Part 9

“_Yi ko pu hau!_ I shall not need you any more, Ko Loo,” interrupted Cho-San harshly. “Get out; Lotus. I’ll follow you, Count Borg. Since your mind is admittedly sick, I would rather not turn my back on you, even here in my own quarters!”

“Tit for tat, and insult for insult!” smiled Don, as a brilliant light filled the room from concealed electric lamps. “You can’t make me angry tonight, though, Cho-San. Not even by breaking up my evening’s date with your ward! So far, your little game of hide-and-seek is most fascinating. Even as a boy, I remember....”

“Quite so!” hissed the Chinese furiously. “There is nothing wrong with your memory, Borg! And I can promise that you will have cause to remember _this_ night if you live to be a hundred—which is not likely. Ummm-hummm! Not likely at all! Now, Lotus, if you will lead the way, please.”

“Which—which way do you wish to take, Cho-San?” asked the girl in a frightened voice. “The one through the shop?”

“Ummmm, yes. That will do,” rumbled the Oriental. “It will be new, I think, to Count Borg.”

“Right-o!” agreed Don airily. “I don’t remember any secret passage through your shop.”

“You made the last trip to the comrades’ quarters by way of Cho-San’s house, André,” Lotus murmured, taking Don’s hand. “Follow me closely now, and don’t put out your hand to touch the walls!”

As she spoke a panel slid noiselessly open in the side of the room. Cho-San raised his hand to the light switch. Glancing back Don noted with surprise that the big rolling doors of the garage were now shut, though no sound had betrayed their closing.

Darkness descended like a blow as he turned his head. Don could not hear Cho-San’s footsteps, though he guessed that the Chinese was moving toward him. Lotus’ gentle grasp on his hand was the only thing that seemed real in that Stygian blackness. Like a blind man he followed her lead.

* * * * *

Meantime, several blocks away, Red Pennington perched anxiously on the seat of a skidding taxi. The driver he had picked up outside the Empire Hotel was good at this game of trailing a car on the dodge, but Ko Loo had been giving him the works.

Both the driver and his fare realized this at the same moment.

“It’s this blasted fog, sir!” the former complained, straightening out after a turn on two wheels. “I can’t get close enough to see if that car ahead’s the same one we’re after. Not without rammin’ his rear bumper! Seems to me that guy cut in from behind us while we was dodgin’ cross-traffic a mile back!”

“I got the same idea, so you must be right,” groaned Red, peering through the misted glass. “Look! That car’s stopping—pulling over to the curb. Suppose you pull in ahead of it. I just saw something else....”

“Yeah? Well, all right!” grunted the driver, jamming on his brakes. “That car we just passed ain’t the one we was chasin’ first, so what’s the diff? The meter reads ten miles an’ a quarter!”

“Take that and keep the change, brother!” replied Red, shoving a bill with two figures on it into the taxi driver’s hand. “I’m getting out here. Stick around for a few minutes, in case I need you!”

Not waiting for the man’s thanks, he dodged across the misty street. Some two hundred feet back, the glare of the taxi’s headlights had briefly picked out a gilt sign on a darkened shop front. The words Red had glimpsed were: “CHO-SAN’S _Antiques and Curios_.”

Now, whipping a small flashlight from his pocket, he read the sign again, from the distance of a few feet. The shop, whose window was curtained, seemed neither large nor pretentious. On either side were warehouses closed by high, sliding doors. The blank, uninteresting walls were in need of paint and spotted with torn bill posters.

“Some dump!” Red Pennington muttered to himself. “Well, I had to take a look at what was under that sign, even if it didn’t do me a whale of a lot of good! We lost Don’s car so far back that there’s no use guessing where it—Huh! THAT’S something I didn’t see before!”

The flashlight beam, pointing downward, had picked out the marks of wet tire treads crossing the sidewalk at his feet The tracks disappeared under the big rolling doors of the warehouse to the left of Cho-San’s shop.

Sometime in the past hour, perhaps in the last few minutes, a car had gone in there!

As Red stood there pondering, he heard a motor start up behind him. At the moment, however, it did not seem important. The real problem was to find proof that the car which had made those wet tracks was the one he’d been trying to follow.

Bending down, he scrutinized the tread marks by the light of his small pocket torch. The sidewalk all about them was covered with tiny droplets of moisture, he noticed. But the marks themselves were barely starting to mist over.

