ng went...
in... Mahara... was watching... gave signal... whistle... of someone's
approach. It was thought... Mr. King... had secured ALL the message...
Mrs. Vernon... was... writing.... Mr. King opened the door of ... the
lift-shaft... lift not working... climbed down that way... and out by
door on... ground floor... when Mr.... the Member of Parliament... went
upstairs."...

"Ah! pardieu! one last word! WHO IS MR. KING?"

Gianapolis lurched forward, his eyes glazing, half raised his
arm--pointing back into the cave of the dragon--and dropped, face
downward, on the floor, with a crimson pool forming slowly about his
head.

An unfamiliar sound had begun to disturb the silence of the catacombs.
Max glanced at the white face of Helen Cumberly, then directed the ray
of the little lamp toward the further end of the apartment. A steady
stream of dirty water was pouring into the cave of the dragon through
the open door ahead of him.

Into the disc of light, leaped, fantastic, the witch figure of the
Eurasian. She turned and faced him, threw up both her arms, and laughed
shrilly, insanely. Then she turned and ran like a hare, her yellow silk
dress gleaming in the moving ray. Inhaling sibilantly, Max leaped after
her. In three strides he found his foot splashing in water. An instant
he hesitated. Through the corridor ahead of him sped the yellow figure,
and right to the end. The seemingly solid wall opened before her; it was
another masked door.

Max crossed the threshold hard upon her heels. Three descending steps
were ahead of him, and then a long brick tunnel in which swirled fully
three feet of water, which, slowly rising, was gradually flooding the
cave of the dragon.

On went the Eurasian, up to her waist in the flood, with Max gaining
upon her, now, at every stride. There was a damp freshness in the air
of the passage, and a sort of mist seemed to float above the water. This
mist had a familiar smell....

They were approaching the river, and there was a fog to-night!

Even as he realized the fact, the quarry vanished, and the ray of light
from Max's lamp impinged upon the opening in an iron sluice gate. The
Eurasian had passed it, but Max realized that he must lower his head if
he would follow. He ducked rapidly, almost touching the muddy water with
his face. A bank of yellow fog instantly enveloped him, and he pulled up
short, for, instinctively, he knew that another step might precipitate
him into the Thames