tie my hands and lash me to the chair, and I noted that one of the giant Manchurians was doing the same thing to Holmes. Another signal from Chu, and a ferret-faced half-breed made for the door.
By the main entrance was an obese Chinese who swung up a wooden bar that had nestled in two large metal 'L' shapes firmly secured to the stout door. Peering through a peephole, the fat Oriental then unlocked it and the half-breed slipped through in search of a newspaper as suggested by Holmes. The round guardian of the gate then relocked the door and placed the wooden bar across it again. I judged that it would take an explosion to break that bar, and this thought was of little comfort. When Holmes's story was confirmed, what was our fate to be? Or had Chu already, in the back of his mind, thrown in the sponge? Possibly he was planning our end with considerable gusto even now. I cast a quick glance in the direction of the crime overlord but the Chinaman was back in his chair, his chin resting on a knotted fist, staring into space with unseeing eyes as though in deathly fear of what was to come. The other men in the room were exchanging information in soft tones and in a variety of tongues, and there was an aura of confusion as the whole group waited for the proof that Holmes had promised.
It seemed no time at all before there was a nervous tattoo on the outer door. The rotund Chinaman swung the bar from its sockets and began to unlock the door when inbred caution caused him to glance through the peephole. Suddenly he twisted the key back to the lock position just as the brass-studded wooden barrier swayed from a thunderous blow that sent the Chinaman reeling. He lunged forward again when there was another tremendous crash and the door was sprung from its hinges and propelled vertically back into the room, taking its guardian right along with it. Behind the wall of wood was Tiny with his perennial grin and baby face, and a welcome sight he was. Close by the squat colossus was Burlington Bertie with a short billy club swinging from his right hand.
Still holding the door, which must have weighed better than seven stone, Tiny extended his arms and the fat Chinaman flew to one side, hitting the wall with a resounding crash. Then the door was over Tiny's head and he launched it into the crowd of men in the room like a projectile. There were screams as the object felled at least three, possibly more. The two giant Manchurians, unlike the rest of the ruffians, were not frozen in their tracks, for they were bred for conflict.
The first one was headed for Tiny in a trice, aiming a massive blow at the boy's head. Tiny's open palm caught the Manchurian's fist in midair, and then his hand closed and there was a crunch of broken bone as Tiny's other hand caught the wrestler under his chin. Suddenly the Oriental strongman was in the air, and Tiny swung in a full circle and let go, allowing a tangle of arms and legs to spin through the air before crashing to the floor and taking two other scoundrels with it. The Manchurian's brother had rushed Burlington Bertie but never reached him for the Cockney tangled up his legs with an artful foot As the second bodyguard collided with the floor, Bertie's billy club swung in a short arc and there was a sound like an axe making contact with a ripe melon and the second Manchurian was skidding towards the now-open door with blood pouring from his mouth.
The attack had been so sudden and violent that I could not keep track of events. The room was a frenzy of screams and groans, with some trying to retreat before the onslaught of the lads from London. Chu San Fu had been petrified, like the others, for a moment. Now he was on his feet. The wild look in his eyes was akin to that of a drug-inflamed dervish as he scrambled to the teak box to secure the sword that he had considered his passport to a life of greatness.
I was trying to gain my feet, a difficult task when tied to a chair. I noted that Holmes's chair had been tipped over in the melee and my friend was attempting to bring himself upright on his knees. By now, Chu San Fu had the sword in his hands. I knew that he intended to take the cause of his downfall with him in this final conflict. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the felt curtains that shrouded a great window fall of a sudden into the room. There was a crash of glass, and then a body was fighting itself clear of the blackout material. Chu was headed for Holmes, the sword swinging from his scrawny arms, when there was a blast of sound. I felt the wind of a high- velocity bullet that flashed past my face. Suddenly the sword in Chu San Fu's hand disappeared and I realized that the Mauser bullet had caught the weapon at its broadest part and shattered the blade. Chu staggered back, still holding the ornamental hilt. There was a thin sliver of steel left, a mere fragment of the former weapon but still deadly. The wild-eyed Oriental recognized this fact and made for my hapless friend as I screamed a warning and tried to push myself in his path. Then, out from the tangle of blackout material sprang Wakefield Orloff, that deadly steel-rimmed hat in his hand. His quick eyes and uncanny reflexes seized the situation at a glance. One amazing wrist flipped in what seemed almost a casual gesture, and his hat was spinning through the air. The rigid brim caught Chu San Fu on the back of the head, causing a crunching sound. The Oriental's body was toppled by the impact, and he fell right on top of what was left of the counterfeit sword. There was a grunt, then a convulsive shudder, and a sliver of steel slid up through the back of the now late criminal mastermind. The sword had proven to be his passport to another world.
The charge of Tiny and Burlington Bertie, augmented by Orloff, was too much for those left standing, and men were fighting each other in their attempts to escape towards the rear of the house—anything to remove themselves from those awesome instruments of vengeance that had descended upon them. Orloff was beside Holmes, his throwing knife severing the bounds that secured the great detective, and a moment later he had me freed as well. Then there came a backup of thoroughly cowed criminals who had run headlong into a police squad that had entered through the rear of the building. I saw more uniforms at the front door and realized that the battle was over and the field was ours.
In the confusion of captured criminals, police, and elements of the army, I searched vainly for Shadow Schadie, for I had not forgotten the Mauser bullet that had nearly creased me but had stopped Chu San Fu's fatal mission for that magic moment before Orloff went into action. But Schadie had simply disappeared, not so strange for one who could walk up a wall.
Chapter Twenty
Aftermath
Dawn was not far removed when we were finally able to enjoy a quiet moment back in our suite at Shepheard's Hotel. The remnants of Chu San Fu's organization were incarcerated, and certain cables had been dispatched to London. Colonel Gray, at Holmes's orders, had been placed in charge of the windup of the affair and had shielded us from numerous congratulations from the army and civilian authorities. It was generally accepted that the crisis was over, and we had been able to drag ourselves from the area of decision-making.
Tiny and Burlington Bertie were snoring lustily in an adjacent room as Orloff joined Holmes and myself for a libation. Though I usually did the honors, on this occasion it was the sleuth who presided over the bottles. It was mighty comforting to sit at peace with the world for a change with a brandy and soda in my hand.
Holmes and I had carefully refrained from making mention of Orloff's crashing through the window of Chu's headquarters and his split-second rescue of my friend and possibly myself as well. This would have but embarrassed him. There were still matters of policy, and Orloff posed them promptly.
'What of the tomb in the Valley of the Kings?'
'That whole matter is best suppressed,' stated Holmes quickly. 'The boiling pot has subsided, and if we wish to keep it that way, let us have no sensational discoveries or anything else to draw attention to this area for the moment.'
Orloff nodded. 'Gray's men circulated the rumor of the false prophet quite well, and now that Chu San Fu will just disappear, the whole furor will die down.'
'Well, of course,' I interjected, 'the story in the newspaper should have disposed of it already. The sword being in England and—'
I allowed my voice to dwindle to a stop, for both of my companions were regarding me strangely and possibly with a suggestion of mirth.
'Good fellow,' said Sherlock Holmes, 'do always believe me. However, I must confess that there was no story in the
The truth was finally seeping through my lethargic brain. 'We were followed from the hotel then.'
Holmes nodded. 'And not just by Shadow Schadie. It was, to use the jargon of the American underworld, 'a loose tail.' We made ourselves available in the area where I suspected that Chu San Fu was hidden and let
