The Radio Boys On Secret Service Duty Part 13

"He'll protect us from the Chinamen all right," said Bob. "But when his boss, 'Black George,' recovers, he will be powerless. If this scoundrel is saving us in order to exact vengeance on us for the way we laid him out, we'll be in a pretty fix."

"Listen," said Jack. "I have an idea."

"What?"

"Why, here is 'Black George' helpless, with only a fright-crazed little pudding of a doctor to help him. Let us take possession of 'Black George' and gain the whip hand over Murphy. Then we can compel Murphy to come over to our side, perhaps."

"How?"

"Why, we'll buy our freedom with the freedom of Murphy's master."

"I don't believe it can be done, Jack," said Mr. Temple thoughtfully.

"It isn't only Murphy with whom we have to reckon, but these Chinamen, too. With them above all. 'Black George' probably doesn't mean much to them. They would rather see him killed than see us escape their clutch.

They probably feel that when we reach the smugglers' cove they can compel 'Black George' to turn us over to their tender mercies, and that is the only reason they have been content to keep hands off so far."

Jack was silent. The force of Mr. Temple's reasoning was apparent to him.

"Well, then," he said presently, "we'll have to capture the s.h.i.+p in some way. That's all. And, perhaps, we can persuade Murphy to give us weapons and help us overawe the Chinese crew."

"Perhaps we can," said Mr. Temple. "Meantime, let us all turn in and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be the day on which we must make whatever attempt we decide on. And we'll need all our strength and alertness then. Frank, do you and Jack be sure to lock your cabin door again as you did last night, and we will do likewise. Let us each take a heavy chair into our rooms, too. In case of a night attack, we can at least pull the chair apart for clubs. And now, good night."

Mr. Temple thereupon turned in. For some moments, more, however, the boys chatted and tried to read, but at last they, too, retired. As far as they could tell, the storm continued to rage undiminished.

"I wonder what tomorrow will bring forth, Jack," said Frank, just before going to sleep.

"I wonder," said Jack. "Good night."

CHAPTER XIII

HOPE IS "IN THE AIR"

Jack waked early the next morning and lay in his berth wondering drowsily for several moments as to what caused his feeling that there was something unusual in the situation. Then he jumped alertly to his feet and ran to the porthole.

The trawler was motionless. When he retired it had been tossed about by the storm. Now its engines were stilled, its screw was not turning, and except for a slight rolling motion it lay as calm as in a harbor. Could it be they had reached the smugglers' cove during the night? It was this alarming thought which sent Jack to the porthole.

But a look at the outer world convinced him to the contrary. There was no land in sight. And as he was on the landward side, he considered this a pretty good indication that they were not in port anywhere. Of course, the trawler might have swung about, so that her starboard side lay toward the land. He sniffed. There was no land smell in the salty air.

He listened. No land sounds came to his ears.

Perhaps the trawler had broken down in the storm, perhaps something had happened to engines or screw. Jack had the natural curiosity of a young fellow in his 'teens and wished that he might go on deck and investigate. He thought of Matt Murphy's prohibition, of the Chinese crew thirsting for the blood of himself and his comrades.

But, after all, he rea.s.sured himself, if he merely poked his head up the companionway n.o.body would see him. He would be safe enough. And at the recollection of that clean suns.h.i.+ne flooding all the world outside, which he had seen through the porthole, and of the magically calmed sea, he decided he would have to obtain a glimpse of the world above decks, get a lungful of fresher air, no matter what happened.

All this time he had been hurriedly getting into his clothes. A look showed him Bob slept on. Unlocking the cabin door, he stepped soundlessly into the salon.

It was empty of human occupants other than himself. The door of the Temples' cabin was closed. "Black George's" cabin door was closed. So, too, was that of Matt Murphy. Jack gave fleeting thought to the question of how that worthy had survived the stress of the night. Was he still on deck? Or had he retired to rest? If the latter, who was in command?

"Certainly is a queer layout, anyhow," Jack mused. "Murphy and the doctor the only white men we have seen other than 'Black George.' Aren't there any officers? Are all others aboard Chinamen? Well, here goes."

And trying the handle of the outer door, and finding it turn soundlessly, he opened it inch by inch. The companionway was empty. A short flight of steps led to the deck. Mounting several, he found his head on a level with the deck and started to raise it cautiously to peer out.

