by Otto Penzler
“Wait! Don’t touch him yet.” He probed the flashlight around again, then turned quickly to Bannister. “Those colored lanterns don’t help much. Switch on some bright lights.”
Bannister shook his head.
“The lanterns are the only ones connected in the garden.”
Traile bent for a hasty scrutiny of Weller’s body. Then, at his direction, Murdock and Johnson carried the dead agent into the reception hall. He closed the glass door to the garden, handed Allen the flashlight.
“Keep it pointed at that door. Eric, you and Johnson watch toward the sides of the roof. Fire at anything that moves.”
“I thought you searched this place,” Alien muttered.
“We did,” Traile said grimly. He looked at Murdock. “Now, let’s hear what you know.”
The man tore his eyes away from the grotesquely stiffened form on the floor.
“I thought he was somewhere near me. He’d been wandering around in the garden. Then I heard something buzz, like a bee, right close to my ear. It gave me a start, and I began looking for Weller. When I found him he was bent down in front of that heathen shrine, just like he was praying. He was shaking as though he was scared to death, and he wouldn’t say a word. That’s when I yelled for help.”
—
Allen took his gaze from the glass door for a brief stare at the dead man. “He must’ve had some kind of fit. But I never heard of rigor mortis setting in so fast.”
Traile motioned to Bannister. “Help me turn him over.”
The millionaire recoiled.
“I wouldn’t even touch him! You can’t tell what killed him.”
“I can guess,” Traile said shortly. He turned the dead agent onto his back. Weller’s head was still bent, and his limbs rigidly fixed in their curious position. Traile looked at the wildly dilated eyes, then pointed to a small brown spot under Weller’s jaw.
“There’s the answer. A tiny dart or needle went in there. That smear is lakta, a Malay poison. There’s enough left on the outside to stop a full-grown tiger.”
As he stood up the others looked at him with horror.
“Then that buzz I heard—” Murdock said, ashen-faced.
“Was either that dart—or another one meant for you,” Traile finished.
Bannister suddenly turned and closed the door to the sun deck.
“Leave it open,” Traile said quickly.
“You’re crazy!” rasped the millionaire. “The dart must have been shot from the top of that office building across the street. They may shoot another at any second.”
“None of Yen Sin’s killers are on top of that building,” snapped Traile. “The danger is here on this roof.”
“Then why are you standing here idle?” stormed Bannister. He made a furious gesture. “You’ve bungled it from start to finish—had me get rid of my bodyguards—refused to call in the police—”
Traile went after him as he spun around toward his private telephone.
“What are you going to do?”
“Get some real protection up here!” snarled Bannister. “You’ve let one man be murdered, and I’m likely to be the next!”
“You will be,” Trails said sharply, “if you try to send that signal!”
Bannister froze, glaring down at Traile’s leveled gun.
“Have you lost your senses?” he said hoarsely.
Traile’s dark eyes drilled into the other man’s face.
“The game’s up, Bannister. You’re a good actor—but not good enough.”
The millionaire tamed a chalky white.
“You’re stark mad!” he cried. “Grab his gun, one of you!”
Johnson jumped toward Traile, but Allen halted him with a brusque command. Traile searched the millionaire, handed a Mannlicher pistol to Eric.
“Keep him covered. Don’t let him get near that switchboard. He’d signal Yen Sin’s agents down in the hotel—and there may be two or three dozen of them planted in different rooms, waiting to come up here.”
Eric’s blue eyes were wide with astonishment.
“Then he’s really a member of the Invisible Empire?”
“Probably its chief agent in New York,” Traile answered. The attack in Lexington Avenue was a fake. Doctor Yen Sin deliberately sacrificed those Chinese gunmen for effect, so that Bannister wouldn’t be suspected while he helped to recover the gold skull.”
“I tell you you’re crazy,” fumed the millionaire. “I never heard of him until today—except as the ‘Cobra.’ ”
A cold smile lighted Traile’s lean face.
