He watched her, and slowly--slowly--he began to crouch,
lower and lower, but always that unblinking regard remained fixed upon
the face of Mrs. Sin.
The woman laughed again, more loudly. Bending her lithe body forward
in mocking mimicry, she snapped her fingers, once--again--and again
under Sin Sin Wa's nose. Then:
"Do you think, you blasted yellow ape, that you can frighten me?" she
screamed, a swift flame of wrath lighting up her dark face.
In a flash she had raised the kimona and had the stiletto in her hand.
But, even swifter than she, Sin Sin Wa sprang. . .
Once, twice she struck at him, and blood streamed from his left
shoulder. But the pigtail, like an executioner's rope, was about the
woman's throat. She uttered one smothered shriek, dropping the knife,
and then was silent. . .
Her dyed hair escaped from its fastenings and descended, a ruddy
torrent, about her as she writhed, silent, horrible, in the death-coil
of the pigtail.
Rigidly, at arms-length, he held her, moment after moment, immovable,
implacable; and when he read death in her empurpled face, a miraculous
thing happened.
The "blind" eye of Sin Sin Wa opened!
A husky rattle told of the end, and he dropped the woman's body from
his steely grip, disengaging the pigtail with a swift movement of his
head.
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