Ah Wing took a long stride, which brought him close to the man who held
the jewel case.
The Oriental’s steely eyes were fastened unwaveringly upon the pendant,
whose history for half a century had been transcribed in suffering
and death. Misfortune had followed this unique assemblage of perfect
stones: death and insanity; the breaking of friendships; the treachery
of children toward parents; the murder of lover by lover. And now the
mysterious Chinaman seemed to have fallen under the spell of the gems,
for he was taking in every detail of their perfection.
For a moment the assault upon the door had ceased, but now it was
continued. Heavy blows fell, and the walls of the subterranean apartment
shook.
“It will not take your friends long to discover that they cannot reach us
by that route,” commented Ah Wing tranquilly, turning at last from his
inspection of the Resurrection Pendant. “The door has a middle sheeting
of boiler iron. It is bullet proof.”
He reseated himself, motioning for Colonel Knight to do the same.
Absently he watched the white man close the jewel case, wrap it carefully
in brown paper, and return it to his ulster pocket.
“And now,” continued the Chinaman, “I will ask you to tell me about these
men. You say there are five of them? Please describe them to me, one at
a time. Tell me all that you can remember as to physical and mental
characteristics—I want every detail you can give me.”
Colonel Knight sat down heavily. It was obvious that the assault upon the
door was shaking his nerves so that he could hardly command his voice.
His eyes were the eyes of some hunted thing, which sees itself at the end
of a blind alley.
With an evident effort, he tore his glance from the quivering panels and
fastened it on his companion.
“Yes,” he said hollowly, “there are five of these men, and they have been
chosen from the elite of the criminal world. I myself selected them and
trained them. Each has his special ability. I will begin with the man
whom I considered the brainiest of them all—the one who was almost my
equal in planning and executing a really big robbery. His name is Monte
Jerome.”
Suddenly the blows on the door ceased; and the room was so still, after
the ferocious assault, that it seemed to press on the ear drums of the
speaker. He winced and for a moment was silent. Then, resolutely he
continued:
“Monte is thirty-five years old. He is less than five feet six, but is
broad shouldered and powerful. He grew up in the alleys of a large city.
He fought his way to the leadership of gang after gang, and at the time I
picked him up was looking for new worlds to conquer. I chose him because
of four qualities: his physical strength; his native cunning; his lack of
sentiment—or, as it is usually called, ‘mercy’—and his absolute freedom
from superstition. Monte believes in neither God, man, nor the devil. He
was my right-hand man—and it is to his merciless pursuit that I owe my
condition!”
Ah Wing had drawn a note-book from his pocket and was jotting down data.
He glanced placidly toward the door, which was again shaking under a rain
of heavy blows.
“Pray continue!” said he.
Something of the Chinaman’s imperturbability was beginning to influence
the white man. He went on with greater assurance:
“Next to Monte Jerome in total ability, I always placed the man we called
‘Doc.’ I never knew his real name. That was not important, as he went
under many aliases. Doc was my means of approach to the wealthy men
and women—and particularly the latter—upon whom I specialized. He is a
university man, and has lived among people of wealth and refinement much
of his life.
“He has brains, but lacks the quality of ruthlessness so important in
really successful commercial crime. He is utterly selfish, I believe,
but certain necessary factors in his profession are revolting to him—and
he has never made the effort to put down this weakness. Physically he
is prepossessing: an inch or two over six feet in height, blue eyes,
light brown hair, splendid carriage; and possessed of the manners of a
Chesterfield.”
A thin, faint voice came through the door, upon which the tattoo had
momentarily ceased:
“We’ve got you, Count! Open that door, or we’ll gouge your eyes out when
we break in!”
Ah Wing waved his hand affably toward the source of this ominous promise.
“And our friend out there?” said he. “Is he one of those whom you have
described?”
“I was just coming to him,” replied Colonel Knight, raising a shaking
hand to his forehead and mopping off the beaded perspiration. “That is
‘Billy the Strangler,’ and I think the ‘Kid’ is with him. Those were my
Apaches—my gun men—my killers. They are much alike. Both have cunning of
a low order; and persistence—they are like bloodhounds, once they are put
on the trail.
“They have been Monte’s most useful tools in his pursuit of me. But both
are superstitious, and their native bloodthirstiness has grown on them
till they are little better than homicidal maniacs. The Strangler is tall
and slim, with high cheek bones and lean arms which seem to be threaded
with steel wires. The Kid is of medium height, with grey eyes and sandy
hair.”
The assault on the door had again been discontinued. Suddenly there
came from directly overhead a sound of splintering boards, accompanied
by a rain of dust and bits of plaster. Knight sprang up and retreated,
snarling, toward a corner of the empty room.
“Ah, I have been waiting to see if your old comrades would think of
that,” he commented. “It gives us a line on their resourcefulness.”
