by Otto Penzler
“Only a coincidence,” muttered Traile. But he glanced down at the thing beside him. The Golden Skull seemed to leer back mockingly at him.
Chapter 4
The Invisible Emperor
In an otherwise dark room hidden beneath Manhattan, one eye of a small Buddha suddenly glowed with emerald light. A yellow hand reached out from the gloom, and a sharp-nailed finger touched the rim of what appeared to be a roulette wheel. As the numbered wheel turned, the second eye of the Buddha became green, until it glowed with the same intensity as the first.
“Report,” came the emotionless voice of the man seated beside the Buddha.
“Control, Group Three,” a whisper came from the lips of the Buddha. “The police and Federal agents still hold position H. Number Ninety-three, using reporter’s credentials, penetrated grounds and mansion. No prisoners observed, and no sign of—the Skull.” The last two words were in an oddly altered tone.
A pointed saffron face, like a mocking picture of Satan, appeared for a moment above the wheel. In the emerald glow from the Buddha’s eyes it was a weird hue.
“Police statements in regard to Citizen Fourteen?” the Yellow Doctor inquired.
“Removal believed underworld vengeance for refusing tribute to racketeers,” was the muffled response from the Buddha. “This evidently based on report from Department of Justice agent in charge.”
The tawny eyes slowly narrowed.
“Maintain close observation on the Federal officers. For some reason, they are withholding information. Courtland’s son mentioned the Invisible Empire before he died.”
—
The eyes of the idol dimmed, then one went dark. Doctor Yen Sin leaned over the table on which the wheel and the Buddha stood. There was a row of pearl buttons in an onyx panel. He pressed the second button from the right. A faint, irregular buzzing sounded from the idol, and the numbered wheel began to rotate slowly.
The Crime Emperor sat back, a shadowy figure in the fan-backed Bilibid chair. A minute passed, and the wheel began its second revolution. Suddenly it stopped, swung back through an arc of forty degrees. Doctor Yen Sin reached out a yellow claw, and the buzzing signal ceased. Instantly the Buddha’s eyes lit up.
“Group One,” a sullen voice said.
The Yellow Doctor leaned forward.
“Your signal was transmitted at four fifty-three and five nineteen,” he said coldly.
“I heard it, but couldn’t answer,” the other man said with a trace of harshness. “A bullet damaged the set, and I’ve just repaired it.”
Yen Sin gazed down at the numbered wheel. It was still moving, but almost imperceptibly.
“You have had time to reach Headquarters B. Why are you still in motion?”
“It’s taken all this time to shake off the police,” came the muttered retort. “We’re lucky we weren’t killed.”
The Crime Emperor looked unseeingly at the green eyes of the Buddha.
“Present orders revoked,” he said with a return to his usual emotionless voice. “You will bring the Skull at once to Headquarters A.”
There was a pause, then the Buddha rasped out the answer.
“We didn’t get it! There was a mix-up—Agent Eighty-five had it—someone got it away from her in the dark.”
A look of fury swept over the malignant face of Doctor Yen Sin. But when he spoke, his voice was icily controlled.
“Full report,” he ordered.
“When we reached there,” the voice from the idol said hoarsely, “Number Three entered, with Two and Five following. I heard a shot and ran after the others. I found Number Three slightly wounded, and Agent Eighty-five captured by a man who was evidently a police officer. This man shot and killed Number Two, then knocked over the candles. Agent Eighty-five was fleeing with the Skull when it was snatched from her hands. The place was almost surrounded—we barely had time to carry out Number Two and escape.”
In the green light from the Buddha’s eyes, the Crime Emperor’s face held a furious look.
“Transfer to Agent Eighty-five,” he directed.
“She escaped in the other car,” was the sullen reply from the idol. “We separated at once.”
There was a long interval, during which faint sounds of traffic came through from the microphone in the distant car.
“Follow these orders,” Doctor Yen Sin said abruptly. He spoke for two minutes, then depressed a button. The Buddha’s eyes dimmed, glowed again as the indicator wheel swung to its former position.
“Control, Group Three.”
