And then, behind, the Wowzer's voice shrieked out: "Soak him! Kill de guy! He's croaked Dago Jim! Put a hole in him, de--" Yells, a chorus of them, took up the refrain--then the rush of following feet--and the passageway seemed to racket as though a Gatling gun were in play with the fusillade of revolver shots.

But Jimmie Dale was at the opening now--and, like a base runner plunging for the bag, he flung himself in a low dive through and into the open cellar beyond.

He was on his feet, over the boxes, and dashing up the stairs in a second.

The door above opened as he reached the top--Jimmie Dale's right hand shot out with clubbed revolver--and with a grunt Chang Foo went down before the blow and the headlong rush.

The next instant Jimmie Dale had sprung through the tea shop and was out on the street.
A minute, two minutes more, and Chinatown would be in an uproar--Chang Foo would see to that--and the Wowzer would prod him on.