“A skirt again!” grumbled Pete. But he shook himself loose and beat it for the door. They both dove down the stairs.
“Guess the Chink’ll shoot her the same works he wanted to shoot me. Make for the red dungeon, Pete.”
“Where’s...?”
“How do I know?” growled Dude as he yanked open the front door. “Sounds like some side show rigged up in the basement. Find it, where ever it is, see?”
Dude was off alone down the street.
As he neared China Jo’s, he walked slower. What was his next move? He could wait for the fellows to arrive and walk into the restaurant backed safely by his gang. Nothing could happen then. The chop suey joint was still too crowded with people for any rough stuff. He could reach as far as the second floor that way. But what could he do then? He could not get beyond. A move farther and then the blazin’ would start.
“Blazin’,” he laughed to himself. “Guess the Chink is too clever for that! He’s got other and less noisy means of sendin’ a guy to hell.”
Dude took the other side of the street and slunk past Jo’s and up as far as the house from which he had made this exit from the roof just a short time before. He waited in the vestibule a minute, hands on his gats.
Had a look-out at Jo’s seen him and followed? He waited another minute, watchful, ready. He was safe so far. They had not seen him. They didn’t expect him back so soon — and alone.
He started up the stairs. Then he paused. He would not try the roof again. Best not try the same thing twice. They might be waiting for him there.
He came back down the stairs, turned, and walked slowly along the dark, smelly hallway, and out the back door. He was over fence after fence like a cat. Finally, the lights on the second floor showed him he was at the back entrance of China Jo’s. Best go easy now! That door was never unguarded. He hugged close to the wall and noiselessly reached the door. He flattened himself against the wall next the door and made a sound with his foot.
As he expected, yellow ears had caught the sound. It had worked. A latch slipped. The back door flung open and a head appeared. He brought his billy down and a body fell across the threshold.
Still he was wary. He would not enter that way. He pulled the inert body clear out and closed the door. A window next to the door yielded noiselessly to his jimmy and he was in the back room of what was supposedly a Chinese grocery. He would not trust himself to use a flash. He crept around the wall, feeling with his sensitive fingers. He could glide without a sound.
“If there’s a secret shaft down to the basement,” he figured, as he continued along the wall, “it’s not in the hall. That’s too easy for the bulls. It would have to stick out from the rest of the wall some. And it ain’t in the grocery in front or anybody could see it. I’m in the room with it now, unless that damn Chink was just tryin’ to throw a scare into me.”
His hand met a joining. It was not the corner. In the darkness he could make out the wall two feet beyond. He had struck the shaft!
Now his real difficulty began — to get into that shaft and down it. He continued to feel around. If he attempted to remove plaster and lath he would be heard. Maybe even the shaft was lined with steel. And above all, it would take at least a quarter of an hour. Too long, much too long. One of his spread fingers sunk a little in the plaster!
“Luck for the first time to-night,” was his thought. “China Jo ain’t so damn clever.”
He pushed his finger again, harder. The entire side of the shaft, as high as the ceiling, had opened almost half an inch. He pushed harder. It would open no more. This entrance to the shaft was evidently little used. He tugged at the open half inch. There was a grating noise. No time for delicate operations now. He may have been heard.
Dude ripped it open the rest of the way. He was sure that noise had been heard outside. In a second he had grasped the cable in the shaft, slid to the cellar and crouched against the brick wall in the darkness.
No sound above. Maybe the Chinks knew the dangers of the cellar and did not think it necessary to follow. He dared not move without his flash now. The ray of light revealed a long, dark passage. And thank God he had turned on the flash!
Directly at the entrance to the passage was a pit in the floor — a long drop. Dude trained the flash down — a sheer wall down of — he could not see how many feet.
He shivered as he pictured his mangled body at the bottom. He made the jump across and was about to start up the dark passageway when there were lights behind and above. Voices! Not one — several.
Dude was back at the pit. He grasped the edge and lowered himself. His head was below the floor level. Only the tips of clutching fingers above. Maybe they would pass over him and not see him. It was a chance.
He could hear the voices more plainly now.
“A cinch, so far,” one whispered.
“There’s some trap,” another insisted. “Never knew a tong guard to fall asleep at a door before and leave a trap door open. Good we didn’t have to sink some lead through him and bring on the cops.”
“You dumb gunman, you” — Dude recognized the voice as Pete’s — “that tongman wasn’t asleep. He’s out for the count. Must have been the same way Dude came, see? Watch out here. A pit. Jump it!”
“Damn you! Get off my fingers,” and as Pete jumped back and leveled his rod, Dude pulled himself out of the pit, shaking his bruised hand.
Orders were fast now. They crept on along the passage. A blind alley. No door at the end. Suddenly, a scream! A woman’s scream of fear.
“It’s somewhere on this wall on the left,” said Dude.
A search revealed no door. They were about to try the other wall when a streak of light showed on the wall they had searched. The streak widened. A tongman came out. Dude had his throat. Pete trained the flash on him. Tango’s silencer clicked. The Chink smashed on the concrete floor.
A louder scream. The door was closing. Dude jumped quick. He was inside the door, both guns drawn. The door closed fast behind him. His gang was on the other side, pounding. Their blows were useless against tested steel. He was alone in China Jo’s stronghold.
But there were only three other men in the room. With one gun, Dude had covered the cringing tong leader Jo, as he sat enthroned on a high carved chair against the wall. The other was ready to fire at either of the two henchmen opposite.
They had hold of Half-Breed Rose and were dragging her, bound, terrified, naked, to a colossal image, an enormous porcelain furnace in reality. From the god’s gaping mouth shot tongues of flame. Marble steps led from the floor to the greedy, fiery jaws.
“No such delicious morsel,” said Dude, indicating with a nod of his head Rose’s figure stretched on the floor; “No such delicious morsel ain’t goin’ into yon big god’s pot belly. Now, open this door!” he commanded.
“I will do so” — China Jo reached for a button.
“No,” came a shriek from the floor. “Jump, Dude!”
He did, just in time, but his guns never shifted their aim. The floor had opened where he stood. A quick glance down showed darkness.
Dude’s nostrils expanded in fury.
“Get over with the other two, you damn Chinaman,” he yelled. “Now, let the girl loose.”
Rose stretched her cramped arms. Immediately, she was conscious of her naked flesh, and reached for a silken cloth at the foot of the idol.
“Come here, Rose. I want you to let my men in. They’re back o’ this door.”
Even China Jo’s scowling eyes did not prevent her from obeying. Dude’s voice carried authority. She reached to press a spring under the arm of the chair in which the tong leader had sat. The steel door began to open. Dude’s gang was behind him.