by Otto Penzler
As another minute passed, Traile turned to the blonde girl beside him.
“Since we are to await the Doctor’s pleasure,” he said carelessly, “we may as well sit down.”
He motioned toward a divan, but Iris Vaughan, who had been nervously watching the other end of the room, shook her head.
“No, we are to go on now,” she whispered. Her pretty face was colorless under her rouge. Traile looked down at her, as he followed into the hall.
“One would think you were to be the victim,” he said ironically.
Her luminous blue eyes, too bright from opium, took on a certain hardness.
“It is not my fault if you choose to be a fool. You came here of your own free will.”
They had turned toward the right. Traile saw three or four men near a door a few yards away. A dark-haired girl in a red evening gown, with a light cloak thrown over her shoulders, was just entering. She glanced around quickly, gave a start as she glimpsed Traile.
It was Sonya Damitri.
For a fraction of a second, her black, mysterious eyes seemed to be trying to convey some message. Then she hurried on into the room. The men near the door closed about Traile as he followed with Iris. His eyes swept quickly about the room. It appeared to be the office for the gambling establishment. A fat Chinese sat behind a desk, a benevolent smile on his face.
He was looking toward Sonya, who had turned to a large wardrobe cabinet at one side, when a muffled cry sounded—apparently from the wall behind the cabinet. In the same instant, the phone on the desk rang shrilly.
Before the Chinese could pick up the instrument, the doors of the cabinet burst open. Sonya gasped and stepped back. A man leaped out, a pair of brass knuckles on each hand. A small, bloody spike protruded from the center knuckle on each hand.
“Lecoste!” Sonya cried out in astonishment. “What are you—”
“Get out of my way!” rasped the Frenchman. He whirled toward the hall. The men near Traile sprang after him. The Frenchman struck viciously with the spiked knuckles. One man fell back with a shriek. Lecoste drove his left fist into another man’s face. Suddenly the Chinese gave a screech of terror as a second man appeared from the passage back of the cabinet.
The light showed the rubber mask of a Gray Man. But it was not this which had brought that squeal of terror to the Oriental’s lips. His slanting eyes were fixed on a hideous little doll the man carefully gripped in both hands. As Iris Vaughan saw the doll she, too, gave a cry of fear, then turned and fled.
Sonya had leaped back into one corner. The two remaining men struggling with Lecoste suddenly jumped for the hall. Holding the puppet vertically with both hands, the Gray Man stepped through the cabinet, made for the doorway. In his haste, he stumbled over the doorsill, fell headlong on the doll.
—
Instantly, there was a flash of rainbow fire. As the weirdly-colored blaze leaped up, Traile threw himself back. A terrific heat swept out after him, then the room began to fill with the rainbow smoke.
The Gray Man’s voice rose in a frightful scream, the same frenzied cry which Jim Stone had given before he died. Gasping for breath, Traile felt his way along the wall. Cool air from somewhere led him on. He reached the cabinet, vaguely glimpsed Sonya as she ran into the passage.
He quickly followed. She went down a flight of steps, vanished around a turn. Above the hissing of the Rainbow Death, and the clamor from beyond the office, Traile heard her give a stifled exclamation. He reached the bottom of the steps, saw a heavy door standing ajar. A Chinese lay dead nearby, two ugly wounds in temple and throat showing where Lecoste’s knuckle-spikes had stabbed him.
There was a telephone in a small recess just inside the entry. The wires had been cut. Traile stepped over the dead man, looked swiftly along the passage. There was but a single light, and its glow was feeble. He could barely see the girl as she paused before the seemingly solid brick wall at the end. She reached up, pushed at a spot about the height of her shoulder. A section of the brickwork lifted like a gate, and she stepped through. The section descended quickly.
Traile ran to the end of the passage, felt around for the hidden release. One brick moved inward under his hasty pressure, and the gate slid up. He found himself in another passage, wider than the first. It led off into blackness. He listened intently, caught the sound of Sonya’s swift footsteps from the dark. Brushing one hand along the wall to guide him, he followed as silently as possible.