“The secret reports and those other half-truths were clever business, Bannister—but you gave yourself away when you played the role of the Gray Man. You see, while you were unconscious at Kent’s home, I found one of the rubber gloves you wore as a Gray Man. Later Allen turned the glove inside out and took the fingerprints. They matched perfectly with those on the report you’d been handling.”
Murderous fury leaped into the other man’s eyes.
“I knew I should have killed you!”
Traile motioned with the .38.
“Turn around. Face the wall and keep your hands up against it.”
Bannister obeyed with an oath. Traile stepped back close to Allen, took from his pocket what appeared to be a thick toy pistol.
“Use this on him if you have to,” he whispered. He put the miniature gun on a stand by the F.B.I. man. “We don’t want to shoot him. I’m almost positive he’s Yen Sin’s key man in New York, and if we can make him talk we’ll wipe the Invisible Empire off the map.”
Allen had his left hand partway out of his coat pocket. He dropped whatever he had been about to withdraw.
“Then you’re not ready for—”
“Not yet,” Traile said in an undertone. “It’s clear that one of the Yellow Doctor’s assassins has been smuggled onto the roof. I think I know where he’s hiding.”
“Then take Murdock and Johnson and go after him,” Allen said hastily.
“No, you don’t know those devils. If he found he was trapped, he’d be sure to get one or two of us before he died. I’ve a plan for nabbing him. Give me a minute or so to steal around on the sun-deck side, and get near the gate. Then turn the flashlight away from the garden.”
“All right,” Allen agreed reluctantly. “But for Heaven’s sake be careful.”
With a final glance about him, Traile stepped through the door at his right and was soon hidden in the shadows. He had left the flashlight pointed toward the garden so that no one could see beyond it and observe his departure. He tiptoed along in the darkness, with his gun poised for a quick shot. His movements had the stealth of a stalking tiger.
He paused until his eyes were accustomed to the gloom, then went on toward the gate. He was moving now with infinite caution, making sure of each deep shadow. The glow from the flashlight shone through from the other end of the garden. He stopped, crouched down by the gate, waiting for the light to be shifted.
It was turned away in a few seconds, and he could see through the glass door at the farther end. Bannister was still facing the paneled wall, with Eric covering him. Allen and his two men were looking nervously about them. Only the dim light of the colored lanterns shone in the garden.
It was then that Traile noticed that the artificial moon had been turned off. He edged past the gate, moved silently toward the shrine. Within a few feet of it he suddenly halted. Was it imagination, or had a faint sound come from the shadows near the display of Oriental weapons?
He crouched at one side of the shrine, staring toward the spot. A minute passed. He heard Bannister’s angry voice, muffled by the glass door, and Allen’s curt response. Then silence again, a silence which grew more tense with every passing second.
From somewhere in the penthouse the sweet, musical sound of the chimes was audible again. Bannister at once burst into another angry protest. And in that moment the shrine began to move!
Traile sprang back, flattened himself against the decorated wal
l of the garden. His suspicion was right. The chimes were a signal to Bannister, controlled from the hiding place of the assassin.
Pivoting at one corner, the shrine swung open on noiseless hinges. Traile held his breath, for it was the side next to him which had swung away from the wall. Motionless, he waited, almost as dark as the shadow where he stood. As the shrine ceased to move, his finger took up the slack of his trigger.
No one appeared. Traile strained his eyes to pierce the darkness back of the shrine. Finally a faint pat-pat came to his ears, accompanied by a low, swishing sound. A shadowy figure seemed to rise from out of the floor. Traile watched in brief amazement, then the truth burst on him.
The shrine had concealed a secret stairway to a room on the floor below.
The man ascending the stairs was almost at the top, when, to Traile’s dismay, whispering voices sounded from below. The full peril of the situation struck him like a blow. A dozen of the Yellow Doctor’s spies must be coming up those steps.
Before he could hurl himself against the shrine, a robed form came into view. Traile’s pulses gave a leap.
It was Doctor Yen Sin!
Chapter 9
The Three Hatchets
Traile sprang and rammed his gun against the Yellow Doctor’s side, forcing him to block the narrow opening.
