“Oh-h-h!” Lotus’ gasp of amazement was well faked. “Why, Cho-San, unless
you’re joking you’re insane to think of such a thing! This isn’t Don
Winslow—it’s _André_! I know because I—I love him! Even you, Cho-San,
must admit a woman can recognize the man she loves.”
For a moment the Scorpion leader stood snarling like a tiger that had
missed its kill. His lips writhed back and strange animal sounds came
through his bared yellow teeth.
“Ar-r-rgh! So!” he growled. “We shall see. We shall see if you have
turned traitor to Scorpia, my little Lotus. I know one way to answer
both questions. Stand aside!”
Forcing her back with a sweep of his loglike arm, Cho-San erupted into
sing-song Chinese commands. While he was still speaking, the two hatchet
men leaped to obey.
Red Pennington was lifted from the table, carried to a spot beneath the
nearest stone arch, and held there upright, while Cho-San advanced upon
him with the tread of a big jungle cat. Seizing Red’s bound wrists, the
Chinese jerked them toward a loop of wire which hung down from the
arch’s apex.
“Great guns, Lotus!” whispered Don, his lips barely moving. “We’ve got
to do something quick. They’re going to hang Red up by the
thumbs—torture him before our eyes!”
The girl nodded silently. Her face was dead white, her lips a thin
purple line. With Don at her side, she made for the leering Scorpion
leader.
“Don’t, Cho-San!” she exclaimed in a low, tragic voice. “If you are such
a fiend that you must torture somebody, take me! I could stand it better
than watching....”
“_Oo-oo-oonh!_”
The moan of agony was wrung from Red’s lips, as Cho-San threw his weight
on the pulley rope. The stocky lieutenant now hung by his thumbs from
the wire loop which had cut through skin and tissue.
Only Lotus’ warning nudge kept Don from throwing himself then and there
upon the slant-eyed devil who was leaning on that rope. With a supreme
effort he controlled himself.
Suzette, he recalled, had mentioned a plan of rescue which Lotus would
attempt when the chance came. Until then he must play the game!
Lotus, he noticed, had moved over to the nearest wall. She leaned
against it in a pathetic huddle, her hands covering her face. So
convincing was her pose of despair that Don wondered if it were acting
at all.
Red anger again clouded his brain. His hand crept to the lapel of his
dinner jacket within quick reach of the automatic beneath his armpit.
“I advise you to keep your hand away from your weapon, my friend!” came
Cho-San’s ugly growl. “Back there in the shadows stands one of my
personal bodyguards, with a Thompson submachine gun aimed at your
midriff. At the first signal from me—he will make a bloody rag of your
shirt front. Ah-ha! You see him now?”
Slowly Don’s narrowed gaze made out the shadowy figure behind an
unlighted archway. His hand lifted to cover a well-faked yawn.
“Of course I see him!” he murmured lazily. “But why all the dramatics,
Cho-San? So far the fun you promised has been frightfully tiresome. I’ve
heard men groaning in pain before in my life, you know. Really, this
isn’t even interesting....”
“It will be, my dear Borg-Winslow!” spat the Chinese. “It will be most
interesting when Lieutenant Pennington starts to tell us—between
groans—just which your name really is! And if this simple
thumb-stretcher doesn’t work, I have a new electrical machine which
tears the brain apart, bit by bit. Perhaps you would like me to give you
a taste of that, when I am finished with your friend?”
With a ghastly chuckle, Cho-San turned back to his work. The pulley rope
tightened. From Red’s anguished throat burst another pitiful moan.
At that instant the huge room was plunged in darkness. There was a
scuffle of feet, two hard, thudding blows—the sound of one or more
falling bodies.
A girl’s scream rang out, followed by Cho-San’s bass bellow. Then came
silence, more stifling than the thick darkness of the vault.
* * * * *
In contrast to the gruesome quiet of Cho-San’s dark torture room, loud
argument resounded in the brightly lighted office of the local
Intelligence Bureau. Michael Splendor, just arrived from the airport to
take charge of operations, was laying down the law to the chief of the
San Francisco operatives.
“It’s all ye’re fault, Hammond!” he roared, pounding the desk with an
enormous hairy fist. “Ye should have seen the game was up when Cho-San
butted in on the party and spirited Don Winslow away in his big black
car! Ye should have had a squad of expert men ready to shadow him,
instead of leavin’ it to a young officer who’s not trained to the work.
Now, repeat if ye will, the story of that taxi driver who said he’d been
hired to follow Cho-San’s limousine!”
“I know he’s the one who drove Pennington, because we took his license
number,” Hammond stated flatly. “His name’s Grogan, and he seems to be
on the level. He says they lost Cho-San’s limousine somewhere in
Chinatown. They followed another by mistake and it brought them up in
front of Cho-San’s curio shop. Pennington told Grogan to stop and wait
while he took a look at the place. While the lieutenant was gone, two
tough eggs from the second car shoved pistols through Grogan’s window
and told him to drive on. Grogan had no choice but to obey. He came back
here to his regular stand, and we nabbed him for questioning. That’s
all!”
