Patsy Garvan did not hesitate to rush in. He slammed one of the Chinamen on the chin and crumpled him up. It made him smile with satisfaction as he noted that it was the one with the scarred ear.
Before he could give attention to the other man, that snarling individual had drawn something from the folds[Pg 42] of his blue blouse that glistened evilly in the half light of the hall.
Whatever it was, Patsy determined not to wait for it. Letting fly with his right fist—and missing, as the Chinaman ducked, he seized him by the throat with the other hand. There was a gurgling hiss, and then the fellow went down on top of his fellow rascal.
A scream—loud, long drawn out, and unearthly—came from the man with the scarred ear, who was underneath, and the awful cry was echoed by the Chinaman on top. Then both were still.
Patsy Garvan stood looking at them in astonishment, when Nick Carter came down with a rush and ran to the help of his petrified assistant.
“Got ’em, Patsy?”
“I think so. But they seemed to give out all at once, without me touching them. That is, after I’d slung this one on top of the other.”
Nick Carter did not answer, but a look of understanding came into his keen eyes, as he pulled the top Chinaman off of his comrade and laid him on his back. Then he took out his pocket flash and turned it first on one senseless figure, and then the other.
Deeply embedded in the chest of the underneath man—the Chinaman with the scarred ear and the burned finger, from which the rag had been removed—were the poisoned crossed needles with which the detective had become so strangely familiar in the last two days.
He hastily tore open the front of the blouse and shirt away from the chest of the other. There were the two little marks which showed that he, too, had died from the same horrible death as his companion.