The old Chinaman, whose name they came later to know as Wong Ho and who was a very evil man with many ruffians at his command, was unconscious but breathing heavily. When Frank ascertained that, their fears that they had killed him passed away. While Jack attended to tying him up, Frank turned his attention to Bob and "Black George."
Mr. Temple was out of the fight. He had recovered from his amazement and dashed in to help his son with more valor than discretion. "Black George," threshing about wildly in the endeavor to break Bob's grip on his throat, had lashed out with his feet. A tremendous kick had caught Mr. Temple in the stomach and sent him reeling and gasping to the floor, where he was very sick, indeed.
Like a bulldog, Bob held on. Yet in "Black George" he had an opponent worthy of his mettle. That underworld leader had not gained his supremacy by his wits alone. He was a tremendous rough-and-tumble fighter.
Back and forth they threshed on the floor as Frank paused above them, uncertain where to strike to aid his comrade. Bob still gripped "Black George" about the throat, but the gangster had so powerful a grasp on his hands that he was unable to bring a fatal pressure to bear.
Suddenly, and by an almost superhuman effort, "Black George" heaved himself up to his feet with Bob clinging to him. He must not be allowed to win. Frank swung aloft another lacquered stool, remembering the execution wrought previously on Wong Ho by the same method, and brought it down on "Black George's" head.
The stool splintered in his grasp. "Black George" relaxed, went limp, then collapsed.
"Whew," said Bob, panting. "I guess I'd have gotten him, Frank, but I don't know. He's a tough fighter."
Jack's voice behind them rose in a scream.
"Look out. Here they come."
They whirled to face the new danger. And in through the doorway behind the hangings poured a dozen ruffians. Jack bounded to the side of his companions. The newcomers were Chinese, and evil looking they were in the dim light of that subterranean room, with their glaring almond eyes and yellow faces. They gripped revolvers and long knives, and as their eyes took in the two figures of their leaders on the floor a hoarse murmur arose and they started to surge forward.
It was a tense moment. The boys resolved to sell their lives dearly.
Then two things occurred. The leader of the newcomers and only white man of the group-the same man who had acted as their guide and betrayed them-halted the onrush with a gesture of authority. And Mr. Temple, pallid from the effects of the kick in the stomach, pulled himself to his feet and stood swaying in front of the boys.
"We surrender," said Mr. Temple, "but I warn you not to ill-treat us."
The leader nodded, turned to the group behind him, bade two of their number step aside, and the others to leave. Grumbling and unwilling but evidently cowed by his authority, they obeyed.
As the hangings fell behind the last to leave, the guide, whom later they came to know as Matt Murphy, turned to them, his face grim enough.
"Ye showed sense," he said. "They'd ha' killed ye."
Stooping over "Black George" he examined him hastily. Then he did the same by Wong Ho.
"Here," he said to the two Chinese attendants, "one of you get Doctor Marley at once. The other help me."
With the man who sprang to his aid, Murphy started to lift the unconscious form of "Black George." Then he bethought him of his prisoners, and addressed Mr. Temple.
"Stay in this room," he said, "and I can protect ye. The only way out is the way you come, an' nothin' could save ye from these yellow devils if ye get started. I'll be back."
Without more ado, he and his silent assistant disappeared with their burden, returning almost at once for the still unconscious Wong Ho.
After his second departure the three boys and Mr. Temple were left undisturbed for a long period. Their first act was to take account of injuries. Frank and Jack had come off unscathed. Bob was sore about the shins from kicks delivered by "Black George," but otherwise unhurt. Mr.
Temple's kick in the stomach had been the most serious injury received, but he was rapidly recovering.
"I'm not blaming you boys for your gallant attempt to win freedom," said Mr. Temple, "but our position now could hardly be worse."
"I'm sorry, Dad, if you think I made matters worse by jumping on that rascal," said Bob. "When I saw him threatening you I saw red."
"Anyhow," declared Frank, "if we had captured them, Uncle George, without being surprised by these others, we might have used them as hostages to obtain our freedom."
Mr. Temple shook his head.
"Perhaps," said he, "but it was a very long chance. However, we shall have to make the best of it."
"At least we have won a respite," said Jack. "We have pretty well laid out their two leaders. They won't recover for some time to come, if I'm any judge of broken heads. And meantime it isn't likely, is it, that this other fellow, who seems to be one of their lieutenants, will do anything to us?"
"Probably you are right, Jack," said Mr. Temple, "and we will be kept prisoners but not harmed, pending the recovery of this 'Black George' if not the Chinaman. But afterward--"
He left the sentence unfinished, but Bob took up his thought.
"We can face that when we have to, Dad," he said. "We're safe enough."
"Yes, I presume we are safe for the present," said his father.
"Nevertheless, do you realize there is no friend at large who has any idea of our whereabouts, or knew that we came sightseeing to Chinatown tonight? We did not tell the clerk at the hotel. The only persons who know are the people that villain declared are his creatures-the head waiter at the restaurant, and the chauffeur and our original guide."
"But surely," expostulated Frank, "when we fail to return to the hotel, there'll be a big uproar. You are a man of importance, and your business representative here as well as the hotel people will get the police on the case."
"Very true," said Mr. Temple, thoughtfully. "Yet this is evidently a well-organized gang that has captured us, and we might be hidden away forever in such a place as this without being found."
"But you forget Inspector Burton," said Frank. "When he hears of our disappearance, he will put two and two together and will realize that we have fallen into the hands of the man whose plans we thwarted-namely, this 'Black George'."
"Yes," admitted Mr. Temple, "there is a little hope for us there. Yet Inspector Burton planned to leave for southern California tonight to watch Handby as well as try to locate the smugglers' radio with Inventor Bender's sound detector. He may not hear of our disappearance for some time."
"But, Dad," said Bob, "it'll be in all the papers in a day or two. The news will be telegraphed to the papers in southern California, and probably he will read it."
"There is some hope of that, of course," admitted his father.
For some time longer the discussion continued along this vein. Then Murphy again made his appearance, and put an end to it.
"You're to write a note to the Palace," he said, "telling the hotel people to cancel your rooms an' give your baggage to bearer. Send a check, too, for your bill. An' don't write nothin' phony. Tell 'em you're goin' for a sea voyage with a friend. That'll fix it if there are any questions asked about you by friends you may have in the city.
Here's paper an' pen," he added, laying the articles on the table. "Git busy an' write."
"And if I refuse?" demanded Mr. Temple.
"If you're a man of sense," said Murphy roughly, "ye'll do as you're told."
All thought of that devious passage which was the only entrance to the room, of the barred doors across it, and of the villainous, armed Chinamen along the route. Murphy was right. Mr. Temple would have to obey.
"But, look here," he said, taking up the pen and preparing to write.
"What are you going to do with us?"
"The Big Boss is gonna take ye to sea with him while he recuperates,"
said Murphy. "Ye give him a fractured skull that'll take him a while to get over. But the minute he opens his eyes he plans what to do with ye an' tells me. He says he'll save ye up to deal with when he recovers.
He's savin' ye up for himself. See?"
They saw. Only too plainly. "Black George" was a vengeful man who meant to exact full measure for his injuries. With a sinking heart, Mr. Temple wrote the note demanded. Note in hand, Murphy paused at the door for a last word ere departing.
"I wouldn't like to be in your shoes," he said.