“Main Control,” Yen Sin now said swiftly. “The Golden Skull was not recovered. Concentrate for necessary action. Groups Four and Five will reinforce you. Report at once any movement on part of the Federal men.”
—
As the light faded from the idol’s eyes, he stood up, the silken folds of his mandarin costume falling about his figure. Though the room was now completely dark, he stretched out his hand to the exact spot where a light switch was located. A soft luminance spread over the room, revealing the details of the secret chamber. A richly colored Arabian rug, hung like a tapestry, covered most of one wall. Across from it was a large blackboard, on which were written words in both English and Chinese. In the center of the board was a sketch not unlike that of some intricate football maneuver.
On a rosewood table beside a divan was a tray bearing a teapot, a cup, and an empty dish, testimony to the sparse diet to which the Yellow Doctor adhered. Books and a number of photographs, the latter varying from miniatures to enlargements, cluttered one corner. A map case partly obscured a full-length mirror of peculiarly dark glass.
Doctor Yen Sin turned to an odd diagram which had been painted on one wall. It appeared to be a sketch showing the arrangement of streets in a small village. Colored lights showed at the ends of the streets and at some intersections. Beneath the diagram was a switchboard with a built-in Dictaphone.
The Crime Emperor inserted a plug in a socket, and one of the lights immediately flickered. He spoke in Chinese for a few moments, made another connection.
“Yes, Master?” came the hasty query, also in Chinese.
“What report from Group Six concerning the captives?” Doctor Yen Sin asked a trifle sharply.
“They have not appeared or reported, Master,” the other man replied anxiously.
“Broaden the beam and search the area near Position D,” ordered the Yellow Doctor. “There is a chance they have been forced into the other headquarters. Let me know the result.”
“Yes, Master.” The Dictaphone clicked. Doctor Yen Sin turned away. He crossed the room, moving with an almost feline step, and halted before the map case. He stood there a moment, his weird eyes flitting over the crayon lines which had been drawn on a chart of Long Island Sound. In the slant of his cheekbones, and by his height—for he was taller than most Chinese—an expert might have traced the Manchurian blood which coursed in the veins of the Yellow Doctor.
He glanced aside, stooped, and picked up one of the enlarged photographs. It was a gruesome scene—a tableau of murder. A crumpled body upon the floor…a dark stain on the man’s shirtfront…the half-crouched form of the murderer, with a dripping knife in his hand, and his startled, ghastly face turned toward the camera….
Doctor Yen Sin’s thin lips curled. There was something comical about that look of horror and dismay. The poor fool had thought himself so clever. He had never dreamed that he had been led every step of the way into committing that murder. But since then there had been time for him to learn.
A sudden clicking, as of distant castanets, caused the Crime Emperor to wheel quickly. A bright red light was shining above the painted diagram. Another light was blinking where two lines intersected. Doctor Yen Sin hastily crossed to the switchboard. As he plugged a connection, a rough voice became audible through the Dictaphone.
“Don’t be a little fool! What’s one Chink more or less?”
“Are you crazy?” a feminine voice gasped. “The
Emperor will kill you for this.”
“If he’s so tough,” came the grated answer, “why’s he scared to show himself? I’ve still got to see the Chink I can’t handle.”
The girl moaned something, but the man cut her short.
“Get smart, baby! I’ve been watching you, and you got class enough for Ricco. We can take it on the lam before anybody gets wise. I can get a hundred grand for that rock, out on the Coast. You play along with Ricco, and you’ll—”
“Let go of me!” the girl cried out.
Sounds of a scuffle came through the Dictaphone. Doctor Yen Sin calmly pressed a button, reached toward a switch at one side.
“You she-devil!” came a snarl from the unseen man. “I was goin’ to give ya a break, but now—”
The sepulchral note of a deep-toned gong broke into his angry threat. In the same moment, light shone through the dark glass at one side of the secret room. The Yellow Doctor glanced toward the glass as footsteps echoed through the amplifier. A short passage was visible, its walls decorated with scores of red-and-gold circles. Each had a black center.
