At the end of fifty steps in a darkness so thick that it could almost be
felt, Lotus pressed Don’s hand, signaling a halt. As she did so, there
sounded the soft whir of hidden machinery.
“We arrive at the gateway of a secret world, my dear Count!” boomed
Cho-San’s bass voice from somewhere behind them.
The man’s voice echoed strangely as if thrown back by the arches of the
unseen tunnel. For all his effort at self-control, Don Winslow felt a
shiver of apprehension creep up his spine at the eerie sound of it.
“I’ve never had a fancy for this underground stuff, Cho-San,” he
answered, forcing a laugh. “It’s not in an airman’s line, you know. Give
me the freedom of the sky, every time, and you can have your underground
ratholes!”
“Hush, André!” cried Lotus softly, clinging to his arm. “Scorpia must
operate not only in the air, not only on sea and land, but _underneath_
them as well. You know that as well as anybody. See, now! The panel is
opening, and we step through into Cho-San’s shop, where you have been
many times.”
As they emerged into the dimly lighted curio shop, the soft whir of
machinery ended with a click.
Glancing over his shoulder, Don saw the big Chinese standing behind him
against a blank wall. There was no sign of the opening through which the
three of them had just passed.
“Neat, very neat indeed, Cho-San!” murmured the pseudo count. “But, tell
me, which way do we go from here to the comrades’ quarters? My
recollection is still a bit vague, although this room does seem
familiar....”
“The cabinet!” broke in the Scorpion leader shortly. “That way is the
quickest. And I am tired of hearing about your infernal memory, Borg!
Open the cabinet, Lotus!”
Obediently the girl crossed to a huge cabinet of ebony wood, and twisted
one of its curiously carved dragons’ heads. With scarcely a sound the
door swung wide, leaving an opening the size of a full grown man. How
far back the space extended Don could not see from where he stood.
“Step in, Lotus, and show your André the way!” sneered Cho-San. “You
act, Count Borg, as if it were a trap. Don’t worry, I am following you
both inside!”
The Chinese suited his action to the word, closing the cabinet door
after him. Again Don caught the smooth, scarcely audible hum of oiled
machinery somewhere near by.
“More darkness!” he sighed after a number of seconds had ticked by in
silence. “Really, Cho-San, a nice bright electric bulb here would cheer
things up! By the way, I thought we were going somewhere in a hurry.
This jolly old cabinet....”
“Silence, fool!” gritted the Oriental. “You are no longer in the cabinet
you entered a moment ago. That ancient work of art is now standing as
you saw it, far above us. Only its floor is missing, for that is now
beneath our feet!”
“And here we are almost at the entrance to the comrades’ quarters!”
cried Lotus, as the elevator floor quivered briefly. “Now I shall press
another invisible button, and you shall see that I am right, André.
There will be plenty of light where we are going.”
Once more a panel slid aside to show a narrow, dimly lighted corridor.
This one seemed to be dug out of bedrock, with rough corners projecting.
Slipping into it, the girl disappeared around a jagged corner.
“She’ll get hurt dodging around those rocks!” Don exclaimed. “Where’s
she gone, anyway? Why didn’t you stop her, Cho-San?”
“Because she is in no danger—as yet!” purred the big Chinese. “The
little Lotus has been brought up in these subterranean passages and
rooms. She knows her way where you, my dear count, would lose yours a
hundred times over. Just now she has gone to turn up more lights so that
you can see to follow.”
As he spoke, the rough passage was flooded with sudden brilliance, far
greater than necessary, Don thought. As he stepped away from the
elevator toward Lotus’ waiting figure, Cho-San himself volunteered the
explanation.
“There are machine guns covering every turn on this passage, Borg,” he
chortled evilly. “You cannot see them, so you must take my word. Under
these brilliant lights they could mow down any police forces which might
be unlucky enough to come this far into Scorpia’s underworld, or anyone
trying to escape from it. A very comforting thought, don’t you agree?”
Don’s only answer was a shrug of his smoothly tailored shoulders. The
next moment he was at Lotus’ side picking his way over the tunnel’s
uneven floor.
Around the second turn the girl halted, and reaching up, inserted her
fingers behind an angle of the damp stone. As if by magic a door-sized
section of the rock wall moved back, disclosing a furnished apartment.
Don stepped through the opening, closely followed by Cho-San. At the
soft click of a falling latch, he did not even bother to turn. The wall
through which they had just passed would show no sign of a doorway, he
was certain.
