XXVII
WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT
“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!”