Colonel Knight regarded him with drawn lips, which exposed his yellow
teeth.
“For God’s sake, what are we to do?” he cried. “Are you armed? You sit
there like a statue—”
“Pray continue your very interesting description,” suggested Ah Wing.
“There remains one of your band whom you have not described. I must know
about him—and then I will deal with this other matter!”
For an instant the thief glared into the face of the man seated across
from him. What he read there steadied him a little, although the crash
of splintering boards from above told him that the men he had such good
reason to fear were meeting with less resistance in this direction than
they had encountered in their assault upon the door.
“There remains but one,” he said hoarsely. “That is Louie Martin, my gem
expert. Martin is one of the best judges of diamonds and pearls in the
world. He is an expert in recutting and remounting stolen jewelry. And
he has a wide acquaintance among the crooked dealers of this country and
Europe—”
An extensive area of plaster broke away suddenly and crashed down,
tumbling about the heads and shoulders of the two occupants of the room.
At the same instant the end of a heavy gas-pipe crashed through the
laths, and the voices of the men on the floor above were raised in a
shout of ferocious triumph.
Ah Wing stood up deliberately and looked toward the ceiling. He seemed
to be measuring the progress of the men opposed to him. Then, without
hurrying he crossed the room toward a dimly lighted corner, where he
stooped and opened a small door in the wall. This door was built in
segments, like that of a safe; and was hinged with metal plates of
enormous strength.
Colonel Knight, who cowered directly behind the Chinaman, felt a breath
of cool, moist air, smelling strongly of earthy decay, blowing up from
this diminutive doorway.
“Kindly precede me, Colonel,” commanded Ah Wing. “Watch your step—the
going is rather precipitous!”
Knight stooped and made his way through the opening. He found himself on
a stairway which went steeply down into utter darkness.
A cloud of white dust filtered up into the light of the electric bulb;
and, as Ah Wing stood watching, a lithe human figure landed with a crash
on top of the heap of plaster and splintered boards and laths.
In the same instant the Chinaman passed silently through the small
doorway, and his companion heard him slipping the bolts into place.
The darkness which had suddenly clutched them was so intense that it
seemed to have physical substance. A squeaking sound from above brought
Knight’s face swiftly up. Something cold and reptilian flapped into his
eyes and, with another _squeak_, was gone.
“Only a bat!” said Ah Wing softly. “Rest your hand on my shoulder and
feel your way a step at a time. I will turn on my flashlight!”
A conical beam of light drilled through the darkness below them, and Ah
Wing’s companion saw that they were descending a narrow flight of stone
steps that seemed to terminate in a panel of utter blackness. The walls
on each side were damp; and pallid fungi had taken the place of the
mildew of the cellars above.
“For God’s sake, where are we?” the white man demanded through chattering
teeth. “This looks like the shaft of a mine!”
“This is part of the underground system which made Chinatown famous,
before the disaster of 1906,” replied the Oriental. “Few white men have
ever been down here—particularly of late years!”
He paused. They had reached a narrow landing, from which passages
branched in half a dozen directions. Another descending stairway yawned
ahead.
“If I were to leave you here,” smiled Ah Wing, “you would never find
your way out! You could not go back the way you have come, for there are
acute-angled branches which would confuse you. Most of them end in masses
of rubbish, easily dislodged by the unwary! But with me you are safe!”
His voice had an ominous softness. Knight followed down along the second
flight of stairs. His heart was pounding. Suppose these crumbling walls
should collapse! Suppose this unearthly being, in whose hands his safety
lay, decided to rob him!
Ah Wing spoke abruptly:
“We have been following down the face of a hill. Now we reach the level,
and here we leave these catacombs!”
He turned sharply to the left and led the way along a short passage which
terminated in a second diminutive door. Ah Wing shot back the bolts and
motioned for his companion to proceed him into the room beyond.
Knight obeyed. Daylight was there—white, blazing daylight! He blinked as
he crept through the opening.
Next moment he tried to cry out. An arm had passed in front of his body,
pinioning him. In the same instant a sinewy hand came close to his face,
and there was a little tinkle of broken glass—a diminutive globule had
been broken under his nose.
The thief struggled to turn his head aside, fought to keep from breathing
in the stupefying fumes; but with a smothering gasp he surrendered.
He breathed deeply, and as he did so a sudden feeling of lightness and
of expansion came upon him. In the act of wondering stupidly what this
substance was that the Chinaman had forced upon him, his mind went blank.
Ah Wing continued for a moment to hold his hand over the mouth and
nostrils of his victim. Then he carried Knight across the room and laid
him on a divan. Turning deliberately, he pressed an electric button.
Somewhere in the brooding silence of the building, beyond this room, a
deep throated bell rang clamorously.
_CHAPTER THREE_