Rick Brant - The Lost City Part 3

"You set the fire and the smoke got you before you could get out, isn't that it?"

Meekin coughed again.

The skipper shook him roughly. "No stalling. Wasn't that it?"

The carpenter looked up at the faces above him, at Professor Zircon's huge bulk, at Scotty's grim face, at Rick.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

The first officer arrived with a bottle of brandy and poured the fiery stuff down the carpenter's mouth. Meekin coughed until his face was purple, but he recovered noticeably.

"Take him to the wardroom," the skipper directed two seamen. "We want to talk to him."

The officers gathered in the wardroom with the scientists and the two boys. Meekin, still weak but now able to talk coherently, sat in a chair and faced his accusers, his face sullen.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I set the fire, but it was an accident."

"An accident, with rags soaked in kerosene? Don't hand us that stuff." Captain Marks's pleasant face was stern. "You could have burned the s.h.i.+p out from under us if the watch hadn't been on the job. Better talk, Meekin. And fast!"

"It was an accident," Meekin repeated thickly. "About the hold bein' open, I mean. I figgered if the hold was dogged down tight the fire wouldn't spread. It would maybe die from lack of air. But the smoke got me, like you said, and I pa.s.sed out before I could get to the door."

"Why did you set the fire, Meekin?"

Rick moved closer, his eyes riveted to the man's streaked face.

"I had me orders," Meekin said at last.

"Who from?" Rick demanded.

The pale eyes went from face to face. "Suppose I don't talk?"

Captain Marks said slowly, "You almost destroyed this s.h.i.+p, Meekin. You almost left the crew and officers adrift in lifeboats, not to mention our pa.s.sengers. You talk, or I'll let the rest of the crew persuade you."

Meekin paled under the coating of grime.

Rick's eyes went to the captain. He looked fully capable of carrying out the threat, though the boy was sure it was only a bluff.

But if it were, Meekin had no intention of calling it. "I got my orders from a guy named Conway," he said.

"How?"

"He telephoned me in New York. From Bombay. He said he'd give me a thousand bucks if I wrecked the equipment these guys were bringing aboard." He jerked his thumb at the professors.

"You spilled that bottle of acid," Rick accused him. "You tried to ruin the equipment that way first!"

Meekin's pale eyes met his. "You can't prove it," the carpenter continued hastily.

"We won't have to," the skipper shot back. "We've got you cold on this fire. Who is Conway?"

"He's a con man," Meekin said. "I knew him in China. He knew I was in the States, because I've kept in touch with him off and on. When he called, I knew he was good for the dough, so I agreed to do the job."

"But why did he want our equipment wrecked?" Professor Zircon barked.

Meekin shrugged. "That's his business."

"Talk," the skipper snapped.

"I can't! This guy called me on the telephone and said to work my connections to get on this s.h.i.+p and then get rid of the gear. That's all I know."

"Why did you steal my little radio?" Rick asked suddenly.

Meekin opened his mouth to speak then clamped it shut again.

"You thought it was part of the radar equipment," Rick continued. "Maybe an important part. So you stole it."

"I don't know what yer talkin' about," Meekin growled.

"Never mind," Weiss put in. "It isn't important, Rick. We can be sure he stole it, as you said, and probably threw it overboard. What is important is finding out why this Conway wanted our equipment sabotaged."

"I tell you I don't know!"

"I believe him," Captain Marks said. "Probably he was hired to do a job, without further explanations. Well, Meekin, I don't know what the maritime authorities will think about this, but you'll have a chance to find out."

He turned to the first mate. "We haven't a brig, unfortunately, but that gear locker by the forward companionway will do nicely. See that he's locked up."

To the scientists he said, "Now, gentlemen, let's have your gear on deck where we can look it over."

It was nearing dawn before the inspection was completed and the uncrated equipment stowed under canvas on the forward deck.

The professors had gone over it thoroughly and found a few ruined parts, but nothing - by a great stroke of fortune - that couldn't be replaced by any radio supply house. Professor Zircon radioed ahead to Bombay, requesting a British firm to have replacements ready.

Now all that remained was to recrate the stuff before Bombay was reached, and to unravel the mystery of Conway.

Dawn came as Rick and Scotty leaned on the rail and talked, watching the dark ca.n.a.l banks slip by.

"There's no answer," Rick concluded. "We know that a man named Conway wants to wreck our equipment, and that h.e.l.l pay big money to have it done. But we don't know who he is or why he wants to do it."

"It's creepy," Scotty answered. "We'll have to be on the watch from now on, without knowing who or what we're watching for."

"This equipment is mostly special stuff, you know," Rick said thoughtfully. "Dad and the rest put it together themselves, from their own designs. If it were lost, the expedition would have to stop until more could be made."

"How long would that take?"

"I don't know exactly. Months. Maybe six, maybe more."

"Then you figure someone wants to stop the expedition? But why?"

"Search me," Rick replied. "Maybe well find the answer in Bombay."

CHAPTER V.

Bombay

THE blue of the Indian Ocean was fast turning to a muddy brown, a sign that they were nearing land. But the heat haze low over the water limited visibility to a few thousand feet.

Rick and Scotty were already packed, and the professors were below, collecting the last of their gear.

"The skipper said we should see land pretty soon," Rick said.

Scotty took his arm. "Look!"

Far ahead, swimming out of the mist, were sails. They s.h.i.+mmered in the heat haze, some of them red, some brown, some gaudy with patches of many colors.

