Red Pennington made a desperate spurt to catch up. His feet and hands were still numb; his head ached fiercely; his stomach was seasick for the first time in years. But that crack about the Marines was too much to swallow.

“You got it wrong, lady!” he puffed, stumbling at Suzette’s heels. “You mean run like we were chasin’ the Marines, don’t you? No gob ever yet ran away from a leatherneck...”

“Pipe down and save your breath, sailor!” warned Don. “Suzette’s leading this patrol, and it’s not over yet by a long shot!”

As he spoke the fleet-footed French girl darted into another branch tunnel. This one doubled back after a few feet, then branched again, and continued at right angles. In the next few minutes the young officers realized they were deep in an underground maze. Here anyone but a guide with an exceptional memory would lose the way.

And now another danger made itself apparent. From time to time distant shouts and the clatter of a machine gun echoed through the rocky labyrinth. In quick whispers tossed over her shoulders Suzette urged greater speed. The noticeable dimming of Don’s flashlight gave added warning.

Despite aching muscles and tortured lungs, Red forced himself to a swifter pace. As a result, he tripped and fell. Before Don could help him, he was running again, ignoring a pair of gashed knees. Sheer fighting courage kept him up, defying the weight of a body built more for comfort than for speed.

All at once Suzette slowed and stopped, throwing back a warning arm.

“Put out your torch, Monsieur Winslow!” she hissed. “Around the next corner is a machine gun in a 'pill-box.’ It stands between us and freedom. Either we mus’ silence it or be trap here where we stand!”

“I see,” muttered Don. “But you must have made some plan for doing that, Suzette. What’s our best play?”

In the pitch darkness the girl grasped a sleeve of each of the two men. Not until their three heads were literally together, did she reply.

“I can think of jus’ one way to do,” she said tensely. “Somewhere along the next passage is a photo-electric trigger, worked by infra-red light. If we try to pass it, the overhead lights flash on, the machine gunner begin to shoot, and we die with fifty bullet holes in our backs! So this, Messieurs, is my plan. When the lights flash on, I will empty my small pistol through the machine gunner’s loophole. That will keep him busy until you pass beyond the next turn. Before he dare to look again, I follow you, and—”

“Nothing doing, Suzette!” Don cut in abruptly. “That way you’d be sacrificing your life for us and you know it. I’ve got another idea. We’ll silence that machine gun before the lights flash up in the passageway. All I ask is for you to show me that 'pillbox’ loophole in the dark!”

Well trained by the French Secret Service, Suzette knew the voice of authority. Without hesitation she took Don’s hand.

“Come then, Monsieur!” she whispered. “And your friend—he mus’ keep close behind us, but make no sound.”

For the next thirty feet they proceeded at a snail’s pace, careful not to make the slightest sound. At last, however, Suzette halted, to grope for a few seconds at an unseen wall.

Don guessed what she was doing. When the tug came on his wrist, he let his own hand be guided until it touched the edges of a square opening.

The loophole! And protruding from it, Don could feel the ugly steel snout of a submachine gun. The other end, he knew, was held by a ready killer, whose grip need only tighten on the trigger to spray forth a stream of lead and fire!

“I’ve heard of pulling Death’s whiskers,” the young officer thought with a slight shiver, “but this is the nearest I’ve come to doing it yet!”

His next movements were coolly calculated. Fixing the loophole’s position in mind, he took a fresh grip on the unlighted pocket torch. At the same time he drew the snub-nosed .38 caliber automatic from his shoulder holster. Lastly, to steady his aim, he drew a single deep breath.

The rest happened too fast for words to describe.

The flash of Don’s torch, the blast of his pistol, a muffled explosion inside the concrete wall—all followed in the same split instant. The scream of human pain that issued through the loophole seemed to be minutes later, though actually it was hardly a second.

While the cry still echoed, a blinding flood of light showed three crouched figures racing for the tunnel’s end. So cramped was the passage that bullets from the “pillbox” could have cut them down like toy soldiers, but not even one shot rang out. The next instant all three had disappeared around a rocky projection of the wall.

Don Winslow’s dimming flashlight now showed a rough-boarded staircase, leading upward. At Suzette’s heels, the two officers mounted, three steps at a time. At the top they crossed a narrow hall, burst through a half-concealed door, and came out into the open air.

Here, in what seemed to be a dark alley, Red Pennington grabbed at Don’s shoulder.

“Avast, Skipper!” he panted! “Lemme get a breath or two before we—ugh—go on!”

“Non! Non! Not yet, Messieurs!” the Frenchwoman’s voice lashed back. “Soon we will stop, but it is not safe yet. Allons!”

As if to confirm her words, high-pitched, Oriental voices broke out in the building behind them. Red waited for no more, but lunged ahead, sobbing for breath.

The route they followed for the next five minutes was as mixed up as the maze of underground tunnels they had left. Back and forth through dark alleyways and darker buildings they dodged. Suzette had evidently studied the route by daylight, and kept a map of it in her mind for just such an emergency.

At the last door, which seemed to be that of a basement apartment, she used a key.

“This place is safe if we do not show the light, Messieurs,” she panted. “Many weeks ago I have rent and furnish it under another name. Beyond is a door opening to another street where you can get a taxi. And now, while Suzette gets her breath, tell me what you did to that machine gun, Commander. I die of curiousness!”

“I took a chance and tried to plug his gun muzzle with my own bullet,” Don answered. “Just by luck I did it first try. Of course, when the machine gunner pulled the trigger, his weapon blew up! That’s all there was to it!”

“Except a chilled steel nerve and cracking good marksmanship!” grunted Red Pennington. “If you’d missed that first shot the guy inside would have blown your head off.”

“Mais, oui!” chimed in Suzette. “We owe our lives to the so brave Commander! But now I mus’ speak of other things. Tell me, Monsieur Winslow, how many men you can bring for a raid tonight on the underworld of Scorpia? We mus’ strike now, while so many agents are here for Cho-San’s big conference!”

“You’re right, Suzette!” exclaimed Don. “Tonight’s the time, and I’ve asked our local office to hold fifty fighting men within call in case I needed them. Michael Splendor has just arrived and is probably running them up now. I could lead them back here within an hour, probably...”

“But that is perfect, Commander!” cried the little Frenchwoman. “Go now, and bring your men to the shop of Cho-San. I will have the door unlock, so you need make no noise. From the shop I will conduct you to the secret gallery w’ich overlook the Scorpion’s great Assembly Room. The agents will soon be gather there to hear Cho-San’s instructions for a new world war plot. Your men will then take them by surprise and make the—w’at you call—clean-up in one big swoop!”

“We’ll do that or die trying, Suzette!” Don exclaimed heartily. “Now lead the way to the other door, and we’ll be off. If you get a chance to speak to Lotus, tell her we’ll be back to take her away from Cho-San’s torture rooms and slimy passages.”

Suzette did not reply. Taking Don’s hand she led the two young officers swiftly through the apartment and an adjoining basement. As they came out onto a darkened areaway, Don Winslow thought he heard the little maid sob.

“VoilÀ!” she said in a choked voice. “You can see the street beyond that alley to the right. And hurry, Messieurs, if you hope to see the little Lotus alive. I have fear that Cho-San has punish her already for her part in helping you escape!”

Don’s groan came through gritted teeth.

“Heaven grant you’re wrong about that!” he said hoarsely. “If that child has given her life for us, we’ll never rest till we wipe the last memory of Scorpia from the earth! Come, Red! Every second counts against us now!”