Part 3

For three days they worked feverishly. Monte Jerome seemed never to sleep, and his temper was not at all improved by the ordeal. He drove his companions fiercely, and only the fact that they were playing for big stakes prevented open rebellion.

On the fourth day Monte and the “Kid,” who were loitering, alert but almost hopeless, in the entrance to a building in one of the narrow streets of the Oriental quarter, caught sight of a figure disappearing through a doorway. It was a tall figure, partly concealed by a light overcoat; but both of them leaped forward at the same instant.

“That was the Chink, sure as God made little red apples!” the “Kid” snapped.

They crossed the street. Several automobiles were drawn up close to the curb, among them a big blue limousine from which the Chinaman had stepped a moment before they identified him. Monte approached a well-dressed gentleman, who had just come out of the building, and asked him what was going on inside.

“This is the fall exhibition of the Iconoclasts,” the stranger explained good-naturedly.

He seemed to be sizing up the two crooks.

“I think you boys would enjoy it,” he added mischievously. “The admission is only fifty cents.”

Monte and the “Kid” bought tickets, and presently they entered a big room with a high ceiling, upon whose walls were hung a number of gaudy paintings. The newcomers stared round at the fifty or more spectators who were making the rounds of the gallery.

“Hell!” growled the “Kid,” “this ain’t no place for an honest strongarm man—Let’s beat it and send for Doc!”

Monte gripped his arm.

“Look!” he said under his breath. “Over there near the corner!”

The “Kid” looked stealthily as directed, and perceived the tall man in the gray topcoat. He was standing with his back to them, examining a red and yellow daub that looked like an omelette liberally seasoned with paprika.

“That’s him!” Monte whispered. “All right, Kid! You have Mike bring the cab down to the corner where we was waiting. Then, when this duck beats it out of here, I’ll hop in and we’ll follow him!”

Half an hour later the tall man in the gray coat—who in American garb looked more like an Oriental than he had when dressed as a Chinaman—paused to look deliberately at his watch, and then turned to the outer door.

By the time he stepped into the blue limousine, Monte had reached the corner and was climbing in beside the driver of the taxi. The “Kid” had the window down, and was kneeling with his head close to the driver’s.

“How ’bout it, Mike!” Monte demanded. “Can you keep ’em in sight?”

“Watch me!” snorted the driver. “There ain’t no Chink going can leave me behind. Did you see that chauffeur? Got a face like a monkey!”

There was no difficulty, for the present, in keeping the blue limousine in sight, however. It went sedately down a side street and took the turn toward the ferry. Five minutes later Monte and the Kid saw the cab in which they were seated draw in behind the larger car, and roll over the landing platform. The limousine was stationed on the right, and the cab on the left, of the big boat.

Monte scrambled down, and with a curt command to the other two made his way around to where he could see the enclosed car. The man in the gray overcoat was sealed inside, with a coffee-brown Chinaman in livery at the wheel. Monte kept them in sight till the ferry was approaching the slip. Then he hurried back and climbed in again beside the driver.

“Here’s where they’ll try to leave us behind, if they have any idea we’re following!” he predicted.

“Let ’em,” growled Mike. “If we don’t get took in by a speed cop, I won’t never let no Chink drive away from me! You boys just hang onto your bonnets, and watch us!”

The big blue car seemed to have accepted this challenge. The little man at the wheel swung out and passed half a dozen slower machines, then took the center of the road and held it.

With the coming of evening, a powdery fog swooped down over the ridges to the west, and suddenly the tail lights of the limousine shot up in the gloom ahead. Notch by notch, the Chinese chauffeur was adding to his speed. The lighter car behind bounced and swayed, and Mike spat through his teeth.

“Say, that bird must be clear nuts!” he growled. “If we get took in, they’ll sentence us to about five life-times! What say, gents? Want to let him go?”

“You keep going!” snarled Monte, staring hardeyed into the fog. “If we get pinched, I pay for it, see? But don’t you let that bird get away, if you want to sleep in your little bed tonight!”

Mike glanced sideways at the man whose elbow touched his. Something he saw in the stony face of Monte Jerome caused him to turn all his attention to the task in hand.

The tail lights had been growing dim, but now, slowly, the cab began to gain. Other cars, headed for the ferry, shot out of the fog and into it, honking warning horns at the crazily lurching machine that burned the road in pursuit of the blue limousine. The stony faces of the three men in the cab never deviated from their straight glare into the gloom ahead.

The speed of the big car was slackening. The driver of the cab grinned wryly.

“He knows the ropes. Speed cop in this burg ahead lies awake nights thinking up new ways of raising hell for speedy drivers,” he explained. “Now we’ll creep up on ’em a little more!”

