“You followed her here because you think she was his murderer?” she whispered, softly.
“I had no doubt of it,” was Everett’s reply. “Detectives have been watching the woman ever since. They tracked her here, and then I asked the captain to raid the place.”
They were passing through the pseudo laundry now, but there was not a Chinaman in sight. The room was absolutely deserted.
“And you heard my voice?” asked the young girl, as Mr. Everett supported her tenderly.
“Yes, but did not recognize it, of course,” said Mr. Everett quickly. “I thought it was the voice of one of their white slaves. But do hurry, Miss Marlowe, and tell me how you came here.”
With a tremendous stamping of feet the policemen came into the laundry.
“Nine chinks, one white man and four women, one dead,” said the captain, in reply to a question from Everett.
The critic whispered a few words in his ear relating to Marion, and, with a sharp glance at her face, the captain nodded.
“We’ve taken them all out through a side door to this establishment that we found, and three of my men have taken them away in the patrol wagon. Come, boys, let’s get out of this dope hole as soon as possible! Whew! The aroma is something awful! I’ll be asleep in another minute!”
“I thought I should faint when I first encountered it,” said Marion to Everett. “Oh, how thankful I am to you, Mr. Everett!”