The Radio Boys on Secret Service Duty

  CHAPTER IX

  THE POWER OF THE UNDERWORLD

  This was a blow. Decidedly, a blow.

  As the door closed behind Murphy, Mr. Temple and the boys looked at eachother with dismay written plainly on every countenance. They were to betaken to sea at once, and to an unnamed destination. Furthermore, Mr.Temple had been compelled to write to the Palace Hotel management a notewhich would prevent suspicion being aroused by their failure to returnto their rooms. Mr. Temple's business associates would inquire for himat the hotel next day, when he failed to keep appointments, and would betold of the explanation contained in the note. They might consider hisdeparture abrupt and unusual, but certainly they would not be likely toconsider it so strange as to demand investigation by the police.

  What hope was there that their disappearance would cause a policeinvestigation that might, possibly, lead to their relief? Or that atleast would be heralded in the papers, and so come, perhaps, to theattention of Inspector Burton, who could guess the solution?

  None.

  Without a word spoken, these thoughts passed through the minds of all.They realized they were in the hands of a very shrewd scoundrel, who hadforeseen the possibilities of the situation and had taken care to guardagainst the arousing of public suspicion over their disappearance.

  There was this other phase, too, to be considered--namely, that "BlackGeorge" might vent his anger against them for their attack upon him infiendish tortures. As Mr. Temple thought of this, he groaned aloud.

  "Boys," he said, without raising his head from his hands, "I'vecertainly gotten you into a terrible situation."

  Big Bob laid a hand on his father's shoulder.

  "Don't take it so hard, Dad," he said. "We aren't dead yet."

  "No," said Frank, his spirits rebounding, "and we are not likely to bedead, either, for some time to come. Why, Uncle George, we have bestedthis rascal at every turn so far. It's true, we are his prisoners. But,without his knowing it, we already have set the machinery of thegovernment in motion to put an end to his smuggling of Chinese coolies.And in the fight, we most certainly got the best of him and his Chinesefriend."

  Mr. Temple raised his head, and looked a bit more hopeful.

  "Besides," declared Jack, "we were in some pretty tight places on theMexican border, and yet came through with flying colors. And I'mconfident we will do so again."

  Mr. Temple even essayed a trace of a smile, as he regarded the tall,handsome, curly-haired lad. Jack was a year older than Bob and, thoughnot so stout of frame, was fully as tall. Both were an inch under sixfeet. And Jack, like his companions, was hard as nails.

  "Why, Jack," said Mr. Temple, "I believe you like to be in a bad hole.Actually, I believe you are enjoying yourself."

  "Bob and Jack had most of the fun on the Mexican border, flying to theCalomares ranch and rescuing Mr. Hampton, while I was left behind at thecave with nothing to do but----"

  Big Bob thwacked his chum on the back resoundingly.

  "Yes, with nothing to do but save the day and half kill a husky Mexicanofficer," he said. "You certainly were out of luck!"

  "Oh, that's all right," said Frank. "Just the same, you fellows had morefun out of that adventure than I did. Now it looks as if I was declaredin. And I can't say that I'm entirely grief-stricken."

  Mr. Temple shook his head.

  "You boys will be the death of me," he said.

  Nevertheless, their sturdy courage and optimism cheered him greatly.

  For some time the talk went back and forth, the boys doing their best tocheer Mr. Temple. They realized dimly how great was his anxiety, farmore on their account than on his own. And by belittling the dangers andpersisting in regarding the whole matter as a lark, they hoped to dispelhis gloom to some extent.

  The various objects of the room came in for attention. The room itselfproved to be steel-walled, and circular, the walls covered with heavyOriental hangings. No lights were suspended from the ceilings. The onlylight came from several tinted bowls on a massive walnut table, very lowand stained with age. Investigation disclosed electric light bulbswithin the bowls.

  "Let's find the switch and throw the room into darkness when they comefor us," cried Frank eagerly. "Then we can jump them and gain the upperhand."

