by John Blaine
“That’s a wonderful name,” Barby said quickly. “What are they?”
“Another name for them is blue sheep,” Steve told her. “They’re bluish-gray, shading to white in the under parts. The horns are unusual, because they curve outward from the sides of the head, then down and backward.”
Hartson Brant paused in the act of filling his pipe and asked curiously, “How do you know so much about Asiatic animals, Steve?”
Steve laughed. “Because I used the same gag once myself.” He started for the door. “Talk it over, and think up any questions you can. I won’t promise to know the answers, but I’ll try. I’ve got to get Mike started back to Washington to pick up that stuff.”
When he had gone, Barby looked enviously at the two boys. “In my next reincarnation,” she announced, “I’m going to be a boy. I don’t see why I couldn’t go, too. A girl would make the group look even less suspicious, wouldn’t it?” She scanned the three faces eagerly, then sighed. “All right. I knew it wasn’t any use.”
“Never mind, towhead,” Rick said. He always hated to see Barby’s wistful expression when he and Scotty were going somewhere. “Maybe next time.”
“Not if next time is another job like this,” Hartson Brant disagreed. He studied his pipe stem, his forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “I’m not quite sure why I didn’t object to Rick and Scotty going.”
Rick demanded swiftly, “You’re not going to object, are you, Dad?”
“No, Rick. If we hadn’t been on other expeditions and in some tough spots together, I surely would. But I know you two are able to take care of yourselves. And so is Zircon. Only keep in mind that you may be dealing with an entirely new breed of cats, unscrupulous men who wouldn’t hesitate to put you out of the way without a moment’s hesitation. So be careful. Be very careful. Don’t take risks that aren’t essential to your job. And do what Zircon tells you to without hesitation. He’s knocked around in some pretty rough corners of the world, and I don’t know a man who is better equipped for this kind of job, unless it’s Carl Bradley.”
The warning sobered Rick even more. Apart from what his father had said, he knew it was also what the information could mean to the security of the country that had prevented the scientist from making a single objection to their going.
“We’ll take no risks we don’t have to,” he promised. “We’ll move as if we were walking on eggs, Dad.” And Scotty echoed the promise.
Nothing remained but to wait for Zircon and make definite plans. Steve, who had risen early in order to get to Spindrift first thing, walked out to the orchard with Dismal for company and stretched out under a tree for a nap.
Rick and Scotty couldn’t possibly have napped, so they went up to Rick’s room and began to pack. That took little time, since they would travel by air. Scotty took his rifle out of its protective case and cleaned it, then tried on the infrared telescope. He removed from the ‘scope the masking bits of cardboard Rick had used to convert it to a camera view finder, thus making it a telescopic rifle sight once more. It fitted perfectly.
“You taking the movie camera along?” he asked.
Rick thought it over. “Guess I will,” he said finally. “Tourists are supposed to have cameras. I’ll take the movie instead of the speed graphic. And I can take along infrared film as well as regular color film. If anyone asks, I can say I want movies of the animals you and Zircon shoot. Then all three of us won’t have to take guns.”
“Better finish putting the lenses into those sunglasses frames then,” Scotty said.
“I’ll do it right now. It won’t take long.” A thought struck Rick. “What will Zircon do for a rifle?”
“He’ll have to borrow one, and an ordinary one won’t do, either. If we’re supposed to be hunting big game, he’ll need one bigger than my .303.” Scotty frowned thoughtfully. “How about Captain Douglas? He used to be quite a hunter. You’ve seen the African trophies in his office at the barracks.”
Captain Douglas was commanding officer of the Whiteside State Police Barracks, and a good friend of the boys. He and his officers had co-operated with them in rounding up the Smugglers’ Reef gang.
“Give him a phone call while I finish putting these lenses in,” Rick suggested.
“Good idea.” Scotty went to phone.
More and more Rick was realizing the magnitude of the job they had undertaken. He hoped fervently that Chahda would know something useful in case they failed to locate Bradley.
