"Think I'm tryin' to bilk yer, eh?" he added. "That's a fine way to treat a pal!"
He added in the coaxing lower tone, "All right, I'm going to try it. Be ready to move when I light my cigarette."
He fished a soiled package of Gold Flakes from his pocket and put one in his mouth. Ennis waited, every muscle taut.
The inspector, his red, oily face still injured in expression, struck a match to his cigarette. Almost at once there was a loud oath from one of the shabby loungers outside the front of the building, and the sound of angry voices and blows.
The patrons of Chandra Dass looked toward the door, and one of the Malay waiters went hastily out to quiet the fight. But it grew swiftly, sounded in a moment like a small riot. Crash—someone was pushed through the front window. The excited patrons pressed toward the front. Chandra Dass pushed through them, issuing quick orders to his servants.
For the time being the back of the café was deserted and unnoticed. Campbell sprang to his feet, and with Ennis close behind him, darted through the black curtains. They found themselves in a black corridor at the end of which a red bulb burned dimly. They could still hear the uproar.
Campbell's gun was in his hand, and the American's in his.
"We dare only stay here a few moments," the inspector cried. "Look in those rooms along the corridor here."
Ennis frantically tore open a door and peered into a dark room smelling of drugs. "Ruth!" he cried softly. "Ruth!"