But the hammer blows of the monster resounded throughout the cellar. At any moment the door might come crashing down and Locke and Eva might again be at the mercy of the iron fiend.

Locke caught up Eva in his arms again and, groping, sought the exit of the warehouse.

He dared not follow Zita through Old Meg's den. Love that could for any reason hesitate or injure the one loved was incomprehensible to him. He felt that the hag's den might now be but an ambush and that Zita might have run ahead to warn the uninjured emissaries of his coming.

By a lucky chance he found the path leading directly to the warehouse steps and the street. Eva's speedster had not been moved or tampered with and he placed Eva gently in the seat, climbed in, and started the motor. As he did so three emissaries came running out of the alley leading to Old Meg's. But shooting the gears into high speed, Locke easily evaded them and turned up the first corner.

He was going to take Eva to the first doctor's or a drug-store, but it proved not to be necessary. The rush of the air as the car moved rapidly revived her, and in a few moments she was quite herself again, eagerly questioning him about her rescue.

Although they were thankful for their escape, still they could not blind themselves to the fact that all their efforts had been in vain, that they stood no nearer to their great desire, and that, at least until now, their enemies had proved too wily and too strong for them.

But they were young, courageous, and resourceful, and as they drew up before Brent Rock they were busily engaged with plans for the future.

It was the following afternoon in the Chinese quarter. The Celestials were celebrating one of their numerous feasts. Long multicolored banners and streamers were hanging from every window and balcony and were even strung across the narrow street, almost brushing the faces of the motley throng that passed beneath. Tom-toms and cymbals beat and clashed, while from the Chinese theater came the shrill piping of reeds and the high-pitched chanting voices of Chinamen.

Street venders cried their wares and the windows of the Oriental shops were gaily bedecked for the holiday.

Through the dense happy throng a man made his way. He, too, was an Oriental, but of a different race. A giant in size, he calmly pushed and shoved the smaller Celestials out of his path, and, although they chattered angrily at him, their resentment went no farther, for his size and the menace of his swarthy face made them pause.

Before the entrance of a curio-shop he halted and consulted a card.

Then, satisfied that he had found his destination, he picked up a wicker carrying-case that for the moment he had placed on the curb and entered the shop.

A Chinaman stepped forward, scrutinized him closely, and, nodding significantly, bade the new-comer follow him.

They went to the back of the shop. The Chinese clapped his hands, and a panel in the wall slid back, disclosing a stairway. The new-comer stepped through the aperture and the panel closed behind him. He mounted the stairs and came to a room, magnificent in its Oriental splendor.

Priceless rugs covered the floor and walls, while on wonderfully carved teakwood stands reposed ancient porcelains, specimens of bygone dynasties, antique arms and armor cunningly wrought, jades and ivories marvelously fashioned by master craftsmen long since dead. Seen through the filmy haze of rising incense, the room was a veritable treasure-house of Oriental art.

On low settees a few richly clad Chinese were reclining, and in a far corner, gazing intently into a globe of crystal, sat a man of the same race as the new-comer, a Madagascan.

Startled at the entrance of the giant, he left off his shadow-gazing and came hastily forward, cringing as he did so.

The giant, in an impressive, booming voice, now spoke for the first time.

"I, the Strangler, have come from Madagascar with the Great Torture."

A door opened and Doctor Q entered the room, his head wagging from side to side.

As he caught sight of the Madagascan he stopped short and put his hand to his head with a gesture of perplexity, striving piteously to place the stranger. He could not succeed. With a half-running, half-stumbling gait he withdrew to a corner of the room and furtively watched the two Madagascans.

There came the sound of a gong. A panel slid back, and into the room there majestically swept a Chinaman of pure Mongolian type.

He was gorgeously clad in flowing silks and wore the princely cap with a button. At a glance his piercing eye took in every detail of the room.

Then he went directly to the Madagascan, whose overbearing air of assurance immediately forsook him at the Chinaman's approach.

He bowed low and reverently, for it was Long Fang to whom he made obeisance, Long Fang, leader of a great Tong, and implacable foe to all others, a Chinese whose tentacles of power reached into every corner of the underworld, spreading terror.

In an incisive, icy voice that sent a chill through the big man's frame, he now spoke.

"You have been overlong on your journey and we have been waiting for you." Then with a menace in his voice he snarled, "It is well for you that you came at last."

The big man shuddered and remained silent. Long Fang crossed to Doctor Q.

"The instrument of torture is here," he said. "The Madagascan has just brought it. He is an unrivaled strangler."

"Let him approach," commanded Doctor Q.

Long Fang beckoned, and the Strangler came forward. His eyes had been fixed on the Chinese, but now they roved to the figure of Doctor Q, and he fell back in consternation, clutching the other Madagascan by the shoulder and gasping in awestruck tones.

"In our country his magic is supreme!"

With difficulty he controlled himself and bowed low, his forehead almost touching the floor. Then he looked away, cringing.

"I see that you recognize me," Doctor Q chuckled, fiendishly. "Good! You will not be so foolish as to fail me."

"No, no, master, I swear it by--"

"Never mind your oath. My power is my guaranty. Go--follow Long Fang. He will direct you to the torture-chamber."

Doctor Q turned on his heel and hobbled out of the room.

Long Fang and the Strangler were about to proceed to the torture-chamber when footsteps were heard on the stairway that led to the curio-shop below. Long Fang and the Madagascan stopped and listened.

Another moment and De Luxe Dora and Paul Balcom stepped into the room.

With a curt command Paul called Long Fang to him and the Chinaman, important as he was, hastened to obey.

What was this strange power that Paul, at will, could exercise throughout the underworld?

With a few terse questions Paul ascertained the exact condition of affairs.

"You say, Long Fang, that all is ready?"

"All, master. We only awaited your coming."

Then with a graceful gesture he asked, "Will you so far honor your humble servant?" as he indicated the way into another room.

Dora, followed by Paul and the Chinese, stepped through the portal and came to a Chinese temple.

It was a large room and the decorations, although equally well executed as those in the room they had just left, were actually terrifying.

Flying dragons and serpents done in bronze hung from the ceiling, while on a raised dais at the farther end of the room was an enormous squatting figure of the seven-handed god. Before it, in braziers, fire gleamed, giving off a heavy, pungent odor that was almost overpowering to Occidental nostrils.

On either side of the huge image hung silken curtains, in all probability covering doorways into yet other chambers.

For the first time Dora showed signs of interest. With the shop and the first chamber she was already familiar, but this was something new, something to give the spur to her satiated, _blase_ nature. She moved about the place, fingering the rare tapestries, contemplating probably what gorgeous hangings they would make for her own apartment.

Dora's preoccupation gave Long Fang his opportunity to confer with Paul alone and he moved closer to him.

"Master," he nodded, "why not use the beautiful lady to lure the other one into our power?"