clever for Binks. He must be acting on instructions from the Skull. “X” was glad that he had not donned his clothes when he went out; for the clothes would still retain the warmth from his body, thus betraying him.
The halfwit went through “X’s” pockets, finding nothing. Finally, he uttered a harsh, discordant laugh, and stepped over to Frisch’s cot, shook him roughly until he awoke. He said, “Wake up, Frisch, the Skull wants to see you!”
Frisch didn’t answer for a moment. He was still full of sleep. Then, as he realized what the message might mean, he stammered in abject fear, “W-what’s he want of me? I told you I didn’t mean nothin’ by talkin’ to Fannon. For God’s sake—”
Binks interrupted him, cackling wickedly. “It ain’t about that; it’s somethin’ else. If you got a coin fer me, maybe I could tell you what.”
“Here,” Nate exclaimed, pressing a coin into his hand that he took from his trousers pocket. “What is it?”
“I’ll tell you,” said Binks. “You’re goin’ to be the Skull’s new second in command. Rufe Linson just kicked off!”
Several of the men were awake by this time, and “X” thought it safe to do the same. He sat up with a pretense of rubbing his eyes, yawning widely. He turned around, saw Nate dressing hastily, and then looked up to see Binks grinning down at him.
He said, “Hello, there. What’s up?”
Nate said, “What d’ya know? Rufe’s had somethin’ happen to him, an’ I’m gonna take his place. I never expected nothin’ like that!” He looked up at Binks, suddenly suspicious. “You ain’t stringin’ me, Binks, are you? What you said is right?”
Binks shrugged. The action was weird, for it raised his deformed shoulder higher than ever, making him look like a grotesque caricature of some evil god. “I’m only tellin’ you what the Skull told me.”
Nate finished dressing, and they started to go out. At the doorway, Binks turned, surveyed the room with a sardonic grin. Then his eyes came to rest on “X” and there was a wicked twinkle in them. “Did you sleep well your first night, Mr. Fannon?”
“X” nodded. “Pretty good — till you came in and woke me up.”
“That’s fine, that’s fine!” said Binks, rubbing his hands. “Some people are troubled with sleepwalking. You ain’t troubled with that, are you, Mr. Fannon?”
“What do you mean?” “X” sat up, rigid.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I just thought you mighta been having some dreams — about sliding panels an’ so forth!”
The door closed on Binks’ evilly grinning face.
Chapter V
THE men in the room engaged in some low-voiced, desultory conversation, then began to drop off to sleep. “X” remained awake for a short while after the last of them had begun to snore. Then he finally went to sleep.
He awoke in the morning, washed and dressed with the men, and went with them into the main room where they sat around waiting to be conducted to breakfast. The room was still lit by the dim bulbs. The only way they had of telling it was morning was the muted gong that rang somewhere in the place; for no natural light came into the room. The windows were all closely shuttered, airtight and light-proof. Over each window was stretched a fine wire mesh, and when “X” approached one of the windows he saw that there was a small card fastened on the mesh. It read:
Do not try to penetrate the screen or open the windows. The shutters are of steel and are charged with a high voltage of electricity. To touch them means death!
After a short wait, the corridor door opened, and Binks entered. The halfwit avoided looking at “X.” He announced, “Breakfast’s ready, boys, come along. You better eat well — I hear there’s plenty work on the books for today.” He turned back to the door, leering.
They trooped out after him.
The dining room was reached by traversing an entirely different set of corridors, in the other direction from the concealed elevator. “X” was compelled to admit that the Skull made his men as comfortable as possible in their enforced confinement.
There were ten tables, each set for four. Quiet-footed Jap waiters served them, anticipating their every need. “X” found himself seated at a table with Nate Frisch, a man named Elles, who had done several stretches for forgery, and a thin, dangerous-looking fellow whom Nate addressed as Gilly. Gilly, it developed, was an expert machine gunner, a former member of a nationally notorious bootleg gang in Chicago.
Nate was swelled up with his new importance. “I’m second in command now,” he boasted. “I’ll be gettin’ two shares instead o’ one. Believe me, boys, big doin’s is scheduled.”
Gilly, the gunner, appeared morose. “How come you was picked? There’s better guys than you here.”
Nate put down his knife and fork and glared at him. “You lay off that stuff, or I’ll break your stinking neck. You better be careful how you talk to me from now on!”
“All right, all right,” Gilly said quickly. “If the Skull picked you, I guess he knows what he’s doing. I ain’t lookin’ fer any trouble.”
“You bet he knows what he’s doin’!” Nate growled. “The Skull said to me last night in that dark room, he says, ‘I’m choosing you to take Rufe’s place because I know you don’t hesitate to kill. I need men like you.’”