They passed through the little town and again were in the open country. The limousine continued its more leisurely progress, however, and presently turned to the right into a dirt road. The cab dropped farther behind, at Monte’s command.

“They can’t get away from us on this road. Probably aren’t going far, and we don’t want them to spot us. Take it easy!”

The road seemed to be leading gently down, and presently they caught the gleam of water on each side. Rushes grew up close to the track; and from somewhere in the dusk the cry of a gull sounded like the wailing of a lost soul.

Involuntarily, the “Kid” shivered.

“Hell of a country!” he mumbled. “Where you reckon he’s headed for?”

“Wait and see!” snapped Monte. “Hello!—he’s turning in! That must be a private road! Stop here!”

He slid from the seat and stood swinging his feet alternately, to restore the circulation in them. Then he jerked his head into the darkness.

“Come on, Kid! We got to see what he’s up to!”

The “Kid” clambered out, and the two crooks struck silently up the road. They reached the turn and found, as they had guessed, that they were at the entrance to a private road.

Instinctively, the two men paused and stared in through the trees. Night pressed thick and damp about them. A wind from the southeast brought to them the smell of the marshes, and once the booming whistle of a steamer sounded. In a lull of the wind, the gulls were screaming.

“This ain’t in my line, Chief!” snarled the “Kid,” glaring into the darkness. “I can bump a guy off under the city lights as nifty as the next one, but this nature stuff never did set right on my stomach. Let’s go back!”

“You go back if you want to!” Monte said menacingly. “But if you do, don’t come sniveling around me later on. I’m going in there!”

He struck off along the winding road, and in a moment the “Kid” fell into step at his side.

Without a word, the two advanced till suddenly the lights of a building shone upon them. They paused for a moment, then began to creep nearer, keeping in the shelter of clumps of bushes. In this way they came close enough to discern the outlines of a large and well-built house, with a broad frontage and two wings extending from the rear.

“For the love of cripe!” whispered the “Kid,” “would you look at them windows! Barred, every damn one of them!”

Monte nodded.

“Looks like a private foolish house to me,” he replied in the same cautious tone. “Come on—we’ll get around behind and see what we can make out!”

The musty darkness of the night, which had settled down around them, was now an advantage, as it made it easier for the two Wolves to get close to the house without being seen. They crept past the massive front, with its broad steps and wide porch, and continued till they came opposite the west wing. Most of the windows in this wing were dark, but toward the back they saw several lighted panels.

“Come on!” commanded Monte. “I hope that Chink doesn’t keep a dog, but plug him if one comes at you!”

On they crept till they were close to the windows. Massive and sinister against the light, stood the iron bars which had first caught their attention. They crept closer, and finally Monte hauled himself up into a gnarly pepper tree whose lacy branches almost touched the nearest of the lighted windows.

Next moment he reached down and grasped his companion’s shoulder.

“Come up here!” he grated, speaking half aloud in his excitement. “Don’t slip—catch that limb! There you are!”

He assisted the “Kid” to a foothold beside himself, and together they stared through the foliage and into the lighted room beyond.

The curtains were drawn aside and the shade rolled up. Seated in full view of the two crooks was the man they had been following for five years. He wore a dressing-gown, and beside his easy chair was a low table on which rested a leather covered box.

Suddenly he turned, raised the cover of the box—and Monte and the “Kid” held their breath and stared hungrily. The light was caught and split up into a cascade of vivid colors. The man in the dressing-gown seemed to have in his clutching hands a fountain of fire.

“The Resurrection Pendant!” snarled the “Kid,” reaching for his pistol. “Damn him!”

Monte gripped his companion by the wrist.

“None of that, you fool!” he hissed. “We’ve got to play safe—but the Count is caught in a trap! That Chink must have kidnapped him!”

_CHAPTER FIVE_

ONE OF AH WING’S DOOR KEEPERS

Colonel Knight awoke and lay staring at the ceiling. It seemed a surprisingly long distance from him—and then his glance narrowed.

He turned his head, and suddenly sat up in bed. He had just remembered the events preceding his loss of consciousness.

Ponderingly, he examined his surroundings. He was in a big room, with a high ceiling. There were two windows at his right and one straight ahead, the latter partly open. Several easy chairs, a handsome mahogany house desk, and a row of bookcases flanking a fireplace came to him as successive details of his environment. A bar of yellow sunlight streamed through the end window.

A door behind him opened, and he turned to see a grinning, brown-faced Chinese boy approaching his bedside, bearing a breakfast tray.

“Ah Wing say he coming to see you by-m-by,” the newcomer commented placidly. “You hab breakfast now.”

