The Radio Boys on Secret Service Duty

  CHAPTER VI

  IN THE ENEMY'S TOILS

  "Look here," said Mr. Temple, "you boys have done a fine stroke ofbusiness for the government today. Suppose you play a little tonight?"

  They were finishing dinner at a famous restaurant. All about them weretables with gay little parties. The concealed orchestra was playing apopular air. Mr. Temple leaned back, sighed comfortably and lighted acigar. The boys went on with their dessert.

  "It was a good stroke of business, Dad, wasn't it?" said Bob. "Gettingthat old inventor with his sound detector at just the right moment, andcatching Inspector Burton before he left for the south. With thatinvention, he ought to be able to locate the smugglers' radio station."

  "Sh, Bob, not so loud," warned Frank. "Somebody might hear us."

  All looked around furtively. They occupied a separate table, however,and there was none other near enough for its occupants to overhear theirconversation.

  "For my part," said Jack, "I'm sorry we aren't going to be in on theoutcome of this business."

  "Same here," said Frank. "Here we go and start the ball to rolling, andthen have to drop out, without a chance to see where it rolls to."

  "Hard luck," agreed Bob. "That's what it is."

  Mr. Temple shook his head.

  "I should think you would have had enough adventures on the Mexicanborder," he said, "to last you the rest of your lives. Yet here you arelamenting because you can't have more. Besides, this matter can be of noparticular concern to you."

  "Just the same," said Frank, "it is. We have a personal interest in thematter. We started it by overhearing the plotters. Then we found thisinventor with his sound detector that probably will enable the SecretService to locate the smugglers' radio plant and secret cove. Now we arecalmly shouldered out of the way. It's hard luck, as Bob says."

  Mr. Temple smiled tolerantly.

  "You can't expect me to sympathize with you very much," he said. "Well,now, which shall it be? The theatre or a prowl around Chinatown?"

  Chinatown? In a moment the pessimism of the boys vanished. They were allsmiles.

  "Chinatown by all means," said Jack, emphatically.

  "Righto," agreed Bob.

  "With its opium dens and hatchet men and gambling clubs and all,"declared Frank.

  "Oh, it isn't what it used to be," deprecated Mr. Temple. "I understandChinatown is quite civilized now. Nevertheless, I expect we shall findmuch to interest us. I'll speak to the head waiter. Probably he candirect us to a guide."

  On being consulted, the head waiter agreed to obtain them a guide.Presently, the boys and Mr. Temple were on their way by auto to theunique city within a city which constitutes San Francisco's Chinatown, aquarter housing more than 30,000 Chinese. Oriental in everycharacteristic, with narrow alleys and courts, cellars, sub-cellars andsub-sub-cellars, the dragon roofs of Chinatown lie just below Nob Hill,the old aristocratic quarter of San Francisco with its veritable palacesof stone. From the terraces of the latter, one can look down into thealleys of Chinatown. So close neighbors are these two opposite districtsof the city by the Golden Gate.

  At the corner of Grant (once called Dupont) and California Streets, theguide halted their car and the party alighted. The boys looked aroundthem with delight. In every direction were houses and stores speaking ofthe Orient. Close at hand on one corner was a Catholic church, one ofthe landmarks of the district. On another corner was a restaurant fromwhich came strange Chinese music.

  Up the California Street hill droned a strange little cable car, itssides open and passengers facing outward. Below, clear in the moonlight,lay the Bay with a lighted ferryboat making the crossing.

  While the boys were drinking it all in, and staring owl-eyed at theslippered Chinamen in baggy pants and blouses shuffling past, theirguide was in converse with a stranger. Now he approached Mr. Temple andtouched his cap.

  "Sorry, sir," he said, "but this is where I leave you. I'll turn youover to this man."

  Mr. Temple regarded him sharply, then looked at the other.

  "Isn't that a bit unusual?" he asked.

  "No, sir," said the original guide, "this man has certain territory herewhich we let him cover by agreement. When he has shown you around,you'll find me here, sir, and I'll continue with you. Shall I dismissthe car, sir? You'll spend some time here, and might as well dismiss itnow and get another later, rather than have it eat up fares."