The footsteps ceased and he halted immediately. From somewhere back of him, but at a distance, he could hear a commotion. Two shots made muffled reports, and he thought someone screamed.
Then, suddenly, light showed through a vertical crack ahead, as a door was slowly opened. He waited, unmoving. The slit widened into a rectangle, and he saw the girl’s slender figure silhouetted in the opening. She looked back into the darkness, then hurried inside. Traile ran on tiptoe, caught the edge of the door as it started to close. In a second he was in the room.
Sonya’s back was turned, and she seemed to be looking down in horror at something on a black table. Her figure screened it from Traile’s view. He hastily glanced around. One look, and he knew he was in the torture chamber of Doctor Yen Sin.
Back in the gloom stood a darkened suit of armor, with a row of gas jets which could be turned upon it, after some luckless victim was placed inside. From a beam overhead hung a stained pair of saw-toothed leg irons, mute testimony to the manner in which some ill-fated wretch had been suspended in agony. A rack, an iron boot by a forge, and a score of other torture devices gave evidence to the horrors which had taken place within this chamber.
They were all ranged along one side of the room. The other wall was bare, and of an odd, shiny blackness. But Traile had only a moment to inspect it. For Sonya, after that horrified glance down at the table, was turning away. He was at her side in a flash, one hand raised to stop the cry he expected. Her red lips parted in amazement, but only a moan came.
“Are you mad?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you escape when you had the chance, up there?”
He started to reply, then he saw the thing on the table. For a second, he thought he was looking again on the mutilated body of Peter Courtland. There, on a decorated black velvet pall, lay a corpse in evening clothes. Like Courtland’s, his head had been cut off and sewed on again, backward. Two tall candles shone down on the distorted face of the dead man. And there between them was the Golden Skull!
—
Traile stared in fascination at the gleaming metal face, while Sonya frantically tugged at his arm. Then he shook her off, took a quick step and bent over the corpse. It was only after a second glance that he recognized the agonized features of Merton Cloyd.
“You must get away,” Sonya was saying wildly. “You should never have followed me.”
Traile’s lean face was cold.
“You know why I am here.”
“You can never hope to capture him,” she said hopelessly. “He is too well guarded.”
Traile’s dark eyes bored into her.
“I am not trying to capture Yen Sin. I came to save the man who unfortunately has fallen in love with you.”
Astonishment filled her lovely eyes.
“But I don’t—” She turned, with a suddenly frightened look. At the same moment Traile thought he heard a faint scuffing from the black gloom of the torture chamber. As he wheeled for an anxious glance, Sonya gasped and seized his arm. But before she could pull him aside, there was a swishing sound from above.
Then a noose flashed down over their heads.
Traile caught desperately at the rope, but it was already tightening about their necks. Sonya was swiftly drawn against him, her white hands futilely clutching at the noose. He had a brief glimpse of a snarling brown face, where a dacoit had crawled out on the beam above. Then a sibilant voice spoke hurriedly, and through the door he had left open came the Yellow Doctor.
A look of disappointment shot over the Burmese’s face. He k
ept the noose taut, but ceased his pull on the rope. Dr. Yen Sin calmly approached, a scalpel gleaming in one claw-like hand.
“You are a few minutes late, Mr. Traile—but since you have already broken our agreement, it is no matter.”
“I’ve kept my word,” Traile said, his voice thick from the pressure of the noose against his throat. “I could have escaped when that fire bomb went off.”
The Yellow Doctor gave him a sneering smile.
“You are lying. I have already had a report. You followed Sonya through the secret entrance, thinking your agents were close behind you.”
Sonya was struggling to widen the noose. She flung an angry look up at the dacoit.
“Clumsy fool!” she said in Hindustani. “I drew him straight under you. You did not have to catch me, too.”
“It will be only a brief inconvenience,” Doctor Yen Sin said smoothly. “Kang Fu will be here with help in a moment.”
