XVIII
THE DARK FIELD
Two evenings later a heavy fog blanketed the San Francisco waterfront,hiding its smelly wharves and damp alleys under a dreary pall. A distantfoghorn sounded dismally above the lap-lap of harbor water againstwooden piles. Vaguely the blended roar of a mighty city drifted seawardthrough the murk and mist. It was a night for secrecy; for furtivebusiness which could not bear the light of day.
In the winding alleys of old Chinatown brooded a heavy silence, spicedwith queer oriental odors. It flowed between the buildings like a deep,mysterious river. It reached thick tentacles up a steeply sloping streetto close around a huge stone house.
A high stone wall, clammy with the fog, surrounded the lightlessedifice. Within there seemed to be neither sound nor life nor movement.Yet a sharp-eyed passer-by might have noticed a tiny thread of lightpeeping through the drawn curtain of a second floor window.
At least the light was there, although blurred and scarcely visible inthe close-pressing fog.
One thing no curious passerby could have guessed--the luxurious richnessof the room behind that drawn curtain. Soft shaded lights spread theirglow over satin wall hangings, deep piled oriental rugs, and beautifulcostly furniture. The air was heavy with incense, sweet but oppressive.
At a table a young woman sat gazing at her reflection in a large mirror.Clad in a loose, flowing gown of silk, her figure was almost girlish.Her face beneath its oriental coiffure had a fresh, flowerlike beautywhich deepened as she turned and spoke.
"Suzette!" she murmured plaintively. "Do you think I am as lovelytonight as I was three months ago?"
A trimly uniformed maid appeared from an alcove beyond the dressingtable. Her bright eyes took in the dark-haired girl in one swift,approving glance.
"But yes, Mademoiselle! You are even more beautiful tonight!" sheanswered. "It is that little touch of _tristesse_ which make you so, Ithink. Is it because you are impatient to see Count Borg again afterthree long months? Ah, Mademoiselle Lotus! You cannot fool the littleFrench maid, Suzette!"
With a laugh, the girl called Lotus shrugged her pretty shoulders.
"After all, Suzette," she retorted, "the Count is much more charmingthan the desperadoes, white and yellow, which surround us here...."
"Sh-h-h! Please, Mademoiselle!" the maid whispered sharply. "Please donot talk that way in this house. It is not safe! To be sure, we _think_the others have all gone out for the night, but all the same, there arethings even Mademoiselle must not say!"
"Oh, bother!" cried the younger woman, springing up with small fistsclenched in anger. "I know what you mean, Suzette! And I am tired ofmeasuring all my words to suit the great Cho-San. I am sick of lookingout for eavesdroppers and spies--yes, _spies_--who run to him withreports of all I say or do! Let me tell you this, my little maid, if Iever find _you_ have been bearing tales about me, it will not be wellfor you!"
Stamping her slippered foot, Lotus turned to the window and savagelyflung up the lower sash. Through the parted curtains she leaned out,drawing in deep breaths of the foggy night air.
"But, Mademoiselle!" cried the little French maid in a tone of keendistress. "Suzette have nevair bear the tales to anyone. You do her awrong to think she would--w'at you call--double cross Mademoiselle. Sheonly warn you that Cho-San, he is jealous w'en you speak of Count Borg!"
"Jealous, is he?" spat the girl, whipping around to face her maid. "ButI don't love Cho-San! I--I think I am too young to be in love withanybody. I like Count Borg, because he is young and handsome, and--well,he's _different_. Cho-San is a great man. He is older and stronger andhe has the ear of the Master. But sometimes Cho-San forgets that he andLotus are not of the same race!"
Gently, yet with determination, Suzette took her mistress' hand and ledher back to the chair.
"Mademoiselle excites herself too much!" she murmured, picking up abrush and running it through the girl's shiny, dark hair. "Suzette, sheknow w'at is the reason. You are wonder if Count Andre Borg have makegood his escape from Haiti. Evair since Monsieur Michael Splendorbroadcast the stealing of his big cabin plane, the friends of Count Borghave wonder if he will dare to fly straight here."