In a moment Scotty stuck his head in the door. “I’ve got the captain on the phone,” he said. “He’s got a .45-90 we can borrow, and, bless his heart, he didn’t ask where we were going. When can we pick it up?”
Rick thought it over. “I’ll have to fly to the airport and pick up Zircon in a little while. Tell Captain Douglas I’ll buzz the barracks on the way over. Ask if he can possibly deliver it to me at the airport. I hate to bother him, but I won’t have a car to go get it.” Rick’s little cub airplane was the island’s fast messenger-passenger service.
“Okay.” Scotty disappeared down the hall again for a few moments and then returned. He took a seat in the leather armchair. “He finally did get curious. Wanted to know if we needed that caliber rifle to shoot Jersey mosquitoes. I told him we were going on a trip and that I couldn’t say anything more about it. So he said he’d lend us the gun only on condition that we tell him the story when we got back. I said we would, if we could.”
“He’s the best,” Rick said. “But he knows we’ve done some hush-hush work for the government, and don’t forget he’s an ex-Marine. He wouldn’t embarrass us by asking too many questions.”
Scotty nodded. “Wait until you see this rifle. A .45-90 is a regular cannon. It’ll knock down anything smaller than an elephant, and it’ll knock down one of those, if it hits the right spot.”
“That’s just Zircon’s size,” Rick said, grinning. The scientist was a huge man who towered over the rest of the staff.
Later, Zircon dominated the library as Steve issued final instructions. The scientist’s booming voice had phrased questions for an hour, until even Steve looked weary.
“This winds up what I have to say,” he told them. “Mike should be back with your tickets, passports, and letter of credit in another hour. I’ll go back to Washington and issue instructions via the State Department to all of our ambassadors and consuls in the area. They’ll know what’s happening and why you’re there, but no one else on their staffs will. Go in to see each one whose country you enter. Make a lot of noise. Insist on seeing the chief. He’ll know your names and he’ll do everything he can. Bradley is supposed to check in with each embassy or consulate in the same way. They’ll be your points of contact in case he shows up again, File reports when you can. Hand them to the ambassador or consul of the country and no one else.”
Steve stopped for a moment, then his warm grin flashed. “This is going to be tougher than beating the Whispering Box gang. I know you’ll come back with the answers, but be sure you have whole skins when you do!”
CHAPTER V
Hong Kong
The four-engine transport had been letting down from its cruising altitude for what seemed like an hour. Rick was watching through the circular window for the first sign of land, and he was getting impatient.
The trip had been a long one. It seemed to Rick that he had been sitting in a plane for most of his life, even though they had been gone from Spindrift for less than four days. That was because they were making no stopovers. At San Francisco, Honolulu, Guam, and Manila they had stopped only long enough to refuel, or to change planes.
Scotty, in the seat next to Rick, was sound asleep. Zircon, across the aisle, was engrossed in a book.
Rick looked up as the stewardess walked past him. She smiled and pointed through the window on the opposite side. He caught a glimpse of mountainous country below. Then, in a few seconds, a small island passed underneath on his own side. They were getting close to the ground now. He estimated their
altitude at less than two thousand feet. He poked Scotty in the ribs.
“Rise and shine, mighty hunter. We’re getting ready to land.”
Scotty was wide awake instantly. “About time,” he muttered. “Show me this famous Hong Kong.”
“Can’t yet,” Rick replied. “But we’ve passed a couple of islands. Look, there’s another.”
They were dropping rapidly now. The big plane suddenly banked, leveled, then banked again. As they rocked up, Rick looked down into a cove, crowded with Chinese junks. The brief glimpse sent a thrill through him, as new scenes always did. They were the first junks he had seen outside of pictures.
The plane banked again, the other way. Rick realized with a sudden feeling of discomfort that they were actually weaving their way through mountain peaks! He had heard that the approach to Hong Kong was crooked as a corkscrew; now he knew the reports didn’t exaggerate.
