The wolves shifted their quarters that night to a rooming-house on the
edge of Chinatown, and the search for Colonel Knight and his mysterious
companion, the tall Chinaman, began.
For three days they worked feverishly. Monte Jerome seemed never to
sleep, and his temper was not at all improved by the ordeal. He drove his
companions fiercely, and only the fact that they were playing for big
stakes prevented open rebellion.
On the fourth day Monte and the “Kid,” who were loitering, alert but
almost hopeless, in the entrance to a building in one of the narrow
streets of the Oriental quarter, caught sight of a figure disappearing
through a doorway. It was a tall figure, partly concealed by a light
overcoat; but both of them leaped forward at the same instant.
“That was the Chink, sure as God made little red apples!” the “Kid”
snapped.
They crossed the street. Several automobiles were drawn up close to the
curb, among them a big blue limousine from which the Chinaman had stepped
a moment before they identified him. Monte approached a well-dressed
gentleman, who had just come out of the building, and asked him what was
going on inside.
“This is the fall exhibition of the Iconoclasts,” the stranger explained
good-naturedly.
He seemed to be sizing up the two crooks.
“I think you boys would enjoy it,” he added mischievously. “The admission
is only fifty cents.”
Monte and the “Kid” bought tickets, and presently they entered a big
room with a high ceiling, upon whose walls were hung a number of gaudy
paintings. The newcomers stared round at the fifty or more spectators who
were making the rounds of the gallery.
“Hell!” growled the “Kid,” “this ain’t no place for an honest strongarm
man—Let’s beat it and send for Doc!”
Monte gripped his arm.
“Look!” he said under his breath. “Over there near the corner!”
The “Kid” looked stealthily as directed, and perceived the tall man in
the gray topcoat. He was standing with his back to them, examining a red
and yellow daub that looked like an omelette liberally seasoned with
paprika.
“That’s him!” Monte whispered. “All right, Kid! You have Mike bring the
cab down to the corner where we was waiting. Then, when this duck beats
it out of here, I’ll hop in and we’ll follow him!”
Half an hour later the tall man in the gray coat—who in American
garb looked more like an Oriental than he had when dressed as a
Chinaman—paused to look deliberately at his watch, and then turned to the
outer door.
By the time he stepped into the blue limousine, Monte had reached the
corner and was climbing in beside the driver of the taxi. The “Kid” had
the window down, and was kneeling with his head close to the driver’s.
“How ’bout it, Mike!” Monte demanded. “Can you keep ’em in sight?”
“Watch me!” snorted the driver. “There ain’t no Chink going can leave me
behind. Did you see that chauffeur? Got a face like a monkey!”
There was no difficulty, for the present, in keeping the blue limousine
in sight, however. It went sedately down a side street and took the turn
toward the ferry. Five minutes later Monte and the Kid saw the cab in
which they were seated draw in behind the larger car, and roll over the
landing platform. The limousine was stationed on the right, and the cab
on the left, of the big boat.
Monte scrambled down, and with a curt command to the other two made his
way around to where he could see the enclosed car. The man in the gray
overcoat was sealed inside, with a coffee-brown Chinaman in livery at the
wheel. Monte kept them in sight till the ferry was approaching the slip.
Then he hurried back and climbed in again beside the driver.
“Here’s where they’ll try to leave us behind, if they have any idea we’re
following!” he predicted.
“Let ’em,” growled Mike. “If we don’t get took in by a speed cop, I won’t
never let no Chink drive away from me! You boys just hang onto your
bonnets, and watch us!”
The big blue car seemed to have accepted this challenge. The little man
at the wheel swung out and passed half a dozen slower machines, then took
the center of the road and held it.
With the coming of evening, a powdery fog swooped down over the ridges to
the west, and suddenly the tail lights of the limousine shot up in the
gloom ahead. Notch by notch, the Chinese chauffeur was adding to his
speed. The lighter car behind bounced and swayed, and Mike spat through
his teeth.
“Say, that bird must be clear nuts!” he growled. “If we get took in,
they’ll sentence us to about five life-times! What say, gents? Want to
let him go?”
“You keep going!” snarled Monte, staring hardeyed into the fog. “If we
get pinched, I pay for it, see? But don’t you let that bird get away, if
you want to sleep in your little bed tonight!”
Mike glanced sideways at the man whose elbow touched his. Something
he saw in the stony face of Monte Jerome caused him to turn all his
attention to the task in hand.
