“Heaven grant you’re wrong about that!” he said hoarsely. “If that child has given her life for us, we’ll never rest till we wipe the last memory of Scorpia from the earth! Come, Red! Every second counts against us now!”
XXIX
THE WRATH OF CHO-SAN
Feet stamped and flashlights blazed through the office building of the local Intelligence Bureau. Above the sounds of disciplined search, Michael Splendor’s great voice could be heard roaring questions and orders.
There had been two or three minutes time, however, between the moment the lights went out and the organization of a flashlight brigade. In that brief space the emissaries of Scorpia had pulled off their carefully planned raid and departed. As souvenirs of their visit they had left two drugged and unconscious detectives outside an upper floor room.
Count Borg had vanished, snatched from under the noses of Hammond’s best men; and no one had seen him go. The fact was a stunning blow to the Bureau chief; but to Splendor, it was just one more challenge to fight.
“Find out how many men ye’ve got here now, Hammond!” he bellowed down the corridor. “Bring them back to the main office so I can look them over. If I spot no spies among them, we’ll start at once.”
The office lights were still out, but darkness was no obstacle to the gray-haired cripple. Holding an electric torch in his teeth, he propelled his wheel chair through the door and around the long oak table which ran almost the length of the room. Satisfied that no prowlers lurked in the shadows, he took his place beside the single entrance and waited.
Moments later, Hammond finished rounding up his force of deputies. As he led them down the corridor toward the main office Splendor’s bull voice hailed him.
“Stand opposite me, Hammond,” the veteran ordered, “and let your men pass between us one by one. That way we’ll be sure there’s no traitor among them!”
As he spoke there was a sudden stir among the group of men outside. It ended briefly with a cry of discovery.