Acting on a sudden idea, Red threw his light on one of his own footprints made on the fog-wet sidewalk a few seconds before. Already, he saw, two or three droplets had formed on the darker spot where his heel had pressed.

The conclusion was plain. A big car, with new, expensive tires had entered the warehouse doors _less than five minutes ago_!

As Red Pennington straightened up, he made his decision. He would take the taxi back to the nearest public telephone, call Hammond at the office, report what he had found, and then stick around on watch until relieved by a trained detective. Longer watching might attract attention, considering that he had come out minus hat or topcoat.

A few quick steps took him across the street to the car which was waiting at the curb.

“Okay, brother!” he said, jerking open the rear door and ducking inside. “Back to the nearest phone booth, and make it snappy! There’s another ten spot in it for you if—Say! What tha ding-dong.... _This isn’t my taxi!”_

XXIII

THE CHINESE CABINET

At the end of fifty steps in a darkness so thick that it could almost be felt, Lotus pressed Don’s hand, signaling a halt. As she did so, there sounded the soft whir of hidden machinery.

“We arrive at the gateway of a secret world, my dear Count!” boomed Cho-San’s bass voice from somewhere behind them.

The man’s voice echoed strangely as if thrown back by the arches of the unseen tunnel. For all his effort at self-control, Don Winslow felt a shiver of apprehension creep up his spine at the eerie sound of it.

“I’ve never had a fancy for this underground stuff, Cho-San,” he answered, forcing a laugh. “It’s not in an airman’s line, you know. Give me the freedom of the sky, every time, and you can have your underground ratholes!”

“Hush, André!” cried Lotus softly, clinging to his arm. “Scorpia must operate not only in the air, not only on sea and land, but _underneath_ them as well. You know that as well as anybody. See, now! The panel is opening, and we step through into Cho-San’s shop, where you have been many times.”

As they emerged into the dimly lighted curio shop, the soft whir of machinery ended with a click.

Glancing over his shoulder, Don saw the big Chinese standing behind him against a blank wall. There was no sign of the opening through which the three of them had just passed.

“Neat, very neat indeed, Cho-San!” murmured the pseudo count. “But, tell me, which way do we go from here to the comrades’ quarters? My recollection is still a bit vague, although this room does seem familiar....”

“The cabinet!” broke in the Scorpion leader shortly. “That way is the quickest. And I am tired of hearing about your infernal memory, Borg! Open the cabinet, Lotus!”

Obediently the girl crossed to a huge cabinet of ebony wood, and twisted one of its curiously carved dragons’ heads. With scarcely a sound the door swung wide, leaving an opening the size of a full grown man. How far back the space extended Don could not see from where he stood.

“Step in, Lotus, and show your André the way!” sneered Cho-San. “You act, Count Borg, as if it were a trap. Don’t worry, I am following you both inside!”

The Chinese suited his action to the word, closing the cabinet door after him. Again Don caught the smooth, scarcely audible hum of oiled machinery somewhere near by.

“More darkness!” he sighed after a number of seconds had ticked by in silence. “Really, Cho-San, a nice bright electric bulb here would cheer things up! By the way, I thought we were going somewhere in a hurry. This jolly old cabinet....”

“Silence, fool!” gritted the Oriental. “You are no longer in the cabinet you entered a moment ago. That ancient work of art is now standing as you saw it, far above us. Only its floor is missing, for that is now beneath our feet!”

“And here we are almost at the entrance to the comrades’ quarters!” cried Lotus, as the elevator floor quivered briefly. “Now I shall press another invisible button, and you shall see that I am right, André. There will be plenty of light where we are going.”

Once more a panel slid aside to show a narrow, dimly lighted corridor. This one seemed to be dug out of bedrock, with rough corners projecting. Slipping into it, the girl disappeared around a jagged corner.

“She’ll get hurt dodging around those rocks!” Don exclaimed. “Where’s she gone, anyway? Why didn’t you stop her, Cho-San?”

“Because she is in no danger—as yet!” purred the big Chinese. “The little Lotus has been brought up in these subterranean passages and rooms. She knows her way where you, my dear count, would lose yours a hundred times over. Just now she has gone to turn up more lights so that you can see to follow.”

