"Zey pay you zree munce salary instead of notice. I have ze cheque in my pocket. Now you see what a friend I am, when you are no longer wiz me in business, and owe me five hundred dollars. Which is ze friend, Conrad Reinhardt, or Burroughs, ze man what preach, ze man who is what you call a smug, who eats and drinks merry when his old friend is----"
Errington could stand no more. Springing to his feet, he hit out a swinging blow that sent the German spinning across the room.
Reinhardt's hand flew to his breast pocket. He whipped out a revolver, and was taking a snapshot at Errington when his arm was struck up from behind; the weapon exploded harmlessly, and next moment was wrenched from his grasp and flung across the room. Unseen, unheard, Burroughs had quietly entered the room and taken in the situation at a glance.
No word had been spoken. While a man might count three there was a dead silence in the room. Then Burroughs, stepping to the still open door, confronted the sentinels and Chin Tai, who were pressing forward, alarmed by the shot.
"Bind that man!" cried Burroughs, pointing to the German, now slowly rising to his feet.
ERRINGTON HITS OUT
There was no hesitation among the men. They understood by this time that the supposed detention of Burroughs was only a move in their chief's policy. They did not understand it, but it was no affair of theirs. There were no ropes at hand, but they stripped off their cummerbunds; and in a few minutes Reinhardt, glowering from Burroughs to Errington, and from Errington to Burroughs, lay on the floor, trussed with bonds of yellow and red.
CHAPTER XVI
A LITTLE LUNCHEON PARTY