The sound of low-voiced conversation came to his ears, and instinctively he bent down again. Listening a moment, he decided that he had not been seen, for the whispering went on. It came, he believed, from a point not far to the right, on the other side of the wooden bulwark of the companionway.

He held his breath, straining painfully. Whoever they were, they were speaking in English. Yet neither voice was that of Matt Murphy. Who could they be? He had to see.

Slowly, slowly, scarcely moving, yet edging forward all the time, Jack peered around the bulwark. Presently he saw them. They were two in number, and one was the little fat doctor who looked after "Black George." The other was a sodden-looking man of middle age, with a smudge of grease over one eye and his face generally dark with grime and coal dust. He was in his unders.h.i.+rt and carried a wrench in his right hand.

"We'll soon have her fixed now, Doc," this latter individual was saying, "nothing wrong but a couple of bolts shaken loose in the storm. Thought I'd better lay up and tighten things generally. That's all. Well, so long, I have to keep them c.h.i.n.ks moving or we'll never get the work finished."

The engineer, Jack correctly surmised. He started to move on. The fat little doctor laid a detaining hand on his arm, and glanced around nervously. Jack hastily withdrew his head, only to advance it again cautiously a moment later. The doctor's back was turned.

"Mr. MacFinney," he said to the engineer. "You don't know what's happening to your engines while you're away, do you?"

"Not with them c.h.i.n.ks around," said the other, laughing a little. "They don't know much about machinery."

"The Chinamen," said the doctor, darkly. "That's just it."

"What's the matter with you, Marley?" said MacFinney, thrusting his face closer to the other's. "Out with it, man. Have ye something on your mind? Or is it just the drink again?"

Doctor Marley drew his fat little form upright, as if to resent the rough remark. He was cursed with the habit of secret drinking, and it was on that account he had lost his practice and had fallen into the state of a creature to "Black George." But resentment did not last. He was frightened. The next moment he laid a trembling hand on MacFinney's arm.

"Mr. MacFinney," he said, low and hurried, "I'm afraid the Chinese may have put your engines out of commission, or may be doing it now while you are absent. You know our Chinese cook is a strange fellow, hates the others, or at any rate has little to do with them. And he said something--"

MacFinney started forward with an oath.

"If they're up to any monkeys.h.i.+nes, I'll fix 'em."

Doctor Marley ran after him, laying a hand on his arm.

"Oh, do be careful, Mr. MacFinney," he pleaded, all a-twitter with fear, as Jack could observe. "Please be careful. What-what would I do, if anything happened to you?"

MacFinney regarded him scornfully.

"So it's yourself you're thinking of. What might happen to me doesn't matter on my account. But you need me for protection, hey?"

"Oh, Mr. MacFinney. Oh. You mustn't think that. But it's those boys that Mr. Folwell brought aboard. They injured Wong Ho. I bound up his head before I left. And he's their leader, he's--"

"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted the engineer, impatiently. "But don't delay me. If what you suspect is true, and I wouldn't put it past them c.h.i.n.ks, it's high time I was gettin' below."

Jack waited to hear no more. He did not want to be discovered by Doctor Marley, if the latter chose to return at once. Retreating noiselessly down the companion, he re-entered the salon. It was just as he had left it. But when he opened the door of his cabin, he received a surprise.

Frank was at the porthole with his back turned and the headphones of Jack's ring-radio set clamped to his ears. Jack's thoughts flew at once to the ring, and he remembered having taken it off before retiring and placing it on a stand against the wall. He looked. It was not there.

Obviously, Frank, on awaking, had noticed it and had been impelled to take the parts from Jack's bag and make an attempt to listen in on the ether.

On tiptoe Jack crossed the cabin and peered over Frank's shoulder. His chum had one arm through the porthole, clutching the extended umbrella.

One wire led to the wire stem. Another wire dangled downward to the sea, although Jack could not, of course, observe more than the fact of its direction. Here were aerial and ground. Jack tapped his chum on the shoulder, but Frank, with serious face, frowned at him, and Jack interpreted the look to be a request for silence. Perhaps Frank was hearing something of moment. He stood to one side, waiting for Frank to speak.