“I heard that last, Mr. Splendor!” she cried, coming quickly to the cripple’s chair. “No wonder Hammond calls you 'the old Lion’! But you were joking, weren’t you, about leading this raid on Cho-San’s place?”
“Faith, and why should I joke about that?” snorted the veteran Intelligence officer. “Have I been in a jokin’ mood since we took off from Haiti this mornin’? At least I can shoot with the best of Hammond’s deputies, and that’s all I ask a chance to do. But what about the thing I sent ye to find out, child? Is Count Borg well guarded in that room Hammond assigned him to?”
“Too well guarded, if you take the Count’s word for it,” replied Mercedes with a smile. “Mr. Hammond assigned a couple of his best detectives, armed to the teeth, to guard the doors. Of course they didn’t arm Count Borg because he’s a prisoner, at least, technically. But I don’t think any Scorpion gang is going to kidnap him tonight.”
“I hope not, my dear,” sighed Splendor, wagging his gray maned head. “But if Cho-San has pierced Don Winslow’s disguise, as I fear he has done, things may happen too fast for us to prevent...”
“Oh-h-h! The lights!”
Mercedes’ gasp cut through a pitch black room. Without warning every light had gone out, not only in the office building but in the street outside.
In a darkness just as absolute, Don Winslow plunged blindly forward, bearing Red’s helpless weight. Lotus’ scream had given him his direction. If only he didn’t bump into a pillar or a prowling hatchet man, he’d make it to where she waited!
Suddenly a small, firm hand clutched his arm. Without question he obeyed its pressure, felt himself being guided past an unseen obstruction.
The next instant a cool draught struck his face. The guiding hand gave his arm one quick, farewell squeeze. Somewhere behind him sounded the click of a closing panel.