CHAPTER IX
THE POWER OF THE UNDERWORLD
This was a blow. Decidedly, a blow.
As the door closed behind Murphy, Mr. Temple and the boys looked at each other with dismay written plainly on every countenance. They were to be taken to sea at once, and to an unnamed destination. Furthermore, Mr.
Temple had been compelled to write to the Palace Hotel management a note which would prevent suspicion being aroused by their failure to return to their rooms. Mr. Temple's business associates would inquire for him at the hotel next day, when he failed to keep appointments, and would be told of the explanation contained in the note. They might consider his departure abrupt and unusual, but certainly they would not be likely to consider it so strange as to demand investigation by the police.
What hope was there that their disappearance would cause a police investigation that might, possibly, lead to their relief? Or that at least would be heralded in the papers, and so come, perhaps, to the attention of Inspector Burton, who could guess the solution?
None.
Without a word spoken, these thoughts passed through the minds of all.
They realized they were in the hands of a very shrewd scoundrel, who had foreseen the possibilities of the situation and had taken care to guard against the arousing of public suspicion over their disappearance.
There was this other phase, too, to be considered-namely, that "Black George" might vent his anger against them for their attack upon him in fiendish tortures. As Mr. Temple thought of this, he groaned aloud.
"Boys," he said, without raising his head from his hands, "I've certainly gotten you into a terrible situation."
Big Bob laid a hand on his father's shoulder.
"Don't take it so hard, Dad," he said. "We aren't dead yet."
"No," said Frank, his spirits rebounding, "and we are not likely to be dead, either, for some time to come. Why, Uncle George, we have bested this rascal at every turn so far. It's true, we are his prisoners. But, without his knowing it, we already have set the machinery of the government in motion to put an end to his smuggling of Chinese coolies.
And in the fight, we most certainly got the best of him and his Chinese friend."
Mr. Temple raised his head, and looked a bit more hopeful.
"Besides," declared Jack, "we were in some pretty tight places on the Mexican border, and yet came through with flying colors. And I'm confident we will do so again."
Mr. Temple even essayed a trace of a smile, as he regarded the tall, handsome, curly-haired lad. Jack was a year older than Bob and, though not so stout of frame, was fully as tall. Both were an inch under six feet. And Jack, like his companions, was hard as nails.
"Why, Jack," said Mr. Temple, "I believe you like to be in a bad hole.
Actually, I believe you are enjoying yourself."
"Bob and Jack had most of the fun on the Mexican border, flying to the Calomares ranch and rescuing Mr. Hampton, while I was left behind at the cave with nothing to do but--"
Big Bob thwacked his chum on the back resoundingly.
"Yes, with nothing to do but save the day and half kill a husky Mexican officer," he said. "You certainly were out of luck!"
"Oh, that's all right," said Frank. "Just the same, you fellows had more fun out of that adventure than I did. Now it looks as if I was declared in. And I can't say that I'm entirely grief-stricken."
Mr. Temple shook his head.
"You boys will be the death of me," he said.
Nevertheless, their sturdy courage and optimism cheered him greatly.
For some time the talk went back and forth, the boys doing their best to cheer Mr. Temple. They realized dimly how great was his anxiety, far more on their account than on his own. And by belittling the dangers and persisting in regarding the whole matter as a lark, they hoped to dispel his gloom to some extent.
The various objects of the room came in for attention. The room itself proved to be steel-walled, and circular, the walls covered with heavy Oriental hangings. No lights were suspended from the ceilings. The only light came from several tinted bowls on a massive walnut table, very low and stained with age. Investigation disclosed electric light bulbs within the bowls.
"Let's find the switch and throw the room into darkness when they come for us," cried Frank eagerly. "Then we can jump them and gain the upper hand."
The big door close to where he stood grated slightly and swung open and Matt Murphy stood in the aperture.
Had he heard, wondered Frank. He gave no sign.
"Come," he said.
Mr. Temple and the boys regarded each other gravely. Without a word spoken and without premeditation, they clasped hands. Then Bob sprang to take the lead from his father. If danger threatened in the corridor, he would receive the brunt, rather than let his father accept that exposed position. Jack forced Frank to fall in behind Mr. Temple, and then himself brought up the rear.
But nothing unexpected occurred in the corridor, and they reached the dark courtyard, after passing through the guarding doors, without mishap. If any of them thought to cry out for help now that the outer air was gained, that thought speedily was dispelled. Matt Murphy leaned close, revolver in hand.
"One word and you are all dead men," He said. Then he waved toward a clump of shadowy figures ahead, which the boys and Mr. Temple could discern as their eyes became more accustomed to the darkness.
"Chinese," he said, "an' awful quick with their knives. I'm warnin' ye.
That's all."
Thereupon Murphy fell silent, standing beside Mr. Temple. And the group ahead, between the prisoners and the dark mouth of the alley exit to the streets of Chinatown, also was motionless. A slight sound, sibilant, as of whispering, came from it. Murphy, however, vouchsafed no conversation.
"What are we waiting for?" whispered Frank, the irrepressible.
"Ye'll see in a minute," answered Murphy, shortly.
Out of the doorway behind them, a moment later, debouched a little cavalcade. In the center of a group of six or eight bobbing heads rose a dark object that swayed perilously as it lurched through the door.
Murphy sprang toward it with a low-voiced curse.
"Careful there, ye haythens," he commanded.
The object steadied and came closer. Then the boys could see it was a closed palanquin, borne by eight Chinese.
"Whew," whispered Frank, impressed in spite of himself. "I didn't know there were any of those things left in existence."
"Must be that old Chinaman we laid out," ventured Bob.
The burden bearers passed the little group. Silken curtains were drawn tightly about the palanquin, and the boys could not see within. It disappeared with its bearers, looking in the darkness like some gigantic spider, into the mouth of the alley across the court. Murphy joined them.
"Come," he said. "An' remember. One cry out o' ye an' ye are all dead."
"Was that the old Chinaman?" whispered Frank.
Murphy, a talkative man himself, already had noted that irrepressible quality in Frank. He chuckled grimly.