Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  CHAPTER VII

  Apparently Anthony had not observed this specter.

  Peter seized his arm, the left one. "We must start. Wake them up."

  Anthony shook a nervous negative. "I've tried. That wine!"

  "_Arracka_. Comes from Java. Tastes like May wine, and is strongerthan cognac." He was tilting Peggy's chin, shaking her head. Noresponse. He tried the same experiment with Helen, and begot identicalresults.

  Romola Borria had vanished.

  Peter stepped out first, supporting his limp freight with his left arm,and in his right brandishing a revolver. He hoped it wouldn't benecessary and he was sure that underneath the splendid varnish ofAnthony's fine bravado larked the belief that this entire evening wasnothing more than an exciting romantic game.

  In the pinch, would Anthony react after the fashion ofheroes-to-the-manner-born, or would the sight and smell of blood, if itWas written that blood be shed, unnerve him, make him out to be what hewas at heart, the secretary of a prosperous and peaceful plow company?

  On his part, Anthony was still babbling incoherently but earnestly,impressing upon Peter the undeniable virtues of the golden wine. Hewas not prepared, although the nickeled revolver still flashed in hisunoccupied hand, for the tumultuous event which was being shaped forthe two of them around the corner.

  They did not attain the outer door. Out of the drab recesses leapeddusky shadows. There seemed to be a large number of jostling men;perhaps only three or four were at hand by actual count; theinsufficient lighting and their shocking and determined appearance lentthem plurality.

  A sparkling flame roared from the hand of the foremost of these beforePeter could bring his hand out of his pocket.

  Anthony's nickeled revolver went off twice, from his hip, and the giantfaltered, going back shapelessly among the shadows from which he hademerged.

  Peter's original scheme to hack a way through the line underwent hastyrevision. Escape would have to be made by different channels, and hisonly choice was the device nearest at hand. It was a long chance, anaimless one, perhaps, fraught with new, dangers and complications. Buthe did not hesitate.

  Beating off a hand that pawed for his shoulder, he flung open the doorwhich faced the dwelling's entrance, and pushed the reluctant Anthonyinside.

  Peter locked the door, throwing a bench across it for temporarybarricade, then lit candles, wondering if any one would have had enoughforesight to disconnect the aerial wires. He dropped his burden to thedivan against the side wall, and examined Anthony, who had gone verypale. He was shaking, and his gray eyes seemed to have climbed halfway out of his head. He propped Peggy tenderly beside her sister, andlaid an unsteady hand upon Peter's shoulder. He seemed to be fightingdown a very definite fear.

  Peter was backing toward the apparatus. "Watch the door. If any onetries to break in, shoot straight at the sound! You're not hurt, areyou? Did that fellow get you?"

  Anthony shivered all over. "Christ!" he muttered. His lips werewhite. "That man! I shot him! He's dead! Dead!"

  "And we are still alive," said Peter quietly.

  He sat down at the instrument table, fixed silvery disks to his ears,twanged the detector wire and made a few quick alterations inconnections. Fortunately his inspection of the equipment earlier inthe day had given him a grasp of its arrangement. In an instant he hadthe tuner adjusted, was listening, with those keen ears of his focussedfor the ethereal voices which might be abroad at this untimely hour.Distant splashes of heat lightning occurred faintly, like the quiveringof sensitive metal.

  Casting a glance over his shoulder, to make sure that Anthony wasfollowing instructions, he rearranged levers and lowered the heavyswitch which drew upon the storage batteries underneath the table.

  He tapped the large brass key experimentally. A hissing blue sparklighted up the walls and his features in a ghostly glow. Tighteningthe vibrator at the terminus of the rubber-covered coil, he spelled outan inquiry in the International Code. Any station within hearing wouldanswer that call.

  He wondered if the Shanghai station was closed up for the night, or ifby any chance his assistant on the _King of Asia_ would be on the job.

  Peter waited for several anxious moments, with no sound in thetelephones other than the faint spattering of the lightning down thecoast. Then his inquiry was given a response, startlingly harsh andclose.

  The station might have been across the street, the signals were beatingin his ears so loudly. The operator was having some difficultyadjusting his spark; it was rough, ragged, like the drumming ofhailstones on a metal roof.