As he spoke, the rough passage was flooded with sudden brilliance, far greater than necessary, Don thought. As he stepped away from the elevator toward Lotus’ waiting figure, Cho-San himself volunteered the explanation.

“There are machine guns covering every turn on this passage, Borg,” he chortled evilly. “You cannot see them, so you must take my word. Under these brilliant lights they could mow down any police forces which might be unlucky enough to come this far into Scorpia’s underworld, or anyone trying to escape from it. A very comforting thought, don’t you agree?”

Don’s only answer was a shrug of his smoothly tailored shoulders. The next moment he was at Lotus’ side picking his way over the tunnel’s uneven floor.

Around the second turn the girl halted, and reaching up, inserted her fingers behind an angle of the damp stone. As if by magic a door-sized section of the rock wall moved back, disclosing a furnished apartment.

Don stepped through the opening, closely followed by Cho-San. At the soft click of a falling latch, he did not even bother to turn. The wall through which they had just passed would show no sign of a doorway, he was certain.

For the first time since leaving the car in the garage, the Chinese now seemed to drop his air of ugly suspicion. His moonlike face was almost smiling as he turned to face Don.

“I will leave you, my friend, for a short while,” his deep voice intoned. “The little Lotus will remain to entertain you, so that the time will not pass too heavily. If there is anything more you may desire before I return, simply touch that bell by the table.”

With a parting nod his huge figure vanished behind a tall, carved screen. Don Winslow stood gazing at it thoughtfully for a long moment, then turned to his small companion.

“Well, little Lotus,” he began, “I hope your memory never starts playing tricks on you like mine. This room, for instance—”

A strange expression in the girl’s dark eyes stopped him short. Following her look and gesture he stepped quickly to the inlaid teakwood table.

The thing looked innocent enough. It’s decorated top bore nothing but a vase and a small lacquered tray. One glance underneath, however, explained Lotus’ silent warning.

Fastened to the underside of the table top was a compact little dictaphone, no doubt being used at this moment by a Scorpion eavesdropper!

Back at the spot where he had first stood, Don picked up the conversation.

“This apartment _does_ seem vaguely familiar,” he continued. “It’s like something I dreamed about long ago. Perhaps if you showed me the other rooms it might all come back to me. Shall we try it?”

It was the cue for which the girl had been waiting. With an eager nod she led the way toward a curtained archway.

“Why, certainly, André!” she answered. “There’s no harm in looking around. These are the comrades’ quarters, or at least one section of them, and of course you have been here before. Beyond this hall is a small dining room, and a sort of butler’s pantry. The sleeping quarters are on another level entirely....”

As the heavy curtains fell back into place, Don found himself in a tiny hallway, lighted by a dim overhead lamp. He was about to proceed when the girl’s quick grasp on his arm halted him in his tracks.

“We can talk now,” she whispered, “but we must be brief. _I know who you are, Don Winslow!_”

The shock of those words paralyzed Don’s wits for the space of five heartbeats. Backing off, he reached for the small but deadly automatic pistol concealed under his left armpit. An instant later he dropped his hands.

“I am at your mercy, it appears!” he said with a twisted smile.

The girl shook her dark head. Gliding closer she lifted her eyes to stare straight into his.

“It is Cho-San, not Lotus, whom you have cause to fear,” she said. “He believes you are working against Scorpia for your own interests, but he does not know the truth. I shall not tell him, Don Winslow, provided you have done no harm to Count André Borg!”

Don thought that over carefully. He read the meaning behind her words, and knew Lotus was in love with the dashing André. Besides she must be aware that Borg’s advertised escape was a mere blind. Why, then, did she not take revenge, for herself and her friends, by showing up the pseudo count without delay?

Puzzled, he put a question of his own.

“If I tell you that Count Borg is safe and well, except for a head wound like mine, how can you trust my word? A man in danger of his life is apt to say anything which will save it. How do you know I won’t lie to you, Miss Lotus?”

“You will not lie, for the simple reason that I am ready to believe your word,” the girl answered confidently. “That way, I put myself at _your_ mercy. I trust myself to your honor, which you would rather die than betray. Is it not so, Don Winslow of the Navy?”

With a silent laugh Don threw up his hands.

“You win, Miss Lotus!” he admitted. “The truth is that Count André Borg is well and will come to no harm, in spite of any past crimes he may have committed. It is a long story, but ...”

