Red Pennington made a desperate spurt to catch up. His feet and hands
were still numb; his head ached fiercely; his stomach was seasick for
the first time in years. But that crack about the Marines was too much
to swallow.
“You got it wrong, lady!” he puffed, stumbling at Suzette’s heels. “You
mean run like _we_ were chasin’ the _Marines_, don’t you? No gob ever
yet ran away from a leatherneck...”
“Pipe down and save your breath, sailor!” warned Don. “Suzette’s leading
this patrol, and it’s not over yet by a long shot!”
As he spoke the fleet-footed French girl darted into another branch
tunnel. This one doubled back after a few feet, then branched again, and
continued at right angles. In the next few minutes the young officers
realized they were deep in an underground maze. Here anyone but a guide
with an exceptional memory would lose the way.
And now another danger made itself apparent. From time to time distant
shouts and the clatter of a machine gun echoed through the rocky
labyrinth. In quick whispers tossed over her shoulders Suzette urged
greater speed. The noticeable dimming of Don’s flashlight gave added
warning.
Despite aching muscles and tortured lungs, Red forced himself to a
swifter pace. As a result, he tripped and fell. Before Don could help
him, he was running again, ignoring a pair of gashed knees. Sheer
fighting courage kept him up, defying the weight of a body built more
for comfort than for speed.
All at once Suzette slowed and stopped, throwing back a warning arm.
“Put out your torch, _Monsieur_ Winslow!” she hissed. “Around the next
corner is a machine gun in a 'pill-box.’ It stands between us and
freedom. Either we mus’ silence it or be trap here where we stand!”
“I see,” muttered Don. “But you must have made some plan for doing that,
Suzette. What’s our best play?”
In the pitch darkness the girl grasped a sleeve of each of the two men.
Not until their three heads were literally together, did she reply.
“I can think of jus’ one way to do,” she said tensely. “Somewhere along
the next passage is a photo-electric trigger, worked by infra-red light.
If we try to pass it, the overhead lights flash on, the machine gunner
begin to shoot, and we die with fifty bullet holes in our backs! So
this, _Messieurs_, is my plan. When the lights flash on, I will empty my
small pistol through the machine gunner’s loophole. That will keep him
busy until you pass beyond the next turn. Before he dare to look again,
I follow you, and—”
“Nothing doing, Suzette!” Don cut in abruptly. “That way you’d be
sacrificing your life for us and you know it. I’ve got another idea.
We’ll silence that machine gun before the lights flash up in the
passageway. All I ask is for you to show me that 'pillbox’ loophole _in
the dark_!”
Well trained by the French Secret Service, Suzette knew the voice of
authority. Without hesitation she took Don’s hand.
“Come then, _Monsieur_!” she whispered. “And your friend—he mus’ keep
close behind us, but make no sound.”
For the next thirty feet they proceeded at a snail’s pace, careful not
to make the slightest sound. At last, however, Suzette halted, to grope
for a few seconds at an unseen wall.
Don guessed what she was doing. When the tug came on his wrist, he let
his own hand be guided until it touched the edges of a square opening.
The loophole! And protruding from it, Don could feel the ugly steel
snout of a submachine gun. The other end, he knew, was held by a ready
killer, whose grip need only tighten on the trigger to spray forth a
stream of lead and fire!
“I’ve heard of pulling Death’s whiskers,” the young officer thought with
a slight shiver, “but this is the nearest I’ve come to doing it yet!”
His next movements were coolly calculated. Fixing the loophole’s
position in mind, he took a fresh grip on the unlighted pocket torch. At
the same time he drew the snub-nosed .38 caliber automatic from his
shoulder holster. Lastly, to steady his aim, he drew a single deep
breath.
The rest happened too fast for words to describe.
The flash of Don’s torch, the blast of his pistol, a muffled explosion
inside the concrete wall—all followed in the same split instant. The
scream of human pain that issued through the loophole seemed to be
minutes later, though actually it was hardly a second.
