But he had no time to cogitate on the subject at that moment. The Chinese, Yu’an, was in China Bobby’s office passing out weapons to the men who were to assist in kidnaping the mayor. As “X” entered the office, Yu’an approached him, handed him a knife, and whispered: “It is with great joy that I learn that you, my friend, are to accompany me on this expedition of great danger.”
“X” bowed in silence, accepted the knife, and tucked it into his sleeve. He had already resolved that Yu’an’s joy should be short-lived indeed.
Chapter XI
FOG hung heavy over the suburban estate of Mayor Grauman. Its vaporous tentacles twined around the chimneys that stood up from the slate roof like so many little minarets. Behind the fifteen-foot wall that surrounded the house, the mayor had sought sanctuary after a week of tiresome official duties. That wall was topped with a complicated network of wires that were connected with burglar alarms. Yet he must have known that no wall, no alarm had yet been devised that was proof against the Ghoul.
That night, there was no sense of security in the mayor’s heart. The Ghoul had promised to strike. Only once had he failed.
On the last stroke of twelve, the iron gates that surrounded the mayor’s grounds swung open. A big car whisked through to the highway and the gates clanged shut behind it. The car had not proceeded along the road more than a quarter of a mile before its lone occupant saw a blur of headlights through the fog directly ahead. He touched his light switch once, twice — a little signal that had been worked out beforehand.
Then he braked his car alongside of three others that were parked on the shoulder of the road. He got out. Headlights shone on the vizor of the man’s cap. He was the mayor’s own chauffeur.
Behind the wheel of the foremost car, a thin, yellow face with long, drooping mustaches gleamed with faint ivory luminosity in the light from the car’s dashboard. It was the face of Yu’an, the Ghoul’s henchman.
The chauffeur saluted. “The mayor has been warned. A guard of state police is on its way. Within fifteen minutes they will be on hand to take him back to the city where he will be kept in the prison for safety’s sake.”
Yu’an’s eyes became mere slits. “Who warned him?” he asked.
“A Chinese woman,” replied the chauffeur. “She came here wearing a pair of embroidered pajamas. She delivered the warning to the mayor’s two bodyguards.”
An almost imperceptible smile flitted across the yellow face of the man beside Yu’an — the man who looked like China Bobby. Betty Dale had succeeded in warning the mayor. “X” could only hope that this warning would prevent the Ghoul’s plan from being put into effect. But in another moment, he was disappointed. Yu’an told the chauffeur that they would strike at once.
The men got from the car, and Yu’an divided them into four parties — three groups of three men and the fourth group composed of the remaining members of the gang. This fourth group was detailed to waylay the police. The other three groups were to go at once to three strategic points where jumping-balloons had been brought and moored under cover of darkness.
Agent “X”, in the disguise of China Bobby, was one of the three in the group led by Yu’an. Beside the thin-faced Chinese, “X” trotted toward the knoll at the east side of the wall surrounding the mayor’s grounds. There, faintly visible in the gray sky, a dark, round shape tugged at its moorings and swayed in the night breeze. It was a jumping-balloon.
“As soon as I have landed on the other side of the wall,” Yu’an said to “X” and the third man, “you will both be ready to meet me at the other side of the estate. Because of the strong wind, I will be able to jump only in one direction.” Yu’an was fastening the line from the jumping-balloon to the leather harness about his waist. To this harness were fastened canvas bags of shot which would be dropped when Yu’an laid hands on the mayor. These bags compensated for the weight of the second man when the jump was being made.
“When I return with the mayor,” Yu’an explained to the Secret Agent, “you, my friend, will fire this flare pistol.” He thrust into “X’s” hands a pistol with a hard rubber butt and a thin metal barrel. “It will be a signal for the car to drive to the spot of my landing.”
“X” was standing close to the Chinese. His right hand gripped the knife that was thrust up inside his sleeve. His nerves and muscles were tense, ready for the instant when everything depended upon his quick and accurate movements. Yu’an flexed his knees, testing the buoyancy of the balloon. A strange, eerie note, like the cry of an owl, tocsined across the sky.
“The signal,” whispered the Chinese. “The other balloons are ready.” He answered the signal with a similar cry. His knees flexed until he was almost squatting on the ground.
SUDDENLY, he sprang into the air. And at exactly the same moment, Agent “X’s” knife flicked across the cord that held the ballast bags. As Yu’an shot into the air, “X” dropped his knife and seized the Chinaman’s harness. Adding the force of his own leap to that of Yu’an, the balloon shot up through the damp, swirling gray fog.
“X” saw Yu’an’s thin fingers whip out a knife. He saw the keen blade flash downward. “X” let go with his right hand and caught Yu’an’s knife wrist firmly in his own grasp. The Chinese wriggled like an eel, trying to break that hold, trying to shake the Agent off. Sixty feet below, as the balloon gained the peak of the parabola which it traveled, the roof of the mayor’s house bulked darkly against the mist-enshrouded earth. And at the end of the rope of the now descending balloon, “X” and the Chinese fought their silent battle. “X’s” legs scissored about the knees of Yu’an. His ankles crossed, locked into place.
For a split second, he released his grip on the man’s harness to swing his left arm up around Yu’an’s neck. He strained upward until his full weight was upon the Chinaman’s shoulders. He wrenched the knife from Yu’an’s hand, only to have the Chinese yank an automatic from his pocket. The gun came up quickly. “X” drove a short hard blow at the side of the Chinaman’s head — a blow that did not land. The gun in Yu’an’s hand — was it an automatic, or the Agent’s own gas gun? If it was the former, he could not hope to escape the shot; for the barrel was pointed straight at his head.
Suddenly, the slanting roof house became something more than a mere dark blot. “X” was evidently of much lighter build than the mayor, and the lack of ballast had permitted the balloon to travel farther than had been planned.
“X” sent another blow to Yu’an’s head. The pistol blew just as they bumped lightly against the roof and started sliding down toward the eaves. The anesthetizing vapor hissed into the Agent’s face, but he had been prepared, had held his breath. But the Chinese, knowing nothing about the weapon in his hand, had not been prepared. The cloud of gas dissipated; but, even so, it was of sufficient power to knock out the unwary Chinese. The gas gun dropped from his fingers, slid down the slates, and fell over the eaves.
“X’s” foot encountered the edge of a small skylight that evidently opened into the attic of the mayor’s home. Still clinging to the harness about the Chinaman, he maneuvered his foot so that they might slide farther down the roof to a point where they were stopped by one of many chimneys that sprouted from the roof.
Loosening the line at Yu’an’s belt, “X” moored the balloon to the chimney. With his pocketknife, he cut the Chinese away from the harness and propped him against the chimney to prevent him from rolling off the roof. What became of Yu’an when he at length awoke was no affair of Secret Agent “X”. The Chinese would not have the jumping-balloon to aid him, for “X” had already planned how he would use the balloon in his scheme to save the mayor. For the mayor would be kidnaped that night, but not by the Ghoul if “X” had anything to say about it.