CHAPTER IX
JUST A CLEVER GAME
When the old hag glanced cautiously about the disreputable apartment, Havens began to hope that the bribe of twenty thousand dollars which he had offered her might secure his release. It seemed to him that the old woman was strongly tempted to accept the money.
“You can do it easy enough,” the young millionaire said, as the woman helped herself to a drink of liquor and restored the bottle to a pocket. “You can get me out of here without danger to yourself, and then you can disappear with the money. No one will ever know.”
Havens had been born and reared in New York. Well he knew the law of club and fang which governed the underworld on the East Side. He knew that death follows betrayal as surely as night follows day. He understood that the old woman was taking long chances in even considering his release.
“It ain’t enough!” the hag declared in a moment, her vicious eyes showing both greed and terror. “It ain’t enough for a poor old woman like me. I’d have to leave New York forever!”
“I don’t doubt it!” Havens replied. “Still,” he went on, “judging from appearances, your life here hasn’t been one to be much mourned. You haven’t had many of the comforts of life,” he continued, “and possibly none of its pleasures.”
“I’m an old, old woman to leave the East Side,” wailed the hag. “Besides,” she went on, “how do I know that you would play fair with me? Once out of this place, you’d be likely to hand me over to the police instead of handing the money over to me! I don’t think I can trust you!”
“Tell me this,” asked Havens, “by whose orders was I brought here?”
The old woman hesitated and then shook her head.
“Tim brought you here,” she said in a moment, “and that’s all I know about it. He told me to keep you safe and sound.”
“Who’s Tim?” asked Havens.
“One of the boys,” was the indefinite reply.
“What else did he say?” asked Havens.
“Not much!” was the sullen reply. “Nothing at all!”
The hag was becoming more reticent now. She appealed for consolation to her bottle at regular intervals, and finally drew out a black old clay pipe, filled it by poking a scrawny finger into the bowl, and sat down on the edge of the bunk upon which Havens lay to send the rank fumes of villainous, adulterated tobacco into the already nauseating air of the room.
“How long are they going to keep me?” asked the millionaire.
The hag mumbled over her pipe stem and shook her head silently.
“Now let me give you my last offer,” Havens went on. “If you’ll get me out of this place without any further inconvenience to myself, I’ll go directly to a bank and get you twenty-five thousand dollars! You may go with me if you like, after making yourself presentable.”
The old woman hesitated, mumbling over her bottle and her pipe for what seemed to Havens to be a long time. Once or twice he was on the point of asking her if his abduction had been brought about by friends of Phillips and Mendosa.
However, he was uncertain as to the wisdom of this, for he was in doubt as to whether the old woman knew anything concerning the interest which had brought him into his present unpleasant situation, so he remained silent on that point.
He knew very well that if the old woman did not already know that she was serving the interests of the murderers in keeping him there, her terror of punishment for any assistance she might give him would be increased tenfold. For years the Phillips and Mendosa gang had ruled the East Side, not exactly with a rod of iron, but with revolvers and bung-starters. He knew that the very mention of the gang would bring additional horror to the old woman’s mind.
“I believe,” the old woman said, in a moment, “that you really would do it, dearie. I really believe you would!”
“I surely would!” replied Havens. “I have many business interests at stake, and might lose much more than twenty-five thousand dollars by remaining in this place, to say nothing of the objectionable features of the apartment. I’ll play fair with you, mother.”
At the word “mother” the old woman turned her rheumy eyes toward the captive and let them rest upon his face in earnest amazement.
“That’s what I’m called here,” she said in a moment, “they all call me ‘mother’ in this place. How did you know?”
“You seemed to me to deserve the title,” answered Havens.
No more was said for some moments, then the old woman arose and went to the window, through which the red light still shone from the vessel’s mast, and looked out. She shook her head vigorously as she turned back.
“Can you swim?” she said.
“I certainly can,” answered Havens.
“And climb up the side of a vessel on a rope?”
“That is an old trick of mine.”
