mg.greeneyes-第12部分

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eved；　and　his　assumption　was　a　logical　one。
　　None　of　the　men　from　Ling　Soo's　had　appeared。　These　Chinese　did　not　identify　the　strange　American　with　their　organization。　That　was　all。
　　Cleve　thought　of　the　emblem　beneath　his　coat。　He　had　put　it　there；　because　it　was　to　be　worn　concealed　in　this　place…so　his　informant　had　said。
　　Right　now；　Cleve　decided；　that　emblem　would　settle　matters　much　more　effectively　than　his　government　badge！
　　Quietly　and　impressively；　Cleve　drew　back　his　coat　and　showed　the　sign　of　the　Wu…Fan。　He　stepped　back　as　he　did　so；　in　order　that　all　might　see。
　　
　　
　　THE　result　was　entirely　opposite　from　what　Cleve　had　anticipated。　Before　he　could　move　another　step　away；　a　knife　gleamed　as　the　nearest　Chinaman　leaped　toward　him。　A　wild；　angry　shout　arose；　and　with　it　came　the　cry；　〃Wu…Fan！〃
　　In　another　instant；　the　mad　assailant　was　flinging　himself　upon　the　amazed　American。　Cleve　leaped　instinctively　to　one　side。
　　The　charging　man　was　none　too　accurate。　His　blade　sliced　Cleve's　sleeve。
　　But　this　momentary　escape　was　no　salvation。　As　Cleve　look　up；　he　saw　two　new　attackers　spring　from　his　right。
　　The　door　was　behind　him；　but　there　was　no　escape　now。　With　the　bright　blades　descending；　Cleve　saw　death；　and　dropped　to　the　floor。
　　That　action　made　him　helpless。　His　hand　had　no　time　to　gain　the　gun　from　the　hidden　pocket。　Yet　Cleve's　futile　effort　to　elude　the　knife　thrusts　actually　contributed　to　the　unexpected　happening　that　thwarted　the　murderous　attackers。
　　Two　sharp　shots　cracked　from　the　blackened　doorway。　The　well…aimed　missives　found　their　marks。　The　first　smashed　the　wrist　of　the　one　attacker；　the　other　reached　the　shoulder　of　a　knife…swinging　Chinaman。
　　Both　were　upon　Cleve　now。　One　knife　was　poised　above　his　head；　but　the　hand　that　held　it　was　guided　by　a　deadened　arm。　The　thrust　was　futile；　and　as　Cleve　struck　the　threatening　hand；　the　blade　flew　free　along　the　floor。
　　As　he　rolled　free　from　his　crippled　antagonists；　Cleve　encountered　a　greater　menace。　The　Chinaman　who　had　made　the　first　thrust　was　back　again；　determined　not　to　miss；　a　second　time。
　　A　huge；　surly　fighter；　he　pounced　upon　his　prey　with　upraised　arm；　and　the　broad…bladed　dirk　seemed　certain　of　its　victim。　For　Cleve　was　half　lying　on　the　floor。
　　Again　an　automatic　spoke　from　the　door。　The　Chinese　assassin　dropped　his　blade。　It　clattered　beside　Cleve。
　　Once　again；　the　hidden　marksman　had　prevailed。　The　Chinaman　was　shot　in　the　hand。　He　dropped　to　the　floor；　pressing　his　wounded　fingers　against　his　body。
　　The　man's　actions　indicated　that　he　was　no　longer　in　the　fray。　He　was　writhing；　as　though　in　pain。　But　in　that　action　lay　his　treachery。
　　Seeking　to　deceive　his　hidden　foe；　the　big　Chinaman　huddled　on　the　floor；　and　his　left　hand；　out　of　sight　from　the　doorway；　obtained　the　knife　that　the　right　had　dropped。
　　Cleve　was　crawling　to　his　feet；　his　back　turned　toward　the　huge　Chinaman。
　　Up　came　that　hidden　left　hand。　Swinging　into　play；　it　drove　the　wicked　blade　straight　for　the　center　of　Cleve's　back。
　　The　action　was　deft　and　swift。　Those　firmly　clenched　fingers　formed　a　fist　that　even　a　bullet　might　not　loosen　on　the　instant。
　　Quick　though　the　assassin　was；　the　hidden　sharpshooter　was　swifter。　His　fourth　shot　sounded。　The　bullet；　skimming　a　few　inches　away　from　Cleve's　back；　reached　its　chosen　mark…not　the　hand　that　held　the　knife；　but　the　blade　itself！
　　There　was　a　sharp　clack　as　the　leaden　missive　clipped　the　blade。　The　knife　was　wrested　from　the　hand　that　held　it；　as　though　plucked　away　by　an　invisible　being。
　　Cleve　Branch；　staggering　to　his　feet　and　drawing　his　revolver；　found　himself　facing　a　trio　of　startled；　bewildered　Chinamen；　whose　death　thrusts　had　been　thwarted。
　　Who　was　this　mysterious　rescuer？　Cleve　did　not　know。　He　realized　only　that　he　had　been　saved　from　certain　death；　that　he　had　found　enemies　where　he　had　expected　friends。
　　The　attack　had　been　frustrated　by　an　unseen　hand；　and　one　lone　rade　was　ready　to　assist　against　a　new　onslaught。
