When the finale went on, the Agent took from his pocket the package of newspapers which he had cut to the size of dollar bills, and placed it in his hat on the floor.
He watched the curtain drop after the final encore, then sat quietly while the house emptied. Soon the big dome lights in the ceiling went out, leaving only the pilot light on the center of the stage. His box was shrouded in darkness.
ALL was quiet in the theatre. Five minutes passed, six, seven, eight, nine. Nothing happened. For the tenth time the second hand on “X’s” wrist watch made a complete circuit.
And then the drapes at the rear of the box parted only an inch or two at the bottom.
Out of the corner of his eye “X” saw a slim, black-gloved hand reach in, pick up the package from his hat on the floor, and disappear. The drapes fell back in place.
Instantly he became galvanized into action. Moving quietly in the box, he parted the curtains and slipped through. No one was in sight. The person who had taken the money had already disappeared.
A narrow staircase led down to the orchestra. To the left, a short corridor curved around in the direction of the stage. “X” knew that the person who had taken that money had not descended by the stairs. He therefore followed the corridor, found that it ended in an iron spiral staircase. The floor above would contain the dressing rooms of the chorus. On the floor below the dressing rooms of the stars and the office of the stage manager.
Looking down into the dimly lit well of the spiral staircase, the Agent could discern a figure disappearing into the regions backstage. All he could discern was a swiftly moving flash of white skin and cloth of silver. Then the figure was lost to sight in the gloom below.
“X” descended swiftly, silently, on his rubber soled shoes. He was now on the level of the stage itself. Everything was quiet. He crossed the open space backstage, came into a wide corridor. There were several rooms along this corridor, and just as he turned into it he heard a door farther down slam shut.
He heard voices to his left, heard several “good-nights” exchanged, heard the stage door open and shut. The personnel of the play had already departed.
“X” heard the doorman tramping around somewhere at the other end of the stage. He would soon be making his rounds to make sure that everything was shipshape for the night, and that everyone had gone home. There would be a few minutes before that tour of inspection.
The Agent knew which door had opened and closed. It was the third one down in the corridor, and he was sure whose room it was. For that glimpse he had got of the silver and white had identified for him the person who had taken the money — Lola Lollagi. She must, then, be acting under the instructions of Doctor Blood.
The Agent drew back into the shadows around the bend in the corridor, waiting for Lola Lollagi to change her clothes and come out again. He felt sure that she would go at once to deliver the package. And he intended to follow her, to find just how she contacted the party who was eventually to receive that package.
As he stood there watching the door through which Lola had disappeared, his back was toward one of the darkened wings of the stage. Immediately behind him was the huge backdrop upon which was painted the representation of a golden Spanish sunset. In front of this was the tin structure which had been painted to represent the turrets of a Moorish castle. No soul moved upon the stage. He no longer heard the movements of the doorman. That worthy had probably decided that it was unnecessary to make a tour of inspection and had gone into the little cubbyhole beside the door for a snooze.
Five minutes passed. The Agent began to wonder whether there was not some other exit from Lola’s room, whether she had not already departed with the package.
He set himself to wait. Perhaps she was opening the package herself. Perhaps — the thought struck him with stunning force — she was not taking it to anyone.
Although his ears were keenly attuned to sound all about, he did not hear the stealthy footsteps of the figure that crept behind him in the darkness while he watched. This figure had materialized apparently from nowhere. It crouched over, with head lowered, stalking silently; it came nearer, step by silent step. As it approached within three feet of the Agent, its head raised, revealing a queer sort of covering over the face that might have been a Halloween mask. Out of this mask, two eyes peered at the Agent
Slowly, silently, it crept upon him. The right hand held a knife. The left was a claw — a four taloned hideous-looking claw with curved, sharp-pointed talons that were poised as if ready to tear open “X’s” throat.
And suddenly that sixth sense which had often come to the aid of the Agent at critical moments made him whirl about. And the masked figure leaped upon him, the taloned claw reaching for his throat!
Chapter XIII
DEATH stared at Secret Agent “X” out of those two murderous eyes hidden behind the mask of horror.
The Agent dropped to one knee, twisted his shoulder about to avoid the swiftly plunging point of that glittering knife. The claw swished past, missing him by a scant hair’s breadth. The talons on the monster’s left hand missed “X’s” throat, tore into his shoulder, ripping away the cloth of his coat, digging with agonizing pain into his flesh.
The masked monster was upon him now, and he could hear its wheezing breath. The claw flashed upward once more, the talons reached for him again.
The Agent warded off the blow with his elbow, crashed his right fist into that hideous mask. His knuckles smashed the cardboard nose, hurling the figure backwards. But in its backward fall, the claws of the taloned left hand caught in the Agent’s shoulder once more, held firm and dragged him after the falling body. The two of them hit the floor together, the Agent on top. The murderous hand was powerless for the moment, being held helpless under the Agent’s body. But those claws were free; they came down in another ripping blow. “X” knew now how those victims had felt when they died, what Langknecht and Patterson and the others had faced.
“X” thrust up a hand, met the other’s left arm just above the taloned claw. The Agent’s powerful fingers dug deep into that arm, warding the claws away from his throat. The monster struggled and twisted under the Agent’s grip, exhibiting amazing, almost fanatic strength. It heaved powerfully, threw the Agent off, and scrambled to its knees.
Down came the claw once more in a vicious slash. “X” barely rolled away in time, heard the thud of the knife as it buried itself in the soft wood of the floor. Then he lashed out with his feet, directly at the face of the monster. His heels caught the other squarely in the face, hurled him backward.
An unearthly sound that resembled a shriek of fury burst from the hidden lips behind that battered mask. The Agent scrambled to his feet, set himself to leap upon the other. From the direction of the stage entrance he heard hoarse shouts, the sound of running feet.
His eye caught the figure of Lola Lollagi suddenly rushing out of the dressing room which she had entered before. Her eyes opened wide as she saw the masked figure of the monster upon the floor, saw the person whom she believed to be Stanton about to leap upon it. Her mouth opened wide and she uttered shriek after shriek, high pitched, terror stricken. She still wore her silver gown, over which she had thrown a cloak. Under her arm she clutched the package which she had taken from “X’s” hat.