“And you can strike a hard blow?” she then asked.
“I am noted among my friends as having the punch,” answered Havens with a slight smile.
“Then,” said the old woman, “I want you to saw the cords from your wrists over a nail in the wall until they come apart. Then I want you to strike me a knock-out blow on the head, cut the cords on your ankles, make your way through this window, and cross the street to the pier. Then you must drop into the water, softly so as not to attract the attention of the police, and climb a rope leading to the deck of the vessel showing the red light. Do you understand all this?”
“Perfectly!” replied Havens.
“And after you are aboard the vessel,” the old woman went on, “you must pretend to have fallen into the water by mistake. You are never to mention being in this apartment at all. When they put you ashore, go on about your business until you receive a note from me. Then we can settle the matter of the money. It will be signed ‘Mother DeMott’.”
“That’s all very well,” Havens remarked, sawing away at the cords on his wrists, “but I can’t give the blow you ask for, mother.”
“If you don’t,” the old woman insisted, “I shall be murdered before morning!”
“I’ll compromise by tying you up,” Havens said. “I’ll tie you good and tight, and put a handkerchief over your mouth, and they will never suspect.”
The young millionaire thought he detected a queer smile on the face of the old lady as he tied the cords with which he had been bound about her withered old wrists and ankles!
The window was not barred or protected in any way, so the sash was easily lifted. It opened to a paved street, the bottom of the sash running on a level with the stones, for the apartment in which he had been confined was a half basement. It was perhaps two o’clock in the morning, and only the skulkers of the night were abroad.
Here and there men slouched by with their chins low down on their breasts and their greasy hats hiding furtive eyes. Now and then a policeman, swinging a heavy night-stick, passed along the street, mumbling imprecations at the waifs who refused to go to bed for the very good reason that they had no beds to go to!
Havens passed out of the window unobserved. He saw a man standing at the entrance to a sailor’s boarding house, next door, and there were several moving about at the head of the pier. However, no one seemed to pay any attention to him as he crossed the street and sat down on the pier with his legs hanging over the side.
While he waited for those nearest to him to go about their business, if they had any to go to, the man standing in the boarding-house door, lit a cigar and waved the still flaming match up and down in the quiet air, as if for the purpose of extinguishing the flame.
At that time Havens thought nothing at all of the incident, but later on he remembered with self-reproach that he ought to have been warned by it.
Presently he dropped into the chill waters of the river and struck out for the boat, not very far away, which displayed the red light from the mast. Not one rope, but a dozen hung from the chains at the prow, and the millionaire had little difficulty in making his way to the deck.
For a moment he saw no one about the vessel, then a bushy head was lifted above a hatchway and a pair of surly eyes turned toward the intruder. Havens stepped forward and spoke.
“Good-evening,” he said in his best society manner.
The head was followed out of the hatchway by a short, broad, hulking figure. The face of the man was short and broad like his body. The jaw, which was set like that of a bulldog, was outlined against a rim of red whiskers growing down on his neck.
“What do you want?” the fellow demanded in an angry tone.
“Why,” Havens replied, “I was mooning about the pier and fell into the river. I shall want to be set ashore presently.”
“You’ll go ashore the way you came on board!”
The man flashed ugly eyes at the millionaire. Havens felt the necessity at that time of propitiating the man, for the reason that he wanted to remain hidden on board the vessel until daylight. He believed that a search all through that section would be made for him as soon as his escape had been discovered. He knew, too, that the attempt to pass through that section of the city in the middle of the night would be dangerous to any person having the appearance of wealth.
“Well,” Havens said, presently, “I’d like a drink of water, if you have such a thing on board, and I’m willing to pay liberally for your trouble.”
“Water cold, eh?” snarled the other.
“Decidedly,” answered Havens with a slight shiver.
The man, who appeared to be master of the vessel, which was a small coast-wise trading schooner, walked to the rail and looked out over the street Havens had so recently crossed.
