Pocketing his pistol, Don Winslow moved out into the glow of the car’s lights.

“Thanks, Hammond!” he said simply, gripping the other’s hand. “Your coming for us is going to simplify a lot of things. Come on, Red—I mean, Penny! Michael Splendor’s last message told us to leave the plane right here.”

As the car cut back into the highway leading to the city, Hammond leaned forward to speak to the driver.

“Drive slowly when you get inside the city’s limits, Martin,” he said. “Swing around past Cho-San’s place before you pull up at the office.”

Leaning back against the cushions, he addressed the two young Intelligence officers.

“We got the whole story by beam radiophone,” he explained. “That’s how we were able not only to meet you gentlemen, but also to make certain other preparations as well; such as an electric needle for giving you a scar, like the little one Count Borg has just below his cheek bone. You can only see that mark by a bright light, but it’s one of the things his Scorpia friends are going to look for.”

“I know about that, Hammond,” Don Winslow answered. “Borg himself called my attention to it yesterday. There’s the matter of his clothes, too. Borg has always been a slick dresser, and he is supposed to have escaped with a wad of Splendor’s cash. That means his Scorpia pals will expect him to show up dressed like a fashion plate.”

“They will,” nodded Hammond. “Splendor broadcast the story of 'Count Borg’s’ escape with his plane and his dough. There’s no doubt the Scorpion and his agents know about that. They’ll expect you to show up at the meeting two nights from now, if not sooner. They’ll find out about the plane having landed. Splendor’s flying here tomorrow with Miss Colby on Captain Holding’s orders. He’ll pretend he’s just trailing his stolen plane....”

“Z-ZZZ-ZZZZ! PR-R-R-RRH!”

A sudden loud snore from Red Pennington drowned out Hammond’s voice. The chunky lieutenant had done his full share of the piloting since leaving Haiti, and was letting weary Nature have her way now.

“We’ll let him sleep,” chuckled Don, “until we get to your office, Hammond. We can discuss everything then.”

Red’s slumber, however, was due to be rudely interrupted. After skirting the edges of San Francisco’s old Chinatown, the car turned up a steep hill at the top of which stood the great stone-walled house of Cho-San.

“I wanted to show you this place just in passing, Commander,” Hammond was saying. “Cho-San lives here like an Oriental prince, yet his only visible income is from his curio shop down the hill. We know he’s a big shot in the criminal organization of Scorpia, but we can’t pin it on him. That job will be up to you, if you live to finish it! Cho-San’s thugs will stop at nothing—”

BANG!

At the loud report, the car lurched sidewise, swayed another twenty yards, and stopped. Red Pennington awoke with a yell. Guns out, the three men in the back seat peered through the bulletproof windows.

They were just opposite the dark stone edifice, which was the only building within a hundred yards. Could a single shot from behind those misty walls have ripped through one of the rear tires?

It was Don Winslow who answered the question in all their minds.

“Just an accidental blowout, I think,” he stated, putting away his automatic. “There’s not enough light to fire a shot with any accuracy.”

“You’re right, sir!” muttered Hammond, following Don through the door. “I guess I’m jittery just because it happened right across from Cho-San’s stone fort. Probably just an accident—”

“Is that the fort you mean?” gulped Red, with one foot still on the running board. “Gee! If they’ve got machine guns trained on us, isn’t it kinda foolish to stick around?”

“I didn’t mean a fort in that sense, Lieutenant!” said Hammond. “Cho-San’s rock pile here looks like a fort, especially in the dark. If there’s any machine guns inside, they won’t be aimed at us now.... But, say! What’s that car pulling in ahead of us?”

A long, low hung, black car had boiled up the hill behind them, only to stop ten paces beyond with a squeal of gripping tires. The two young officers, with Hammond and Martin, stiffened instinctively, hands whipping to their pistols. For all they knew this might be a gang car, filled with Scorpion killers.

A door opened, and a man in uniform cap jumped out. Swiftly he moved to the rear door, opened it, and stood back waiting. From the dark interior appeared a young woman in a white evening wrap, her dark hair lighted by the flash of jewels. With a murmured word, she turned away from the car, walking quickly toward the house of Cho-San.

The four men watching her relaxed.

“That’s the girl they call the Lotus!” whispered Hammond in Don Winslow’s ear. “She’s the one you’ll have to look out for especially, Commander. Look! What’s she up to, now?”

With a low cry of pain, the girl had stumbled. Now she stood swaying, as if about to fall.

“She’s turned her ankle! I’m going to help her, Hammond,” muttered Don. “You all stay here.”

The other car, Don noted, was just driving away. Reaching the girl’s side, he caught her arm firmly, taking the weight off her injured foot.

“I saw you trip,” he said, imitating Count Borg’s smoother tone. “What luck that I was just across the street!”

“AndrÉ! AndrÉ!” gasped Lotus, leaning heavily against him. “Is it really you? But yes! Your voice—your touch on my arm! I know them, though your face is queer in this light!”

“Of course, little Lotus bud!” laughed Don, slipping an arm about her shoulders. “You miss the moustache I had to shave off. But your ankle must be paining you a lot. Let me help you as far as the house!”

“To the house, AndrÉ!” cried the girl. “You mean you’re not coming inside? Didn’t you come here to see me?”

“Please—not so loud!” warned the pseudo Count. “I can’t stop longer without making the men with me suspicious. It was just the accident of a blowout that made them stop here at all. I’ll explain everything when I see you next—say tomorrow night, at the Empire?”

“That’s a long time to wait, AndrÉ, when I haven’t seen you for so long!” sighed Lotus, with a hint of disappointment. “I guess you know best, though. Suppose you meet me in the dining room, at that same little table in the corner—remember?”

“At seven o’clock,” agreed Don, as the girl turned with one gloved hand on the gate latch. “And I’m awfully glad your ankle isn’t really injured! Good night!”

Returning across the street, he found that Hammond’s chauffeur had about finished putting on the spare wheel. Hammond beckoned both officers into the car and closed the door after him. A moment later the motor started.

“Tell us about it, Commander,” the office man urged, as they turned in to a more brightly lighted section of the city. “You think the Lotus really took you for Count Borg? If she didn’t, it’s going to make things pretty difficult.”

“I don’t think you need to worry, Hammond,” Don replied. “Remember, the light was very dim, so she couldn’t have noticed small details. Of course, I had to explain the loss of my moustache.... By the way, I’ve got a dinner date with her for tomorrow evening at the Empire!”

“That ought to give us enough time to get fixed up and coached for our parts,” Red Pennington commented. “Gee, Don! What a lucky break! Our tire blowin’ out, and Lotus showin’ up at the same time! It all happened so naturally, not even the Scorpion himself could suspect anything queer.”

“Unless,” said Don thoughtfully, “the guard inside Cho-San’s iron gate smelled something phony. You see, Lotus wanted to believe I was Borg, but that other guy may have been leery.”

“A guard, huh?” snorted Hammond. “I don’t like that, Commander! As you say, he just might have smelled a mouse. Those Scorpion agents are suspecting each other half the time, and.... Hmmmm! You were close enough to see him plainly?”

“Only the glow of his cigarette tip,” answered Don. “But why worry over that? Looks as if we’d arrived at your office already; and I’m hungry enough to eat the letters off a stone monument!”

“And those letters are sunk in, too!” laughed the Intelligence man, reaching for the door handle. “Well, Commander, there’s a hot meal waiting for you right upstairs. I ordered it brought in, because you’re not visiting any restaurant until your make-up is absolutely perfect.”