The Crimson Flame

SHE WAS RUNNING desperately through the Yokohama midnight. Behind her, an evil-faced Manchurian leaped in deadly pursuit. He held a dagger clenched in his yellow fist.

Tate Shevlin, American soldier of fortune, rounded a corner of the deserted native quarter. Abruptly he saw the girl racing toward him, and he froze in the shadows. Her ivory features and almond eyes proclaimed her Oriental; her coal-black hair streamed back over her lovely shoulders, and the jacket of her pajama-costume had been ripped and torn into ribbons, revealing the slenderness of her body and the rising swells of her breast...