He drew up a table and placed the tray in position, then skillfully arranged napkin and silverware—which were of the best quality—convenient to Colonel Knight’s hand. Afterward he withdrew.

Knight’s head felt clear enough, but, mentally and physically, he was relaxed to the point of incoherence. He wanted to think, but couldn’t.

Mechanically, he lifted to his lips the cup of steaming coffee that the servant had poured for him. The taste of the hot, bitter fluid—he drank it without cream or sugar—helped him pull himself together. He remembered everything now: his visit to the mysterious Chinaman; the coming of his enemies, and their attack on the basement room; his flight with Ah Wing; and the latter’s ruse for bringing Knight fully within his power.

Sharply he turned his head and looked again at the end window; it was barred with heavy iron rods, and so were the two windows at the side. This room in which he lay was a luxurious prison!

The door opened again, softly, and Colonel Knight turned his head to find Ah Wing advancing toward him, dressed in white flannel trousers, silk shirt, and serge coat. In such a rig the newcomer looked every inch a Chinaman.

“Good morning, Colonel,” Ah Wing greeted his guest courteously. “I am glad to see you looking so fresh and rested this morning!”

Knight began to tremble.

“You yellow crook!” he croaked, his hands drawing up into knots. “So that was your scheme—to rob me, and then kidnap me? But don’t think you can get away with it—”

Ah Wing approached the bed and deftly reached under the nearer of the two pillows. From this place of concealment he drew two things: the morocco jewel case, and a revolver that Knight remembered having carried in his inside coat pocket.

“Here are the principle articles of your property, Colonel Knight,” said the master of the house. “The other things you will find after you are dressed.”

He paused to watch the man in the bed open the leather box and stare hungrily at the flashing jewels. Then he continued.

“There was an ordeal ahead of you, my friend, and you were in no condition to go through with it. You needed rest, but your nerves were screwed up to the snapping point. There was only one way to get you safely out of the city, and I used it.”

“You mean that the Wolves don’t know where I am?” Knight demanded.

“Not yet. I shall remedy that presently.”

Colonel Knight’s voice rose into a snarl:

“Remedy it? You mean you want them to know?”

“Of course I want them to know. I want them here, where I can deal with them. But never fear, my friend. Your old enemies will never be able to hurt you!”

He paused and looked around the apartment, then turned again to the man in the bed.

“These are your quarters. Adjoining your bedroom is the bath. This door opens into your sitting-room, and adjoining that is my conservatory, which you are at liberty to visit when you choose. There are no conditions placed upon your residence here except that you are not to try to leave the house without my permission—_and you are to leave the end window exactly as it is_. Don’t even lay your hand upon it, or upon the sill! This is important!”

Knight stared again at the single end window through which the sun was shining. He stared from it to the face of the strange being who continued to regard him with the impersonal interest of a Buddha. A sense of baffled curiosity arose within him, and he made a nervous, protesting movement with one of his puffy hands.

“Who the devil _are_ you, anyway?” he broke out. “Ah Wing! That doesn’t mean anything to me—as well say ‘Mr. X!’ You are not a Chinaman. What and who are you?”

Ah Wing continued to stare imperturbably down at his guest, but the ghost of a smile showed at the corners of his usually expressionless mouth.

“No,” he agreed, “I am not a Chinaman. And I am not a Caucasian. You see that, dressed as I am today, I look unmistakably Oriental. Dressed like a man of Hong Kong, on the other hand, I look American or English. That has been my curse, and perhaps my blessing: the mixing of two irreconcilable blood lines has made me an outcast. I have no place in the government of any country, and therefore I have organized a government of my own.

“I am the emperor, the president, the king, of an invisible empire. I rule by right of intellect and will, and my first failure will be my death warrant; for, judged even by the standards of a thief like you, Colonel Knight, I am an outlaw—one who is outside the protection of the laws of men!”

He laughed, a short, mirthless laugh. As he crossed toward the door he said over his shoulder, “Remember about the window. I shall be going out from time to time, but if you carry out my instructions to the letter, no harm can come to you even in this house of hidden dangers.”

Try as he would, Colonel Knight could find nothing wrong with his situation as it had been outlined to him by Ah Wing. He spent most of the first day in the room in which he had awakened. From the windows in one direction he could see a landscaped lawn and hillside, dotted with shrubbery and intersected by winding gravel paths.

From the rear window concerning which he had been so curiously warned by the master of the house, he looked out over a bit of lawn bordering a kitchen garden. Beyond the garden lay a marshy field, and in the distance he made out a canal along which an occasional motor boat chugged industriously. No, there was nothing wrong here—he could hardly have hoped for a more peaceful place in which to rest and grow strong.