In a second, two figures came into view. The first was Iris Vaughan. Her blonde hair was flying, and her pretty face was transfixed with a look of terror. Both greed and fear showed on the swarthy face of the man who pursued her. With a sudden leap, he caught the girl by one shoulder and spun her around. A brutal jerk, and he tore the jewel case from her fingers. A violent shove sent her back against the dark glass.
—
The deep-toned gong struck, and there followed a thudding sound from beyond the turn of the passage. The thief’s swarthy face turned pasty. He whirled, the jewel case in one hand, a blood-smeared stiletto raised in the other. As he turned, the Yellow Doctor coolly threw a switch. The dark glass slid silently into a niche, and Iris Vaughan stumbled, almost fell into the room.
There was another thud, and a massive gate settled into place where the passage turned. As the gangster saw his escape cut off he sprang around with an oath. Then he froze.
From each of those red-and-gold circles a dark-stained blade was swiftly moving outward!
“You yellow butcher!” Ricco screamed. He hurled himself at the Crime Emperor. The stiletto flashed up—and scraped to a stop in midair. Behind the clear glass panel which had replaced the dark one, Doctor Yen Sin slowly smiled.
“You expressed a desire to see me, Mr. Ricco?” came his sibilant voice from some spot above the passage.
A tortured shriek burst from the gangster’s lips as the swords began to gash his sides. He twisted around madly, pounding upon the glass.
“For God’s sake, don’t kill me! I didn’t mean it—I’ll do anything!”
The last word rose to a cry of mortal anguish. Iris Vaughan cowered away, hiding her face in her hands. The Yellow Doctor reached out toward the switchboard, and the faint whir of a hidden motor rose to a whine. One last dreadful scream rang out. Then Ricco’s pierced body sagged, quivering, on the blades which had taken his life.
Without emotion, Doctor Yen Sin opened the heavy glass panel. He picked up the jewel case, calmly glanced at its contents. Stepping back into the secret room, he turned to the Dictaphone.
“The post of Number Five, Group Eight, is vacant,” he announced tonelessly. “Correct the rolls and make the following disposal of the body.” He spoke briefly in Chinese, then turned his tawny eyes on Iris Vaughan. The girl’s face was sick with fear.
“I couldn’t help it,” she whispered. “He was hiding there at the third entrance. He sprang and killed Lun Shan—”
“The book of Mr. Ricco has been closed,” said the Yellow Doctor. “But there is another matter—of real importance.”
At the sudden harshness in his voice, the girl spoke breathlessly.
“I was hurrying to tell you. I reached the mansion ahead of—”
“The details have been reported,” interrupted the Crime Emperor. “All but one.” His weird eyes bored into her. “Who has the Golden Skull?”
“Michael Traile,” she answered, and there was renewed dread in her face.
The pupils of Yen Sin’s eyes enlarged with incredible swiftness, until they were black pools of fury. He took a step toward the girl, one yellow claw clenched.
“I did all I could!” she cried piteously. “But he tricked even the Gray Men.”
There was a sharp buzzing, and the eyes of the Buddha glowed with green light. Doctor Yen Sin opened a sliding door which had been concealed by a tapestry.
“Be in readiness at your station,” he curtly ordered. As the blonde girl hurried out he closed the door and stooped over the idol. “Main Control. What report on Position H?”
“Federal men leaving in three cars,” was the hasty reply. “Believe the Golden Skull in second car. Man observed carrying something under his coat. Did not observe personally but from description believe him to be Michael Traile. Senior Agent Allen and two men with machine guns in rear seat. Machine guns also in cars forming close escort. Success of direct action extremely doubtful.”
Doctor Yen Sin looked down. The numbered wheel was moving very slowly.
“Maintain contact without arousing suspicion,” he ordered. “Repeat this order to cooperating groups, then shift to Number Three waveband. Further instructions will follow.”
As the wheel ceased to move, the Buddha’s eyes changed to clear white light.
“Send Sonya to me at once,” Yen Sin directed. “Then stand by for special code to Headquarters B.”
