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He turned out all the pockets, counted the contents of the purse, and of the notecase, examined the name inside M. Max's hat, and explored the lining in a manner which aroused the detective's professional admiration. Watch and pocket-knife, Ho-Pin inspected with interest. The little hand-bag which M. Max had brought with him, containing a few toilet necessaries, was overhauled religiously.
He heard the clap of hands close behind him; and a door opened within twelve inches of the spot whereat he stood. He tottered out into the matting-lined corridor from which he had started upon that nightmare journey; Ho-Pin appeared at his elbow, but no door appeared behind Ho-Pin! "This is your wroom," said the Chinaman, revealing his yellow teeth in a mirthless smile.
In the cave of the golden dragon, Gianapolis sat smoking upon one of the divans. The silence of the place was extraordinary; unnatural, in the very heart of busy commercial London. Ho-Pin reappeared and standing in the open doorway of Block A sharply clapped his hands three times.
The blinds worked in little vertical grooves and had each a tiny lock. The blinds covering the glass doors on either side were attached to the adjustable windows; so that when Ho-Pin had raised the window, he had also closed the blind! And these windows operated automatically, and defied all M. Max's efforts to open them!
The figure was a vague blur in the darkness, but it was moving away along by the rails... following Gianapolis. No clear glimpse she had of it, for bat-like, it avoided the light, this sinister shape and was gone. It is time to rejoin M. Gaston Max in the catacombs of Ho-Pin.
"Said will change his appeawrance," continued Ho-Pin, smoothly, "so that he will not wreadily be wrecognized. Said will come now." Ho-Pin clapped his hands three times. The door at the end of the room immediately opened, and a thick-set man of a pronounced Arabian type, entered. He wore a chauffeur's livery of dark blue; and Soames recognized him for the man who had driven the car.
Whether Miss Cumberly is confined in the establishment of Ho-Pin or somewhere else, I cannot say; whether she is a captive of Gianapolis or of Mr. King, I do not know. But I know that the usual conduct of the establishment is not being interrupted at present; for only half-an-hour ago I telephoned to Mr. Gianapolis!" "At Globe Road?" snapped Dunbar, with a flash of the tawny eyes. Mr.
A voice, a harsh, guttural voice surely not that of Ho-Pin was audible, above the moaning. For two minutes three minutes four minutes he stood there, tottering on the brink of insensibility, then... a faint sound a new sound, drew his gaze across the room, and up to the corner where the trap was situated.
Once you are acquainted with it, you can take the air every evening at suitable hours, on application to Mr. Ho-Pin." Soames coughed dryly. "Very good," he said in a strained voice; "I am glad of that." "I knew you would be glad, Soames," declared the smiling Gianapolis; "and now, if you will step this way, I will show you the door by which you must come and go."
Now, he realized that Mr. King was unaware of the existence of at least one clue held by the police; was unaware that his name was associated with the Palace Mansions murder. The catacombs of Ho-Pin were a sinking ship, and Soames was first of the rats to leave.
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