“X” sprang toward the man, his cigarette lighter in his hand. The man turned at the sound and stabbed for his gun. But before he could get it out, “X” had pressed a button on the side of the lighter and a fine spray of anesthetizing vapor shot from the lighter. At the same time, he wrenched the man’s automatic from his hand. The Ghoul’s servant staggered, choked on an oath, and fell forward at “X’s” feet. His flashlight crashed to the floor and went out.
“X” turned the beam of his own light on the man’s face. It was the dark-haired, broad-shouldered Morgan. The Secret Agent dragged him back into the cell. There, he made a careful search of the man’s pockets. The search revealed nothing that would be of use to “X” save a bunch of keys. Probably, Morgan was the Ghoul’s jailor.
In another moment, “X” was out of the passage and running toward the stairway. He took the steps two at a time, and came to a stop at the door that lead into China Bobby’s office. A moment he hesitated. There was no sound within the office, yet the half-caste might still be at work at his desk. “X” drew the automatic that he had taken from Morgan. He tried the door and found it unlocked. Cautiously, he inched it open.
The room was empty, and on the desk lay the Agent’s special equipment that the searching fingers of Yu’an had taken from him. Quickly, he removed the contents of his makeup kit, medical kit, and tool-kit. He thrust the rest of his equipment into his pockets and was putting his amplifying device away when he heard the murmur of voices on the other side of the left-hand wall. He tip-toed across the room, his sound amplifying device in his hand.
He placed the microphone against the wall and held the box to his ear. Manipulating a rheostat on one side of the box, he clarified the sound, and made the words audible. The Ghoul was speaking and evidently to China Bobby:
“That Morgan has failed. Furthermore, our spies believe that last night he tried to get in touch with the police. He is trying to sell out. Inasmuch as we must get rid of him, I intend to use him as a subject of experimentation. Vardson, the chief chemist, has developed a new phase of the Amber Death that does not penetrate so rapidly and hence does not reach the vital organs so quickly. It means better control for us and longer torment for our victims — and more money. You understand, China Bobby?”
“Yes, Master,” replied the half-caste meekly.
“Then in a few minutes you will send the man Morgan to the laboratory on some trumped-up errand. Later, we shall see to this girl reporter. From her we may be able to learn something definite regarding the man who stands between us and the wealth of the nation.”
CHINA BOBBY started to say something. However, “X” did not listen for more. He sprang back to the steps leading down into the catacombs. Without the aid of his light, he hurried down the steps. As he ran along the narrow tunnel, he flashed his light from one cell to another, trying to locate the one occupied by the unconscious Morgan.
In two of the cells, he saw nondescript underworld characters chained to the wall, evidently being disciplined for some slight mistake they had made while serving the Ghoul. In another cell, “X” saw the body of Ah-Fang, one-time valet of Gilbert Warnow. He had evidently only suffered a scalp wound from the bullet China Bobby had fired at him that night. Probably, he had come seeking to be revenged on the half-caste only to be murdered by Yu’an.
Entering the cell in which he had been imprisoned for so short a time, “X” knelt beside the unconscious Morgan. For a brief interlude, he studied every angle of the man’s face. Then setting up the small mirror that he had taken from his pocket make-up kit, he proceeded, in the uncertain light of his flashlight, to disguise himself as Morgan. In spite of the adverse conditions under which he worked, the effect was marvelous. After he had changed clothes with the gunman he felt that he could pass for Morgan even under the eyes of the Ghoul.
In a corner of the cell, “X” hid as much of his paraphernalia as he possibly could. He retained the automatic which he had taken from Morgan; it was a weapon that would arouse no suspicion in case he was searched. He also loaded a small hypodermic needle with an anesthetizing drug, and concealed the needle in an inner pocket of his coat. Having slipped a new charging cylinder into the anesthetizing gas chamber of his lighter, he considered himself prepared to meet the Ghoul.
“X” had already deduced something of the process by which the Ghoul turned men into hideous, living mummies. He knew that certain aldehydes, particularly formaldehyde, produce peculiar changes in the proteins of the human body. That formic acid played some part in the preparation of the mysterious chemical compound the Ghoul employed, had been indicated by China Bobby’s reference to stinging ants and nettles. Both were natural sources of that acid. “X” believed that the Ghoul’s Amber Death simply enabled him to change the colloidal protein on the human body into synthetic amber. The Ghoul embalmed his victims alive.
It was as he hurried up the steps leading from the Ghoul’s prison cells that his disguise was compelled to undergo its severest test. A beam of light in the hands of a man at the top of the steps flashed directly into his eyes. “X” stopped, and steeled his nerves for the ordeal that was to come. For he had seen Morgan only twice, and heard him speak once.
“Morgan!” China Bobby’s cold metallic voice sounded hollow as he shouted down the stairs. “What have you been doing down there?”
“Oh, it was that dick we took in, sir,” the Agent explained, relying on his memory to recall the voice and manner of speaking of the man he represented.
“What’s the matter with him?”
“He was making all kinds of a fuss. So I conked him on the head, and he’ll be out for a bit of a nap.”
China Bobby stood aside to permit “X” to enter the office. He followed the Secret Agent, closing the door behind him. “The Ghoul,” China Bobby said, “places a good deal of trust in you, Morgan.”
“Glad to hear that,” replied “X”.
“As you probably have heard, we are going to kidnap the mayor shortly, and force him to appeal to the people of the city for a huge sum of money to be paid to the Ghoul for his release. You understand what kind of release!” China Bobby chuckled. “The Ghoul wants to see you.”
“X’s” jaw dropped. He simulated surprise. “Y-you mean I am to meet him face to face?” But while he had spoken to the half-caste, his mind considered this new enterprise of the Ghoul. Kidnap the mayor. Then Mayor Grauman would be subjected to the Amber Death.
China Bobby smiled. “I cannot say as to that,” he replied. “But come with me. I will show you to the laboratory.” China Bobby touched a button on his desk. One of the many sliding doors in the room opened. He led “X” through this and down a labyrinthian corridor to stop in front of a steel door. There was a Chinese dragon lacquered on the center of the door. The half-caste said: “You have only to press the eye of the dragon and you will be in the laboratory.” He turned and retraced his steps.
Without hesitation, “X” pressed the dragon’s eye. Immediately, the lights in the passage went out. The entire floor seemed to tremble beneath him and move down so gradually that he was scarcely conscious of it. A panel flipped open in front of him, and he faced a brilliantly lighted room. Boldly he stepped into the room and the panel closed behind him. In amazement that his masterly control could not disguise, “X” stared about the room. And in a row along the wall, the graveless dead stared back at him.
A veritable museum of accursed art! A silent hell. The laboratory of Satan himself. Daniel Calvert, Lionel Gage, Dr. Luigi, Gilbert Warnow and others who had mysteriously disappeared in the last few days — all were there, standing erect, their stiffened bodies yellow shells of amber. And inside those hardened bodies, they lived and knew the torture of the damned. But aside from himself, “X” saw no other truly living thing within the room. On shelves and in cabinets about the room were rows of chemicals and apparatus.