His eyes widened as he saw the Agent produce a hypodermic syringe from his pocket, and load it from a small vial of muddy-colored liquid. “I’ll make it five million!” he screamed. “Half of my profits!”
The Agent said, as though explaining an elementary lesson to a child, “You have not learned yet, Mister Skull, that all men cannot be bought. There are higher things than money, Mister Skull.”
“You’re crazy!” the manacled man snarled. “Nobody turns down money. You must be playing a deeper game than I can figure. What is it? You couldn’t be fool enough to turn down five million. Don’t you understand? Five million dollars! There’s nothing that it couldn’t buy you — ease, comfort, power!”
“You are wrong, Mister Skull. There are honor and ease of conscience and the pride of serving humanity. Those are things that you can’t understand, Mister Skull.”
The Agent finished loading the hypodermic, came around the desk, and jumped the four-foot strip of electrified flooring.
The Skull shrank back against the wall. “What are you going to do?” he demanded hoarsely.
Secret Agent “X” advanced upon him grimly, purposefully. “I’m going to put you to sleep. And then I’m going to rip off that rubber mask, and verify my suspicions as to whose face is really under it. I’m going to see the face of the Skull!”
Chapter XXI
THE police at last had a lead to the headquarters of the Skull. It had come none too soon, for the first installment of the ransom was to be paid at midnight — one million dollars in thousand-dollar bills. The insurance companies had rushed through special agreements with the heirs of the abducted millionaires, whereby the companies were authorized to pay out the money and to reduce the policies by the amounts paid.
Headquarters confessed itself checkmated. There was no possible hope, barring a lucky break, that the lair of the Skull could be located in time to save the millionaires and prevent the payment of the ransom. The terrible prospect presented itself of having the same crime repeated time and time again, with impunity. For there was nothing to prevent the Skull, once he had carried this operation to a successful conclusion, from repeating with another group of heavily insured men. The situation threatened to disrupt the entire insurance institution of the nation. The companies would be chary in the future of issuing large policies, and men would be reluctant to purchase them, lest they become victims of the Skull.
Commissioner Foster and Inspector Burks had been in almost constant conference with insurance company officials, and in telephonic communication with state and national officials. Nothing remained but abject capitulation to the terms of the master criminal; to allow those millionaires to be rendered pitiable wrecks like Ainsworth Clegg was unthinkable. Commissioner Foster reluctantly gave the word that he would cooperate with the companies in the delivery of the ransom money.
And then, just when spirits were at their lowest, came a bright ray of hope. Jim Hobart, former patrolman, informed Inspector Burks that he could lead him to the spot where the car which had kidnaped Hilary had disappeared.
Everything suddenly became bustle and stir. Squad cars were ordered; reserves were called out. Foster himself said to young Jim Hobart, “Look here, young man, if your lead turns out to be the means of breaking this case, I’ll see that you are reinstated on the force — no matter what you were ever charged with!”
And sure enough, the false floor in the garage was discovered, the lever that lowered the runway found. Plainclothes men swarmed down, to find themselves faced with an impasse. For here there were no passages, no rooms, no hideouts; there was only a break in the concrete wall, which opened into the new subway cut under construction. They found here the improvised tracks used for hauling material, and a handcar on the tracks.
Jim Hobart could give them no further information. He was as puzzled as they — until he noted that on the wall there was drawn an arrow pointing to the right. The peculiar thing about this arrow was that it showed brightly in the dark.
Inspector Burks, looking at it closely, exclaimed in wonder. “Hell, that’s drawn with radium! Look at how it shines!”
They found, as they went in the direction indicated by the arrow, that at every point where there was a choice of directions, there, too, was an arrow. They followed them eagerly, from the subway cut into a maze of complicated passages. Panels were open, and needed no manipulation. It was as if the way had been paved for them by a friend.
At last they came to a heavily barred door, which opened automatically at their approach. And in the room behind that door they witnessed a remarkable scene.
THE room was cut in half by a heavy wire mesh screen that seemed to run from floor to ceiling. On their side of the screen as they entered the room, stood, stupefied at the sudden entrance of the police, some thirty-odd men, all with criminal records. They seemed to have been cut off from the rest of the room by the wire screen.
On the other side of the screen, near the wall, was an electric chair. And near the chair stood the kidnaped millionaires, looks of joy and relief crossing their harassed countenances as they saw the police. They cried, shouted, gesticulated, and then became suddenly silent as one of their number, Grier, the stockbroker, exclaimed, “The Skull! He’s still there!” and pointed to the niche above the electric chair.
Inspector Burks followed Grier’s pointing finger, and gasped in amazement. For there stood a man garbed in a vermilion cloak and hood, wearing on his face a hideous mask resembling the head of a skeleton. This man had one hand raised, gripping the handle of a switch, and seemed to be leering down at the scene.
There was a slight blur of motion in the semi-darkness of that niche, and suddenly, as if by its own volition, the heavy screen began to rise. The police, who had come into the room behind Burks, trained submachine guns on the thirty-odd ex-convicts who crouched in terror, looking up to the figure of the Skull in his niche, as if seeking aid from him. But the Skull was silent, not moving, seeming to regard the whole scene with leering, sardonic humor.
Burks raised his heavy service revolver, covered the vermilion figure, and bellowed, “Come down from there, or I’ll shoot!”
There was no response from the Skull.
The millionaires huddled together, as if fearing some last terrible action from the master of evil, which would wipe them all out. After a moment Burks stepped toward the niche, motioning for a couple of his men to follow him. He came up close under the niche, reached up and pulled at the Skull’s robe, shouting, “Come on, there! You’re under arrest!”
In answer to the inspector’s pull, the figure of the Skull suddenly toppled forward, and fell from the niche, its fall being broken by the three men underneath.
Burks scrambled to his feet, leveled his gun. But the Skull was prostrate on the floor, not moving.
Burks reached down, gripped an edge of the mask, and plucked it away.
A gasp went up from everybody present, including the Servants of the Skull.
For the face that was exposed beneath the mask was the face of Harrison Dennett, the subway contractor.
Grier came up beside Burks, exclaimed, “Good God! We thought Dennett had been killed, and it was he all the time. We were told Dennett had been killed first, so we wouldn’t suspect him!”