Zircon was leaning across the aisle. He pointed to a strip of curved beach. “Repulse Bay,” he boomed. “We’re almost in.” The scientist had been to the Far East before, and he knew Hong Kong.
They were close to the top of abrupt hills. Rick saw a road curving through the hills and valleys, then they were over water again, and the water was dotted with modern ships as well as junks. The plane rocked far over in a tight bank, and there was a howl as the flaps were lowered. Rick and Scotty buckled safety belts and sat back as the plane leveled off.
In a few moments they were collecting their luggage and walking across a concrete apron to the customs building. Inside, a Chinese clerk, under the supervision of a British officer, gave their effects a cursory glance, stamped their passports, and handed them police forms to fill out. They did so as rapidly as possible, turned them in, and left the customs room. Outside, they picked up the bags they had checked, gave them to a Chinese coolie, who appeared from nowhere, and followed him to a taxi.
It was a small car of English make. Zircon looked at it with disapproval. “Am I supposed to fit into that thing?” he demanded.
Rick hid a grin. The car wasn’t much bigger than the scientist. Zircon squeezed in gingerly, Scotty behind him. Rick got into the front seat with the driver.
“Peninsular Hotel,” Zircon directed.
“Funny,” Scotty said. “I never expected to find an airport on Hong Kong. All the pictures I’ve seen of it show mountains. It doesn’t look as though there were room for an airport.”
“There isn’t,” Zircon said. “We’re not on Hong Kong. This is Kowloon. It’s a peninsula jutting out from the mainland of China. However, it’s a part of the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong. We’ll get to the island itself, and to Victoria, which is the main city, by ferryboat or walla-walla.”
“What’s that?” Rick asked curiously.
“Local name for a water taxi,” Zircon explained.
The taxi was leaving the airport now, but there was nothing in sight at the moment to show that this was the Orient. The modern buildings were of stone, brick, and concrete, and the streets were wide and clean. As they got closer to downtown Kowloon, however, Chinese predominated, with only a sprinkling of what were evidently Englishmen. In a short time they pulled up in front of the Peninsular, one of the world’s famous hotels. It was an imposing structure, the lobby as vast as an auditorium but broken up by numerous pillars, potted plants, and dusty-looking furniture. They registered and were shown to a very large and comfortable room with a window that opened on a fire escape.
As Zircon tipped the Chinese bearers, Rick asked them, “What time is it?”
The chief “boy” answered, “Maybe thlee time, sor,” and closed the door.
“About three?” Rick looked at Zircon and Scotty. “It’s early. Let’s get started right away. I’d like to find out where and what the Golden Mouse is.”
“Good idea,” Zircon agreed. He tossed a suitcase on one of the three beds in the big room. “Let’s clean up and change quickly. We’ll have time to see the consul this afternoon, too. I doubt that the consulate closes before five o’clock.”
In less than a half-hour the three of them were walking from the hotel toward the water front. Zircon led the way. “We’ll take the ferry,” he said. “It’s very fast.”
The ferry slip was less than a three-minute walk from the hotel, but when they started to get tickets, they remembered that changing money had completely slipped their minds. A scholarly looking Chinese gentleman saw their plight and spoke to Zircon in faultless English with a distinct Oxford accent.
“Perhaps I can be of service, sir? If you have an American dollar bill, I can change it for you. You will need only a little money for tickets, and there is a bank close by the ferry slip on the other side.”
“You’re very kind,” Zircon said. “We’ll accept your offer, sir. I do have a dollar bill, I believe.”
He found it and handed it to the Chinese, who counted out six Hong Kong dollars and a few tiny paper bills that represented change. “The rate today is six and a fraction to one,” he explained.
Rick and Scotty added their thanks to Zircon’s. The Chinese bowed. “A pleasure to have been of even such small service.” He smiled and continued on his way.