“Don’t move!” he said fiercely.
For just an instant, fear showed in the Satanic face before him. Then the cold mockery came back to Yen Sin’s eyes.
“So you decided to hasten our meeting, Mr. Traile?”
A low, metallic clink sounded from the other side of the garden. Traile half-whirled, trying to watch both directions. There stood a glaring Chinese with a hatchet!
As the man’s arm whipped forward, Traile desperately hurled himself sidewise. The hatchet buried itself in the shrine, just beyond his shoulder.
There was a rush of feet, and three men leaped from the stairway as Yen Sin stepped aside. Already off balance, Traile was thrown to the floor. A hand gripped his throat, cutting off his attempt at a shout. He jerked the gun toward the man’s head, but it was wrenched away.
As he was held down, one of the men hastily taped his mouth. Two more twisted his arms, then brought him to his feet at the Crime Emperor’s low-spoken command. He looked hopefully toward the penthouse door, but Bannister was still haranguing furiously and the muffled sounds of that silent battle had gone unheard.
Doctor Yen Sin calmly surveyed the scene beyond the glass door, from his vantage point in the gloom. Then he turned, spoke in a low tone to a sallow-skinned Eurasian. The half-caste went back toward the secret stairway, reappeared with a girl. As she tore herself free from the man’s grasp, Traile recognized the beautiful face of Sonya Damitri. The Yellow Doctor fixed his weird eyes on her.
“You will go with Kang Fu, and do as I instructed.”
She turned, hopelessly, with the Eurasian and two more spies closely following. They disappeared to the left of the arched bridge. Doctor Yen Sin nodded to the men holding Traile.
“To the right,” he said in whispered Chinese. “And move exactly as I ordered.”
Twisting his arms so that he was forced to walk on tiptoe, Traile’s captors marched him toward the side of the penthouse. As they neared the door to the reception hall, he saw Allen looking anxiously around the room. Eric had Bannister covered, but the millionaire’s head was twisted around and he was snarling something over his shoulder.
There was a sudden crash from the dim-lit garden. Allen jumped toward the glass door, and his two agents raced after him. Instantly, Traile’s captors plunged into the hall with him, and at the same moment Sonya appeared from the sun-deck side, two armed men crouching back of her.
Eric had whirled as the two doors burst open. He jerked his gun toward the left, then stood paralyzed at sight of Sonya. Bannister was on him in a flash. He snatched at the Mannlicher, and in a moment both men were on the floor, struggling for the gun.
Allen and the two agents had spun around at the first sound of action. After an instant of amazement, Murdock sprang at the men holding Traile. Something buzzed by Traile’s shoulder, and a dark spot appeared on Murdock’s cheek. The agent jerked to a stop, his eyes bulging. His lips opened convulsively, then his knees buckled and he fell to the floor.
The glass door was swiftly flung open, and three Burmese dacoits leaped at Allen and Johnson. With an ape-like jump, one of the thugs hurled himself onto Johnson’s back. The agent went down with the dacoit’s fingers locked around his throat. His head struck the floor with a thump, and he ceased to move.
The two other thugs seized Allen before he could turn. His right arm was wrenched around behind him with bone-breaking force. He groaned, let his pistol fall. With despair, Traile saw that Bannister had gained possession of the Mannlicher. Eric was writhing on the floor from a vicious blow to the groin.
As the millionaire jumped up, there was momentary silence. Then from the shadows of the garden, Doctor Yen Sin slowly came forward. He glanced around the room without emotion, turned to Bannister.
“If you had followed instructions,” he said icily, “this would not have been necessary.”
Bannister had a frightened look.
“I didn’t have a chance. Traile was onto me.”
The Yellow Doctor smiled contemptuously.
“I am afraid you lack in courage, my friend.”
“I’m in a spot,” the millionaire said harshly. “He guessed the truth this morning. They’ve probably got agents here in the building, ready to grab me.”
“They will not trouble you,” replied Doctor Yen Sin. He looked sardonically at Allen. “You should have advised at least some of your men not to ask for rooms on the topmost floors.”
