Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER VIII

  Peter was conscious of a hot stickiness at his throat where the clawshad taken hold. Then he concerned himself with the gray shape that layquite still on the iron deck at his feet. New enemies from otherquarters, he realized, might strike at any instant.

  Gathering up the limp form, he climbed the ladder to the darkenedpromenade deck and up another flight through the tarpaulin cover to theboat-deck. Opening the wireless-house door, he deposited his burdengently upon the carpet, and switched on the light. Then he turned thekey in the lock, and examined his find. A long, gray bag of some heavymaterial swathed the small figure from head to foot. There was no signof life.

  Yelping arose from the river. It was still dark. The sampan coolieswere out early. Peter listened, becoming thoughtful as a solutionseemed to present itself to his problem.

  He went out on deck and beckoned to one of them to stand by.

  A swaying coolie in the stern of the nearest craft caught sight of him.

  "Hie! Hie!" The wagging paddle became mad. The sampan slipped underthe towering shadow and brought up with a smack against the movingblack hull.

  Peter pried up the tarpaulin life-boat cover, dragged out a coil ofdirty rope, made one end fast at the foot of the davit, and tossed theother end overside. The coolie caught it and clung.

  Re-entering the wireless cabin, Peter opened his pocket-knife and slitthe cord at the head.

  A mass of curly, brown hair flowed out upon the carpet. There was asilken lisp of underskirts. A faint sigh.

  Peter suddenly turned his head. Black, glassy eyes were riveted uponhis from the after window. They vanished.

  He jumped up, bolted to the deck, and stood still, listening.

  The scuffle of a foot sounded on the port side. Some one was runningforward. He plunged after. The footsteps stopped sharply coincidentwith a dull smash, a frantic grunt. The pursued reeled to the deck,groaning.

  Peter pounced upon him, grabbed his collar, and dragged him across thedeck into the wireless house.

  "Mr. Moore, the captain told me----" whimpered Dale.

  Peter knocked him into the chair, opened the toolbox, and extracted alength of phosphor-bronze aerial wire. Binding the wiggling arms tothe chair, he made the ends fast behind.

  Snapping out the lights, he gathered the gray bag into his arms anddeposited it on the deck in the narrow space between the life-boat andthe edge. He looked down. The coolie was staring up, clinging to therope, waiting.

  The bag slipped down half-way. A warm moist hand clutched at hiswrist. A faint moan issued from the unseen lips. He jerked again.The bag came away free, and he tossed it overboard. The yellow currentsnatched it instantly from sight.

  The hand clung desperately at his wrist. "Don't let them----" began asweet voice in his ear.

  He wrapped his legs around the rope and worked his way over the edge."Arms around my neck!" he commanded hoarsely. "Hold tight!"

  Soft arms enfolded him. They dangled at the edge.

  The coarse rope slipped swiftly through his fingers, scorching thepalms, seeming to rake at the bones in his hand.

  A wild shout came from the wireless house. An echo, forward, answered.

  They slipped, twisting, scraping, down the rough strand. His handsseemed hot enough to burst. Maddened blood throbbed at his eyes, hisears, and dried his throat. Dimmed lights of the promenade deck soaredupward. A glimmering port-hole followed.

  For an eternity they dangled, then shot downward.

  Something popped in Peter's ears. His feet struck a yielding deck. Hestaggered backward, sprawled. The rope was whipped from his hand. Thewarm arms still clung about his neck.

  As the world wheeled, a drunken universe, a sullen voice yelped at hisear. The arms loosened.

  The _Vandalia_ twinkled closely and was swept into the mist, a blur, aphantom. His hands blazed with infernal fire.

  He sat up and looked behind him. The river was murderously dark.Water gurgled under the flimsy bow. The dull tread of feet and awatery flailing behind him advised Peter that the coolie was strugglingagainst the rushing current.

  Slowly he became conscious of a weight upon his breast, a low sobbing.A delicate, feminine odor brought him to earth, unraveled his tangledwits.

  He was sitting upon the wet floor of the sampan's low cabin. Hiscaptive had crept close to him for protection. Protection! Hesnorted, wondering if the coolie was licensed.

  "Hai! Hai! Woo-Sung way." The voice was villainously stubborn.

  "Shanghai-way. _Kuai cho_--hurry!" roared Peter. A sigh escaped fromthe girl. She snuggled closer. "Woo-Sung. _Pu-shih_! Savvy?"

  "Hai! Mebbe can do." The sampan reared, braving the direct onslaughtof the Whang-poo's swift tide.

  A myriad of questions in his brain strove for utterance. But the girlspoke first.

  "Who are you?" she whispered. "I am Eileen Lorimer."

  "I am--I was the wireless operator of the _Vandalia_."

  The coolie paused a moment for breath, then the mad plunging of thepaddle sounded again.

  "The wireless operator? You heard my call?"

  "Been waiting for China's lights--ever since. But how--what?" hedemanded.

  She was silent a moment. "I know the code. My brother owned a privatestation. We lived in Pasadena--ages ago. It does seem ages." Shestirred feebly. "You don't mind?"

  "No, no," he protested.

  "I am afraid--such a long time. Weeks? Years?" She shuddered. "I donot know. Oh--I want to go home!"

