Rick Brant - The Lost City Part 6

"You'd better get some sleep yourself, sir," Rick urged. "You look tired out."

"I am," Zircon admitted. "But I find it hard to sleep. So much depends on recovering the equipment. So much ..." his voice trailed off and he nodded a good night, then went back into his room.

Rick looked at Scotty, his eyes troubled. "Let's wash up, and then go down and keep watch for Chahda. It looks like he's our only hope."

"Right," Scotty agreed. "I have a hunch h.e.l.l come through for us. I like that little guy. He's right on his toes.

Later, as they walked down by the sea wall, Rick said thoughtfully, "One thing is sure. Whoever is behind all this doesn't want the equipment. Otherwise, Meekin wouldn't have tried to destroy it."

"What does that add up to?" Scotty wanted to know.

"Conway, whoever he is, is trying to stop the experiment."

"That's reasonable," Scotty admitted. "But why?"

"If I could figure that out," Rick said wearily, "I'd tell Sherlock Holmes to move over and I'd set up in the detective business."

They had walked in a circle and were back at the hotel.

"Want to go upstairs and rest?" Rick asked. "The clerk could call us if Chahda should come."

"Too hot," Scotty objected. "I wish there were some way we could sleep out of doors."

"There is," Rick said. He walked across the street to where half a dozen gharries were parked by the curb, drivers and horses nodding sleepily. He hailed the nearest one.

"How much for all night?"

The driver woke up and considered. "Twenty rupees."

"I'll give you five."

"Allah! The Sahib would rob a poor man. No less than eighteen."

"Eight rupees."

"Bismallah! Fifteen."

The bargaining closed at eleven rupees and Rick grinned in satisfaction. Haggling over prices was a lot of fun. He directed the gharry to the door of the hotel, then he and Scotty climbed in and made themselves comfortable.

The driver looked at his pa.s.sengers, scratched his head, shrugged, and was asleep almost at once.

"Why don't you take a cat nap, Rick," Scotty suggested. "Well have to take turns staying awake in case Chahda should come."

Rick wasn't sure he could sleep but he leaned back against the cus.h.i.+on and in a moment his head dropped.

Suddenly he jerked upright. Scotty was shaking him.

"Snap out of it, Rick," Scotty said. "Here's Chahda."

"Huh?" Rick rubbed his eyes. "I must have dozed off."

"And how!" Scotty exclaimed. He swung to the ground. "It's half past four."

Chahda was standing nervously, first on one foot then on the other. "I have found it," he kept saying. "You tell the professor - Sahibs, yes?" he asked Rick.

"I don't know about that. What do you think, Scotty?"

"We'd better not. You know how upset they are. We'd better see if the equipment is really there."

"Right." He motioned Chahda into the gharry. Scotty got back in and sat beside him.

"Tell the driver where to go," Rick said.

Chahda gave brief instructions in his own language, and the tired, bony horse stirred into reluctant life.

They drove through the center of the darkened city, the clop-clop of the hoofs and the creak of the wheels a background for Chahda's tale. He had followed the Pa.r.s.ee to a public eating place, and he had waited while the man ate his supper.

"He ate so much! Then he goes, and I follow. He walks far - oh, very far! He goes down near the Alexandria dock, and then he goes into a place where there is drinks for drinking, and he sits by a table for so long. But I am waiting. He goes down many streets and in many places where I am afraid, but I stay close. Soon he is coming to a big building, and I am looking in."

Chahda paused dramatically. "There is the many box which is been on the truck!"

The gharry had left the center of the city and was now traveling through winding streets that led to the water front. As they neared a street comer, Chahda called to the driver to let them out.

They left the gharry and made their way down a series of narrow lanes edged with dark, forbidding shacks. The water was somewhere near; they heard the mournful wail of a boat whistle, and the sound tightened the short hairs on Rick's scalp.

Chahda was a noiseless wraith scuttling along through DO the alleys, but Rick stumbled through debris and into obstacles that bruised his s.h.i.+ns. Scotty made no noise except for the sound of his leather soles on the cobbles.

The Hindu boy stopped. "We 'most there," he whispered. "This goes back way, so men not see."

"What men?"

"I think maybe guards. There is fi'-- six men."

"Fine," Rick said hoa.r.s.ely. "Just two to one, that's all."

"We not fight; we look," Chahda a.s.sured him.

"Let's keep going," Scotty urged. "I'm anxious to see this place."

There was the sound of water lapping against piers near by, and it was very dark. Rick looked up at the sky through the narrow canyon of wooden buildings and saw that the stars were dimming. Dawn wasn't far away.

A high building loomed, and Chahda put out a hand to stop them. He led them to a window and said, "You look."

Rick looked through a dirt-smeared pane into a barn-like warehouse. Far in the front were lights, against which crates of goods were silhouetted. Against the lights, men moved, turbaned men, with dark, shapeless robes. Then, as his vision adjusted, he saw a thing that he recognized: the antenna base in its open crate, silhouetted against the light!

He gripped Scotty's shoulder. "It's there! Scotty, I saw the antenna base."

"Good. Now what do we do?"

"Get the police," Rick decided. "We can't handle this alone. I saw at least six men. Chahda, get some policemen, and hurry! We'll stay here and wait for you." He added, "I'm not going to take my eyes off that equipment again!"

Chahda vanished into the dimness.

"Let's work around toward the front," Scotty whispered. "I'd like to get a better look."

"So would I," Rick answered.