Allen lunged at him.
“You yellow devil! What have you done with them?”
His captors hauled him back. The Crime Emperor regarded him without expression, then turned.
“And you, Mr. Traile—I gave you credit for more ingenuity.”
Traile met his gaze coolly. Doctor Yen Sin looked at his taped lips, beckoned to Traile’s guards.
“Bring him closer.” When they had obeyed, he fixed his strange, tawny eyes on Traile’s face. “I shall not insult your intelligence by any pretense about your eventual end. But I shall make it more swift in exchange for certain information.”
He signaled to the Eurasian who had used Sonya as a shield.
“Kang Fu, assist Mr. Traile to speak.”
The half-caste approached with an ugly grin. Traile set his jaw. Kang Fu reached out, brutally ripped away the tape. It was like a fiery lash across Traile’s lips, but he made no sound. Doctor Yen Sin gave him a thin smile.
“An heroic display of bravery, Mr. Traile. And now, the first question. What is the drug which enables you to go without sleep for so long?”
Traile made no answer. The Yellow Doctor frowned, then nodded to the men holding him. They forced Traile against the wall, twisting his arms until it seemed they would be torn from their sockets. Drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead. He saw Sonya close her eyes, shuddering. A red-hot agony shot through his ever-wakeful brain. Then, abruptly, that torturing pull was relaxed.
“He would faint before he would speak,” he heard Yen Sin mutter. “Hold him there. We will try another way.”
Eric Gordon had almost recovered from Bannister’s cruel blow. As he staggered to his feet, the Crime Emperor gestured curtly to the millionaire.
“Keep him back.” He turned, whispered to the Chinese whom Traile had seen in the garden. The man disappeared, came back quickly. In spite of himself, Traile started as he saw the three hatchets the Chinese carried.
“I see you have heard of this ceremony,” Doctor Yen Sin said with ironic amusement. “Perhaps you are ready to answer the first question?”
Traile’s eyes shifted for an instant to Allen. The F.B.I. man was looking helplessly toward the door to the darkened sun deck. Yen Sin quickly followed Traile
’s glance, but Allen was now staring at the floor. The Yellow Doctor motioned to the waiting hatchet man. Eric burst out with a cry as the Chinese took his position.
“Tell him, Michael, for God’s sake!”
“It would do no good,” said Traile, grimly.
His captors drew away on each side, still holding his arms twisted so that he was forced against the wall. He felt them tense as the Chinese drew back the first hatchet.
“One,” said Doctor Yen Sin.
The hatchet man’s arm shot forward. With a savage swish, the weapon dashed toward Traile. For an instant it seemed aimed straight between his eyes. Then it whirled past and thudded into the wall an inch from his head. The quivering handle almost touched his ear.
The Crime Emperor looked at him with slitted eyes.
“Now, are you ready to speak?”
Before Traile had time to reply, Eric recklessly leaped past Bannister and struck at Traile’s nearest guard.
“Get back!” Traile groaned. “They’ll only kill you, too.”
Kang Fu and a dacoit seized Eric, pulled him away. Doctor Yen Sin gazed shrewdly from Traile to Eric.
“I perceive a swifter means for my purpose,” he said to the millionaire.
At his brief order, Traile was hustled to one side, and Eric pinioned against the wall in his place. Sonya Damitri ran toward Yen Sin, but he thrust her aside. She turned wildly to Traile.
“You brought him into this! Save him, while there is yet time.”
The Crime Emperor’s yellow face darkened.
“I will have no more of your maudlin sympathy for this young American!” He gave a command, and a ferocious-looking Burmese dragged the girl out of the way. Then he turned to Traile. “Her suggestion, however, is the one I intended to make. I will free him when it is safe—if you answer my two questions. The first one you know. The second: What are the names of the other Q-men?”
Traile faced him stonily.
“I’ll tell you, if you include Allen and Johnson—and swear by the bones of your ancestors that you’ll free them.”
Yen Sin’s brows drew together, then he looked around at Allen and the unconscious agent on the floor.