“And isn’t it enough to persuade ye that both Pennington and Commander
Winslow are in deadly peril?” retorted Splendor bitterly. “Why did ye
have to wait till I arrived, before raidin’ Cho-San’s layout? Get busy,
now, call up all your reserves—every fightin’ man ye can deputize for
the job. What’s holdin’ ye?”
“Nothing, sir, now that you’ve ordered it!” replied Hammond, his honest
face flushing red. “Of course you’re aware we’ll need to find evidence
of lawless activities in order to justify a raid. Cho-San has both
wealth and influence to fight criminal charges in any court!”
“And what of that?” the lion-maned cripple roared back. “By this time
Don Winslow and Pennington will have found enough evidence to hang that
yellow fiend higher than Haman. Away with ye, Hammond! Collect your men,
and be sure that one of them is husky enough to carry me on his back.
Legs or no legs, I’ll lead this raid if it’s me last act!”
Without a word Hammond departed, swept from the room by the blast of
Splendor’s fierce energy. As the door closed behind him another opened
to admit Mercedes Colby still in her flying togs.
“I heard that last, Mr. Splendor!” she cried, coming quickly to the
cripple’s chair. “No wonder Hammond calls you 'the old Lion’! But you
were joking, weren’t you, about leading this raid on Cho-San’s place?”
“Faith, and why should I joke about that?” snorted the veteran
Intelligence officer. “Have I been in a jokin’ mood since we took off
from Haiti this mornin’? At least I can shoot with the best of Hammond’s
deputies, and that’s all I ask a chance to do. But what about the thing
I sent ye to find out, child? Is Count Borg well guarded in that room
Hammond assigned him to?”
“_Too_ well guarded, if you take the Count’s word for it,” replied
Mercedes with a smile. “Mr. Hammond assigned a couple of his best
detectives, armed to the teeth, to guard the doors. Of course they
didn’t arm Count Borg because he’s a prisoner, at least, technically.
But I don’t think any Scorpion gang is going to kidnap him tonight.”
“I hope not, my dear,” sighed Splendor, wagging his gray maned head.
“But if Cho-San has pierced Don Winslow’s disguise, as I fear he has
done, things may happen too fast for us to prevent...”
“_Oh-h-h! The lights!_”
Mercedes’ gasp cut through a pitch black room. Without warning every
light had gone out, not only in the office building but in the street
outside.
* * * * *
In a darkness just as absolute, Don Winslow plunged blindly forward,
bearing Red’s helpless weight. Lotus’ scream had given him his
direction. If only he didn’t bump into a pillar or a prowling hatchet
man, he’d make it to where she waited!
Suddenly a small, firm hand clutched his arm. Without question he obeyed
its pressure, felt himself being guided past an unseen obstruction.
The next instant a cool draught struck his face. The guiding hand gave
his arm one quick, farewell squeeze. Somewhere behind him sounded the
click of a closing panel.
The darkness was as thick as ever, but now he sensed that he was no
longer in the vaulted torture room. That cool current of air suggested a
tunnel or corridor connecting with the world above ground.
Luckily he had remembered to take a small pocket torch when he went down
to dinner that evening. Its white beam now showed up the rough stone
walls of a passageway, like the one leading from the elevator. But that
was not all.
Within arm’s reach stood the French maid, Suzette, her finger to her
lips in silent warning. As Don met her eyes, she beckoned urgently and
turned to vanish in the black shadows.
When the flashlight found her again Suzette was several yards up the
tunnel, running like a boy. Don followed somewhat more slowly, trying to
keep Red’s head from bumping the low, timbered roof. He was breathing
heavily when he finally overtook the French-woman.
“We mus’ be ver’ quick, Commander!” she whispered, halting at a place
where the passageway branched. “Your poor friend, is he too badly hurt
to walk?”
“Not so’s you’d notice it, Miss!” came Red’s husky answer. “Just get
these ropes off my hands and ankles, and I’ll manage to toddle. Got a
knife, Skipper?”
Don’s penknife was already out, sawing at the brutally tight cords.
“This is easier than getting that loop of wire off your thumbs in the
dark, shipmate!” he panted. “I was afraid those two cat-eyed hatchet men
would come back at me before I got you clear.”
“Not a chance!” grinned Red Pennington rubbing his blood smeared wrists.
“You hit ’em so hard they couldn’t even crawl away, Skipper. You must
have judged their positions just right.”
“_Allons donc, Messieurs!_ We waste time!” cut in Suzette’s sharp
whisper. “We are not out of the danger yet. This left-hand
passage—come! And run as if the devil-dog Marines were after you!”