CHAPTER XI
With the pristine dawn, Robert MacLaurin arose from his bed like alarge, yellow mountain; for his pajamas--every square yard ofthem--were of fine Canton silk, the color of the bulbous moon when itreposes low on China's horizon.
Satisfying himself at length that the bedroom had another occupant, hedrained the contents of a fat, white water-jug, then tossed the jugupon the incumbent of the bedroom's other bed.
At such times as this critical one, the smiling destiny which held thefate of Peter Moore in the hollow of her precious hand was everwatchful, and the white water-jug caromed from his peaceful figure withno more than an unimportant thud. The jug bounded to the floor andended its career against the hard wall. Peter Moore sat up, rubbinghis eyes.
"Dead or alive, Peter?"
"You nearly broke my back."
"Serves you right, old slug-abed! You tucked me in last night with thewarning that we pick up the early express for Nanking."
"Quite so," admitted Peter Moore thickly. In the past two days he hadmanaged to set aside altogether four hours for sleep; and he felt thatway. He examined his room-mate, but was not surprised at what met hisglance.
Bobbie MacLaurin, disregarding the fact that he had not yet shaved,looked as fresh as a rose. His endurance was like that of a range ofmountains. His sea-blue eyes were cannily clear, his complexion wastransparent and glowing. The ill effects of last night had beenabsorbed with about as much apparent effort as a gigantic sponge mightdisplay in absorbing a dewdrop.
"Chinamen's eyes and Chinamen's knives have been running through mydreams," Peter muttered.
"Cheer up! The pirates are thick above Ichang. We'll both have ourbloody necks slit a dozen times before we make Ching-Fu." Bobbieturned from the miniature mirror. His sea-blue eyes glared through awhite lake of lather. "Hurry up and shave, you loafer! We'll missthat train."
"I'm not going to shave for six months!"
"Election bet?"
"When your utterly worthless life has been endangered as many timesas----"
"What you need is a drink, my lad!"
"When you have evidence that the greatest criminal-at-large wants tohave you stuck like a pig----"
MacLaurin swung his big frame about and stared. "You're not serious."
"I am referring to--a Gray Dragon. Ever hear of one?"
The razor in the large, red hand of Bobbie MacLaurin flashed. It cameaway from his cheek. A broad trickle of crimson spread down thelathered jaw, But he did not curse.
"We must hurry for that train," rumbled his big voice. "We must talkthis over. We must hurry, Peter," he said again.
Miss Amy Vost was not in evidence when the two rickshaws rattled up tothe platform of the red brick station.
"Perhaps she's waiting for us in the coach, holding seats for us,"Peter suggested.
"Just like her," said MacLaurin. "She's a little peach!"
Peter entered the compartment first and scanned the heads. The onlytresses in evidence were the long, black, shining ones of a bejeweledChinese lady. The other passengers were men.
"There will be no tete-a-tete in Soochow," observed Peter Moore to hisconscience.
"I'd go to hell for that girl!" declared Bobbie MacLaurin as he satdown at Peter's side. "Now, tell me what you were doing in that Japrigging. Two years, isn't it, since we were chased out of Panama Cityby the _spigotties_?"
"I came over on the _Vandalia_."
"And didn't go back, I gather."
"She sailed up-river for Soo-chow yesterday. No, I won't go back.Bobbie, I started something on that ship, and I'm on my way toChing-Fu--and 'way beyond Ching-Fu--to finish it."
"It will be beautifully finished, Peter! Or your name's not Moore."
"There was a girl, a beautiful girl----"
"There usually is," MacLaurin sighed.
Peter gazed bitterly at the scenery flitting evenly past the window:groves of feathery bamboo, flaming mustard fields, exquisite gardens,and graves--graves beyond count.
"Perhaps she is passing through the Inland Sea by now. Bobbie, Iwanted her to go home. She was--she was that kind of a girl. Shewanted to stay. Bobbie, that girl could have made a man of me!She--she even told me she--liked me!"
"They have a way of doing that," commented Bobbie sadly.
Several miles rolled by before either of the men spoke.
"Why is Miss Vost making the trip to Ching-Fu?"
"You'll have to find that out, Peter. I was too busy letting her knowhow bright my life has become since she entered it!"
The square, red jaw swung savagely toward Peter. Of a sudden thesea-blue eyes seemed a trifle inflamed. "She's probably going toChing-Fu on serious business. She's like that. She's not like you!"
"What do you mean?" said Peter.
"You're going to try to break into Len Yang; that's what I mean! Someday, on one of these reckless expeditions of yours, Peter, you're goingto run plumb into a long, sharp knife! If I could head you off, Iwould."
"You can't, Bobbie. My mind is made up."
"Get out of China. Why enter the lion's den? You're too confiding,too trusting, too young. In duty to my conscience, I oughtn't to letyou go. But I know you'd walk or fly or swim if I tried to head youoff."
"I certainly would," agreed Peter.
Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China Page 11
