For an instant I was overwhelmed with terror and self-reproach. The bolted door before me gave notice of danger as plainly as though the word had been painted upon its front. The dark and lowering walls of the passage in which the Wolf figure of Doddridge Knapp had appeared and disappeared whispered threats. The close air was heavy with the suggestion of peril, and the solitary lamp that gave its dim light from the end of the passage flashed a smoky warning. And I, in my folly and carelessness, had brought Luella Knapp into this place and exposed her to the dangers that encircled me. It was this thought that, for the moment, unnerved me.

“What does this mean?” asked Luella in a matter-of-fact tone.

“It is a poor practical joke, I fear,” said I lightly. I took occasion to shift a revolver to my overcoat pocket.

“Well, aren't you going to get me out of here?” she asked with a little suggestion of impatience.

“That is my present intention,” I replied, beating a tattoo on the door.

“You'll hurt your fists,” she said. “You must find some way besides beating it down.”

“I'm trying to bring our friends here,” said I. “They should have been with us before now.”

“Isn't there another way out?” asked Luella.

“I suspect there are a good many ways out,” I replied, “but, unfortunately, I don't know them.” And I gave a few resounding kicks on the door.

“Where does this stairway go, I wonder?” said Luella.

“Into the celestial regions, I suppose,” I ventured.

Matters were in too serious a position for the jest to be appreciated, and Luella continued:

“It can't be the way out. Isn't there another?”

“We might try the passage.”

She gave a shudder and shrank toward me.

“No, no,” she cried in a low voice. “Try the door again. Somebody must hear you, and it may be opened.”

I followed her suggestion with a rain of kicks, emphasized with a shout that made the echoes ring gloomily in the passage.

I heard in reply a sound of voices, and then an answering shout, and the steps of men running.

“Are you there, Mr. Wilton?” cried the voice of Corson through the door.

“Yes, all safe,” I answered.

“Well, just hold on a bit, and we'll—”

The rest of his sentence was lost in a suppressed scream from Luella. I turned and darted before her, just in time to face three Chinese ruffians who were hastening down the passage. The nearest of the trio, a tall dark savage with a deep scar across his cheek, was just reaching out his hand to seize Luella when I sprang forward and planted a blow square upon his chin. He fell back heavily, lifted almost off his feet by my impact, and lay like a log on the floor.

The other two ruffians halted irresolute for an instant, and I drew my revolver. In the faint light of the passage I could scarcely see their villainous faces. The countenance of the coolie is not expressive at best, but I could feel, rather than see, the stolid rascality of their appearance. Their wish seemed to be to take me alive if possible. After a moment of hesitation there was a muttered exclamation and one of the desperadoes drew his hand from his blouse.

“Oh!” cried Luella. “He's got a knife!”

Before he could make another movement I fired once, twice, three times. There was a scramble and scuffle in the passageway, and the smoke rolled thick in front, blotting out the scene that had stood in silhouette before us.

Fearful of a rush from the Chinese, I threw one arm about Luella, and, keeping my body between her and possible attack, guided her to the stair that led upward at nearly right angles from the passage. She was trembling and her breath came short, but her spirit had not quailed. She shook herself free as I placed her on the first step.

“Have you killed them?” she asked quietly.

“I hope so,” I replied, looking cautiously around the corner to see the results of my fusillade. The smoke had spread into a thin haze through the passage.

“There's one fellow there,” I said. “But it's the one I knocked down.”

“Can't you see the others?” inquired Luella.

“No more in sight,” said I, after a bolder survey. “They've run away.”

“Oh, I'm glad,” said Luella. “I should have seen them always if you had killed them.”

“I shouldn't have minded giving them something to remember,” said I, vexed at my poor display of marksmanship, but feeling an innate conviction that I must have hit them.

“What on earth did they attack us for?” exclaimed Luella indignantly. “We hadn't hurt anything.”

Before I could reply to Luella's question, a tattoo was beaten upon the door and a muffled shout came from the other side. I stepped down from the stair to listen.

“Are you hurt?” shouted Corson. “What's the matter?”

“No damage,” I returned. “I drove them off.”

Corson shouted some further words, but they were lost in a sudden murmur of voices and a scuffle of feet that arose behind.

“Look out!” cried Luella peremptorily. “Come back here!”

I have said that the passage opened into a little court, and at the end a lamp gave light to the court and the passage.

As I turned I saw a confusion of men pouring into the open space and heading for the passage. They were evidently Chinese, but in the gleam of the lamp I was sure I saw the evil face and snake-eyes of Tom Terrill. He was wrapped in the Chinese blouse, but I could not be mistaken. Then with a chorus of yells there was the crack of a pistol, and a bullet struck the door close to my ear.

