The girl looked at Harry Vincent. Her eyes moved slightly as she appeared to study him with a keen glance. Harry was fascinated.
He still continued to stare, wondering more than before why this amazing creature should have come, unattended, to such a place as the Pink Rat.
Admiration must have expressed itself in Harry’s glance, for the girl’s eyes met his, and she smiled slightly. Harry was gripped by a strange emotion.
Women had not interested him for many months. Before he had met The Shadow, Harry had been in love; but the girl whom he adored had married another man. Since then he had been woman-proof.
But now — the quickened beating of his heart told him that he had found a new love.
The girl’s eyes interested Harry. They held an expression that encouraged him. Somehow, he knew that his interest was reciprocated.
He felt that the girl was wondering why he was here — just as he had wondered why she had come to this place. They had something in common. Each seemed to know instinctively that the other was not a person of the underworld.
The girl turned away suddenly. She opened a hand bag, and began to look for something. She did not appear to be embarrassed, but Harry realized that she had sought to escape his fixed gaze.
He looked toward the corner of the room where the two men were engaged in conversation. But a moment later, he glanced back toward the girl, and smiled to himself. For he had detected her watching him from the corner of her eye.
Harry was hesitating between duty and desire. He had a mission here — to watch the man who had followed Stanley Berger. But he felt an irrepressible longing to meet the blond girl; to talk with her; to learn her name.
He kept his eyes fixed upon the men in the corner; but his thoughts were centered upon the young woman.
HARRY regained his alertness with a sudden start. The man in the corner had risen. Apparently he was about to leave the Pink Rat.
No; he was shaking hands with his companion. It was the other who was leaving.
Harry caught a glimpse of the second man’s face, as the fellow left the place. The man looked like a gangster — hardened features, shrewd eyes, and a firm, unflinching stare.
The man whom Harry had followed now strolled across the room, and took a seat at a table directly in front of Harry. A man and a woman were at the table. They greeted the newcomer.
“Hello, Volovick.”
Harry made a mental note of the name. He listened closely, hoping to catch some words of conversation.
At first the talk was fairly audible, but of no consequence. Volovick spoke with a foreign accent.
Then his words became low, and Harry could not understand them. He strained his ears intently.
Just as he seemed about to catch a few remarks, Volovick’s voice became a little louder, but now he was talking in some unknown language.
Harry Vincent was no linguist. He could not even decide what tongue was being spoken. Suddenly Volovick’s voice became low again; he drew a watch from his pocket, and leaning shrewdly forward, tapped his finger against the dial.
Evidently he was setting some time for an appointment. Harry was not sure.
Volovick leaned back in his chair. He replaced his watch in his pocket. Harry realized that he was displaying too much interest in the conversation. He relaxed also, and, inspired by a sudden recollection, glanced across the room toward the girl.
She had one elbow upon the table. Her small, slender hand rested against her cheek.
The girl caught Harry’s glance. Her eyes were directly upon him. Her lips moved, forming a slow, distinct sentence. Harry did not catch the meaning. The girl repeated her silent words.
“Look in back.”
The significance was fully evident now. A tense look appeared upon the girl’s face. She seemed to express worry and alarm. Harry knew instinctively that danger threatened.
With a quick swing, he gained his feet, turning toward the rear. He was just in time.
Two men had been sitting behind him. One had risen and was coming toward Harry. The man’s hand was moving from beneath his coat; Harry caught the gleam of a knife.
At that instant the lights were extinguished.
THE mind thinks rapidly in a moment of great danger. In the fraction of a second, the whole story was clear to Harry. While he had been watching Volovick, the man in back of him had prepared for the attack.
Another person had been stationed at the light switch. Both had acted simultaneously. One quick stab — and Harry Vincent would have been the victim.
This realization came to Harry while he swung into action. Fortunately, he had seen the man who was approaching him. He swung instinctively in the darkness.
His blow was calculated to perfection. His fist encountered a face; there was a snarling gasp, and Harry heard the man crash to the floor.
Harry moved toward the center of the room. The door of the Pink Rat was straight ahead; but he realized that flight would be folly. Doubtless some one was stationed outside.
Harry stumbled against a bench, and held it with his hands.
Loud shouts echoed through the room. One woman was screaming.
Harry gripped the bench tensely, wondering what would happen next. He had only a moment to wait.
A flashlight was turned on at the table where Volovick was sitting. Its glare was directed toward the spot where Harry had been. Then it swung out across the room, and stopped, focused directly upon Harry.
Harry had turned toward the light; now he was staring straight into the blinding spot.
“There he is! Get him!”
The cry came from Volovick.
Lifting the bench, Harry flung it directly at the flashlight. At the same instant, two shots rang out.
As the bench left his grasp, Harry felt a stinging sensation in his left arm, above the elbow. He gripped the spot with his right hand.
The bench which he had flung found its mark. Volovick must have raised an arm to ward it off; but it was coming with terrific force. Harry heard the crash, as a table was overturned. Glasses broke.
The flashlight fell upon the floor, its gleam turned uselessly toward the rear wall.
Harry swayed as he gripped his wounded arm. Then a light hand was pressed against his right shoulder. As he was about to swing away, a soft, feminine whisper stayed him.
“Come with me. Quickly.”
HARRY extended his right hand, and his wrist was grasped by a soft hand. Following the one who conducted him, Harry was drawn directly toward the table where the girl had been seated.
He could see nothing in the darkness; he caught himself as he stumbled against a bench. Then the hand left his wrist, and pressed against his shoulder.
He was pushed against the wall, and to his surprise it yielded. Harry was forced into a small compartment. A portion of the wall had turned on a pivot!
The girl was still with him. Her presence was soothing. Harry felt a solid wall beyond, and leaned there.
“You are wounded?”
The soft voice was genteel — no longer a whisper. It was quiet here in the secret room; the noise from the den outside seemed far away.
“Yes,” replied Harry.
“Where?”
“Left arm. Above the elbow.”
Harry’s coat was gently eased from his shoulders. He twinged slightly as his left sleeve was slipped from his arm. Then his shirt sleeve was drawn back, and he felt the pressure of a handkerchief as it was bound about his muscle.
The makeshift bandage seemed to ease the pain.
“It’s only a flesh wound,” whispered Harry hoarsely. “I’ll be all right. But tell me” — he seemed to forget that he was still in great danger — “who are you?”