At the end of fifty steps in a darkness so thick that it could almost be felt, Lotus pressed Don’s hand, signaling a halt. As she did so, there sounded the soft whir of hidden machinery.

“We arrive at the gateway of a secret world, my dear Count!” boomed Cho-San’s bass voice from somewhere behind them.

The man’s voice echoed strangely as if thrown back by the arches of the unseen tunnel. For all his effort at self-control, Don Winslow felt a shiver of apprehension creep up his spine at the eerie sound of it.

“I’ve never had a fancy for this underground stuff, Cho-San,” he answered, forcing a laugh. “It’s not in an airman’s line, you know. Give me the freedom of the sky, every time, and you can have your underground ratholes!”

“Hush, AndrÉ!” cried Lotus softly, clinging to his arm. “Scorpia must operate not only in the air, not only on sea and land, but underneath them as well. You know that as well as anybody. See, now! The panel is opening, and we step through into Cho-San’s shop, where you have been many times.”

As they emerged into the dimly lighted curio shop, the soft whir of machinery ended with a click.

Glancing over his shoulder, Don saw the big Chinese standing behind him against a blank wall. There was no sign of the opening through which the three of them had just passed.

“Neat, very neat indeed, Cho-San!” murmured the pseudo count. “But, tell me, which way do we go from here to the comrades’ quarters? My recollection is still a bit vague, although this room does seem familiar....”

“The cabinet!” broke in the Scorpion leader shortly. “That way is the quickest. And I am tired of hearing about your infernal memory, Borg! Open the cabinet, Lotus!”

Obediently the girl crossed to a huge cabinet of ebony wood, and twisted one of its curiously carved dragons’ heads. With scarcely a sound the door swung wide, leaving an opening the size of a full grown man. How far back the space extended Don could not see from where he stood.

“Step in, Lotus, and show your AndrÉ the way!” sneered Cho-San. “You act, Count Borg, as if it were a trap. Don’t worry, I am following you both inside!”

The Chinese suited his action to the word, closing the cabinet door after him. Again Don caught the smooth, scarcely audible hum of oiled machinery somewhere near by.

“More darkness!” he sighed after a number of seconds had ticked by in silence. “Really, Cho-San, a nice bright electric bulb here would cheer things up! By the way, I thought we were going somewhere in a hurry. This jolly old cabinet....”

“Silence, fool!” gritted the Oriental. “You are no longer in the cabinet you entered a moment ago. That ancient work of art is now standing as you saw it, far above us. Only its floor is missing, for that is now beneath our feet!”

“And here we are almost at the entrance to the comrades’ quarters!” cried Lotus, as the elevator floor quivered briefly. “Now I shall press another invisible button, and you shall see that I am right, AndrÉ. There will be plenty of light where we are going.”

Once more a panel slid aside to show a narrow, dimly lighted corridor. This one seemed to be dug out of bedrock, with rough corners projecting. Slipping into it, the girl disappeared around a jagged corner.

“She’ll get hurt dodging around those rocks!” Don exclaimed. “Where’s she gone, anyway? Why didn’t you stop her, Cho-San?”

“Because she is in no danger—as yet!” purred the big Chinese. “The little Lotus has been brought up in these subterranean passages and rooms. She knows her way where you, my dear count, would lose yours a hundred times over. Just now she has gone to turn up more lights so that you can see to follow.”

As he spoke, the rough passage was flooded with sudden brilliance, far greater than necessary, Don thought. As he stepped away from the elevator toward Lotus’ waiting figure, Cho-San himself volunteered the explanation.

“There are machine guns covering every turn on this passage, Borg,” he chortled evilly. “You cannot see them, so you must take my word. Under these brilliant lights they could mow down any police forces which might be unlucky enough to come this far into Scorpia’s underworld, or anyone trying to escape from it. A very comforting thought, don’t you agree?”

Don’s only answer was a shrug of his smoothly tailored shoulders. The next moment he was at Lotus’ side picking his way over the tunnel’s uneven floor.

Around the second turn the girl halted, and reaching up, inserted her fingers behind an angle of the damp stone. As if by magic a door-sized section of the rock wall moved back, disclosing a furnished apartment.

Don stepped through the opening, closely followed by Cho-San. At the soft click of a falling latch, he did not even bother to turn. The wall through which they had just passed would show no sign of a doorway, he was certain.