Two minutes later a girl entered from the direction in which Iris Vaughan had disappeared. She was lovely, with a foreign, exotic beauty in which the warmth of sunny Spain and the cool aloofness of a Russian aristocrat were oddly blended. Her dark eyes, as she faced the Yellow Doctor, had a tragic, hopeless look. Yen Sin smiled mirthlessly at her.
“I have need of your talents, my dear Sonya.” The tone was a deliberate mockery.
The girl’s glance shifted to the gruesome figure suspended on the bloody swords in the passage. She stepped back in horror.
“No, it is neither of our expected—guests,” said the Crime Emperor silkily. “They have been delayed, unfortunately.” He had spoken in Chinese, but he abruptly changed to Russian. As he finished speaking, Sonya faced him with blazing eyes.
“No! I will not do it!” she cried defiantly. “This is some trick to make me help trap them again.”
The oblique eyes of Doctor Yen Sin drew into slits.
“I have a photograph of your honorable father, taken as he received your last little—gift. Perhaps if I let you see it—”
All the fiery rebellion died out of her face.
“I’ll go,” she said in a broken voice. Her shoulders were drooping as she turned away. When she had gone, Doctor Yen Sin turned again to the Buddha. White light flashed, then swiftly he began his instructions.
Chapter 5
The Rainbow Death
Traile’s eyes searched the street ahead. “We’re too well-guarded for him to try a mass attack,” he said grimly. “If he strikes, it will be something unexpected.”
“It’s only three more blocks,” said Eric. “Looks as though we’ll get through O.K.”
“I still think you’ve got this Yellow Doctor overrated,” Bill Allen grunted from the rear seat. “I’ll admit he pulled a fast one out there at the Courtland place, but he can’t buck the whole police system of New York City.”
Trail swung the car into Lexington Avenue.
“You still don’t understand the Invisible Empire. Yen Sin’s spies keep him informed, and he gets around the police by trickery.”
“Well, I’d like to see him get around these tommy guns,” retorted the lanky D.J. man.
Traile looked down at the miniature radio set.
“Too bad we didn’t get a good cross-bearing,” he said to Eric. “We’ve lost our chance to locate that station.”
Eric’s face shadowed, and Traile knew he was thinking of Sonya Damitri.
The
leading D.J. car slowed as they neared the building which housed the F.B.I. offices. The hour was not yet seven, and there were but few cars parked along the street. Traile pulled in close to the first machine, and the other D.J. car stopped behind him.
Early pedestrians stared as the agents jumped out with their guns poised. Traile thrust the golden skull under his coat and motioned for Eric to bring the radios. Allen and his men closed in as they went toward the building.
They were almost at the entrance when there came a crash of shots from back of them. Traile wheeled. A limousine was drawing up at the curb across the avenue. Fifty feet behind it, and darting in diagonally, was a taxicab. Guns were blazing from the rear of the cab, and Traile saw one of the limousine windows shatter.
Three or four D.J. men were racing toward the spot. Two more shots crashed from the taxi, then a pinched yellow face glared around toward the running agents. A look of terror crossed the features of the Chinese. He frantically swerved his pistol.
Two tommy guns roared simultaneously. The Chinese toppled back, riddled with lead. The bloody face of a second Oriental was visible as the taxi wildly leaped ahead. As he slumped from view, another machine gun burst drilled both tires on the left side. The taxi skidded crazily, plunged headlong against a lamppost and overturned. The driver fell out limply, lay still.
As the firing began, Traile shot a hurried look around the entrance and into the lobby. This might be an attempt by Yen Sin to draw attention so that other spies of the Invisible Empire could regain the skull. But there was no sign of an attack.
A crowd was beginning to gather in the street. A big man, of powerful build, had jumped from the rear of the limousine. As two of Allen’s men approached, Traile saw the big man motion anxiously, then all three bent over the crumpled form of the limousine chauffeur.
“Jumping Jupiter!” Allen erupted. “That’s Mark Bannister those Chink gunmen tried to rub out!”
“Another millionaire,” Traile muttered, half to himself. “I wonder what Yen Sin is after.”
