“Stand back!” she shouted again. “Don’t you dare to come nearer! I will burn your house down about your heads if you lay a finger upon me!” As she spoke she waved the lamp closer to the draperies, and the Chinamen fell back and began chattering excitedly. For just a second she held them at bay, while the glare from the lamp illumined her glorious features. Then, from directly over her head, there came a sharp, shrill whistle. As the Chinamen heard it they seemed to lose their wits entirely, and in an instant their beautiful prisoner was forgotten. With shrieks and yells of rage they scrambled over each other, and then slunk like rats into the darkest corners. Once more the young girl’s voice rang out like a bugle blast, and then, to her unbounded delight, it was answered from somewhere. Cry after cry issued rapidly from her lips. They were coming to save her. She could hear footsteps and voices. As the door was burst in a gust of wind extinguished her lamp, and Marion sank down upon the divan in utter helplessness. “Miss Marlowe! Is it possible! Thank Heaven, I am in time!” It was Howard Everett who spoke, and with a cry of joy Marion answered him. A score of burly policemen seemed to fill the place, and Everett drew her closely to his side as they darted about after the Celestials. “They are raiding the place,” he whispered in her ear. “How fortunate that the attempt was so opportune! For once in my life my good angel must have guided me! Come, let us get out of this,” he added, leading Marion to the door and half lifting her up the steps to the narrow hallway. “But Carlotta! Have they found her?” asked Marion, in a whisper. “The woman is dead! I did not mean she should escape me,” was her companion’s answer. “It seems she had heart disease, and the opium killed her. Well, at last my friend Graham’s death has been avenged, but your presence here, Miss Marlowe! I cannot understand it!” Marion held out her hand to him as she was being hurried along. “You followed her here because you think she was his murderer?” she whispered, softly. “I had no doubt of it,” was Everett’s reply. “Detectives have been watching the woman ever since. They tracked her here, and then I asked the captain to raid the place.” They were passing through the pseudo laundry now, but there was not a Chinaman in sight. The room was absolutely deserted. “And you heard my voice?” asked the young girl, as Mr. Everett supported her tenderly. “Yes, but did not recognize it, of course,” said Mr. Everett quickly. “I thought it was the voice of one of their white slaves. But do hurry, Miss Marlowe, and tell me how you came here.” With a tremendous stamping of feet the policemen came into the laundry. “Nine chinks, one white man and four women, one dead,” said the captain, in reply to a question from Everett. The critic whispered a few words in his ear relating to Marion, and, with a sharp glance at her face, the captain nodded.