The young Chicagoan throws a hand back, meaning to draw the little pocket revolver which has more than once served him well, but, to his dismay, it is gone.
He sees a derisive smile upon the features of Pauline, and knows she has taken it while he lay there unconscious on the couch.
"I was afraid you might do yourself damage, John. If you are wise you will submit tamely," she says, and clapping her hands again sets the three men upon him.
Craig is no Hercules in build, and besides, his left arm is in rather a poor condition for warfare, being exceedingly sore.
Still he is not the one to submit tamely so long as a single chance remains, and for the space of a minute there is a lively scene in the oriental apartment, in which divans are overturned, men swinging desperately around, and even Pauline Potter, accustomed to stage battles only, is constrained to utter a few little shrieks of alarm.
Then it is over.
Doctor Chicago, breathing hard and looking his dogged defiance, stands there in the hands of his captors.
"Do you change your mind, John Craig?" asks the woman, fastening her burning gaze upon his face.
"I have too much Scotch blood in me for that. On the contrary, I am more than ever determined to pursue my mission without any outside assistance," he answers.
"Take him away!" she cries, and the look that crosses her face can only be likened to the black clouds preceding the hurricane.