"He'll try, anyway, Suzette," cried the girl. "He knows that Cho-San hascalled a general meeting for day after tomorrow night. Andre will bethere unless something terrible happens to him between here and Haiti.Oh, it seems like years since I saw him last!"
"And now it may be only hours till you see him again," murmured thelittle maid. "Oh, I know how you feel, Mademoiselle! But now we musthurry, so you will not be late at the appointment downtown which Cho-Sanhas made for you tonight. I heard him tell you it was important."
* * * * *
While Lotus was worrying over the whereabouts of Count Borg, the Count'sdouble was speeding through the night sky less than a hundred miles eastof San Francisco.
Already Don Winslow was training himself mentally for the part he was toplay. In talking with Red Pennington who occupied the co-pilot's placein the big cabin plane, he tried to imitate the very tone and accent ofCount Borg's speech.
Red, on the other hand, was training himself for the part of Penny, theCount's valet-to-be. Only for brief periods during the trip had hedropped the pose of a manservant, for he knew that his part must beplayed to perfection from the moment they met the first Scorpion agent.
"Do you know the place we are supposed to land, sir?" he queried in hismost respectful tone. "Even if one is acquainted with the city'soutskirts, it won't be easy to find an unlighted field at night."
"That will all be taken care of, Penny," replied the pseudo Count Borg."According to the last code message we got from Haiti at least one manwill be there to meet us with a fast car. Undoubtedly he will light acouple of ground flares as soon as he hears our motor overhead. Anyhow,judging by the highway lights ahead, we're almost over the spot whichSplendor described."
"But supposing, sir," objected "Penny," "that one of the Scorpionstations picked up Mr. Splendor's broadcast and was able to decode it!In that case perhaps the man who is waiting for us will be a Scorpionagent backed by an armed gang. If they _should_ suspect anything wrongthey wouldn't hesitate to rub us out and ask questions later--not thatgang!"
The idea was startling enough as "Penny" expressed it. But "Count Borg"showed no trace of nervousness.
"Of course anything is possible with that gang, as you call them," heagreed; "but Navy secret codes aren't easily broken down, even byexperts. Besides I've got a feeling our number isn't up yet--look, Red!There are the ground flares being lighted now! Over to starboard, andabout two miles north. We'll come down just between them, and upwind!"
The rough field lighted by the flares turned out to be a sandy patchbetween two highways and far from any lighted house. This much DonWinslow guessed as he set his wheels down with a gentle bump. When hehad braked to a stop beyond the flares, both of them were suddenlyblacked out, leaving earth and sky pitch dark.
"That's so no chance-passing motor cop will see lights and start toinvestigate, I guess," remarked Red Pennington, sliding back the plane'ssliding door. "We wouldn't want our arrival noted on the San FranciscoPolice Blotter, would we, Don?"
"Hardly!" smiled the young commander, switching off the cabin light."Out with you, now, shipmate! There's a car headed this way across thefield. Keep your hand on your automatic until we know who it is. If itshould be a Scorpion reception party, we won't go down without abattle!"
The lightless car skidded to a dusty standstill ten feet from the plane.Then only its head lamps flashed on, and into their blinding radiancestepped a well-built man in civilian clothes. Keeping both hands insight, he faced the darkened plane and spoke.
"Commander Winslow, you and the Lieutenant may trust me without risk,"he said quietly. "I am Hammond, from the San Francisco Office, and hereare my identification papers. This car is at your service along withanything else y
ou wish to ask for."
As Red was about to step out of the shadows, Don elbowed him back. Itwas still possible that a Scorpion machine gun was trained over thecar's rear door, ready to fire at the sound of his voice.
He must make sure, without showing himself. Shielding his mouth with acupped hand, he threw his voice along the plane's fuselage.
"Never mind the papers, Hammond," he responded. "A few words will do toshow you have been in communication with our friends."
The car's spotlight showed Hammond's smile.
"Wise precaution, sir!" he approved. "How's this for a set ofpasswords:--Captain Holding--beam radiophone--CountBorg--Haiti--'Penny'--Michael Splendor? Or do you want more?"
Don Winslow of the Navy Page 18