“The Chinese are without a doubt the most polite of all the Eastern peoples,” Zircon said. He pushed a Hong Kong dollar through the ticket window, got three tickets and some change in return. They pushed through the gate and walked across the dock to the ferry.
As they did so, Rick got his first look at Hong Kong. He stared, amazed, his mental image of an oriental city vanishing like a burst bubble.
Across the bay, a green mountain stretched like a jagged knife-edge against the sky line. Here and there, far above the bay, were white blocks, like granite chips, marking houses. Lower down, the city of Victoria began. It was like marble slabs piled in an orderly array, thinning out toward the upper side of the mountain. Down at sea level, the buildings were thickly clustered. But they were modern buildings, not a trace of the oriental in them.
Between the ferry and Hong Kong, the bay was crowded with water traffic. Junks with gay sails sped noiselessly between puffing little tugs. Great deep-water freighters were anchored, lighters at then: sides taking off cargo. Slightly to one side, the sleek line of a British cruiser was visible, and beyond it a trio of lean, wolfish destroyers.
The ferry moved away from the pier and picked up speed. Rick and Scotty watched the colorful panorama of vessels. Hong Kong was beautiful, Rick thought. And it was clean, though cities of the Orient were traditionally dirty.
Nor was his first impression changed when they reached the opposite shore. The ferry landed them before tall, concrete buildings that shaded clean streets. A block away they stopped to watch a three-story trolley pass by.
“Good gosh, a skyscraper on wheels,” Scotty exclaimed.
And that was just the impression it gave.
Zircon stopped to ask directions of a passing Englishman, then told the boys, “The American Consulate is only a block away. Suppose we change some money, then pay the consul a visit.”
Rick thought quickly. “We’ll need money, but why do all of us have to go see the consul? We could split up. Scotty and I could start locating the Golden Mouse while you’re talking to him.”
“He probably knows all about it,” Zircon pointed out. “It must be a prominent landmark, although I’ve never heard of it. Otherwise, Chahda wouldn’t have known about it.”
“Unless it was a place Bradley had told him about,” Scotty said.
“That’s possible. At any rate, we’ve nothing to lose by separating for a while. I’ll go see the consul and find out what he knows. You two start asking questions and I’ll meet you in an hour right here . . . no, better still, since well want to eat here, I’ll meet you in front of Whiteaway-Laidlaw’s Department Store. It’s only a few blocks from here and there’s a good restaurant close by, Rick’s memory rang a bell. “Isn’t Whiteaway-Laidlaw in Bombay?”
“Yes. But it’s also here, and
in most major English cities in the Far East.” The big scientist smiled. “I picked it because I was sure you’d remember the name. I wasn’t so sure you’d remember Huan Yuan See’s Restaurant.”
“You were right,” Scotty replied with a grin. “Well, let’s get going. I see a bank across the street. We can get our money changed there.”
It took only a few moments to exchange some of their American currency for Hong Kong dollars. The boys folded the bills, which like all English paper money
were bigger than American bills, and tucked them into their wallets. Zircon started for the consulate with a wave of the hand and a reminder that they would get together in an hour.
“Now what?” Scotty asked.
“Now we start asking questions,” Rick told him. They had paused at the entrance to the bank and the guard was standing near by. His turban and neatly curled beard proclaimed him to be a Sikh, a member of the warrior Indian caste that is scattered throughout the Far East.
“We’re looking for something called the Golden Mouse,” Rick said. “Can you tell us where it is?”
The Sikh considered. Then he shook his head. “Not know of that one, sir. Not hear.”
“Maybe one of the bank officers would know,” Scotty suggested. They stepped back inside the bank and approached a thin young Britisher who wore tweeds in spite of the heat of the day.
Rick put the question to him. The Englishman looked blank. “Golden Mouse, you say? Dashed if I ever heard of it. Is it supposed to be a tourist place do you know?”