  "Very well," said Mr. Temple. "Here." And he handed the man a bill.

  Under the conduct of the new guide, the party started down Grant Street.The original guide watched their disappearing figures several minutes,then walked over to the chauffeur at the wheel of the hired car.

  "Gave me a tenner, George," said he. "Here's your split. I wonder what'Black George' wants with 'em. Look like fruity pickin's all right."

  "Easy, pal. Easy," said the chauffeur, low-voiced. "What the Big Chiefwants with 'em is his own business. We had our orders to pick 'em up an'we carried 'em out. Climb in and we'll blow."

  The other complied, and the car departed.

  Meantime, midway of the next block the party had come to a halt. The newguide, a capable man of middle age with a twinkling eye turned to Mr.Temple.

  "Now, sir," he said, "just what would you like to see?"

  "Nothing rough," said Mr. Temple hastily, looking at the boys. "Justshow us the usual tourist places."

  "Oh, Father," protested Bob, aggrievedly. "We want to see the sights."

  "The young man wants some excitement," said the guide, slyly. "Well,maybe we can show him a thing or two."

  Mr. Temple did not like the man's tone. Nevertheless, he made nocomment.

  "Lead on," he said shortly.

  Flanked by Bob and his father, and followed by Jack and Frank, the guidebrought them presently to the mouth of a dark alley. There he paused.

  "Up here's the Joss House," he said. "Chinamen's temple, you know.Follow me single file. It's dark in this here alley, but we'll soon beall right."

  Obediently, they fell into line behind him and stumbled along throughStygian darkness, only the dim light from the street over theirshoulders. Presently, the close walls on either hand turned sharply tothe right, and they emerged into a narrow courtyard. It was so darktheir surroundings could only be guessed at.

  "Look here, my man," said Mr. Temple, "I went to a Joss House inChinatown once years ago, and I don't seem to remember this route."

  "It's all right," said the guide. "The place is just ahead here througha door. Follow right along."

  Mr. Temple took several more steps, the boys after him, then haltedagain. Once more he started to protest, but at that moment the guideturned and grappled with him while a number of other shadowy formsmaterialized out of the darkness and closed with the boys.

  The boys and Mr. Temple fought valiantly, but numbers were against them.Moreover, the attackers threw over the head of each a sack that muffledtheir outcries and prevented the boys and Mr. Temple from directingtheir blows. Taken altogether by surprise, they were quickly overcome.Then their hands were tied and they were raised to their feet, and thesacks, which were almost suffocating them, were removed.

  A revolver was shoved threateningly into each face.

  "Won't do you much good to scream," said a voice in the darkness, "butif you do, you know what you'll get."

  There was a grim earnestness about the tone which commanded belief.

  "If it's money you want----" gasped Mr. Temple, who was breathing heavily.

  "Shut up," said his guard. "Now march."

  With two guards to each, the four prisoners were shoved along the brokencobbles of the dim courtyard until a door in a wall was reached. Throughthis they entered a corridor even blacker than the courtyard behind.There were no lights. One of the guards, however, threw the rays of aflashlight ahead.

  An iron door barred the way. A little wicket was opened as theflashlight played over it, and a slanting almond eye stared outunwinkingly. The man with the flashlight advanced, ut
tered a word in alow voice that the boys could not overhear, and then the door wasopened.

  Down another pitch black corridor, several turns, and the party haltedbefore a second door. The procedure was similar to that gone throughwith at the first door. Again they were admitted.

  All this time, shuffling along in a silence broken only by an occasionalstumble or muttered curse, on the part of one of the guards, they hadbeen descending. It seemed to the boys as if they had stumbled down somany various flights of steps that they must be in the very bowels ofthe earth. At last a third door was opened, and Mr. Temple and the boyswere shoved ahead accompanied only by the man who had been their guideand betrayer.

  They stood in a dimly lighted room of Oriental magnificence.

  Two men sat at a table. One was inscrutable. He was an old Chinaman. Theother wore a sinister smile. He was the man of the train--"Black George."