  A series of test letters followed, exasperatingly slow."V--V--V--V---- What station is that? This is the _Madrusa_."

  Peter hesitated, although interference was unlikely. He felttremendously relieved. The _Madrusa's_ rough spark meant more to himthan help close by. He knew the _Madrusa_ well; a gray, swift gunboat,lying close to the water, whose purpose was to sweep the lowerWhang-poo and Yangtze clear of pirates. She could spit streams ofbullets for hours without let-up. And the knowledge of her closenessto this death-trap keyed him up, not entirely because she was manned byBritish sailors who would rather fight than eat. His hand reached outfor the key.

  "Who is on watch? This is Peter Moore. That you, Johnny Driggs?"

  If the man at the _Madrusa's_ key did happen to be Jonathan Driggs, hecould afford to breathe more easily. Driggs was another man who hadfound in China the irresistible attraction, and who for some years hadsat behind the radio machines of many ships that plied these yellowwaters.

  "Yes! Yes! Yes!" roared the _Madrusa's_ spark. "Where are you? Whatare you doing up at this time of night playing with a baby coil?"

  For the next three minutes the spitting blue spark flared and jumped asPeter spelled out his plight. He sketched their predicament byabbreviated code, and he impressed upon his friend the necessity forutter secrecy, hoping that the night had no other ears.

  "Damn it!" replied the quick fingers of the gunboat's operator. "Damnit! But I can't get shore leave! Impossible--you can guess why! Ourgunnery officer, Lieutenant Milton Raynard, is jumping to go! He'llfetch you five or six sailors. He knows the lay of the land, and I'vesketched him a map of the locality from your description. Cinch!They'll be off at once, soon as they can get the engine started in thelaunch. Don't give up the ship, old boy! Don't----"

  Peter dropped the receiver, walked over to the divan and endeavored toawaken the girls, slapping their hands, shaking them. They did notappear to be drugged. Evidently they had underestimated the power ofthe smooth, yellow _arracka_. Faint color glowed in their cheeks, andunder the treatment Peggy slowly opened one very sleepy brown eye.

  It drooped again. She muttered something that was not intelligible.It had something to do with a princess, and even that word wasindistinct.

  Anthony lifted a cautioning hand. "Some one's outside," he whispered.Slowly, as they watched it, the knob described a single revolution.Anthony lifted his revolver. "Who is there?"

  "Let me in!" It was Romola Borria.

  "Open the door," said Peter quietly, stepping aside.

  Anthony removed the bench, twisted the key.

  "You must not go with them," Romola whispered.

  "Shut the door--put the bench back," directed Peter. He followedRomola across the room.

  Evidently she had read the spark. "Let these people go--yes! But youremain. You will--or won't you?"

  Peter looked skeptical. "Why should I? I've decided that life ispretty sweet, after all! Why haven't Jen and his gang broken in here?Why is he waiting? Have you told him help is coming?"

  She shrugged impatiently. "I have not seen Jen. I have talked with noone."

  "Then you will stay in this room until we leave?"

  "But why did you send for them? It was foolish! How will you explain?"

  "They are friends. Such men ask no questions."

  "But there was no need!" She made a despai
ring gesture with her hands."Your friends could have gone safely. Jen has no interest in--_them_!"

  Peter nodded indifferently. "But my ship sails."

  "Very good. But you must not leave this house until sunrise."

  "When the sailors come from the _Madrusa_ I shall walk out of here----"

  "And into the arms of death, Peter!"

  Peter lighted a cigarette and puffed thoughtfully in silence. Romola'sgaze was upon his lips, as though the next words he would utter meantto her the difference between life and death.

  And what he might have said was forestalled by a heavy battering at theouter door. These deep vibrations seemed on the sudden to stir Peggyout of her sleep. She sat upright, digging fists into tired eyes.

  "Gracious! Where's everybody?"

  The hammering ceased, and a high-pitched crash followed an instant ofhush.

  "The men from the _Madrusa_!" cried Anthony. He dragged the benchaway; flung the door open with a grand gesture.

  And into the room strode a blandly smiling Chinese, magnificent in goldand blue and red. He was flanked by three large and watchful coolies,armed with clubs.

  "Mr. Moore; I am the man from the Jen Kee Road place!" He radiated asplendid calm.