The skipper came by and paused long enough to say: "Dhows. Native craft."

Rick and Scotty watched eagerly as the curved, graceful craft drew near. They forged past, and dark-skinned, turbaned men waved and yelled.

"Gosh, it's just like the movies, isn't it?" Scotty remarked. "All those colored sails and stuff. Reminds me of a travelogue I saw once."

Far ahead, a darker blur was visible through the heat haze. The boys watched in silence, eager for their first glimpse of India. Hobart Zircon joined them. He mopped his face with a huge handkerchief.

"Bombay," he rumbled. "I can smell it already."

Rick sniffed. Sure enough, there was a new odor in the air. It was pungent, spicy, rather unpleasant. But it was completely new, and he felt a pleasant tingle of antic.i.p.ation.

Professor Weiss arrived, and they watched as India unfolded before them. Soon, large buildings were visible, some of them of white stone, some of brick. And then the docks themselves were in sight, and the s.h.i.+p was edging up to a pier next to a s.h.i.+p that flew the British ensign. One of the sailors threw a line that was caught by scantily clad men on the dock. The mooring line ran out, and they were secured.

Rick and Scotty watched, fascinated by the teeming throngs on the docks. All the dock equipment was modern: big cranes, concrete piers, railroad tracks close by. But the people were like something out of the Arabian Nights, The dock workers seemed to be all of a kind, all clad in brief, draped rags, and with soiled turbans on their heads.

The gangway was lowered to the dock, and the skip' per shook hands all around.

"Well," he said with a hard smile, "we made it. There were a few moments when I had my doubts, thanks to our friend Meekin. I'm turning him in today."

Zircon and Weiss checked the baggage with customs officials while Rick and Scotty hurried up the ladder, eager for a closer look at the strange sights.

Over beneath a huge crane, a crowd had gathered. A boy was doing a juggling act with a handful of stones for die entertainment of some of the dock workers. Near by, gaunt old men crouched over huge bowls of foodstuffs which neither boy could identify. Their voices, cracked and shrill, lifted rhythmically as they hawked their wares.

Zircon and Weiss came down the gangway and joined them. Zircon clapped his hands and instantly a mob was around them. The burly scientist pointed to half a dozen out of the tattered crowd, then indicated their personal baggage, piled on the s.h.i.+p's deck.

The chosen half dozen swarmed to the deck, hoisted the suitcases and trunks to their heads, and came back again, looking expectantly at Zircon.

At once a new crowd gathered, this time made up of men with a more prosperous look to them. Some wore red fezzes on their heads, and one had a felt hat.

"Speech Eengleesh, sari" the one with the felt hat said.

Zircon nodded to him, and to one of the men wearing a red fez. "Green's Hotel," he bellowed.

They ran off, followed by the porters with the luggage carried on their heads.

Rick and Scotty looked at each other and grinned. Zircon had the situation well in hand.

A little man with a s.h.i.+ny black hat and an equally s.h.i.+ny black frock coat approached, bowing and smiling. He wore tight-fitting white trousers and had no shoes.

Weiss lowered his voice and spoke to the boys. "A Pa.r.s.ee. They're merchants, mostly. Wonder what this one wants?"

The Pa.r.s.ee addressed them all impartially, his eyes going from one to the other. "I am from the hotel," he informed them in excellent English. "You are Dr. Zircon and party?"

"That is correct," Zircon replied.

"I have a truck," the Pa.r.s.ee said. "You have many heavy boxes for the hotel warehouse? I am to take them for you."

Zircon breathed a sigh of relief. "I was wondering how we would get the equipment to the hotel." He pointed to the crates on the schooner's deck. "There it is. Have you men to help you?"

"All is arranged, sir," the Pa.r.s.ee informed him. He waved his hand, and half a dozen men came running. Across the dock, a blunt-nosed truck coughed into life and roared toward them.

Under the Pa.r.s.ee's direction, the equipment was loaded in a few minutes. Then the black-hatted man bowed. "This will be taken to the hotel warehouse."

"Wait," Weiss said nervously. "Hobart, we shouldn't leave the equipment. I'm afraid---" he hesitated.

"You're right, Julius," Zircon agreed.

"I'll go with it," Scotty offered, "and meet you at the hotel. I'd feel better, too, if one of us kept an eye on it."

"Want me to come?" Rick asked.

"No, don't bother. One is enough."

"Okay," Rick said. "Don't get into trouble."

"And see that they're careful of it," Weiss added.

Scotty climbed on the truck and took a seat on top of the equipment. The porters climbed on with him. He waved gaily as the truck turned out through the gate.

Zircon led the way across the pier to where the man in the felt hat and the one in the red fez waited beside old-fas.h.i.+oned, horse-drawn open carriages. "Gharries," the big scientist said. "Not as fast as taxicabs, but a lot safer."

The baggage was stowed in one and the three climbed into the one driven by the man in the felt hat.

Once they left the dock area, there were streetcars, and busses, and even motion-picture theaters. In the center of intersections, little purple- and yellow-clad policemen directed traffic from under huge umbrellas carried on a frame in their belts.

The gharry pulled up before a tall brick structure with a wide balcony just above the street. A uniformed doorman in the inevitable turban ran to meet them, touching his hand to his forehead, lips, and heart in the Moslem fas.h.i.+on. "Salaam, Sahibs," he greeted them. "Welcome to Green's Hotel!"