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.