The rest happened too fast for words to describe.
The flash of Don’s torch, the blast of his pistol, a muffled explosion inside the concrete wall—all followed in the same split instant. The scream of human pain that issued through the loophole seemed to be minutes later, though actually it was hardly a second.
While the cry still echoed, a blinding flood of light showed three crouched figures racing for the tunnel’s end. So cramped was the passage that bullets from the “pillbox” could have cut them down like toy soldiers, but not even one shot rang out. The next instant all three had disappeared around a rocky projection of the wall.
Don Winslow’s dimming flashlight now showed a rough-boarded staircase, leading upward. At Suzette’s heels, the two officers mounted, three steps at a time. At the top they crossed a narrow hall, burst through a half-concealed door, and came out into the open air.
Here, in what seemed to be a dark alley, Red Pennington grabbed at Don’s shoulder.
“Avast, Skipper!” he panted! “Lemme get a breath or two before we—ugh—go on!”
“Non! Non! Not yet, Messieurs!” the Frenchwoman’s voice lashed back. “Soon we will stop, but it is not safe yet. Allons!”
As if to confirm her words, high-pitched, Oriental voices broke out in the building behind them. Red waited for no more, but lunged ahead, sobbing for breath.
The route they followed for the next five minutes was as mixed up as the maze of underground tunnels they had left. Back and forth through dark alleyways and darker buildings they dodged. Suzette had evidently studied the route by daylight, and kept a map of it in her mind for just such an emergency.
At the last door, which seemed to be that of a basement apartment, she used a key.