“Stop!” cried Lotus, fiercely gripping the young officer’s jacket front. “You say he is well, yet he will not be punished! Do you mean his _mind_ has been injured? That wound on his head ... No! No! I would rather have André dead than insane! Tell me! Tell me the whole truth, or I _will_ call Cho-San!”

Quickly Don gave her an outline of Count Borg’s strange situation, from the moment when he came to his senses in the _Gatoon’s_ sick bay.

“You see, Miss Lotus,” the young commander explained, “your friend is a lot saner now than he was during the seven years he served Scorpia. It is fortunate for him that he doesn’t recall anything of that time. To him, April, nineteen thirty-three, seems only last week!”

The girl’s eyes had filled with tears that suddenly overflowed. Her small mouth quivered like a lost child’s.

“Then—then he isn’t my André any more!” she sobbed softly. “He doesn’t remember that he ever knew me. Now I have nothing left to live for—not even one true friend!”

XXIV

CHO-SAN’S NEWS

A drooping, discouraged little figure, Lotus stumbled back to the closed curtains. As she raised a hand to part them, Don Winslow called her back.

“You are wrong,” he said huskily as the girl turned. “Count Borg needs friends right now. He needs you, Lotus! One of these days he will be released. If he has no friend to whom it matters, _he’s_ going to feel life and liberty aren’t worth much, isn’t he? Answer me that!”

Slowly Lotus’ small chin lifted. Her shoulders lost their discouraged droop.

“Thank you, Don Winslow!” she whispered. “André was like that, too, saying things to give me courage when all seemed hopeless. You resemble each other in more things than voice and appearance. That is why I couldn’t ever betray you to Cho-San! But come! It is dangerous to talk here longer. We must return to the living room, in case Cho-San comes looking for us.”

Don realized that she was right. Without a word he followed back through the curtained archway, ready once more to play the part of Count Borg. As it turned out, they were barely in time.

Lotus had just seated herself when the little French maid, Suzette, appeared silently.

“A telephone message for Mademoiselle!” the girl announced. “Cho-San requests that you take it from the apartment of Doctor Skell.”

With a warning glance at Don, Lotus rose to her feet. “You will excuse me, André?” she asked. “It seems that our evening together is doomed to be broken up ... Suzette! Are you not glad to see Count Borg after his three months’ absence?”

The maid bobbed a quaint little foreign courtesy.

“I am ver’ glad to see you again, Monsieur!” she smiled, as Lotus left the room. “Did Mademoiselle have time to show you through the new apartment beyond this one? It has been made over since you were last here.”

The wink which accompanied the last statement set Don’s thoughts racing. Suzette’s hint was plain enough. She wanted an excuse to lead him out of the room. But why? Did she have something to say that was not meant for the hidden dictaphone?

“Made over, hmmm?” Don drawled, picking up the cue where she dropped it. “No, Mademoiselle didn’t show me that. Might as well kill time while she’s gone by taking a look.”

Rising, he followed the little maid through the same archway where Lotus had taken him. As the heavy curtains fell back in place, he was not surprised to find Suzette at his elbow. Standing on tiptoe, the French maid whispered swiftly in his ear.

“I also,” he caught the softly breathed words, “know who you are, Commander!”

The shock to Don’s nerves was less, this time; but before he had time to recover, Suzette pulled his ear down once more.

“We must be brief, M’sieur,” she murmured, “but I will tell you that w’ich even Mademoiselle Lotus do not know. I am operative of the French Secret Service, working to discover the Scorpion’s so evil plans. I listen w’en you talk with Mademoiselle behind this curtain. Of course I have hear of the so famous Don Winslow, so I tell myself: 'Suzette, you are one lucky woman! Perhaps you can help the Commander to trap the enemy tonight!’”

In silent admiration, Don offered the plucky girl his hand. How long she had been risking her life surrounded day and night by Scorpion agents, he could only guess. Both her cleverness and her courage, he knew, must be extraordinary to get away with such a feat.

“You mean we can find a way to trap them at the big meeting tonight?” he whispered breathlessly. “That’s even a bigger stunt than I’d hoped to pull off! I came here to get evidence against the big shots, but if we can deal Scorpia a crippling blow at the same time....”