They groped their way around a corner of the building and came out in another alley. Toward the front there were other windows through which faint light streamed.

Rick pressed close to the wall and edged his way toward the nearest window. They were close to the front now and the voices of the guards were audible. He was breathing hard through tight lips. If they were discovered before help came, it might go hard with them. The truck driver had been an example of the kind of people they were dealing with.

He peered into the window, Scotty looking over his shoulder. A huge crate blocked the view. He stepped back. "Not there. Maybe the next one."

Scotty nodded and motioned for him to continue.

Rick, his eyes on the next window, stepped forward and his foot sank into something that gave under him.

There was an ear-piercing scream from under his feet, and he jumped back and fell against Scotty. They went down in a heap as a sheeted figure scrambled to its feet and ran down the alley, filling the night with cries of terror. Rick had stepped on a sleeping Indian.

Scotty scrambled to his feet. "Are you hurt?" he asked hoa.r.s.ely.

"No," Rick said. "I'm ..." His eyes caught movement toward the front of the building, and he yelled, "Scotty, watch out!"

He jumped to his feet as his friend whirled to meet the rush of guards. He saw Scotty's hand lash out, held stiff in a judo blow, and he saw a robed figure go down. Then three of them were almost upon him.

Rick side-stepped the rush and lifted his foot as though punting a football. It connected with something soft, and a cry of pain split the air. He jumped back and caught a glimpse of something flying toward him, blotting out the faint light, then he was wrapped in the smothering folds of harsh, foul cloth. Something hit him below the ribs and he went over on his back, stunned.

He felt himself lifted, and heard other cries, and knew that Scotty wasn't down yet. He tried to lash out with his feet, but numbness gripped him and his breath came in short, painful gasps. Then there was only silence and the swaying of the shoulders under him as he was carried into the warehouse.

Many minutes pa.s.sed before he came back to full consciousness, gasping for air in the folds of the cloth that bound him. He heard voices, but they were not speaking English. Then he was put down on something hard and the cloth was whisked away.

He blinked up into the flame of a single candle and knew he was on the floor in some part of the warehouse.

Men looked down at him - men with turbans, and coa.r.s.e dark faces. He struggled to a sitting position and saw Scotty next to him, flat on his back, his eyes closed.

Rick tried to get to his feet, but one of the men pushed him back. He saw the gleam of light on a blade as the man drew a curved, scimitar-like knife from the folds of his robe. He swallowed hard.

The man lifted the knife and waved it expressively. Rick tried to take his eyes from the gleaming blade but could not.

There was a chair next to the boy, a wooden kitchen chair, sagging with age. The man lifted the knife again, and this time brought it down sharply. The keen edge sliced through the back of the chair as though the slab of wood didn't exist. It didn't even make a crunching noise.

The man grinned and waved the knife again. He went out, taking the candle. The others went with him. The door closed and a key grated in the lock.

Instantly Rick was at Scotty's side. He put a hand on the boy's heart and found it beating strongly. He gave a sigh of relief and started probing for wounds. There were none. Then, just above the bruise on Scotty's forehead, he found a lump. As he touched it, Scotty groaned and moved.

"Scotty!" Rick whispered. "Wake up, Scotty." He shook him a little.

After a few moments Scotty sat up and put both hands to his head. "Rick, are you all right?"

"I'm okay. What happened to you?"

"One of them hit me with the flat of his knife. I thought I was dead."

"If they'd hit you with the edge ..." Rick gulped, and told Scotty about the chair. "That was to show me what would happen if we tried to get out."

"I'm convinced," Scotty said.

They inspected their prison and found it to be a small, square room, unfurnished except for the broken chair. Then Rick found a crack through which faint light streamed. He put his eye to it and looked out into the warehouse.

They were at the top of a flight of stairs. Below them was the big floor of the warehouse with its stacked crates and bales. Not all of this stuff was theirs, but some of it was. Rick could see the wide entrance doors, the guards squatting by it. He counted five men. Hadn't there been more than that? Perhaps some had left.

"Maybe they sent word to the boss that they captured us," Rick guessed.

"Yes, but who is this boss?"

"Conway," Rick replied. It was the only answer they had.

There was a stir at the front of the building, and the guards got to their feet and began talking in low tones.

"Something's happening," Rick said.

Chahda came through the main entrance with two policemen!

"He came back with the police," Rick added joyfully. Scotty crowded close so that he could see through the crack.

At the front of the building, the guards, the police, and Chahda were engaged in loud conversation in Hindustani, with much waving of arms.

"Why don't the cops arrest them?" Scotty demanded.

"It's only Chahda's word against the guards'," Rick replied. "Listen, we have to get out of here! Those guys will convince the cops nothing is wrong!"

Scotty examined the door. "Not very strong. Maybe ..."

"Let's try it," Rick urged.

They backed across the room and put their shoulders down.

"Now!" Rick yelled.

They smashed into the door. It groaned on its hinges but didn't give.

"Again!"

They hit it with the force of desperation. The door flew open with a cras.h.i.+ng of panels, and they were catapulted onto the stair landing in a heap.

There were excited yells from below. Rick and Scotty scrambled to their feet and saw the flash of knives!

As they ran to the aid of the police, Rick saw one of the policemen dance away from a knife thrust. His wooden club flicked out and caught his opponent over the eyes. The man crumpled to the floor. Then, so quickly that he was a blur, the little policeman stepped in and swung again, and a second of the guards went down.