"Polly?"
"Oh—yes—where are the others? They'll kill you—run!" she cried.
He ran forward into the black corridor. A knife thrust, sheathed in silence, ripped his shoulder gave him his cue. He had one man down and trampled. But another was upon him and yet a third.
A sharp pain dulled the pulsing of his throat. He felt a tickle down his bared and swinging arm.
He fought blindly in the dark.
"Polly!" he panted.
There was no answer.
* * * * *
In the Joss House of the Golden Screens the two Chinamen, dazed with opium, set of purpose, were still arguing with the trembling priest.
The door fell open and a white woman—with bleeding hands—fell at their feet.