It was all done in an instant. Before the sound of the shot I dropped, and then made a leap for the stair.

“Oh!” cried Luella anxiously; “were you hit?”

“No, I'm all right,” I said, “but it was a close shave. The gang means mischief.”

“Go up the stairs, and find a way out or a place to hide,” said Luella excitedly. “Give me the pistol. They won't hurt me. It's you they're after. Go, now.”

Her tone was the tone of the true daughter of the Wolf.

“Thank you, Miss Knapp. I have a pressing engagement here with a lady, and I expect to meet Mr. Corson in a few minutes.”

I stooped on an impulse and kissed the back of her gloved hand, and murmured, “I couldn't think of leaving.”

“Well, tell me something I can do,” she said.

I gave her my smaller revolver. “Hand that to me when I want it,” I said. “If I'm killed, get up the stairs and defend yourself with it. Don't fire unless you have to. We are short of ammunition.” I had but three shots in the large six-shooter.

“Are they coming?” asked Luella, as the wild tumult of shouts stilled for a moment and a single voice could be heard.

I peered cautiously around the corner.

“There's a gentleman in a billycock hat who's rather anxious to have them lead the way,” I said; “but they seem to prefer listening to fighting.”

The gentleman whose voice was for war I discovered to be my snake-eyed friend. He seemed to be having difficulty with the language, and was eking out his Pidgin-English with pantomime.

“There!” cried Luella with a start; “what's that?”

A heavy blow shook the walls of the building and sounded through the passage.

“Good!” I said. “If our friends yonder are going to make trouble they must do it at once. Corson's got an ax, and the door will be down first they know.”

“Thank Heaven!” whispered Luella. And then she began to tremble.

The blows followed fast upon each other, but suddenly they were drowned in a chorus of yells, and a volley of revolver shots sent the bullets spatting against the door.

“Look out, Miss Knapp,” I said. “They're coming. Stand close behind me, and crouch down if they get this far.”

I could feel her straighten and brace herself once more behind me as I bent cautiously around the corner.

The band was advancing with a frightful din, but was making more noise than speed. Evidently it had little heart for its job.

I looked into the yelling mob for the snake-eyed agent of Doddridge Knapp, but could not single him out.

I dared wait no longer. Aiming at the foremost I fired twice at the advancing assailants. There were shouts and screams of pain in answer, and the line hesitated. I gave them the remaining cartridge, and, seizing the smaller weapon from Luella, fired as rapidly as I could pull the trigger.

The effect was instantaneous. With a succession of howls and curses the band broke and ran—all save one man, who leaped swiftly forward with a long knife in his hand.

It would have gone hard with me if he had ever reached me, for he was a large and powerful fellow, and my last shot was gone. But in the dark and smoky passage he stumbled over the prostrate body of the first desperado whom I had been fortunate enough to knock down, and fell sprawling at full length almost at my feet.

With one leap I was on his back, and with a blow from the revolver I had quieted him, wrenched the knife from his hand, and had the point resting on his neck.

Luella gave a scream.

“Oh!” she cried, “are you hurt?”

“No,” I said lightly, “but I don't think this gentleman is feeling very well. He's likely to have a sore head for a day or two.”

“Come back here,” said Luella in a peremptory tone. “Those men may come again and shoot you.”

“I don't think so,” said I. “The door is coming down. But, anyhow, I can't leave our friend here. Lie still!” I growled, giving the captive a gentle prod in the neck with the point of his knife to emphasize my desire to have peace and quiet between us.

I heard him swear under his breath. The words were foreign, but there was no mistaking the sentiment behind them.

“You aren't killing him are you?” inquired Luella anxiously.

“I think it might be a service to the country,” I confessed, “but I'll save him for the hangman.”

“You needn't speak so regretfully,” laughed Luella, with a little return of her former spirit. “But here our people come.”

The ax had been plied steadily on the stubborn planks all through the conflict and its sequel. But the iron-bound beams and heavy lock had been built to resist police raids, and the door came down with difficulty.

At last it was shaking and yielding, and almost as Luella spoke it swayed, bent apart, and broke with a crash, and with a babel of shouts Corson, Porter, Barkhouse and Wainwright, with two more policemen, poured through the opening.

“Praise the powers, you're safe!” cried Corson, wringing my hand, while the policemen took the prostrate Chinese in charge. “And is the young lady hurt?”

“No harm done,” said Luella. “Mr. Wilton is quite a general.”

