X-24 The Fear Merchants by Brant House

Author:Brant House
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

MURDERERS’ TRAP

TWILIGHT was the hour that Betty Dale loved best. It spread a lavender mantle across the bare branches of the trees outside her apartment window. It softened the outlines of the other buildings on the opposite side of the street, made the whole city seem magical, enchanted, like a setting for an Arabian Nights play. Twilight always made Betty Dale feel alive, vital, tender, no matter how hard a day she had at the Herald office.

She sat at her window now, face dreamy, the soft glow of the fading sky touching her spun-gold hair, the salmon tint of the far-off sunset brightening and turning to turquoise the deep flawless blue of her eyes. She sat quietly, thinking of Secret Agent X. For this strange Man of a Thousand Faces, this man of mystery and destiny was often in her thought. They had passed through the valley of the shadow together. There was a bond between them, deep, unspoken, encompassing as life itself.

The tinkle of the telephone startled her from her reverie. She got up, crossed the floor buoyantly in graceful, swinging strides, alert as always. For the sound of the phone often meant hot news. And, besides being a lovely, high-spirited girl, Betty Dale had built up a reputation for herself as a reporter. There were many gentlemen of the press who envied her her ability at piecing together a story from the most slender leads.

A woman’s voice sounded in the receiver that Betty held to her ear. “I want Miss Dale of the Herald.”

“This is Miss Dale speaking.”

“Oh!” The voice sank lower, became huskily confidential. “Listen, dearie, you don’t know me, and I’ve never seen you. But they say you’re a fast worker. If so I’ve got a hot tip for you.”

“What about?”

“About the mugs that have been setting those fires! You know, the incendiaries, they call ’em.”

“All right, I’m listening.”

“I can’t talk good here, dearie! Get me? There may be some guys listening. I’m not taking any chances. This is dynamite, TNT, dearie.”

“Then why do you want to tell me about it?”

The husky voice at the other end of the wire became harshly sullen. “Did you ever hear of a guy throwing a girl down? I got a chip on my shoulder, dearie. I got a chip as big as a log of wood. I’m a nice, quiet girl, but when a mug gets tough I get tough, too. I’m going to spill something that will tear this town wide open. And when I get through there’s going to be a certain mug who’ll wish he’d been nicer to his sweetie. Now, I guess you get me?”

“Yes!” said Betty breathlessly. “Yes, I think I do.” She was trembling with excitement. Half the tips that put crooks behind bars and sent them to the chair came from disgruntled molls. Underworld women were poison when they weren’t treated right. She’d learned that from long contact with the police. And if she could get a line-up on the arson ring that was terrorizing the city it would constitute the biggest scoop of her life.

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