“Grover Wilkerson, ex-millionaire, utilities magnate, recently convicted in Federal Court of fraud and embezzlement and sentenced to five years in jail. Subsequently declared insane and committed to the Ohio State Asylum for mental incompetents. He escaped from the asylum one month ago. Killed two men in the middle west who had testified against him at his trial. Left note threatening to ‘get even’ with everybody who contributed to his ruin. Has not yet been apprehended in spite of countrywide search for him. Our operatives report he was last seen on a train leaving New York, but disappeared at a small local station. Wilkerson is believed to be very dangerous. Inspector Burks has just released a statement to the press to the effect that he thinks it quite likely that Wilkerson is responsible for the ten murders which have occurred here in the city.”
THE Agent marshaled the facts carefully in his mind. “Have you completed the arrangements in regard to Wilkerson as per my instructions?”
“Yes, sir. All arrangements are complete. I have called in all our operatives from the middle west who had at any time seen Wilkerson. They are scattered throughout the city here, canvassing homes, walking streets, on the watch for him. They are instructed if they should find him, to capture him without inflicting any injury unless they should be placed in physical danger.”
“All right,” the Agent told him. “In addition to the work you are now doing, I also wish you to begin a thorough investigation of a person by the name of Professor Hugo Langknecht, the German psychiatrist who is now visiting this country and whose help has been enlisted by the police to solve these murders.
“Find out if he has any friends, with whom he associates, what his interests are. Find out if he has ever been known to associate with a young man by the name of Laurento. Have you got that?”
“Yes, sir,” Bates acknowledged. “Report on Professor Hugo Langknecht — with particular reference to a young man by the name of Laurento. Right, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
The Agent hung up, and immediately dialed another number, said: “Hello, Herald? May I speak to Miss Betty Dale?”
In a moment Betty was on the wire.
“X” said, using the same inflection of voice that he had employed when he met her on the street corner:
“Miss Dale? This is the person—”
“Yes — I know,” her worried voice interrupted him. “I have got together most of the information that you wanted from me. I’ve been working downstairs in the morgue since I left you and have a list of all the news items which have appeared in the past six months about those ten men who were mur—”
“Never mind that,” the Agent broke in. “I’ll meet you later and you can give it to me. There is something I want you to get at once. This German psychiatrist. Professor Hugo Langknecht — where is he staying while here in the city?”
“That’s easy. Can you hold the wire just a moment?”
“Yes.”
In a short time Betty was back with the information. “He has rented an entire house on the outskirts of the city. It seems he’s doing some scientific research work, and he has equipped a complete laboratory out there. Here’s the address.”
“X” repeated the number and the street after her. He did not need to write it down. His mind was a vast storehouse of accurately catalogued information from which he could extract any item that he had once learned. He thanked Betty, and hung up after telling her that he would see her later.
Chapter VIII
SPUYTEN DUYVIL road lay off the main highway far to the north, in one of the loneliest portions of the city. Cold blasts of night wind blew in from the waterfront at the road’s end. Darkness lay like a shroud of menace over the deserted street as the Agent parked his sedan opposite the two-story brick building which Professor Langknecht had rented for his stay in the city. Before getting out of the car, “X” noted that all the windows in the front of the house were provided with metal shutters, and that they were closed tight. No streak of light was permitted to show. The house lay gloomy, silent, a fitting edifice for this out of the way, forbidding street.
Secret Agent “X” crossed to the other side, approached the doorway of the building, which was level with the sidewalk. His rubbersoled shoes made no sound on the pavement; his car, which was equipped with a specially constructed motor, had not made the slightest sound as he drove up; yet he was sure that his arrival had been noted, that he was being observed from some point of vantage in the building.
He rang the bell, waited silently. There was no sound from within, but suddenly the heavy oak door was swung open. The hallway within was unlit, but the Agent was able to discern the heavy, brutish features of the oxlike man who stood just within. This man was clothed in a white coat, and wore rubber gloves. He peered at the Agent out of small, piglike eyes, and said: “Yes?”
“X” asked: “Is Professor Langknecht in?”
The big man surveyed him without speaking for a moment, then asked: “Your name?”
“X” produced a card which he handed over. “I am Arvold Fearson,” he said. “I should like to speak with the Professor on a personal matter.”
The other took the card, said gruffly: “Vait here. I see.” He shut the door, left the Agent standing outside.
A few moments later, the door opened once more, but this time on a chain. Through the crack the Agent could see the white coat once more. The gruff voice spoke to him through the opening. “T’e professor iss not in.”
The door began to close, but “X” put his foot in the crack. “Just a moment,” he said. “I am sure the professor will manage to be in for me if you will give him this message. Tell him that I wish to talk with him about — Laurento.”
The man uttered a startled gasp. Then after a pause said: “Vait.”
Once more the door was closed. This time it took a little longer, while the Agent waited, his eyes scanning the shadows that surrounded the house. Finally the door opened, this time wide, without the chain.
The big man in the white coat and the rubber gloves stood aside in the hallway. “T’e Professor will see you,” he announced.
“X” entered, and the door was closed behind him. If he had remained outside only a moment or two longer, he would have seen the sedan which turned into Spuyten Duyvil road and drove up to the house, parked behind his own coupé. He would have seen the tall, black-haired woman with the green hat who descended from the sedan and inspected his coupé; would have seen her turn cloudy eyes in the direction of the house, then cross the street. But the Agent was already within, and the white-coated one was saying: “Follow me upstairs. But do not touch the banister or the wall. It is dangerous.”
The other preceded him up the stairs, and led toward a room at the front of the house where he rapped upon another door which was fully as strong as the one downstairs.
This one opened into a lighted room. Professor Langknecht himself stood there, arrayed in a white coat, but minus the rubber gloves. He stepped aside for “X” to enter, said to the attendant: “You may go, Hans.”
The attendant bowed, closed the door from the outside. The Agent was left alone in the room with Professor Langknecht. The professor turned and stared at him out of eyes whose expression was hidden by the thick-lensed spectacles which he wore. He was holding the Agent’s card in his hand. He glanced down at it, then up again, frowning.
“I do not know of you, Mr. Fearson. What is this matter that you wish to speak with me about?”
IN the single quick glance which he had cast over the room upon entering, the Agent had noted that it was equipped as a very comfortable office, with a small desk at the farther wall, a couch, several chairs, and a row of filing cabinets. The filing cabinets covered an entire wall, and seemed to be divided into sections about three feet wide. “X” now stood tensely facing the professor. “I think you already know why I am here. You must have recognized the name of Laurento, which I told your man to mention to you. Isn’t that why you consented to see me?”