“I can't think what's got into the scoundrelly highbinders,” said Corson apologetically. “It's the first time I ever knew anything of the kind to happen.” And he went on to explain that while the Chinese desperado is a devil to fight among his own kind, he does not interfere with the white man.

I called my men aside and spoke sharply.

“You haven't obeyed orders,” I said. “You, Porter, and you, Barkhouse, were to keep close by me to-night. You didn't do it, and it's only by good luck that the young lady and I were not killed. You, Wainwright, were to follow Tom Terrill. I saw Terrill just now in a gang of Chinese, and you turn up on the other side of a barred door.”

Porter and Barkhouse looked sheepish enough, but Wainwright protested:

“I was following Terrill when he gets into a gang of highbinders, and goes into one of these rooms over here a ways. I waits a while for him, and then starts to look around a bit, and first I knows, I runs up against Porter here hunting for an ax, and crazy as a loon, saying as how you was murdered, and they had got to save you.”

“Well, just keep close to me for the rest of the night, and we'll say no more about it. There's no great damage done—nothing but a sore knuckle.” I was feeling now the return effects of my blow on the coolie's chin. I felt too much in fault myself to call my attendants very sharply to task. It was through me that Luella had come into danger, and I had to confess that I had failed in prudence and had come near to paying dear for it.

“I don't understand this, Mr. Wilton,” said Corson in confidential perplexity. “I don't see why the haythen were after yez.”

“I saw—I saw Tom Terrill,” said I, stumbling over the name of Doddridge Knapp. I determined to keep the incident of his appearance to myself.

“I don't see how he worked it,” said Corson with a shake of the head. “They don't like to stand against a white man. It's a quare tale he must have told 'em, and a big sack he must have promised 'em to bring 'em down on ye. Was it for killin' ye they was tryin', or was they for catchin' yez alive?”

“They were trying to take us alive at first, I think, but the bullets whistled rather close for comfort.”

“I was a little shaky myself, when they plunked against the door,” said Corson with a smile.

“Oh, Mr. Wilton,” said Mrs. Bowser, “it was awful of you—for it was so frightfully improper to get behind that locked door, to say nothing of throwing us all into conniptions with firing guns, and calling for axes, and highbinders, and police, and Heaven knows what all—and what are highbinders, Mr. Wilton? And it's a blessing we have our dear Luella safe with us again. I was near fainting all the time, and it's a mercy I had a smelling bottle.”

“Dear Luella” looked distressed, and while Corson was attempting to explain to Mrs. Bowser the nature of the blackmailing bands of the Chinese criminal element, Luella said:

“Please get us out of this. I can't stand it.”

I had marveled at her calm amid the excited talk of those about her, but I saw now that it was forced by an effort of her will. She was sadly shaken.

“Take my arm,” I said. “Mr. Corson will lead the way.” I signed to Porter to go ahead and to Barkhouse and Wainwright to follow me. “It's very close here.”

“It's very ridiculous of me,” said Luella, with an hysterical laugh, “but I'm a little upset.”

“I dare say you're not used to it,” I suggested dryly.

Luella gave me a quick glance.

“No, are you? It's not customary in our family,” she said with an attempt at gaiety.

I thought of the wolf-figure who had come out of the opium-den, and the face framed in the lantern-flash of the alley, and was silent. Perhaps the thought of the scene of the passage had come to her, too, for she shuddered and quickened her step as though to escape.

“Do you want to go through the theater?” asked Corson.

“No—no,” whispered Luella, “get me home at once.”

“We have seen enough sights for the evening, I believe,” said I.

Mrs. Bowser was volubly regretful, but declined Corson's offer to chaperon her through a night of it.

On the way home Luella spoke not a word, but Mrs. Bowser filled the time with a detailed account of her emotions and sensations while Corson and his men were searching for us and beating down the door. And her tale was still growing when the carriage pulled up before the bronze lions that guarded the house of the Wolf, and I handed the ladies up the steps.

At the door Luella held out her hand impulsively.

“I wish I knew whom to thank—but I do thank him—for my safety—perhaps for my life. Believe me—I am grateful to a brave man.”

I felt the warm clasp of her fingers for a moment, and then with a flash of her eyes that set my blood on fire she was gone, and I was staggering down Doddridge Knapp's steps in a tumult of emotions that turned the dark city into the jeweled palaces of the genii peopled with angels.

But there was a bitter in the sweet. “I wish I knew whom to thank.” The bitter grew a little more perceptible as her phrases stamped themselves on my brain. I blessed and cursed at once the day that had brought me to her.