“_Oui!_ That is my thought!” cut in the French woman swiftly. “But there is not now time to tell you my plan. Instead I must warn you. Something have happen to make Cho-San suspect you are not André Borg!”

“That cuts it!” groaned Don. “I must have been pulling a whole string of boners. First Lotus, then you, and now Cho-San gets wise to me....”

“No! No! It is not that, M’sieur!” whispered the little maid. “You have not pull the boner, and Cho-San is not sure. You see he have just got the news that Michael Splendor and Commander Winslow have arrived by plane. The Scorpion spy who saw them at the airport say Don Winslow have a wound on the head jus’ like yours. That start Cho-San wondering w’ich is the real Don Winslow and w’ich is Count André Borg.”

“And so,” smiled Don grimly, “Cho-San sent you in to size me up and report which of the two _you_ think I am! Well, so long as he isn’t sure, I stand a chance to get away with it. I’ll have to be more than ever on my guard now, that’s all.”

“_Mais oui!_” Suzette said loudly, pushing aside the curtains. “And now, Monsieur, that you have seen the made over apartment, is there anything else you desire? Perhaps some music from the radio, while you await Mademoiselle Lotus?”

Before Don could reply, Cho-San himself appeared from behind the tall screen. A wave of his long fingered hand disposed of the maid. As she glided from the room, the big Chinese turned slowly to face the young Intelligence officer.

“I have news for you. Count Borg,” he announced in an ominous tone. “The man who is your double in voice and features has just arrived at the airport. My agent who saw him reported that the wound on his head is identical with yours. But that is not all. It seems that even the tiny scar beneath Count Borg’s cheekbone has reproduced itself on the face of Don Winslow!”

For a long moment Don’s gray eyes returned the Oriental’s snakelike gaze. Above all things, he told himself, he must not show nervousness. Instead, he managed an incredulous laugh.

“Now, really, Cho-San,” he bantered. “You can’t expect me to swallow a whopper like that! Either you’re pulling my leg, or your agent had one glass too many under his belt when he looked at Winslow. The Commander wouldn’t have any reason to copy my facial misfortunes, you know!”

“I do not know!” snarled Cho-San, giving way to one of his sudden rages. “I have found Commander Winslow unbelievably clever on many occasions. If I thought he could lower his stiff pride to impersonate a fool, I should suspect that _your_ scars were faked!”

“And that the real Count Borg is now a traitor wearing the uniform of a United States Navy Commander?” crowed Don, sinking limply onto the nearest couch. “Oh-h-n, ha-ha-ha! I never thought to see you so confused, Cho-San! Why, supposing Winslow were—ha, ha—such an idiot as to shoot himself in the head, he couldn’t fake this scar under my eye, too. You can see for yourself, Cho-San. It isn’t painted!”

Lurching to his feet, Don thrust his face close to that of the glowering Chinese. The effect was everything that he desired. On the instant, Cho-San’s suspicion was swept away by the sheer violence of his wrath.

“Silence, you laughing hyena!” thundered the Scorpion leader. “Perhaps if your silly face _were_ painted it would sicken me less! As it is, I shall use it to serve the purposes of Scorpia, in a way suggested by Don Winslow himself. Within the next twenty-four hours that young officer will disappear. At the same time you, André Borg, will take his place and carry out certain orders. With Winslow safely in our hands, we shall proceed to spread dismay in the ranks of the Navy Intelligence!”

The harsh brutality in Cho-San’s voice did more than anything to reassure Don. The Chinese had evidently made up his mind that Count Borg now stood before him, and had turned his explosive energy to another problem. From now on Don’s best play was obviously to agree.

As he was about to reply, a concealed buzzer sounded loudly in the room. Cho-San turned with a muttered exclamation, and hurried out by way of the carved screen.

XXV

LOTUS’ CONFESSION

Puzzled and impatient, Don Winslow paced up and down the large, luxuriously furnished room. He liked to plan his moves in advance. Instead, ever since he had met Lotus in the dining room of the Empire, he had been facing one unexpected situation after another, in bewildering succession.

Whether Suzette, the French Secret Service operative, had any definite plans he could not tell. As for Lotus, he wanted another talk with her out of range from any concealed dictaphone.

A soft _click_ of a latch behind caused him to whirl. There stood the girl herself, laughing, her back against the innocent-looking panel through which she must have entered.