“Mebby can do,” murmured the Chinaman hurriedly. “No see. Mebby now see. See Jap man, this one, velly small Jap man. This one think mine.”
“Good,” said Johnny. “Now perhaps you can tell me what kind of a dress he took away?”
“Mebby can do.” The man, fumbling among his garments, came upon a plain, Russian, peasant type of dress.
“Take look, see,” he murmured. “One, two, three, allesame.”
“All right, you no speak see mine, savvy.”
“No speak,” murmured Wo Cheng.
“Good-bye,” said Johnny bolting out of the door.
“Mazie’s dress,” he mumbled to himself. “They have transformed her into a Russian peasant girl for their safety, but where have they taken her?”
As he rounded the corner, an old familiar sound smote his ear. The rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. It was accompanied almost at once by another and yet another.
“An uprising and a battle!” he muttered savagely. “Worse and worse. What chance has a fellow got? Do well enough if I escape the firing squad.”