The Manchu Skull

     King did not jump backward, as they had expected. He was thoroughly familiar with the science of broadsword dueling. The expert swordsman swings down at his opponent, knowing that the inexpert opponent will surely leap back in a desperate effort to avoid the cutting edge of the blade. The swordsman then takes a quick step forward even as he slashes, so that the keen blade overtakes the victim, cleaving his skull in two.

     But, instead of retreating, King crouched low and leaped forward.

     He came in under the two blows, and the heavy blades missed him and bit into the floor.

     Simultaneously, King's glittering rapier slithered out of the scabbard as he drew it with his left hand. He pivoted on his left heel and lunged. The point of the rapier plunged into the body of the Manchu on King's left. It went in just above the heart.

     The Manchu's white tights became suddenly spattered with blood.

     King withdrew the rapier just in time, as the man choked and fell forward on his face—the great broadsword clattering to the floor.

     King swiveled around to face the attack of the second Manchu. This time the yellow man did not raise his broadsword in the air. He kept it waist-high, slashing sideways with it in a blow which could easily cut a man's body in half. There was no escaping that slashing broadsword. In the split second before it struck, there was no time to leap back beyond the reach of the six-foot blade. Neither could King bend low enough to duck. Instead, King met that blow, parrying it with his thin blade of Damascus steel.

     It seemed impossible that the frail rapier could arrest the terrific weight of that broadsword. Already there was a vindictive smile of triumph upon the Manchu's face.

     The thin, pliable blade of Damascus steel met the great broadsword in midair. Sparks flashed as the two weapons grated. The rapier bent far back under the impetus of the broadsword. But King's iron wrist held it firm.

     The edge of the broadsword slid up along the side of the rapier until it struck the guard just below the silver knob. As it struck, King flipped his wrist up expertly, and the great sword went slashing past King's scalp, not touching him.

     The Manchu yelled with rage, and reversed the edge, bringing the weapon back for another slashing blow.

     King did not attempt to parry this time. He lunged! His rapier caught the Manchu under the chin, and the thrust sent the point up through the top of his skull.

     The great broadsword fell from the man's hand. He was dead before King got the rapier out again.

     King's face was inscrutable as he wiped the rapier and slid it back into the scabbard. His eyes were stormy as he looked at the bodies of the two dead Manchus, and at that of On Long Sin.

     It is written that many shall die tonight!

Pu Yee's prophecy was being amply fulfilled. He picked up the hatbox containing the Manchu skull, and slowly walked out of the room.

     DOWNSTAIRS, he saw Fung Tze suavely welcoming a new party of guests, as if nothing were happening up above.

     Fung Tze turned and saw him.

     The fat Chinaman seemed to congeal within himself. For a moment, his eyes betrayed him, reflecting stark unbelief that King could still be alive. Then he swiftly regained, command of himself. He bowed from the waist.

     “You are a man of many surprises, King san!” he murmured. “Have you killed my two Manchus?”

     King studied him a moment. “I could kill you now, Fung Tze. I could draw my sword and run you through!”

     Fung Tze smiled at him as if he were merely carrying on a casual conversation with a guest. No one in the restaurant could suspect, to look at them, that these two were discussing life and death.

     “Undoubtedly you could kill me, King san. But you will not do it. In the first place, you are not one to kill an unarmed man. In the second place, there are many witnesses. It would be murder under the white man's law.”

     King smiled grimly. “All right, Fung Tze. I suppose you know I'm going to notify the police?”

     Fung Tze turned and spoke swiftly to a passing Chinese waiter. The man stopped short for an instant, as if he had been shot. Then he nodded and hurried away, calling to several other waiters who left their trays and hurried out after him.

     Fung Tze's thick lips became wreathed in a smile. “You will only be laughed at if you call the police, King san. By the time you return, there will be no bodies upstairs. The rugs and the furniture will be changed. There will be no sign of bodies or of a fight. The police will think that you are mad.”

     For the first time, Fung Tze's eyes dropped to the hatbox in King's left hand. He stiffened visibly, and his face congealed into a yellow mass.

     “The Manchu skull—you are taking it away!” King nodded grimly. “It goes to the museum. I will pay the value of this skull to the family of On Long Sin.”

     Fung Tze's eyes blazed suddenly. “You are a daring and a foolish man, King san. Believe me, you will soon join your ancestors!”

     King shrugged. He turned and walked out of the Far Long Sin Restaurant.

CHAPTER III. TRAPPED!

     OUTSIDE, something had happened to the bright neon sign in front of the building. It had gone out, as had the street lamp directly opposite. This portion of the block was now in almost total darkness.

     King discerned the skulking shadows of the two Sung Tong hatchet men, down near the mouth of the alley.

     He transferred the sword-cane to his left hand and the hatbox to his right. Then he started to walk slowly toward the corner. The two tong men came after him, not trying to catch up, but keeping him in sight.

     At first, King was puzzled by this. For if they intended to attack, there was no better place than right here.

     A moment later, he understood the strategy. He caught sight of several other shapes, waiting ahead. There were men at either end of the block, so that no matter which direction he had taken from the Far Long Sin building, they could intercept him.

     There was another thing which puzzled him, too. He couldn't decide whether Fung Tze had acted independently in setting the two broad-swordsmen upon him, or whether he was in league with the Sung Tong. Also, he could not bring himself to believe that the girl with the dark hair had cut On Long Sin's throat.

     In any event, he understood clearly that the Sung Tong did not intend to allow him to leave Chinatown alive. They must know that he had the hundred thousand dollars in his pocket, for they had known of his appointment. They must also know what he was carrying in the hatbox. The Manchu skull was worth a small fortune—far more than the hundred and seven Sung Dynasty rubies. The Sung Tong was not going to let him take it away.

     He saw those shadows ahead of him converge toward a spot about a hundred feet ahead, to cut him off! There were two men on the sidewalk, and two more were crossing the street.

     He did not slacken his pace. But as he walked he twisted the knob of his cane, so that a single flip of the wrist would send the scabbard slithering away, leaving the naked blade in his hand.

     At the same time he did not allow those converging shadows to monopolize his attention. He was aware that these hatchet men of the Sung Tong knew his reputation. In the past, many men here in Chinatown had tried, for one reason or another, to kill the Left- handed Swordsman. None of those were alive today!

     These hatchet men might be trying a trick. They might be hoping to attract his attention, while one of