While standing there he took a foul old briar pipe from his pocket, filled it with cut plug tobacco, and touched a match to the ill-smelling heap. Havens noticed that as he did so he shook the match viciously in the air, as if trying to extinguish the flame.
Again the millionaire was entirely deceived by the apparently innocent action. Feeling comparatively at peace with himself, he stood waiting for the captain’s decision.
Presently the squat of a man returned to where the millionaire was standing and pointed toward the hatchway.
“I wouldn’t send a cat ashore if he was wet and thirsty,” commented the captain. “If you’ll step down the hatchway, I’ll give you something to offset the chill of the water.”
Havens followed the pointing finger, and soon stood in a small cabin which lay completely under the one deck of the schooner. It was a large room, evidently long used for the storage of such goods as the vessel carried, but one corner was partitioned off by a screen, and here a faded and worn rug, a broken couch, a table, and a couple of chairs proclaimed the home of the master of the craft. Havens took one of the chairs and waited for his host to speak. A clock on the wall showed the hour of half-past two.
Directly the captain opened a cupboard and brought forth a bottle of spirits and two glasses.
“Help yourself!” he said to Havens.
Now Havens had not the slightest notion of taking a drink of liquor. He was a total abstainer, and even had he been in the habit of using intoxicating liquors, he would never have indulged under such circumstances. His watch and money had been taken from him before he had regained consciousness, but his general appearance was that of a man who would be apt to pay roundly for his release in case he was temporarily removed from the society of his friends.
However, he poured out a small portion of whiskey and waited for an opportunity to toss it away. The captain of the schooner eyed him maliciously, his undershot jaw set like that of a bulldog.
“So you don’t drink, eh?” the captain said, with a snarl.
“You may be mistaken!” answered Havens.
“Sometimes I do.”
“Mistaken, yourself!” shouted the captain. “You thought you’d bribed Mother DeMott, didn’t you? You thought you’d be dropping off the Nancy in the morning and turning us all over to the police, didn’t you?”
Havens eyed the man for a moment, too dazed to speak.
“In the morning,” the captain sneered, “we set sail for South America with one very prominent passenger on board.”
CHAPTER X
A QUEER DISCOVERY
When Ben reached the place where he had left Kit asleep, Carl stood with a searchlight in his hand, examining footprints on the ground.
“He wandered away, of course!” Carl said.
“He must have done so,” was the puzzled reply.
“Because,” Carl went on, “there was no one here to lug him off.”
“That’s the supposition!” replied Ben anxiously.
“But why should the little customer sneak off without saying a word to us?” demanded Carl. “That isn’t at all like him!”
“Perhaps he saw Jimmie’s light in the cavern and went in there,” suggested Ben. “He’s an inquisitive little chap.”
The boys went to the western extremity of the canyon and looked down an almost perpendicular wall, nearly a thousand feet in height, to the surging waters of the Pacific ocean. They looked up the vertical walls to the summits outlined against the stars. They threw their lights over the crags at the head of the canyon.
“He’s still in here somewhere!” Ben asserted. “I don’t believe any one could get out without using a flying machine!”
“Of course, he’s here!” Carl answered.
The boys walked closer to the face of the crag and turned their lights on the broken walls.
“It would be just like him to follow Jimmie in there,” Carl observed.
“Sure it would!” replied Ben.
“But what gets me,” Carl went on, “is that he went away without asking for anything to eat! The kid is second only to Jimmie in the capacity of his stomach. He’s always hungry, especially after a short sleep.”
“It is a wonder he didn’t demand a square meal, as Jimmie calls it, before wandering away,” Ben admitted.
“Here’s an opening which seems to be the only one Jimmie could enter far enough to shut the light of his electric from the canyon,” Carl said, in a moment. “If you’ll go back to the machines, I’ll go on in and get Jimmie. I may find Kit with him, you know.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt of it,” Ben answered hopefully, at the same moment knowing very well that there might be a good deal of doubt about finding the boy in the cavern.