  The big door close to where he stood grated slightly and swung open andMatt Murphy stood in the aperture.

  Had he heard, wondered Frank. He gave no sign.

  "Come," he said.

  Mr. Temple and the boys regarded each other gravely. Without a wordspoken and without premeditation, they clasped hands. Then Bob sprang totake the lead from his father. If danger threatened in the corridor, hewould receive the brunt, rather than let his father accept that exposedposition. Jack forced Frank to fall in behind Mr. Temple, and thenhimself brought up the rear.

  But nothing unexpected occurred in the corridor, and they reached thedark courtyard, after passing through the guarding doors, withoutmishap. If any of them thought to cry out for help now that the outerair was gained, that thought speedily was dispelled. Matt Murphy leanedclose, revolver in hand.

  "One word and you are all dead men," He said. Then he waved toward aclump of shadowy figures ahead, which the boys and Mr. Temple coulddiscern as their eyes became more accustomed to the darkness.

  "Chinese," he said, "an' awful quick with their knives. I'm warnin' ye.That's all."

  Thereupon Murphy fell silent, standing beside Mr. Temple. And the groupahead, between the prisoners and the dark mouth of the alley exit to thestreets of Chinatown, also was motionless. A slight sound, sibilant, asof whispering, came from it. Murphy, however, vouchsafed noconversation.

  "What are we waiting for?" whispered Frank, the irrepressible.

  "Ye'll see in a minute," answered Murphy, shortly.

  Out of the doorway behind them, a moment later, debouched a littlecavalcade. In the center of a group of six or eight bobbing heads rose adark object that swayed perilously as it lurched through the door.Murphy sprang toward it with a low-voiced curse.

  "Careful there, ye haythens," he commanded.

  The object steadied and came closer. Then the boys could see it was aclosed palanquin, borne by eight Chinese.

  "Whew," whispered Frank, impressed in spite of himself. "I didn't knowthere were any of those things left in existence."

  "Must be that old Chinaman we laid out," ventured Bob.

  The burden bearers passed the little group. Silken curtains were drawntightly about the palanquin, and the boys could not see within. Itdisappeared with its bearers, looking in the darkness like some giganticspider, into the mouth of the alley across the court. Murphy joinedthem.

  "Come," he said. "An' remember. One cry out o' ye an' ye are all dead."

  "Was that the old Chinaman?" whispered Frank.

  Murphy, a talkative man himself, already had noted that irrepressiblequality in Frank. He chuckled grimly.

  "Ye'd talk in hell, youngster, wouldn't ye?" he said. "No old Wong Hostays here. That was the Big Boss."

  They were moving across the courtyard, obedient to Murphy's command. Theguard of Chinamen had closed around them.

  "But, say," asked Frank, "will they carry that thing through thestreets?"

  "Shut up," growled Murphy, "an' do what you're told. Here we are. Now inwith you."

  They had emerged upon the dimly lighted street of Chinatown whence theyhad approached the courtyard trap under the impression they were beingtaken to a Joss House. Not a shuffling sandal slithered up or down theblock. All was deserted as a graveyard. There was a reason. Guards ateither end of the block, unostentatiously loitering on the sidewalk, haddropped a word, and in that quarter it was sufficient. No whiteshappened to be passing, and as for the Chinamen they scurried awaywithout looking back.

  "In with you," repeated Murphy, pushing the boys and Mr. Temple into ataxicab with blinds drawn, which stood at the curb. It was the same inwhich they had approached Chinatown, although they did not realize thatfact.

  A
motor van stood behind. The palanquin had been placed in it with theends of the supporting poles resting in leather thongs dependent fromthe sides. This was calculated to break any shocks of the passage to thepain-wracked form of "Black George."

  Murphy swung in with his prisoners, as did one of the Chinese guards.The taxi started downhill. Behind lumbered the van.