While the cry still echoed, a blinding flood of light showed three
crouched figures racing for the tunnel’s end. So cramped was the passage
that bullets from the “pillbox” could have cut them down like toy
soldiers, but not even one shot rang out. The next instant all three had
disappeared around a rocky projection of the wall.
Don Winslow’s dimming flashlight now showed a rough-boarded staircase,
leading upward. At Suzette’s heels, the two officers mounted, three
steps at a time. At the top they crossed a narrow hall, burst through a
half-concealed door, and came out into the open air.
Here, in what seemed to be a dark alley, Red Pennington grabbed at Don’s
shoulder.
“Avast, Skipper!” he panted! “Lemme get a breath or two before
we—ugh—go on!”
“_Non! Non!_ Not yet, _Messieurs_!” the Frenchwoman’s voice lashed back.
“Soon we will stop, but it is not safe yet. _Allons!_”
As if to confirm her words, high-pitched, Oriental voices broke out in
the building behind them. Red waited for no more, but lunged ahead,
sobbing for breath.
The route they followed for the next five minutes was as mixed up as the
maze of underground tunnels they had left. Back and forth through dark
alleyways and darker buildings they dodged. Suzette had evidently
studied the route by daylight, and kept a map of it in her mind for just
such an emergency.
At the last door, which seemed to be that of a basement apartment, she
used a key.
“This place is safe if we do not show the light, _Messieurs_,” she
panted. “Many weeks ago I have rent and furnish it under another name.
Beyond is a door opening to another street where you can get a taxi. And
now, while Suzette gets her breath, tell me what you did to that machine
gun, Commander. I die of curiousness!”
“I took a chance and tried to plug his gun muzzle with my own bullet,”
Don answered. “Just by luck I did it first try. Of course, when the
machine gunner pulled the trigger, his weapon blew up! That’s all there
was to it!”
“Except a chilled steel nerve and cracking good marksmanship!” grunted
Red Pennington. “If you’d missed that first shot the guy inside would
have blown your head off.”
“_Mais, oui!_” chimed in Suzette. “We owe our lives to the so brave
Commander! But now I mus’ speak of other things. Tell me, Monsieur
Winslow, how many men you can bring for a raid tonight on the underworld
of Scorpia? We mus’ strike now, while so many agents are here for
Cho-San’s big conference!”
“You’re right, Suzette!” exclaimed Don. “Tonight’s the time, and I’ve
asked our local office to hold fifty fighting men within call in case I
needed them. Michael Splendor has just arrived and is probably running
them up now. I could lead them back here within an hour, probably...”
“But that is perfect, Commander!” cried the little Frenchwoman. “Go now,
and bring your men to the shop of Cho-San. I will have the door unlock,
so you need make no noise. From the shop I will conduct you to the
secret gallery w’ich overlook the Scorpion’s great Assembly Room. The
agents will soon be gather there to hear Cho-San’s instructions for a
new world war plot. Your men will then take them by surprise and make
the—w’at you call—_clean-up_ in one big swoop!”
“We’ll do that or die trying, Suzette!” Don exclaimed heartily. “Now
lead the way to the other door, and we’ll be off. If you get a chance to
speak to Lotus, tell her we’ll be back to take her away from Cho-San’s
torture rooms and slimy passages.”
Suzette did not reply. Taking Don’s hand she led the two young officers
swiftly through the apartment and an adjoining basement. As they came
out onto a darkened areaway, Don Winslow thought he heard the little
maid sob.
“_Voilà!_” she said in a choked voice. “You can see the street beyond
that alley to the right. And hurry, _Messieurs_, if you hope to see the
little Lotus alive. I have fear that Cho-San has punish her already for
her part in helping you escape!”
Don’s groan came through gritted teeth.
“Heaven grant you’re wrong about that!” he said hoarsely. “If that child
has given her life for us, we’ll never rest till we wipe the last memory
of Scorpia from the earth! Come, Red! Every second counts against us
now!”