But—there was an air of brooding watchfulness over the silent house. He heard an occasional padded footstep passing the door of his sitting-room. Once he looked out. At the farther side of an extensive conservatory the brown-faced servant who had brought him his breakfast was spraying some snaky-looking vines bearing huge orange-colored flowers. Colonel Knight closed the door. Something about the place—the quiet and the isolation, perhaps, were getting on his nerves.

The second day passed as the first, but toward noon of the third day Ah Wing knocked at his door and entered noiselessly. He was dressed in his Oriental garb, and again looked like a poorly-disguised white man.

“I will be going out for a few hours this afternoon, Colonel,” he explained, regarding the man before him with his habitual unwinking stare. “I am taking Lim with me, and I think it will be best for you to remain in your quarters.”

Although his words had taken the form of a request, there was back of them the force of a command. The white man eyed him suspiciously, but presently nodded.

Some time later he heard the _whir_ of a starting motor. Lim had brought him his luncheon, and now Knight figured the house would be deserted. He smiled. This would be his opportunity to look around a bit. The instincts of the crook were strong within him, and he was immensely curious with regard to the house of Ah Wing.

He waited an hour after he had heard the car leave the garage—from the back window he had caught a glimpse of it: a gray roadster of moderate size and power. Now he felt sure that he would not be interrupted.

Crossing to the door of the conservatory, he passed into it. Along one side were orchids, Colonel Knight realized vaguely that the collection must be priceless. Many of them were growing in diminutive glass rooms, upon whose walls he saw heavy drops of moisture.

One pale green blossom near him had weird markings in white and yellow, which gave it a disturbing resemblance to a grinning human face. The man thrust out a curious finger and touched it: the blossom drew itself together like a conscious thing, and he became aware of a sickening perfume which in an instant turned him dizzy.

He shrank back and continued his journey. The concrete floor narrowed, and at his left he saw a lily pond, upon whose surface great white blossoms showed their buttery yellow centers. Between the pads and blossoms of the lilies the water showed, deep and dark.

Colonel Knight leaned forward to peer into the pool; then, with a choking cry he staggered back, his face drained of blood: an ugly black snout had shot up out of the murky depths, and a huge lizard, with short, powerful forelegs armed with long claws, stared hungrily up at him.

He found his appetite for exploration losing its edge. He was tempted to turn back, but he wanted to settle one point: in case he should want to leave this house, how could he best do it? The windows were securely barred, but there must be plenty of doors.

A hall opened out from the conservatory, and on either side were rooms, variously furnished. He hurried on. Ahead, he saw a door which seemed to give upon the outer world. He grasped the knob. The door was locked, and the lock was one which a glance told him could be neither picked nor smashed.

Turning, he explored the rear of the house. In the east wing he found the kitchens and servants’ quarters, but a door which probably communicated with the kitchen gardens was locked.

Suddenly his wandering eyes caught the handle of a door in an angle of the pantry. He approached it and found that it opened upon a stair leading down. A gust of warm, damp air came up through the stairway, and for a moment Knight paused, sniffing curiously.

He found himself thinking of a certain sultry afternoon in India, when he had gone out into the simmering jungle. There was the same wild smell here—

He had his revolver in his hip pocket. That gave him confidence, and he must know if it would be possible for him to escape in this direction.

A phrase spoken by Ah Wing came to him—“Even in this house of hidden dangers!” But what dangers could there be?

Colonel Knight felt his way down into the basement. He found that it lay almost entirely below the level of the grounds, but presently his eyes became accustomed to the dusk and he could discern his surroundings.

He was in a broad and deep room, filled with a litter of packing cases, discarded articles of furniture, and a few garden tools. At its farther side was a door. Slowly and cautiously, the investigator made his way toward this.

It opened into a dark and narrow passage. He made his way along this, trying the handles of two locked doors, one on the right and the other on the left. Then he came to the end of the passage and to another door.

Cautiously, he opened it and looked inside: before him lay a room somewhat better lighted than the passage, but absolutely destitute of furniture. He crossed the threshold and stood for a long moment looking about him. The smell which he had associated with that hot afternoon in the jungle came to him almost overpoweringly now, but beyond he saw a door with an iron-barred transom. He wanted to try that door.

He had crossed halfway toward it when some subtle sense of danger brought him to a stop. He looked back. Nothing.

Then, with a start, he looked up, into the dusky ceiling. Something was moving there—he stepped back, drawing in his breath with a sharp hissing intake of terror. He backed toward the door. It was taking shape, up there among some uncovered beams and pipes—a huge column that seemed to have come alive! Slowly it swung down in a great curve.

Colonel Knight stood frozen in his tracks. It was a snake—but such a snake! He knew that this was no waking vision, but a horrible reality—