For the first time since leaving the car in the garage, the Chinese now
seemed to drop his air of ugly suspicion. His moonlike face was almost
smiling as he turned to face Don.
“I will leave you, my friend, for a short while,” his deep voice
intoned. “The little Lotus will remain to entertain you, so that the
time will not pass too heavily. If there is anything more you may desire
before I return, simply touch that bell by the table.”
With a parting nod his huge figure vanished behind a tall, carved
screen. Don Winslow stood gazing at it thoughtfully for a long moment,
then turned to his small companion.
“Well, little Lotus,” he began, “I hope your memory never starts playing
tricks on you like mine. This room, for instance—”
A strange expression in the girl’s dark eyes stopped him short.
Following her look and gesture he stepped quickly to the inlaid teakwood
table.
The thing looked innocent enough. It’s decorated top bore nothing but a
vase and a small lacquered tray. One glance underneath, however,
explained Lotus’ silent warning.
Fastened to the underside of the table top was a compact little
dictaphone, no doubt being used at this moment by a Scorpion
eavesdropper!
Back at the spot where he had first stood, Don picked up the
conversation.
“This apartment _does_ seem vaguely familiar,” he continued. “It’s like
something I dreamed about long ago. Perhaps if you showed me the other
rooms it might all come back to me. Shall we try it?”
It was the cue for which the girl had been waiting. With an eager nod
she led the way toward a curtained archway.
“Why, certainly, André!” she answered. “There’s no harm in looking
around. These are the comrades’ quarters, or at least one section of
them, and of course you have been here before. Beyond this hall is a
small dining room, and a sort of butler’s pantry. The sleeping quarters
are on another level entirely....”
As the heavy curtains fell back into place, Don found himself in a tiny
hallway, lighted by a dim overhead lamp. He was about to proceed when
the girl’s quick grasp on his arm halted him in his tracks.
“We can talk now,” she whispered, “but we must be brief. _I know who you
are, Don Winslow!_”
The shock of those words paralyzed Don’s wits for the space of five
heartbeats. Backing off, he reached for the small but deadly automatic
pistol concealed under his left armpit. An instant later he dropped his
hands.
“I am at your mercy, it appears!” he said with a twisted smile.
The girl shook her dark head. Gliding closer she lifted her eyes to
stare straight into his.
“It is Cho-San, not Lotus, whom you have cause to fear,” she said. “He
believes you are working against Scorpia for your own interests, but he
does not know the truth. I shall not tell him, Don Winslow, provided you
have done no harm to Count André Borg!”
Don thought that over carefully. He read the meaning behind her words,
and knew Lotus was in love with the dashing André. Besides she must be
aware that Borg’s advertised escape was a mere blind. Why, then, did she
not take revenge, for herself and her friends, by showing up the pseudo
count without delay?
Puzzled, he put a question of his own.
“If I tell you that Count Borg is safe and well, except for a head wound
like mine, how can you trust my word? A man in danger of his life is apt
to say anything which will save it. How do you know I won’t lie to you,
Miss Lotus?”
“You will not lie, for the simple reason that I am ready to believe your
word,” the girl answered confidently. “That way, I put myself at _your_
mercy. I trust myself to your honor, which you would rather die than
betray. Is it not so, Don Winslow of the Navy?”
With a silent laugh Don threw up his hands.
“You win, Miss Lotus!” he admitted. “The truth is that Count André Borg
is well and will come to no harm, in spite of any past crimes he may
have committed. It is a long story, but ...”
“Stop!” cried Lotus, fiercely gripping the young officer’s jacket front.
“You say he is well, yet he will not be punished! Do you mean his _mind_
has been injured? That wound on his head ... No! No! I would rather have
André dead than insane! Tell me! Tell me the whole truth, or I _will_
call Cho-San!”
Quickly Don gave her an outline of Count Borg’s strange situation, from
the moment when he came to his senses in the _Gatoon’s_ sick bay.
“You see, Miss Lotus,” the young commander explained, “your friend is a
lot saner now than he was during the seven years he served Scorpia. It
is fortunate for him that he doesn’t recall anything of that time. To
him, April, nineteen thirty-three, seems only last week!”
The girl’s eyes had filled with tears that suddenly overflowed. Her
small mouth quivered like a lost child’s.
“Then—then he isn’t my André any more!” she sobbed softly. “He doesn’t
remember that he ever knew me. Now I have nothing left to live for—not
even one true friend!”