  Peggy cowered against her sister, with a look of sleepy mystification,while Anthony, glancing to Peter for command, was fingering hisrevolver in anxious indecision. Already one of the coolies was sidlingtoward him.

  "You were a deck coolie this morning," Peter replied.

  The Chinese took a step toward him. Peter felt Romola cringe at hisside. He wondered at this.

  "Shall we wait until sunrise, or----"

  A sudden babble of men's voices on the other side of the partitionchecked the Chinese, while a look of misunderstanding came over hisbland countenance.

  "Moore! Moore! Where are you?" These were the rich tones of a manaccustomed to command.

  And instantly the small room seemed to be overflowing with the whiteand blue of uniforms.

  Peggy stood straight up with a wondering gasp. Confronting her was atall and handsome youth with the gold-and-black epaulets of hismajesty's service at the shoulder-straps of his splendid white uniform.A cutlass in a nickeled case hung from a polished leather belt, anddepending from it also was an empty leather holster. Grippedthreateningly in his right hand was a blue revolver.

  The shrill voice of the man from the Jen Kee Road place rose sharplyabove the momentary tumult.

  In this quick confusion a pale, obnoxious odor, like opium fresh fromthe poppy, yet with the savor of almonds, flooded Peter's throat. Hewas vaguely aware of a fumbling in his coat-pocket. Explosions soundedas from afar and a vast redness settled down and encompassed the world.

  The interval of dark was surprisingly short-lived. Swimming in and outof his distorted vision was a face. He was conscious for a while of noother impression. The face reeled, came closer--danced away from him!Bright eyes sparkled, leaped, and hung motionless.

  He inhaled a new perfume, deliciously like flowers in a summer meadow.It injected fresh life into him. His hands found power, and heclutched at a soft wrist. The owner of this face was talking eagerly.

  "We are alone--alone!"

  With great effort he found he could incline his head a little. He wasstruggling. Hot vapors clogged his brain. Where were the girls,Anthony, the young lieutenant from the _Madrusa_?

  "Where are they?"

  "Safe."

  He could recognize the features now distinctly; yet they stirred up inhim no longer a feeling of repugnance, but a vague longing.

  "Romola!"

  "Yes, Peter. You are feeling stronger?"

  "What am I doing here? What is this place?"

  "We are in the cellar."

  It was very dim, with an odor of moldy dampness. The rock foundation,the walls, and floor were perspiring whitely.

  Peter's brain became clogged again. The voice came to him softly butquite distinctly, with each word clear and emphatic:

  "He is waiting outside. They will not dare come into my house again!"

  "I am dizzy. Who will not dare? Who is outside?" he demanded feebly.

  "The man from the Jen Kee Road place. He is waiting outside thatwindow. No, No! He cannot see. It is covered with silk."

  Peter fell back against the arm. "What does he want?"

  "Your answer. I told him to wait. I promised him; I will hold thecandle to the window."

  "But I am dizzy," he groaned. "I do not understand."

  "Once--means 'yes.' Twice--means 'no.'"

  He delivered every ounce of his mental energy against the drug in hisbrain; it was like struggling against the tide. "Once--means 'yes?'Twice--means 'no?'" The meaning suddenly became clear to him. "Theup-river trip?"

  She nodded slowly, anxiously. "And twice--means death, also, Peter!"

  He tried to drag himself erect, tried to twist his head, and he sankback with a bitter groan. "You drugged me!"

  "There was no other way. I could not let you go into the night--intodeath!"

  A bitter smile came to his white lips. "I am quite powerless?"

  "I--I am afraid you are, Peter."

  "If I decide yes--or if I decide no--how can I defend myself?"

  "You are quite helpless," she confessed in a whisper. "No. You cannotdefend yourself." Her expression showed an inward struggle. "You arein my hands. You are in my arms! Yes! What have you to say?"

  The smile of bitterness came and flickered again over his pale lips.He tried to throw back his head, but the redness was settling down uponhim again. "What shall I say?" he muttered. "I say--two lights! Isay--no! _No_!"

  The fingers at his neck were icy. Gently he was lowered to thepavement.

  Romola had taken the candle down from the rafter, and she went swiftlyto the tiny window. She raised her hand, once, then pinched out theflame between her fingers.