For the first time since leaving the car in the garage, the Chinese now seemed to drop his air of ugly suspicion. His moonlike face was almost smiling as he turned to face Don.

“I will leave you, my friend, for a short while,” his deep voice intoned. “The little Lotus will remain to entertain you, so that the time will not pass too heavily. If there is anything more you may desire before I return, simply touch that bell by the table.”

With a parting nod his huge figure vanished behind a tall, carved screen. Don Winslow stood gazing at it thoughtfully for a long moment, then turned to his small companion.

“Well, little Lotus,” he began, “I hope your memory never starts playing tricks on you like mine. This room, for instance—”

A strange expression in the girl’s dark eyes stopped him short. Following her look and gesture he stepped quickly to the inlaid teakwood table.

The thing looked innocent enough. It’s decorated top bore nothing but a vase and a small lacquered tray. One glance underneath, however, explained Lotus’ silent warning.

Fastened to the underside of the table top was a compact little dictaphone, no doubt being used at this moment by a Scorpion eavesdropper!

Back at the spot where he had first stood, Don picked up the conversation.

“This apartment does seem vaguely familiar,” he continued. “It’s like something I dreamed about long ago. Perhaps if you showed me the other rooms it might all come back to me. Shall we try it?”

It was the cue for which the girl had been waiting. With an eager nod she led the way toward a curtained archway.

“Why, certainly, AndrÉ!” she answered. “There’s no harm in looking around. These are the comrades’ quarters, or at least one section of them, and of course you have been here before. Beyond this hall is a small dining room, and a sort of butler’s pantry. The sleeping quarters are on another level entirely....”

As the heavy curtains fell back into place, Don found himself in a tiny hallway, lighted by a dim overhead lamp. He was about to proceed when the girl’s quick grasp on his arm halted him in his tracks.

“We can talk now,” she whispered, “but we must be brief. I know who you are, Don Winslow!”

The shock of those words paralyzed Don’s wits for the space of five heartbeats. Backing off, he reached for the small but deadly automatic pistol concealed under his left armpit. An instant later he dropped his hands.

“I am at your mercy, it appears!” he said with a twisted smile.

The girl shook her dark head. Gliding closer she lifted her eyes to stare straight into his.

“It is Cho-San, not Lotus, whom you have cause to fear,” she said. “He believes you are working against Scorpia for your own interests, but he does not know the truth. I shall not tell him, Don Winslow, provided you have done no harm to Count AndrÉ Borg!”

Don thought that over carefully. He read the meaning behind her words, and knew Lotus was in love with the dashing AndrÉ. Besides she must be aware that Borg’s advertised escape was a mere blind. Why, then, did she not take revenge, for herself and her friends, by showing up the pseudo count without delay?

Puzzled, he put a question of his own.

“If I tell you that Count Borg is safe and well, except for a head wound like mine, how can you trust my word? A man in danger of his life is apt to say anything which will save it. How do you know I won’t lie to you, Miss Lotus?”

“You will not lie, for the simple reason that I am ready to believe your word,” the girl answered confidently. “That way, I put myself at your mercy. I trust myself to your honor, which you would rather die than betray. Is it not so, Don Winslow of the Navy?”

With a silent laugh Don threw up his hands.

“You win, Miss Lotus!” he admitted. “The truth is that Count AndrÉ Borg is well and will come to no harm, in spite of any past crimes he may have committed. It is a long story, but ...”

“Stop!” cried Lotus, fiercely gripping the young officer’s jacket front. “You say he is well, yet he will not be punished! Do you mean his mind has been injured? That wound on his head ... No! No! I would rather have AndrÉ dead than insane! Tell me! Tell me the whole truth, or I will call Cho-San!”

Quickly Don gave her an outline of Count Borg’s strange situation, from the moment when he came to his senses in the Gatoon’s sick bay.

“You see, Miss Lotus,” the young commander explained, “your friend is a lot saner now than he was during the seven years he served Scorpia. It is fortunate for him that he doesn’t recall anything of that time. To him, April, nineteen thirty-three, seems only last week!”

The girl’s eyes had filled with tears that suddenly overflowed. Her small mouth quivered like a lost child’s.

“Then—then he isn’t my AndrÉ any more!” she sobbed softly. “He doesn’t remember that he ever knew me. Now I have nothing left to live for—not even one true friend!”