WAH LEE'S BOSS
The next few days were crowded with incident. The city was filling up
with visitors, to be present at the ceremonies attending the opening of
the Canal. Many of these were celebrities known all over the world.
Soldiers, admirals, diplomats, men of affairs, brushed shoulders with
thousands less famous, but quite as interested in the great event so soon
to take place. The boys were constantly meeting someone whom they had
known in the "States"; and, in the renewal of old friendships and the
making of new ones, the time flew by as though on wings.
But, underneath all the hubbub and excitement, Bert was conscious of an
uneasy premonition. He tried to analyze it, and, when unsuccessful in
this, attempted to throw it off. Despite all his efforts, however, it
persisted. Call it clairvoyance, call it telepathy, he felt aware of
impending danger. Some "coming event" was casting "its shadow before."
Again and again the words of Allison recurred to him. Not that he
believed in them. Although they had stirred him at the time with a sense
of vague foreboding, he had dismissed them as the utterance of an
enthusiast, who felt a deep antipathy toward the Japanese, and magnified
the danger to be feared from them. Of course, it was absurd--that last
remark of his that at that very moment a Japanese fleet might be on its
way to attack the Pacific Slope. He laughed as he thought of it, but,
somehow, the laugh did not ring true.
Wah Lee had kept his word, and frequently called to see his friends. But
his serenity seemed to be disturbed. He appeared troubled and distrait.
At times, he acted as though he were about to tell them something, but
was himself in doubt as to the value of his information, and restrained
himself. His all-embracing smile was conspicuous by its absence.
"What's bothering the old chap, I wonder," ruminated Tom.
"Search me," laughed Dick. "Something on his conscience, maybe. Perhaps
he hasn't burned as many joss sticks before his particular idol as he
feels he ought, and the failure worries him."
"I'm going to get right down to brass tacks, the next time he comes,"
said Bert, "and get it out of him."
But the wily Celestial baffled all efforts to "pump" him, and the matter
passed from their minds.
Two days later, however, Wah Lee shuffled past Bert, as the latter was
sauntering down the main street of Colon, and, apparently by accident,
touched his arm in passing. Bert looked up, and, recognizing the
Chinaman, started to speak to him. But the latter only gave him a swift
glance from his almond eyes, and kept on, his face as stolid and
inscrutable as that of a graven image. In that fleeting look, however,
Bert's quick perception recognized that Wah Lee had some object in view,
and wanted to talk with him. With a heightened pulse, but still
retaining an indifferent air, he followed.
At the first turning, the Chinaman passed into a side street, Bert
keeping a little way in the rear. The houses grew more infrequent and
soon they came to the suburbs. Still on they went, until, at last, they
were in the open country, and free from observation. Then, in a remote
spot, where they could see for a long distance on every side, Wah Lee
stood still, and Bert ranged alongside.
"Well, Wah Lee," he asked, curiously, "what's the game?"
In answer, the Chinaman drew from his pocket a crumpled sheet of paper,
and handed it to Bert. He took it and smoothed it out. At first, it
failed to convey any impression. The drawing was a rough one, and seemed
to consist of a series of lines, punctured with dots. But gradually, as
Bert gazed, his training in mechanics told him that it was a plan of some
large structure. There were two rectangular outlines, that were
perfectly similar, like two leaves of a table. No, they were gates. And
then, like a flash, it came across him. They were the gates of the Gatun
Locks! There was the wavy line, to indicate the water level, and, down
below these, were the ominous dots. They seemed to be meant for holes,
but his knowledge of the locks told him that they had no place in its
structure. What did those holes mean?
A little shaken, he looked at Wah Lee for the key to the enigma.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Found it," answered the Chinaman. "Man drop it. Man come to see my
bloss. My bloss kill clanal," Wah Lee repeated.
For a moment, Bert's head swam, and a thousand bells seemed to ring in
his ears. Then he steadied himself, and plied the Chinaman with eager
questions that sought to pluck the heart out of the mystery. Wah Lee's
knowledge of English was very limited, and it took a long time and
infinite patience to get from him what he knew. Gradually, he pieced the
bits together, until the whole thing became clear and coherent in his
mind.