He had stopped close to Traile, the scalpel half-raised with a mocking significance.
“I am sorry to tell you, Mr. Traile, that your men have been intercepted.”
Traile’s face hardened.
“I obeyed your instructions to the letter. If I was followed, I know nothing of it.”
The Crime Emperor smiled contemptuously.
“Lies will not help you now. You chose to break faith, and for that, your friend will die.”
“I’ve surrendered myself,” Traile retorted fiercely. “I demand that you send the drug to revive him.”
Sonya Damitri twisted around, her great black eyes fixed on him with a strange expression. The dacoit up on the beam growled something in his throat. Doctor Yen Sin looked up sharply. In the same moment, light showed through the shiny black wall, disclosing that it was glass. Several figures were moving in the adjoining room. Desperation came over Traile as he saw Kang Fu and three of Yen Sin’s killers. In another second, they would be entering through some secret door, and his last chance would be gone.
He stole a look toward the beam. The rope was pulled halfway around an upright to the ceiling, but the dacoit’s eyes were on the Yellow Doctor, as he started to mutter something. Traile’s hands shot up and gripped the rope. Doctor Yen Sin sprang forward with a snarl. But that sudden, violent jerk had done its work.
—
Pulled off-balance, the killer came plunging down headfirst. Yen Sin jumped back just in time. The hurtling form of the Burmese struck against his arm, and the scalpel fell from his hand. Then the dacoit thudded against the floor.
Traile’s fingers were frantically widening the noose. As he cast it aside, the Yellow Doctor whirled to seize the knife. Traile crashed into him with a force that sent him back against the wall. Then he snatched up the scalpel and dashed for the door he had entered.
Sonya had sped out into the passage. Traile pulled at the door as he raced past, and it closed to a narrow slit. He was about to run in the direction from which he had come when the girl reappeared, caught at his arm.
“This way!” she whispered tensely.
He hastily followed her around a bend in the bricked tunnel. A connecting passage and two doors were dimly visible in the gloom.
“Take the second door,” she said in a low tone. “Hide inside until I can come back.”
Her voice rang out in a scream as he sprang into the darkness back of the opened door. He hauled the door almost shut, his pulses pounding as he heard the howls of Yen Sin’s assassins in answer to Sonya’s cry. In a few seconds there was a rush of feet, then a fierce jabbering of foreign voices.
“The left passage!” he heard Sonya tell them. The snarling voices and sounds of running feet died away. Traile waited, then to his dismay the voice of the Crime Emperor came from only a few feet away. It was harsh with anger.
“If you had signaled from Entrance Three, he would have been caught before this could have happened.”
“But the wires had been cut,” Sonya protested in a voice that trembled. “And the rainbow fire had so frightened me—”
“Return and find Agent Eighty-five,” the Yellow Doctor interrupted coldly. “I wish to question her, after the council meeting.”
“I am sure she was not to blame,” Sonya began, but Doctor Yen Sin peremptorily cut her short. Traile heard her move away, and after a moment he caught the soft footsteps of the Crime Emperor as he also departed.
He waited a minute, then cautiously opened the door. Indistinct sounds came from both directions outside. He looked back into his hiding place. It was a small room, littered with boxes—some empty, some of them unopened. He saw several trunks, two of them heavily roped. There was another door. He closed the one where he stood, moved across in the dark and tried the other. It was locked.
He stood in the dark, thinking intently. Yen Sin’s killers might return and search this area when they failed to find him. It was doubtful that Sonya could get back in time to help him, and he was still not sure of her. At any moment, her dread of the Yellow Doctor might cause her to change her mind.
There was a slim chance that he could escape through the Black Dragon restaurant and return with a huge raiding party. But it was the only way he could see to force Yen Sin to save Eric.
He started to open the door, holding the scalpel partly up his sleeve. Suddenly there was a click from behind him, and without further warning the other door swung open.
There stood one of the Gray Men!
