Wild, gurgling cries brought Max sharply about.
An answering whistle sounded from the street outside ... a second ...
a third.
Ah-Fang-Fu, stooping ever lower, at the instant that Stuart had sprung
to his feet had seized his ankle from behind, pitching him on to his
face. It was then that the note of the whistle had ceased. Now, the
Chinaman had his long pigtail about Stuart's neck, at which Stuart,
prone with the other kneeling upon his body, plucked vainly.
Max raised his pistol ... and from the bunk almost at his elbow leapt
Miguel the quadroon, a sand-bag raised. It descended upon the
Frenchman's skull ... and he crumbled up limply and collapsed upon
the floor. There came a crash of broken glass from the shop.
Uttering a piercing cry, the old woman staggered from the door near
which she had been standing as if stricken helpless, during the
lightning moments in which these things had happened--and advanced in
the direction of Ah-Fang-Fu.
"Ah, God! You kill him! You _kill_ him?" she moaned.
"Through the window, Sowerby! This way!" came Dunbar's voice. "Max!
Max!"
The sustained note of a whistle, a confusion of voices and a sound of
heavy steps proclaimed the entrance of the police into the shop and
the summoning of reinforcements.
Ah-Fang-Fu rose. Stuart had ceased to struggle. The Chinaman replaced
his hat and looked up at the woman, whose eyes glared madly into his
own.
_"Tche', tche'e,"_ he said sibilantly--_"Tchon-dzee-ti Fan-Fu.
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