would not believe she had gone to his rooms for a discreditable purpose, despite the fact that circumstances pointed against her. This man, lying there now with that terrible, malicious smile upon his dark, grayed face and quite willing to have Dudley suffer his revenge in place of Carmelita if Dudley desired it, was capable of anything. He had lured her there, he must have.
Rao-Singh had lapsed again into unconsciousness and the piece of chiffon had slipped from his fingers. It lay not three feet from Dudley's hand, and the rest of the occupants of the room for a moment were not looking in his direction. He took a cautious step backward, snatched up the tell-tale evidence, and thrust it into his trousers pocket. It was just in time, for the policeman turned toward him with a grin and remarked in that exasperatingly cheerful voice of his, "I'll take you along, I guess. And what is the name?" He had in his hand one of those little notebooks that policemen can always flourish at a second's notice, and his stubby pencil was poised to write.
"Dudley Drake," and he answered a few other identifying questions.
"All right. Let's get going," and the policeman indicated the stairs leading below.
Dudley thought that Rao-Singh had opened