  The coolie broke into a working sing-song as he struggled. The tideshould shift before long.

  "Were you in the loft above Ah Sih King's?"

  "Roped! I broke loose."

  "The red note?"

  "I scribbled with a nail, and threw it before she knocked me down.That woman was a demon!"

  A pale, yellow glow seemed to body forth from the enshrouding mist.Dawn was breaking. Soon the great river would be alight.

  "School-teacher," the girl was murmuring. "A wedding present forher--in Ah Sih King's." A small hand fumbled for his, and found it."In the back room they began gibbering at me. And this demon came.Meaningless words--Ah Sih King leered. Called me the luckiest woman inChina."

  "But how did you know?"

  An empty freighter with propellers flailing half out of water poundedthrough the yellow mist close to them.

  "Hie! Hie!" shrilled the coolie's warning.

  Light seeped through the doorway. The outlines of a dark skirt weresilhouetted against the scrubbed white floor.

  "He said when I saw the lights of China I would go aboard a beautifulship. She was watching you. Three times our stateroom was changed.Always at night."

  "You used a coil?" Peter was professionally interested on this point.

  The girl murmured affirmatively. "She had some affliction. A SanFrancisco doctor said the electric machine would cure it. And Ipretended to use it, too. But it broke down that night."

  The yellow light grew stronger. Equipment of the cabin emerged: acrock of rice and fish, a corked jug, a bundle of crude chop-sticksbound with frayed twine, a dark mess of boiled sea-weed on a greasyslab.

  He looked down. The girl moved her head. Their eyes met.

  Timid, gray ones with innocent candor searched him. Shining dark hairrippled down either side of a pale, lovely face. She was younger thanhe had expected, more beautiful than he had hoped. Her rosebud of amouth trembled in the overtures of a smile.

  His feelings were divided between admiration for her and horror--shehad escaped so narrowly. In the realization of that moment Petershaped his course. His following thought was of finances.

  He brought to light a handful of change. Less than one dollar,disregarding four twenty-cent Hu-Peh pieces; hardly enough to pay offthe sampan coolie.

  His charge sighed helplessly, thereby clinching his resolution. "Ihaven't a penny," she said.

  He explored the
side-pocket of his coat, hoping against fact that hehad not changed his bill-fold to his grip. His fingers encountered anunfamiliar object.

  The struggling pantheress flashed into his mind. And the wrinkledenvelope she had drawn from her satin jacket and pressed into his hand.Past dealings with Chinese gave him the inkling that he had beenunknowingly bribed.

  A scarlet stamp, a monograph, was imposed in the upper right corner ofthe pale blue oblong.

  "Money--Chinese bills. Full of them!" Miss Lorimer gasped. "I saw it.What are they for? And why did that dreadful woman----"

  "Jet-t-e-e-ee!" sang the coolie, swinging the oar hard over. Thesampan grated against a landing. "Shanghai. _Ma-tou_! _H[=a]n liangbu dung y[=a]ng che l[=a]i_!"

  Peter was counting the pack. "Fifty one-thousand-dollar Bank of Chinabills!"

  Excited yelpings occurred on the _ma-tou_. The rickshaw coolies weredickering for their unseen fare.

  Peter tossed the sampan boy all the coins he had, and left him togibber over them as he lifted the girl to the jetty. She clung to hisarm, trembling, as the coolies formed a grinning, shouting circle aboutthem. More raced in from the muddy bund.

  "What are we going to do?" she groaned.

  "We are going to cable your mother that you are starting for home bythe first steamer," Peter cried, swinging her into the cleanest andmost comfortable rickshaw of the lot. "The _Mongolia_ sails thisafternoon."

  "What will become of you?" she demanded.

  Peter gave her his ingenuous smile. "I will vanish--for a while.Otherwise I may vanish--permanently."

  Miss Lorimer reached out with her small white hand and touched hissleeve. They were jouncing over the Su-Chow bridge, on their way tothe American Consulate. "Won't I see you again? Ever?" She lookedbewildered and lost, as if this strange old land had proved too muchfor her powers of readjustment. Her rosebud mouth seemed to quiver."Are you in danger, Mr. Moore?"

  Peter glimpsed a very yellow, supercilious face swinging in hisdirection from the padding throng.

  "A little, perhaps," he conceded.

  "Because of me?"

  The yellow face reappeared and was swallowed again by the crowd, as aspeck of mud is engulfed by the Yangtze.

  Miss Lorimer repeated her question. Peter shook his head in anextravagant denial, and helped her down from the rickshaw. They hadstopped before the consulate in the American quarter.

  "I'm leaving you here," he said.

  "But--but I like you!" her small voice faltered. "Aren't you going toexplain--anything? Is this--is this all?"

  Peter smothered his rising feelings under an air of important haste."Your way lies there"--he pointed down river. "For the present minelies here"--and he jerked a thumb in the general direction ofShanghai's narrow muddy alleys.

  "Shall I--won't you--gracious!" Miss Lorimer stared into her lefthand. Two one-thousand-dollar Bank of China bills were folded upon it.She was confused. When she looked back the young man who hadmiraculously delivered her from an unguessable fate had been spiritedwith Oriental magic from her sight.