To tell the truth, Ben at that time felt a premonition of approaching evil which he could by no means resist. It seemed to him impossible that Kit could have wandered out of the canyon.
The only solution of the mystery which came to his mind lay in the recognition of the fact that the canyon had been occupied by some one—perhaps by the murderers themselves—at the moment of his entrance.
He disliked very much to give way to this reasoning, but saw no way out of it. The disappearance of both Jimmie and Kit led him to believe that whoever had occupied the canyon at the time of his arrival—if any one had—had represented a hostile interest.
“Suppose,” he proposed to Carl, “that you hurry to the machines while I go into the cavern. Or you might, if you see fit, pass in a short distance with me and stand where you can watch the machines, and at the same time follow my course into the underground passage.”
“That’s the idea!” cried Carl.
Ten feet in the passage turned abruptly to the north and there the boys drew up. Ben pointed straight ahead.
“There’s a light!” he said.
Carl glanced eagerly in the direction indicated but saw nothing.
“A ghost light!” he laughed.
“No, but there is an illumination!” insisted Ben.
“Point it out, then,” chuckled Carl. “It is as dark in there as a stack of black cats!”
Ben looked amazed for an instant and then started forward.
“I did see a light!” he insisted.
Carl laughed and stood at the angle of the passage where he could see the machines, lighted by one small acetylene lamp, and also follow the progress of his chum into the interior.
“Perhaps you did see a light,” he called after the boy, “but if you did it got out of sight handily.”
Directly Ben turned in the passage and waved his light to attract Carl’s attention.
“There’s another turn here,” he said.
“Shall I come on in?” asked Carl.
“Watch the machines!” was the answer that came back.
Still standing where he could see any light or hear any noise proceeding from the cavern, Carl kept his eyes fixed on the machines, rather dimly outlined by the rays of the single lamp.
He had remained in this position only a short time when a cry of alarm came from the passage down which Ben had proceeded.
Swinging his light and answering the call by a shrill whistle, the boy rushed forward.
At the turning point he saw Ben, Jimmie and Kit standing huddled about a figure lying on the stone floor of the cavern.
Seeing his light, they beckoned him to approach.
“You see,” Jimmie said with a chuckle as Carl came up, “that we can’t visit any part of the world, in the air or underground, that doesn’t yield an adventure. Look what I found here!”
“What is it?” asked Carl, bending forward.
“Chinaman!” was the short answer.
The boys stood looking into each other’s faces with wondering glances for a moment, and then Ben bent closer over the figure lying on the stone floor.
“He’s still alive!” he said, in a moment.
“And tied up like a chicken!” Jimmie added, pointing to the cords which bound the Chinaman’s wrists and ankles.
“Any old time we don’t go and find some one tied up!” Carl laughed.
“Where did you find him, Jimmie?” asked Carl.
“Wait a moment, boys!” Ben advised. “We’d better get back to the machines before listening to any long stories.”
“And I was just thinking,” Jimmie cut in, “that I haven’t had any supper! I’m just about starved to death!”
“Perhaps that’s what’s the matter with the Chinaman,” observed Carl.
“Anyway, we’d better carry him out to the machines and see how he acts when presented with a square meal,” advised Ben.
“That’s all right!” Jimmie declared. “It’s all right to rescue the perishing, and all that, but if some forest ranger should come along here and find us mixed up with a Chinaman, we’d all be pinched!”
“Do they smuggle on this coast?” asked Carl.
“Of course they do!” replied Jimmie scornfully.
“Smuggle what?”
“Chinks and opium!”
“Then I see myself owning the Night and Day bank when I get back to New York!” Carl exclaimed. “There’s a government reward for the capture of men who run in Chinks and smuggle opium!”
“Well, we may as well be getting back to the machines,” urged Ben. “I’ll run on ahead and see if they’re all right, and you boys may bring the Chinaman along if you think best.”
“We’ll bring him along all right!” Jimmie answered. “We can’t leave him lying here unconscious.”
