Cho-San, and now Lotus herself, had made it plain that they suspected something wrong with him other than a loss of memory. They seemed to take it for granted that he was really Count André Borg, yet they accused him of playing a part!
Don would have given his right hand now to know just what suspicions were seething in the minds of his two companions.
Another question popped up to startle him, as the big car rolled through San Francisco’s older, dimly lighted section.
Did the real Count Borg know the Chinese language?
As if in answer to his thought, Cho-San spoke suddenly in rapid, sing-song syllables.
“Kia hing—po pay-ow ni shi lee ting!”
Don’s scalp prickled as if a gun had been leveled at his head. Was this the showdown he asked himself?
“So-lay-ow!” came the chanted response from the driver’s seat.
Don’s lungs deflated in a sigh of relief. The Chinese syllables were not meant for him. He had the feeling of having stepped over another deadly trap.
“So Don Winslow is still in Haiti?” rumbled the Scorpion leader’s next words. “Did you learn, my dear Count, anything about his further plans while you were there? For instance, does he intend to return shortly to the United States?”