Jackson Gregory

“ She grew still, staring at him with frightened eyes.
“Kwang-kung is here,” he told her sternly. “You know why. I am here, and in the interests of the law. And yet I am not after you. Do you understand?”
“No,” said Marvella. “I understand nothing. Who are you?”
“The jig is up for you, Marvella Nevil. Never mind who I am. You are not going to marry Stephen Carrington's millions. You are not going to get his check for the Beauty of Burma. You are not going to work with Tom Reagan as he plans. You are not going to get Carrington's jewels. You are going to do what I tell you!” ”

“ Reagan started back, his hand flashing its quick way to his hip. But when all was still again and he had waited briefly, he stepped forward and picked up the paper. He held it in his fingers; Steele could fancy the great dark eyes frowning at it. Reagan, a man who made mysteries for others, hated them for himself. Now, impatient and bold, he struck a match and read. Marvella's face was at his shoulder.
There was a sharp cry from Marvella; a grunt from Reagan; darkness. Then:
“Go to the house!” Reagan commanded sharply. ”

“ Reagan whirled and struck with the same knife that had done for Kwang-kung. But Steele struck first, bringing his gun barrel down with a smashing blow on Reagan's bare head. The man's clutch on his knife loosened, the fingers tightened again.
Then Carrington came running to the rescue, Marvella at his heels. Reagan was still reeling; Steele whipped the knife out of his grasp, hurled him backward. Reagan fought wildly and in grim silence; Steele struck again, and then deftly slipped on the relaxing hands a pair of handcuffs. Carrington came racing to them. ”