Ben found that the machines had not been molested, and in a short time his chums returned carrying the light form of the Chinaman with them.
The Celestial had regained consciousness and sat gazing about with inquisitive eyes as soon as placed on the ground.
“Who trussed you up?” asked Jimmie.
The Chinaman shook his head until his queue rattled about like a rope’s end in the wind.
“He can’t talk United States,” Carl explained.
“What are we going to do with him?” asked Jimmie.
“Keep him to do our laundry work!” chuckled Kit.
“What do you know about laundry work?” asked Ben turning to the boy.
“I used to work in the laundry,” returned Kit. “I had to do all the hard work and the big fat girls got all the money.”
“Are you going to build a fire in that Devil’s Kitchen we discovered?” asked Ben of Jimmie, as the boy began bringing out provisions.
“I should say not!”
“Then we can’t have any square meals!” Carl exclaimed.
“What did you see in there?” asked Ben.
“When I first went in,” Jimmie explained, “I got a whiff which made me think of Pell street, in little old New York. It was opium, all right, and I began to understand what I’d stumbled into.”
“Could you see a light?” asked Ben.
“No light! There was only the smell and a jabber which sounded to me like the chin-chin in the back room of a laundry on Doyers street.”
“Then there are more Chinamen in there?” exclaimed Ben.
“There were more in there!” replied Jimmie.
“Where did they go?” asked Carl.
Kit sat back against Ben’s leg and let out a roar of laughter which for a moment prevented the question being answered.
“Ask Kit!” Jimmie suggested.
“If you leave it to me,” Kit went on, still half choking with laughter, “they slid into the ragged little slashes between the rocks! One minute they were scampering along in their soft slippers, and the next they were out of sight just like they had gone up in smoke.”
“I guess we’ve struck it!” Jimmie said in a moment.
“Don’t we always strike it?” asked Carl.
“You bet we do!” returned Jimmie. “But we never struck a nest of Chinks before! What do you suppose they’re doing here, anyway?”
“Waiting to get into Frisco,” answered Ben. “They pay from four to eight hundred dollars apiece for being smuggled into the country.”
Jimmie sprang to his feet, almost overturning a can of tomatoes from which he had been feeding.
“But how did they get here?” insisted Carl.
“I know!” cried Jimmie all excitement. “I know all about it?”
“Wise little boy!” laughed Ben.
“Now you just hold on!” Jimmie continued. “You just wait until I unload a little of Solomon’s wisdom on you boys.”
“Go ahead,” grinned Ben.
“You remember the light we saw when we came to the coast line?” Jimmie demanded.
“Of course,” answered Carl.
“Well,” Jimmie went on, “that beacon was put there for the purpose of directing some schooner loaded with Chinks to this place. Now what do you think of us stumbling right into a mess like that?”
“I guess that’s right,” mused Ben. “The fire was built on a headland to direct smugglers in. Now, I wonder why we didn’t think of that before and get farther away?”
“But we are at least two miles away from the headland!” suggested Carl.
“Of course,” Ben returned, “for there is no cove where a vessel might cast anchor along this rocky wall. The Chinks are undoubtedly unloaded near the headland where we saw the fire and brought here to be kept until they can be set into the country.”
“That’s all right!” exclaimed Jimmie. “That’s all right, so far as it goes, but what about our finding this fellow all tied up?”
“That’s a thing no fellow can find out!” grinned Carl.
“When I followed Jimmie into the cave,” Kit replied, “there wasn’t no Chinaman lying where this fellow was found.”
“We can’t solve the mystery if we talk here all night,” Ben observed, directly, “so we’d better get our suppers and make up our minds what we’re going to do through the night.”
“I want to sleep!” cried Jimmie and this sentiment was echoed by all the others.
“This is a nice, quiet place to sleep,” Ben said, in a sarcastic tone, “especially,” he added, “as there’s another beacon fire burning not far south of us. If you look closely, you’ll see its reflection lighting up the north wall of the canyon!”