As Red Pennington straightened up, he made his decision. He would take the taxi back to the nearest public telephone, call Hammond at the office, report what he had found, and then stick around on watch until relieved by a trained detective. Longer watching might attract attention, considering that he had come out minus hat or topcoat.
A few quick steps took him across the street to the car which was waiting at the curb.
“Okay, brother!” he said, jerking open the rear door and ducking inside. “Back to the nearest phone booth, and make it snappy! There’s another ten spot in it for you if—Say! What tha ding-dong.... This isn’t my taxi!”
XXIII
THE CHINESE CABINET
At the end of fifty steps in a darkness so thick that it could almost be felt, Lotus pressed Don’s hand, signaling a halt. As she did so, there sounded the soft whir of hidden machinery.
“We arrive at the gateway of a secret world, my dear Count!” boomed Cho-San’s bass voice from somewhere behind them.
The man’s voice echoed strangely as if thrown back by the arches of the unseen tunnel. For all his effort at self-control, Don Winslow felt a shiver of apprehension creep up his spine at the eerie sound of it.
“I’ve never had a fancy for this underground stuff, Cho-San,” he answered, forcing a laugh. “It’s not in an airman’s line, you know. Give me the freedom of the sky, every time, and you can have your underground ratholes!”
“Hush, André!” cried Lotus softly, clinging to his arm. “Scorpia must operate not only in the air, not only on sea and land, but underneath them as well. You know that as well as anybody. See, now! The panel is opening, and we step through into Cho-San’s shop, where you have been many times.”
As they emerged into the dimly lighted curio shop, the soft whir of machinery ended with a click.