it difficult to distinguish objects. Yet the sharp, heavy cleaver above the doomed man’s head was plain enough to Vincent’s eyes.
Only a few minutes more, and that messenger of destruction would perform its grisly task!
The prisoner tried to groan, but even that action was suppressed by the silken bandage between his jaws. His lips were dry; his eyes were staring; his breath came in fitful partings. He looked once more at the huge hourglass. The lower bowl was nearly filled; only a small amount of sand remained to run its course!
Another Chinaman came to the door. The mumble there attracted Vincent’s attention, and he was glad to turn his mind from that fearful glass. Evidently another guard had arrived, even though the hour was nearly ended.
The two Chinese talked deliberately in their native language. The new guard took his position, yet the other remained and pointed significantly to the body on the floor.
His action was easy to interpret. The fiend wanted to remain and watch the death stroke. But his companion gesticulated and talked in a commanding voice. The old guard pattered hastily away to report to his master.
The sands were almost gone; only a few remained to fall.
The prisoner cast a pitiful look toward the new guard, but saw no mercy there.
But the Chinaman left his post, and, coming close, leaned over the victim. His face seemed hideous in the gloom of the darkening room. There was a devilish leer upon his yellow lips, as he bent low beside Vincent.
Expecting the fall of the knife of death, Vincent cast one more look toward the window. The top half of the hourglass was nearly empty; he could almost count the last few grains as they fell.
But something strange was happening! The wicked-looking Chinaman was at his side, forcing and pressing at the padlock which held the chain about the prisoner’s arms.
Now the hourglass was empty at the top!
There was a sharp click; the chain loosened. Vincent’s eyes turned upward, and he saw the huge cleaver tremble for its plunge. A powerful arm was beneath his neck; his head was swung forward and upward, just as the mighty knife descended.
The edge of the falling blade whizzed past the top of Vincent’s head. He could feel the rush of air as it went by. It struck the floor with a tremendous crash, cheated of its victim at the last possible moment!
CHAPTER X
THE FIGHT IN THE GLOOM
The short, squatty Chinaman was forcing the padlock, which bound the captive’s feet to the lower posts. The rescued man was leaning back, exhausted by his ordeal. His head was propped against the heavy cleaver that had fallen a fraction of a second too late.
There was another click; the chain was loosened at Vincent’s feet. But would the Chinaman cut the bonds and remove the gag?
Vincent’s mind was working clearly now, and his heart sank.
Perhaps this was not a rescue. No friend could have penetrated to the depths of this fiendish lair. It must be another trick of the ruthless Wang Foo - to save his victim from one expected death only to conceive a more terrifying torture for him.
There was a sound at the doorway. Yes, there they were - the three giant Chinamen who had brought him to this dreadful room. They must have come to carry him away again, Vincent supposed.
The short, squatty Celestial turned his head at the sound of footsteps. He rose, and Vincent expected him to greet his companions. But this was not to be.
Even in that dim light, the prisoner could see the look of amazement on the faces of the three giants. He could hear their angered hisses as they dashed into the room.
Sharp knives gleamed as the two leading Chinamen threw themselves at the one who had released Vincent. The little, chunky man seemed to cower and draw away.
But, as the two giants were almost upon them, a strange thing happened.
The little Chinaman grew large; his body seemed to spread upward to almost a foot above his former height!
The stranger’s arm shot through the gloom to catch the first of the Chinese giants squarely upon the chin. The monster staggered, then slumped to the floor. His companion jumped in, swinging a swift, upward knife-thrust for the midsection of Vincent’s rescuer.
With surprising alacrity, the latter turned his body and caught the wrist of his attacker. The huge yellow man was catapulted through the air, his knife skidding harmlessly across the room.
Meanwhile, the third Wang Foo minion was not idle. Feeling his two companions could handle the active opposition, he had turned to the captive lashed to the floor.
He had stood for a short space of time contemplating he who had so miraculously escaped the cleaver. Then, having evidently decided to make up for the cleaver’s failure, he drew his knife and tested its point with his fingers while a wicked light shone from his squinting eyes.
Shortly thereafter he poised the knife above Vincent’s breast, then started his arm downward on its death- dealing journey. A strange, terrifying laugh suddenly pierced the room and Vincent closed his eyes.
That which followed was utter black confusion to Vincent. Only in a more peaceful interlude thereafter could he figure out the action that likely had transpired. Once again his unknown rescuer must have served him when sorely needed.
The stranger, Vincent decided, must have hurtled himself upon the back of Vincent’s attacker. For the huge Chinaman now lay motionless upon the floor, pierced to death by his own knife!
But there was no time then to ask questions. One of the two opponents who had earlier been temporarily accounted for had now recovered, and was wading in. Without pausing for breath, Vincent’s rescuer leaped from the floor, and, seizing the remaining giant by the arms, swung him over his shoulder, and carried him, struggling but helpless, to the door. With one great heave he flung the huge man headlong down the stairs. A great thump, and the groan that followed was sufficient proof that the third of Wang Foo’s warriors would fight no more.
The strange Chinaman, Vincent noticed, had resumed his squatty appearance. Picking up one of the knives, he cut Vincent’s bonds and helped the prisoner to his feet. He drew Vincent to the window, where the cooling air of dusk brought new strength to the weakened American.
Opening his coat, the Chinaman dropped a coil of rope that had been wound about his body. He fastened an end of the rope to one of the bars in the window, and fitted the other end about Vincent’s waist.
“Lean against the wall,” he whispered, in perfect English. “Rest until I make an opening. Then you can drop to safety. The alley will take you to the street. Your cab will be waiting there.”
Vincent was too weak to do more than nod. The room was now almost dark. He could see nothing but the shadowy form of the Chinaman who had rescued him. Then he observed the man’s hands at the window.
They were slender hands, but they seemed to possess tremendous power. They were working at a bar, which was set firmly in the framework of the window. It seemed incredible that any human being could move that rod of iron; but as Vincent watched, he saw it bend - just the fraction of an inch.
The hands continued their work. The bar was yielding now, only a trifle more than before. The minutes were moving by; they were precious minutes, Vincent knew. Yet the slim, powerful hands worked on.
The bar had assumed the form of a curve. Then suddenly the hands ceased to twist it. They were motionless, and Vincent knew that the man in the dark was listening. There was perfect silence for a moment.
Then, from the depths of the house below, came four strokes of a Chinese gong.
The hands became active again. The bar began to move. It budged backward and forward, from side to side. Suddenly it snapped from its moorings, and the hands pulled it inward. The opening between the next bar and the window-frame was just large enough for a man to squeeze through.
“Hurry,” came the whisper from the shadows. “Through the window.”
Vincent clambered to the sill. He grasped the bar to which the rope had been attached, and pulled his body to the position desired. His rescuer, now invisible in the darkness, helped him push his way to the outer air.
“Steady,” came the whisper. “Make sure you have the upper end of the rope. Let yourself down easily. There will be time.”
Footsteps were stamping up the stairs. There was the sound of voices, half-shouting in Chinese.
