Chapter X
IT was almost eight o’clock when Secret Agent “X” arrived at the waterfront street on which stood the small house where he had left Laurento. He did not drive directly up to the building, but parked two blocks away, slid from his car, and approached cautiously, invisible in the shadows of the gloomy structures that lined the street. He stopped for a long time at the corner, standing motionless, with his coat collar turned up to hide the white gleam of his shirt front.
In a doorway opposite the house where he had left Laurento, he spotted the figure of a man. Some slight motion of that watcher had attracted “X’s” attention. Now the Agent’s eyes roved farther down the street, noted another doorway where there was also a dark blob of blackness like the figure of a man. His place was being watched.
He had expected this. Lola must have told Doctor Blood or his lieutenant of this place. Either she worked with Doctor Blood, or else pressure had been applied to her to make her talk. For some reason, however, she had omitted telling Doctor Blood that “X” was confined in the closet in Langknecht’s home.
“X” moved slowly, inches at a time, and rounded the corner. He worked his way halfway down the side street, and made sure that there were no watchers here. Then he sprinted across the street, and into a narrow alley between two tall warehouses. He made his way through this alley, hugged the rear wall of a garage until he had worked along close to the back of his own building.
Once more his figure became motionless as he studied the yard that he was in. Finally, assured that there were no watchers here, he opened the rear door of the garage with a pass key, slipped inside and felt his way along through the impenetrable darkness within. Working by his instinct alone, he found the trapdoor in the floor of the garage, which he knew would be there, lifted it up, and went down a short ladder after closing the door above him.
He swiftly traversed a narrow passage cut along the foundation wall of the garage until he came to another door, which he opened with his key. He was now in the basement of his own building. This was an emergency exit and entrance which no one knew about but himself.
He made no noise at all as he went upstairs, his keen ears attuned to the slightest sound which would show him that there were watchers within the house as well as those outside. But he heard nothing. He went through the entire house without finding anyone anywhere, he then approached the room where he had left Laurento.
He turned the knob slowly, silently, his long agile fingers moving it only a fraction of an inch at a time. He had put out the light in the hall, so that when he got the door opened just a crack, there would be nothing to indicate to anyone who might be waiting within that the door was being opened.
His eye, close to the crack, saw nothing but darkness within. He recalled distinctly having left a light on in that room.
For a long minute he kept his ear near that crack, but heard nothing. He took out his flashlight, held it ready, and kicked open the door. In his right hand, he held ready another gas gun, which he had supplied himself with from his reserve arsenal hidden in one of the other rooms. He snapped on his flashlight, swung it quickly over the room.
There was no one there.
The bed upon which he had left Laurento was empty. And at that moment he caught the sound of stealthy footsteps from the floor below.
Doctor Blood had laid a trap — but he had removed the bait. And now the trap was sprung.
THE Agent extinguished his flashlight, softly closed the door of the room and stole quietly to the head of the stairs. He sensed now that many men had entered the house. There was no sound, no shadow of movement, but his instincts told him that he was being hemmed in by adversaries.
The stillness in the house was ominous, pregnant with dreadful peril. Soon the Agent’s eyes detected a slight blur of movement in the darkness of the floor below. His stalkers were coming up.
He followed the shadowy movements of the men on the floor below, counted at least four of them. They must have been outside, watching the room from which they had removed Laurento, must have been watching for the light. They knew now that he was in the house.
The Agent was sure that Doctor Blood would have made certain to prepare an unbreakable trap — for he surely suspected now that the man he was trying to corner here must be Secret Agent “X”.
Even as he watched, the Agent understood what the attackers’ plans were. For he saw the figure of the first man who reached the foot of the stairs raising a hand as if to hurl something. They knew he was up here, and they apparently intended to hurl another of the gas bombs similar to the one that Laurento had used in the commissioner’s office.
“X” retreated swiftly from the head of the stairs, sought the ladder which led to the roof. He climbed it quickly, unlatched the skylight, and pushed upward. But it would not open. His mouth set in a grim line. He realized that Doctor Blood had not overlooked any tricks. The skylight had been nailed up from above. His escape was cut off in that direction.
Just as the Agent began to descend the ladder again, there was a tinkling crash on the floor of the landing. One of the men below had hurled up the gas bomb. Almost at once the entire corridor was suffused with a peculiar, cloying, bitter-sweet odor.
The Agent recognized it at once. It was the distinctive odor of hydrocyanic acid — quick acting, deadly. Doctor Blood was not taking any half measures with him.
“X” did not wait to descend rung by rung. He leaped from the topmost step to the floor, sped down the corridor away from the quickly spreading fumes. He tore open the door of the front room where he kept his paraphernalia and equipment, and slammed the door behind him. That would be only a feeble obstacle against the insidious gas. For the hydrocyanic would enter shortly through the crack under the door. But the Agent did not pause to worry about this.
He opened a closet, pressed a spot in the wainscoting, and a section of the wall in the closet opened outward. Behind this wall was a shallow cavity with rows of hooks upon which hung dozens of various ingenious objects. From among these the Agent selected a gas mask and respirator.
He closed the closet door, and with nimble fingers donned the gas mask. He took two or three breaths through the nozzle to be sure that the respirator was functioning properly, then he drew his gas gun and marched out into the corridor. He switched on the electric light, walked to the staircase and went down quickly. He was quite sure that he would encounter nobody now, for the men who had flung that bomb containing the hydrocyanic acid would certainly not have remained within the building.
On the ground floor he peered out through the front window, saw several dim shapes on the opposite side of the street. They were holding sub-machine guns.
Behind the mask, “X’s” lips spread in a thin grin. No effort was being spared to make sure that he perished. If by any chance he should succeed in coming out through that front door, in surviving the deadly gas which by now was filling the entire house, they were prepared to mow him down with those guns.
The Agent hesitated only an instant, then started back to the rear of the house, descended to the cellar and made his way out through the subterranean tunnel which led back to the garage. Once out in the open air of the backyard, he took off his gas mask, carried it under his arm, and stole swiftly along the alley to the street.
He moved like a shadow, slipping from one blob of darkness to another, watching keenly to make sure that no one was posted on this side street. Those men were concentrated on the front. Doubtless they had scouted the neighborhood before setting their trap, had been convinced that there was no rear exit from the building.