By the merest accident, Wah Lee had heard enough to know that the
Japanese who employed him was engaged in a plot to destroy the Canal.
How or when it was to be done, he did not know. It was doubtful if he
could have grasped the details, even if he had heard them, so full they
were of technical matters that conveyed to him no meaning. But he knew
that the plot existed, and dimly understood that this would bring pain
and suffering to Bert. As far as he himself was concerned, a dozen
canals might be destroyed, without affecting him in the least. But he
held the boys in strong affection for having saved his life, and he knew
that he could pay his debt, at least in part, by letting them know what
was brewing.
As regarded the paper, Wah Lee knew nothing, except that a white man, who
spoke English, was a frequent visitor to his master, with whom he held
long conferences. Only yesterday, on leaving the house after dark, he
had accidentally dropped the plan, and Wah Lee, hovering near, had picked
it up. A vague idea that it might be of value to Bert and prompted him
to bring it to him.
This was the sum of the Chinaman's knowledge. He simply knew that his
"bloss" was engaged in some kind of a plan to kill the Canal.
But Bert must know more than this--the nature of the plan, the people
involved in it, the methods employed for it, the time set for its
execution. Then, only, could the proper steps be taken to thwart it.
How could this knowledge be obtained? Not by Wah Lee. He had
accidentally stumbled upon it, and while this, of course, was an
inestimable service, abler minds than his must unravel the details.
Whatever was to be done must be done quickly. Time was a factor of prime
importance. Bert looked up at the sky. The sun was near its setting.
Night would come on suddenly.
With the rapid resolution that was one of his chief characteristics, Bert
made up his mind.
"Make tracks for home, Wah Lee," he said. "I'm coming with you."
The Chinaman made no demur and expressed no surprise. He led the way and
Bert followed, racking his brain for the best thing to do. His plans
took shape quickly. By the time they drew near the grounds, darkness had
enveloped them like a blanket. He halted the Chinaman and talked to him
in whispers.
He must get into the house, without being seen. Where did the talks with
the white man take place? In the library. Very well. Was there any
place where he, Bert, could be concealed and hear what went on?
But here the Oriental departed from his wonted calm. There was too much
risk. Bert would be killed. His master had men in the house who obeyed
him absolutely. If he merely lifted his finger, they would kill one man
or twenty men.
But Bert was not to be deterred from his purpose. He had embarked on
this venture, and, live or die, he would see it through to a finish. He
cut short the protestations of the frightened Celestial and commanded him
to show him the nearest way to the library.
There was no way, Wah Lee averred. The house swarmed with servants, and
detection would be certain. Every window and every room in the mansion
was ablaze with light. Unless he could make himself invisible, the
attempt was hopeless.
Circling about the house, in the shadow of the shrubbery, Bert studied
the location of the room that the Chinaman had pointed out as the
library. It was on the second floor, and a broad veranda surrounded the
house, about two feet beneath the window. Near by, a giant tree upreared
its branches. With a parting word of caution, Bert shied up the tree
with the agility of a cat. He ensconced himself firmly on a projecting
branch, and peered through the heavy foliage.
The room into which he looked was a spacious one and furnished with all
the sumptuousness of Eastern luxury. Exquisite tapestries draped the
walls, and priceless jades and porcelains bespoke the taste as well as
the wealth of the owner. Quaint weapons and suits of armor, doubtless
worn at some time by a shogun or samurai ancestor gave a touch of
grimness to a beauty and delicacy of ornament that might otherwise have
been excessive.
At a magnificent library table of ebony, inlaid with pearl, a man was
seated with his head on his hand, in an attitude of profound thought.
His left hand, playing with the ivory handle of a dagger that lay on the
desk, betrayed a certain restlessness, as though he were waiting for
someone. From time to time he raised his head, as if listening. At last
he threw himself back in his chair with a gesture of impatience, and,
with unseeing eyes, looked out of the window. And now, Bert, from his
leafy covert, could study his face at leisure.
