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Updated: May 11, 2025
It was pulling fiercely toward the river now, but the anchor held fast. Suddenly Harry sprang up. Pauline started to follow his example, but he motioned her to stay where she was. In his hand gleamed the revolver, that he had carried ever since the battle in Baskinelli's den. "Who is it?" whispered Pauline. "Can you see some one?" He raised the revolver in the air, took aim and fired.
Strangely, as she fled through the narrow corridor, the low, flaring gas jets were extinguished one by one. She groped in darkness. Baskinelli's pleading voice became almost a consolation, a protection. Her elbow struck something in the passageway. The something shrank at the touch. She heard a quick drawn breath that was not Baskinelli's. She tried to run. The tiny passageway chocked her flight.
The man of the tilted mustachios gave brief, imperative orders to the waiters, whose languid steps seemed to be quickened by his words as by an electric battery. The other two sat silent, like docile dogs in leash. Only for an instant Baskinelli's eyes rested upon the group. "And having tasted the food of the gods, how would you like to visit the gods themselves?" he asked.
How should she know that there were two doors, locked and sealed beyond? Her wild screams rang through the long passage, through the dark, above the shuffle and beat and cursing of the staged fight. In the dim light she could see the three Italians grappling with the other men. Baskinelli's voice called to her reassuringly. It might well. Baskinelli was in no danger.
Pauline stopped Baskinelli's intended reply. She wanted Harry to be ignored utterly. Her anger had made him flippant. His flippancy had put the seal of completeness upon her anger. A flutter of polite alarm attended Signor Baskinalli's invitation. From the sheltered glitter of a Fifth avenue drawing room to Chinatown was a plunge a little too deep.
"You mean Miss Marvin, do you not?" blazed Harry, striding to Baskinelli's side and glaring down at him. "I was interrupted. I had not finished my words. They are, at best, awkward, I beg " "You beg nothing," said Harry through clenched teeth. Then slowly, grimly: "I want to tell you, you little leper, that if anything happens here tonight it is going to happen to you."
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