“But—my motor-killing rays—” The Rajah’s eyes were wide. “They extend up only 300 feet. I hovered well above that point and came down a ladder. And here it is.” The ladder swung in from the darkness. The Merlin’s voice was amused as he slipped the “flashlight” into his flying suit. “A clever trick—but I have a very powerful magnet. I’ll leave you, gentlemen—” For an instant his attention was distracted as he put one foot on the window-sill. Simultaneously the tallest European acted. With a deep-voiced oath he sprang forward, seized the Merlin, and clamped one hand over the outlaw’s gun-wrist. “Hold him!” the secretary shrilled. He dived for an alarm buzzer. The other Europeans closed in. The Merlin fought in silence. His opponent was trying to drag him back into the room—and that would be fatal. The outlaw dropped his weapon and gripped the ladder, with both hands now. He pulled himself up, putting all his weight on his arms. Inevitably the European was lifted too. Overbalanced, the two went arcing into the night as clutching fingers missed their mark by a fraction. “Shoot!” the Rajah screamed. “Shoot him!” Guns blazed from the window. Dim in the moonlight two figures were struggling on a frail metal ladder, suspended above nothingness. A scrap of cloth went fluttering down. “His mask—” Out of the dark came a voice, sharp and clear. “_Martell!_” It rose in a scream. One of the figures went plunging down. The secretary was at the window, a flashlight in his hand. He focused the beam on the quarry, a man in flying togs who kept his face turned from the light. Now other rays shot out from the roof, bathing the Merlin in merciless brilliance. A shot cracked sharply. “They’ll get him,” the Rajah said. “I’ve sub-machine guns on the roof.” The Merlin’s hand lifted, fumbled over the ladder. And—suddenly—he was gone! Ladder and outlaw vanished! The Rajah stared in blank amazement. “How—” “Automatic winding device in his plane. It just wound him up.” The European who spoke looked at his empty gun. “Better get your planes after him.” At a nod from the Rajah the secretary hurried from the room. “We’ll get him,” royalty remarked. “No, you won’t. The Merlin’s got a fast plane. He’s pulled off these things before. But this time—well, he lost his mask.” “Did you recognize him?” “Stone did, before he fell. He screamed a name. Remember? Martell.” “A common name,” the Rajah frowned. “Stone and I worked closely together. He knew no Martells. He recognized the name and the face from elsewhere. Newsreels—newspapers—everybody knows Seth Martell and his sons. I’ll get in touch with my government immediately. May I use your televisor?” “Yes. Recover the Earth Star, and I’ll buy it.” “That,” said the European grimly, “is a bargain.” CHAPTER II Escape