“Is that the fort you mean?” gulped Red, with one foot still on the running board. “Gee! If they’ve got machine guns trained on us, isn’t it kinda foolish to stick around?”
“I didn’t mean a fort in that sense, Lieutenant!” said Hammond. “Cho-San’s rock pile here looks like a fort, especially in the dark. If there’s any machine guns inside, they won’t be aimed at us now.... But, say! What’s that car pulling in ahead of us?”
A long, low hung, black car had boiled up the hill behind them, only to stop ten paces beyond with a squeal of gripping tires. The two young officers, with Hammond and Martin, stiffened instinctively, hands whipping to their pistols. For all they knew this might be a gang car, filled with Scorpion killers.
A door opened, and a man in uniform cap jumped out. Swiftly he moved to the rear door, opened it, and stood back waiting. From the dark interior appeared a young woman in a white evening wrap, her dark hair lighted by the flash of jewels. With a murmured word, she turned away from the car, walking quickly toward the house of Cho-San.
The four men watching her relaxed.
“That’s the girl they call the Lotus!” whispered Hammond in Don Winslow’s ear. “She’s the one you’ll have to look out for especially, Commander. Look! What’s she up to, now?”
With a low cry of pain, the girl had stumbled. Now she stood swaying, as if about to fall.
“She’s turned her ankle! I’m going to help her, Hammond,” muttered Don. “You all stay here.”
The other car, Don noted, was just driving away. Reaching the girl’s side, he caught her arm firmly, taking the weight off her injured foot.
“I saw you trip,” he said, imitating Count Borg’s smoother tone. “What luck that I was just across the street!”