Chapter 13
The Cult of the Golden Skull
As the light from the passage beyond fell on Traile, the Gray Man jumped back with an oath. His right hand plunged under his coat. Traile leaped, whirling the scalpel out of his sleeve. The Gray Man gave a cry of fear, threw himself aside. The blade scraped the edge of the door.
The Gray Man’s hand reappeared with an automatic. Traile dropped the knife, seized the arm with the gun. A furious twist, and the weapon clattered to the floor. A muffled howl of pain came through the mouth-slit of the rubber mask. Then Traile’s fist crashed on the other man’s jaw. The Gray Man staggered, then came back with a snarl.
He swung wildly with his left. Traile shifted, landed an uppercut that sent the Gray Man reeling. Before he could recover, Traile snatched the mask away. The hate-filled eyes of Mark Bannister glared into his.
“I thought so!” Traile said grimly.
With a sudden lunge, Bannister dived at the gun. But Traile had seen the purpose which tensed the millionaire’s face. As Bannister’s head went down, Traile swung with all his might. There was a crack like a half-muffled shot, and the millionaire sagged to the floor.
Traile bent over him, made sure that the man was not shamming. A hasty glance showed him that Bannister had been alone. The passage through which he had come ended with a dark glass door, of the type which he had seen before. The wall was decorated with red-and-gold circles. He closed the door, took out his cigarette lighter and lit it. With this to guide him, he cut the rope from one of the trunks. After a quick scrutiny, he removed Bannister’s coat and tie, then bound the unconscious man. He substituted the millionaire’s tie and coat for his own, pressed the adhesive edges of the rubber mask onto his face, and dropped Bannister’s gun into his pocket. There was a signet ring on the millionaire’s right middle finger. He slipped it onto his own.
A minute later he stepped out into the other passage. He had left the millionaire concealed as much as possible behind the boxes and trunks, and had improvised a gag. If luck were with him, he would be out of the secret base and on his way to phone for help before Bannister recovered or was found.
They were about the same height, and though Bannister was slightly heavier, the difference would not be easily noticed. In the left lapel of the millionaire’s coat was a peculiar little ribbon which Traile suspected was a mark of identification. That and the gray mask should carry him through.
He was nearing the door to the torture chamber when he saw a similar door about twenty feet farther on. It was open, and a stolid Chinese was foll
owing another of the Gray Men inside.
Traile paused, waiting for the door to be closed, but it remained open. He started on, intending to pass by hastily. But before he could reach it, the door to the torture chamber slid silently back, and the candlelight from the gruesome scene within fell squarely upon him.
The man who had opened the door was Kang Fu. He looked sharply at Traile, then glanced at the ribbon in his lapel. Then he turned and spoke toward the center of the gloomy room.
“Here he is now, Master.”
The malignant face of the Yellow Doctor appeared in the candle glow. He beckoned imperiously to Traile.
“Come in, I have a final instruction for you.”
—
Traile’s heart sank. If he attempted to escape now, the alarm would be flashed before he could reach the entrance. He stepped inside, and Kang Fu closed the door. The Crime Emperor motioned the Eurasian out of earshot.
“I am anticipating trouble with Citizen Ten,” he said in an ominous voice. “He is already in the Council Room. Go in and keep close watch on him until the others arrive. Do not forget your part. You, also, are supposed to be an unwilling member of the Empire.”
“I know,” Traile said in a harsh tone which closely resembled Bannister’s voice.
The Yellow Doctor’s weird eyes probed at his masked face.
“There is no occasion for fear about tonight’s affair,” he said impatiently, “if that is what troubles you. My men are searching, and Traile cannot escape. The deaths of Citizen Five and Lecoste have already been covered. Nothing can ruin our plans now.”
Traile silently nodded. Doctor Yen Sin gestured to Kang Fu.
“When you have played the role of escort for Mr. Bannister, bring me one of the skull seals.”
The half-caste looked at the gruesome display on the table, and Traile saw that the Golden Skull was gone.
