He had scarcely completed his preparation before the whispering voice of the Ghoul sounded within the room. “All will come to my room at once. Important instructions.”
“X” swung into the hall. He had not the slightest idea where the Ghoul’s room was, and he feared that failing to find it, he would be apprehended at once. As he hurried along the corridor, he almost bumped into the sinister Chinese known as Yu’an. Instantly, “X” depressed the switch in his pocket that sent the artificial stimulus to his right eye. Imitating the metallic voice of China Bobby, he said in Cantonese: “The master summons us, Yu’an.”
“And he is possessed by anger at the failure of his plan to take the spy,” replied Yu’an. “Many men have been tracked in the prison cells below.” He bowed slightly and stepped aside for the man whom he supposed to be China Bobby to go ahead. For a moment, “X” feared that he made a serious error. China Bobby was the Ghoul’s lieutenant. Perhaps China Bobby alone knew the exact location of the Ghoul’s chamber.
“X” SHOOK his head and motioned Yu’an to go ahead. “This night it is I who am your humble servant, Yu’an. For have you not saved my unworthy flesh from the assassin’s knife in killing the vengeful Ah-Fang?”
Yu’an bowed and to “X’s” immense relief, accepted the honor of leading the way to the Ghoul’s chamber.
They entered the central office of China Bobby. One of the panels was wide open. They entered to find a company of perhaps a score of men already assembled. They were men of the East and West, dangerous men who had police records. Walls and ceiling of the room were covered with bright gilt. Gold-painted armchairs were arranged facing a golden dais. Kneeling motionless at the foot of the dais were two gorgeously robed Chinese girls, each holding a bowl of green Chinese porcelain from which wisps of fragrant incense mounted toward the ceiling. A veritable curtain of gray mist, probably produced by some chemical reaction taking place beneath the dais, partially concealed a golden throne-like chair on the dais.
Somewhere, a gong sounded a low, vibrant note. The mist thickened, became almost impenetrable; but behind it, “X” noticed some slight movement waved the mist curtain. Perhaps a door had opened to admit the Ghoul.
A white man next to “X” whispered an oath. “Look!”
The mist cleared away, and seated on the golden chair was a man. A robe of yellow silk draped his shoulders and fell to his feet. A skull cap of the same material, topped with the coral bead of a mandarin, covered his head. The yellow veil that “X” had seen before dropped from the cap and covered his face.
For a moment of awful silence, the hidden eyes behind the veil seemed to be upon the men at the foot of the dais. Then, from behind the veil came the whispering voice of the Ghouclass="underline" “China Bobby, stand up.”
“X” calmly obeyed. He was confident of himself. He had purposely chosen to impersonate China Bobby because the Eurasian’s defective eye made such an impersonation seem nothing short of impossible.
“Did anyone pass through your office after I sent the men down into the catacombs to look for a spy?”
“No, master,” replied “X”.
“Very well. Since there are only two ways to leave these headquarters and one of them is known only to me, the spy must still be here. It is of no matter. He shall not escape.”
One of the white men, bolder than the others, spoke up. “If that spy you talk about was the guy known as Secret Agent ‘X’, there’ll be matter enough.”
“Silence, Cramer!” commanded the Ghoul. “I have called you men here for final instructions. As you know, the hour of my master stroke draws near. Tonight, you will proceed to the country home of the mayor. You will bring him alive to this place. Yu’an shall be in charge of the expedition. All arrangements have been made. Balloons have been moored at convenient spots. There will be fog, and positively no excuse for failure! You understand?”
“Nope.” It was the man called Cramer who spoke. “I’ll be damned if I see how you’re goin’ to get at the mayor. He’s been scared to death somebody will bump him with the Amber Death. He’s got bodyguards and all sorts of ’lectrical stuff strung around his place. Too damned much risk.”
“Cramer,” the Ghoul whispered, “I do not like your attitude.”
“Nor me yours. This whole gang of yellow-bellies is scared of you and your fake tricks. It’s a neat little old racket for you, but where do we come in? Your pay’s too thin. You keep all the big sugar for yourself. We take all the risks. You sit there and push buttons. Never show your face.”
The Ghoul waited until Cramer had finished. He leaned far forward in his chair. “Would you like to see my face, knowing that to look into my eyes means certain death?”
“Hooey!” Cramer turned around and looked at his companions. “Any of youse got the guts to oust this guy? He’s got most of the swag hid around here somewhere. Must be more’n a million bucks.”
Not a man stirred.
“Cramer!” commanded the Ghoul. “Look at me!”
THE man turned his head and confronted the Ghoul boldly. From beneath the yellow robe, a thin, yellow hand moved. With tantalizing slowness, that hand crawled up toward the yellow veil. The members of the gang were breathless. Some of them turned their eyes away as if they believed that the Ghoul could really kill with a glance.
Slowly, the thin fingers peeled back the veil. A gasp of stark terror breathed from the lips of every man in the room. For the face of the Ghoul was a yellow, dead thing with living eyes behind slanting lids. A round bullet hole had tunneled the creature’s forehead. It was unmistakably the face of Ah-Fang, Gilbert Warnow’s Chinese valet.
A hoarse cry ripped from the throat of Cramer. He sprang half out of his chair, uttered a strangled oath, and pitched forward on the floor.
The veil dropped over the hideous face of Ah-Fang. Yet “X” was not deceived. He had detected a movement of the Ghoul’s left hand beneath the silken robe. Almost at the same time, he had seen a hidden needle snap out of the arm of Cramer’s chair, and enter the gangman’s arm. Doubtless this needle had been poisoned. Probably a similar needle was in the arm of every chair in the room and each controlled by some sort of push button on the Ghoul’s chair.
“Now,” said the Ghoul, and his whisper did not hide the note of triumph in his voice, “there will be no more disobedience. Go all of you. From now on, Yu’an, who thought he killed me, is in command.”
The gong boomed hollowly again. Smoke fumed up from the dais and enveloped the form of the Ghoul. One by one the men filed from the room, and close behind Yu’an walked Secret Agent “X”.
So Yu’an had thought he had killed Ah-Fang. Surely, thought “X”, the Chinese had more intelligence than to believe that Ah-Fang had come to life again. Was it possible that the Ghoul had made a death-mask from the flesh of All-Fang’s face and had actually worn it to further the horror-hold he had upon his men? If so, then the Ghoul had earned his name. “X” had seen the fleshy death-mask that had been sent to Warnow. It had been mummified, turned to solid synthetic amber by the Ghoul’s deadly chemical weapon. It was probable that he made the mask he wore in a similar manner from the flesh of Ah-Fang.