The trick was cleverly planned. Only luck and Don’s presence of mind prevented a showdown then and there. As it happened, Red in his half-conscious state still thought he was back at the Empire rehearsing the part of “Penny.”
“Yes, sir! I’ll get right up, sir!” he mumbled, opening one eye. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but ... mmmmm—my head!”
At that moment Don flashed him a warning signal often used between them—a sharp lift of the right eyebrow. And, foggy as poor Red’s brain still was, he got it.
Instead of answering, he shut his mouth and groaned.
With a sigh of inward relief, Don Winslow went on with the act. Until the chance should come for a getaway, he must play for time.
“Look here, my man!” he snapped angrily. “What on earth possessed you to follow my friend’s car this evening? Hang it! If this is some stupid police trick....”
“Not at all, my dear Count!” chorded Cho-San, seizing Red by the scalp. “It’s a trick of the famous Navy Intelligence, if anything. Look closely at this stout lieutenant’s hair—dyed black, except at the roots!”
A flat accusation could not have been more menacing than Cho-San’s leer. Yet, somehow Don sensed that the Chinese was still only guessing. With a puzzled frown he returned the man’s snaky gaze.
“A lieutenant?” he drawled. “Oh, of course! You mean Red Pennington. But really, Cho-San, this fellow Penny couldn’t be Don Winslow’s shipmate. I picked him up only today on the sidewalk, mooching for dimes. He told me he’d been a valet and I hired him. Even bought him an outfit of clothes. Come now, Cho-San, admit that your idea’s a bit fantastic! Besides, how could Pennington have got here so soon from Haiti, old dear? Ha-ha! I’ve got you there, haven’t I?”
“Unless,” smiled the Chinese with sinister emphasis, “—unless you, my dear Don Winslow, brought him with you as a passenger in the plane that Michael Splendor allowed you to steal!”