　　
　　
　　THE　menace　of　the　first　encounter　had　been　its　suddenness。　Cleve　had　warning　of　the　danger　that　was　ing　now…and　he　saw　that　he　had　much　to　fear。
　　He　was　in　the　midst　of　an　Oriental　nightmare。　This　room　was　dimly　lighted　by　swaying　Chinese　lanterns。　The　three　Chinamen；　writhing　on　the　floor；　seemed　grotesque　in　their　odd　garbs。　Cleve　had　no　dread　of　them　now。
　　His　eyes　were　staring　about　the　dim　room；　peering　at　challenging　yellow　faces。
　　A　singsong　cry　was　passing　back　and　forth。　The　name　〃Wu…Fan〃　was　uttered　in　a　weird；　hostile　tone。　The　pause　seemed　minutes　long…yet　it　could　not　have　been　more　than　several　seconds。
　　Strange　eyes　were　peering　from　openings　in　the　opposite　wall。　A　chattered　gabble　was　telling　what　had　happened。　Amidst　the　lull；　Cleve　raised　his　revolver　as　a　threat；　and　began　to　back　toward　the　door　where　he　knew　that　safety　lay。
　　The　effect　of　his　action　was　startling。　It　was　the　spark　that　kindled　the　fire　of　rage　among　the　foeman。　One　purpose　dominated　the　entire　throng　of　Chinese：　that　their　victim　should　not　depart　alive。
　　If　Cleve　had　supposed　that　his　enemies　were　armed　only　with　long；　wicked　knives；　he　now　learned　his　mistake。　As　though　by　given　signal；　a　dozen　revolvers　flashed　into　view。
　　Cleve　did　not　wait　for　the　firing　to　start。　He　blazed　away　with　his　revolver；　straight　at　the　nearest　group　of　opponents。　One　Chinaman　fell。　The　others　dropped　behind　the　shelter　of　the　tables。
　　Like　rats；　these　Mongols　had　slipped　out　of　sight；　and　opened　fire　from　their　ambuscades。
　　As　he　sought　the　protection　of　a　table；　Cleve　fired　at　spots　where　his　enemies　had　been。　He　aimed　well；　but　his　plan　could　never　have　succeeded。
　　He　was　one　against　many；　and　the　odds　were　impossible。　His　one　lone　revolver　might　account　for　a　few　of　the　attackers；　but　doom　was　inevitable。
　　Cleve　could　never　make　that　short　dash　to　the　door　and　expect　to　arrive　alive。
　　Bursts　of　flame　were　ing　from　all　quarters　now。　The　room　was　ablaze　with　revolver　shots。　Cleve　Branch　was　the　target；　and　bullets　smashed　against　the　table　which　he　had　chosen　for　a　buffer。　Cleve's　answering　shots　were　pitifully　small　and　few。
　　But　he　still　had　help。　The　man　at　the　door　was　fighting　with　him。　There；　from　an　angle；　the　hidden　marksman　could　see　all　portions　of　the　room。　He　had　a　dozen　targets；　and　he　chose　them　well。
　　Yellow　hands　spread　and　dropped　their　weapons。　Fingers　that　were　pressed　to　triggers　suddenly　lost　their　purpose。　The　sharp；　staccato　barks　of　the　automatic　were　tokens　of　unerring　aim。
　　A　strange　silence　dominated　the　room　as　the　echoes　of　gunfire　died　away。
　　Cleve；　bewildered；　gradually　realized　the　explanation。
　　His　revolver　was　empty　and　useless　in　his　hand。　He　had　brought　no　reserve　supply　of　cartridges。　He　knew　that　his　weapon　had　done　little　damage。　Those　shots　from　the　door　had　turned　the　tide！
　　Prone；　helpless　Chinese　were　sprawled　about　the　room。　Those　who　still　remained　active　were　too　wary。　They　were　crouching；　fearfully；　in　corners；　or　they　were　back　behind　the　refuge　of　the　doorways。
　　They　knew　too　well　that　their　own　shots　would　betray　their　presence。　They　had　seen　the　havoc　wrought。　Not　one　dared　risk　encounter　with　that　superman　whose　aim　was　everywhere！
　　
　　
　　TO　Cleve；　the　silence　became　a　sign　that　all　his　enemies　were　fallen　or　had　fled。　In　that　he　was　wrong。　His　knowledge　of　the　Chinese　nature　was　at　fault。
　　These　men　were　snipers　at　heart。　They　had　attacked　openly　because　they　were　many　against　one。　Now；　realizing　their　error；　those　who　remained　uninjured　were　lying　low；　awaiting　a　false　move　by　the　man　whose　life　they　sought。
　　The　blackened　door　was　refuge；　in　Cleve's　mind。　The　bursts　of　flame　that　had　emerged　from　it　were　signs　of　sure　protection。　With　gunfire　ended；　he　felt　that　escape　was　the　only　course。　Escape；　before　fresh　attackers　might　arrive。
　　Springing　from　behind　the　table；　Cleve　leaped　straight　toward　the　door。
　　His　dash　carried　him　no　farther　than　five　feet。　The　shots　came　from　hidden　Chinamen。　A　bullet　winged　Cleve　in　the　shoulder；　and　he　sprawled　headlong