The Emperor of Death Read Online Free PDF

scramble for the evil yellow metal — led the way down the broad flight of steps at the rear of the building.
    He never hesitated once; and the Phantom, living up to his grim appellation, followed close on his heels. With unerring stride, as if he were a daily familiar of the bank, Hesterberg led the way to the vault that sheltered the safety deposit boxes of the bank’s depositors.
    Two of the Russian’s henchmen stood before the ravaged door, their work completed. The ponderous steel portal hung awry from one hinge, neatly and expertly blown from its moorings. With an avid eye on the dim-lit interior beyond, Hesterberg dismissed his two henchmen with a grunt and with two long eager strides swept into the interior of the stronghold.
    For a second time that night the Phantom was tormented with the mad desire to call for an immediate showdown; to reveal himself to the Mad Red, not as Number 8, but as the Phantom himself. The momentary advantage was his. They were alone together, those two, deep in the subterranean vault. To him would be the vantage of a surprise attack. All he would have to do would be to draw his automatic.
    But then sanity again asserted itself. To kill Hesterberg was one thing; to get out of the bank was another. And anyway, Mad Red or no, he couldn’t shoot the Russian down in cold blood. Time for gun play later, he decided. First he had to discover what mad enterprise brought Hesterberg to that particular vault of the bank.
    He was not left long in doubt as the pencil of light from the pocket torch in the other’s hands came to rest on a brass plate above a huge strong box which bore the following legend: IMPERIAL JAPANESE EMBASSY.
    For the first time the Phantom was given some inkling of the magnitude of the plunder. Let his henchmen loot the money coffers! He, Hesterberg, was interested in far more important things. State documents, State papers, secret files! Who could tell but that the balance of world power lay concealed behind that enigmatic locked door?
    The looting of a bank was one thing, but the disrupting of international relations was another and far more important one. What was behind that locked door guarded by the seal of the Japanese Embassy? What contents lay within that little, two by two cubby-hole, that Hesterberg should have planned so minutely, risking so much to discover?
    Hesterberg, too, was impatient with curiosity. With a hand that trembled slightly and an eye that gleamed fanatically even through the visor of his gas mask, he fitted a slender, tapering key into the lock of the box and turned it. The door swung open at his touch.
    All thought of the automatic clutched in his right hand forgotten; all thought of an immediate showdown swept from his mind, the Phantom leaned eagerly over the Mad Red’s shoulder and peered eagerly into the dim recess of the stronghold.
    Neat bundles of heavily sealed, official documents met his eye. Hesterberg plunged two rapacious hands into them; pulled them out to the probing light of his torch.
    The first he discarded with a grunt of disdain. The Phantom noted that it was a list of the secret operatives of Moravia. The second and third packets Hesterberg swept from him with ill-concealed rage. They fell unnoted at his feet.
    So intent was he on the remaining packets that he failed to note that his good right hand — Number 8 — had stooped to retrieve the fallen documents. While Hesterberg was avidly scanning the remaining papers, the Phantom managed to scribble a few words on the face of one of the packets and stuffed it into his inside pocket.
    An ironic smile played on his lips for a moment. For the first time since assuming the role of Hesterberg’s henchman he felt sure of himself. He was playing his old game again; using his old style, his old technique.
    His mental gloatings were cut short abruptly by a throaty chuckle of satisfaction from Hesterberg.
    Hesterberg thumped the top packet in his hand with an enthusiastic fist and