,_page_header.png)
huge, red-faced, triumphant, came into the drawing-room. By one arm he led an amazing little captive, a Chinese girl who seemed not more than twenty. She was beautiful in her way; at least there was something intriguing about the sleek luster of her black hair, about her crimson mouth, and her figure, alluringly slender and lissom. Her face was very frightened; the dark eyes held a hunted look as they glanced hurriedly about the room—and then one of relief as they fell on Hung Chin-chung.
“Well, Riley,” said Barnes, “where’d you pick this up?”
“It’s as I told you over the’phone,” said Riley. “When I left this house to go back on my beat the fog was lifting. I went down California. Ahead of me, standing near the corner of Grant, I see a big touring car. I hurried up to it. When he seen me coming the driver, a snappy little Chink, tried to start his motor. It stalled. I come up with him.