It was a typical Japanese face, with the high cheekbones and slanting
eyes that marked his race. But nothing could hide the proofs of breeding
and culture that were revealed in every feature. It was the face of a
statesman, a scholar, a warrior, a prince. The habit of command was
stamped upon it, and in his eyes glowed a spirit of resolution that
almost reached fanaticism. Bert felt instinctively that here was a
foeman worthy of any man's steel, a formidable enemy who would sweep away
like chaff anything that stood between him and the accomplishment of his
purpose.
Once or twice, Bert had seen him in Colon, a notable figure even in a
town at that time filled with notables. No one seemed to know much about
him. Three years ago, he had appeared in Panama and purchased a large
landed estate. He had spent enormous sums in developing it, until it had
become famous throughout the Isthmus for its extent and beauty. That the
owner was fabulously wealthy could not be doubted. But beyond this, all
was conjecture. He had no official position or diplomatic mission. No
breath of suspicion had ever been attached to him of being in any sense
hostile to American interests. His suavity, his courtesy, his
unquestioned wealth and standing had won for him universal respect. And
yet, if Bert's suspicions proved true, the accomplished Japanese
gentleman into whose eyes he was looking, was the most dangerous foe that
America had in the whole wide world.
A door opened and another Japanese entered the room. He was older than
the man seated at the desk, and his face was creased with the deep lines
of wisdom and long experience. He might have been, and probably was, one
of the "elder statesmen"--that august body, that, at home and abroad,
guided the destinies of the nation. He saluted ceremoniously the owner
of the house, and they were soon engaged in an animated conversation.
Then a man of a different type was ushered in by an obsequious servant.
He was dressed in American fashion, but his face indicated a Spanish
origin. He was a Cuban who had been educated as a civil engineer in one
of the scientific schools of the United States. His features were alert
and intelligent, but there was a certain shiftiness in his eyes, and
something about him gave an indefinable air of dissipation. He had been
employed for a time in harbor work at Vera Cruz, but had killed a man in
a brawl and been forced to flee the country. On the Canal, there were
eighty-seven distinct nationalities engaged in the work, and, in view of
the great demand for labor, he had no difficulty in securing employment,
the more easily as he was an expert in his profession. He had been
assigned to the Gatun section of the work, with his quarters in the city
of Colon.
The Japanese secret service, in its search for a suitable tool, had
become possessed of the facts regarding the murder for which the man,
Ofirio, by name, was wanted by the Mexican authorities. With infinite
caution and by slow degrees, they had approached and sounded him. They
appealed to his fears and his avarice. As regards the first, they could
betray him to his pursuers. For the second, they promised him an amount
of money greater than he could expect to earn in the course of his
natural life, and a safe refuge in Japan. Under the stress of these two
primal emotions, he had yielded, and, for a year past, had been in the
power and the pay of Namoto, the Japanese, in whose library he was at
that moment standing. He it was who had dropped the paper that Wah Lee
had so fortunately retrieved and which had given Bert the first hint of
the appalling disaster that threatened his country.
Bert noticed the subtle something in the air of Namoto--a mixture of
power, disdain, and condescension--as he motioned the engineer to a
seat. From a stray word or two that came to him, he noted that they were
talking in English, which both understood, while neither could speak the
native language of the other.
And now it became imperative that Bert should hear the conference that
concerned him so tremendously. From where he was, he could see
perfectly, but could hear nothing but an occasional disconnected word.
He must leave his safe retreat, take his life in his hands and reach the
veranda that ran beneath the open window.
Silently, he removed his shoes, and, tying them together by the laces,
hung them over the branch. Then he crept out on the heavy bough that
reached within three feet of the porch. Holding on by his hands, he let
himself down, swung back and forth once or twice to get the proper
momentum, and then letting himself go, landed as lightly as a lynx upon
the veranda. A moment he swayed trying to keep his nearly lost balance,
while he looked anxiously to see if the conspirators had heard. They
showed no sign of disturbance, however, and, with a muttered prayer of
thankfulness, Bert dropped on his hands and knees and crept beneath the
sill. And there, safe for the instant, with every faculty strained to
its utmost, he became a fourth, if unseen, member of the group.