The tail lights had been growing dim, but now, slowly, the cab began to
gain. Other cars, headed for the ferry, shot out of the fog and into it,
honking warning horns at the crazily lurching machine that burned the
road in pursuit of the blue limousine. The stony faces of the three men
in the cab never deviated from their straight glare into the gloom ahead.
The speed of the big car was slackening. The driver of the cab grinned
wryly.
“He knows the ropes. Speed cop in this burg ahead lies awake nights
thinking up new ways of raising hell for speedy drivers,” he explained.
“Now we’ll creep up on ’em a little more!”
They passed through the little town and again were in the open country.
The limousine continued its more leisurely progress, however, and
presently turned to the right into a dirt road. The cab dropped farther
behind, at Monte’s command.
“They can’t get away from us on this road. Probably aren’t going far, and
we don’t want them to spot us. Take it easy!”
The road seemed to be leading gently down, and presently they caught the
gleam of water on each side. Rushes grew up close to the track; and from
somewhere in the dusk the cry of a gull sounded like the wailing of a
lost soul.
Involuntarily, the “Kid” shivered.
“Hell of a country!” he mumbled. “Where you reckon he’s headed for?”
“Wait and see!” snapped Monte. “Hello!—he’s turning in! That must be a
private road! Stop here!”
He slid from the seat and stood swinging his feet alternately, to restore
the circulation in them. Then he jerked his head into the darkness.
“Come on, Kid! We got to see what he’s up to!”
The “Kid” clambered out, and the two crooks struck silently up the road.
They reached the turn and found, as they had guessed, that they were at
the entrance to a private road.
Instinctively, the two men paused and stared in through the trees. Night
pressed thick and damp about them. A wind from the southeast brought to
them the smell of the marshes, and once the booming whistle of a steamer
sounded. In a lull of the wind, the gulls were screaming.
“This ain’t in my line, Chief!” snarled the “Kid,” glaring into the
darkness. “I can bump a guy off under the city lights as nifty as the
next one, but this nature stuff never did set right on my stomach. Let’s
go back!”
“You go back if you want to!” Monte said menacingly. “But if you do,
don’t come sniveling around me later on. I’m going in there!”
He struck off along the winding road, and in a moment the “Kid” fell into
step at his side.
Without a word, the two advanced till suddenly the lights of a building
shone upon them. They paused for a moment, then began to creep nearer,
keeping in the shelter of clumps of bushes. In this way they came close
enough to discern the outlines of a large and well-built house, with a
broad frontage and two wings extending from the rear.
“For the love of cripe!” whispered the “Kid,” “would you look at them
windows! Barred, every damn one of them!”
Monte nodded.
“Looks like a private foolish house to me,” he replied in the same
cautious tone. “Come on—we’ll get around behind and see what we can make
out!”
The musty darkness of the night, which had settled down around them, was
now an advantage, as it made it easier for the two Wolves to get close
to the house without being seen. They crept past the massive front, with
its broad steps and wide porch, and continued till they came opposite the
west wing. Most of the windows in this wing were dark, but toward the
back they saw several lighted panels.
“Come on!” commanded Monte. “I hope that Chink doesn’t keep a dog, but
plug him if one comes at you!”
On they crept till they were close to the windows. Massive and sinister
against the light, stood the iron bars which had first caught their
attention. They crept closer, and finally Monte hauled himself up into a
gnarly pepper tree whose lacy branches almost touched the nearest of the
lighted windows.
Next moment he reached down and grasped his companion’s shoulder.
“Come up here!” he grated, speaking half aloud in his excitement. “Don’t
slip—catch that limb! There you are!”
He assisted the “Kid” to a foothold beside himself, and together they
stared through the foliage and into the lighted room beyond.
The curtains were drawn aside and the shade rolled up. Seated in full
view of the two crooks was the man they had been following for five
years. He wore a dressing-gown, and beside his easy chair was a low table
on which rested a leather covered box.
Suddenly he turned, raised the cover of the box—and Monte and the “Kid”
held their breath and stared hungrily. The light was caught and split up
into a cascade of vivid colors. The man in the dressing-gown seemed to
have in his clutching hands a fountain of fire.
“The Resurrection Pendant!” snarled the “Kid,” reaching for his pistol.
“Damn him!”
Monte gripped his companion by the wrist.
“None of that, you fool!” he hissed. “We’ve got to play safe—but the
Count is caught in a trap! That Chink must have kidnapped him!”
_CHAPTER FIVE_