WILD BOB CAREW
Martin lurched forward past the man who opened the door into a room
that was brightly lighted by gas and kerosene lamps. It was a room bare
of furniture save for a common kitchen table, littered with charts and
papers, and several kitchen chairs.
It was a large room, much larger than the one he had just quitted,
the full width of the house, and, it seemed, part of a suite, for two
doors, besides the one he entered through, let upon it, from the rear
wall. But these details only impressed themselves upon Martin’s mind
later, and gradually. At the instant of his tempestuous entrance, he
was entirely engrossed with his obsession, and he had eyes only for
the dominant figure that stood behind the paper-littered table in
the center of the room. To this man Martin addressed himself without
preliminary.
“That woman—didn’t you hear?” he cried. “These Japs have a woman
prisoner in this house—a white woman! See! This is her cap. I saw——”
“Are you the messenger who was to come to me tonight?” interrupted the
man addressed. He spoke in a commanding and vibrant bass voice.
It was suddenly borne in upon Martin’s consciousness that he was in the
presence of a personality. They were immobile yellow gargoyles, those
two Japs who stood against the farther wall, they did not count. But
this man who stood across the table from him—the air of the room was
electric with his presence. A commanding and forceful personality, but
a hostile personality, there was a chill in that interruption. But the
momentum of his feelings carried Martin on.
“In the hall—shoving her along—she was struggling! A white girl! Those
yellow——”
“What is your business with me?” The heavy voice beat down Martin’s
words. It was as if he had not spoken. “I am Captain Carew. You have a
message for me?”
Martin checked his splutter of words. The other’s sentences were like
a dash of cold water; they cleared his mind. There was menace in that
heavy voice, in the other’s attitude, in the frosty gleam of his eyes.
That veiled threat sobered Martin. He stood still and played his eyes
upon the other in appraisal.
And he was a picture to fill the eye, this man who bore himself
so disdainfully, this Captain Wild Bob Carew. Went glimmering the
graceless, blasphemous sea-renegade of Martin’s fancy. Martin caught
his breath with unforced admiration as he measured the other’s form and
face.
Captain Carew was big and blond, as Smatt had predicted. He was also
quite the handsomest man Martin had ever seen. He stood at least six
feet, and was leanly and finely built. He was, perhaps, thirty-five
years old, but the springiness of youth was still in his carriage.
Martin gained from him the impression of great physical strength.
The face was finely chiseled, virile, aristocratic, a face to compel
men’s admiration, to turn women’s heads. But Martin divined the flaw
in that fine mask. The full, curved lips were shaded by a short, blond
mustache, but that hirsute covering did not conceal the cruel quirk at
the lips’ corners. The face was ruddy, even in that light, and unlined.
The eyes, probably blue in daylight, were black and glittering; and
they bore Martin’s scrutiny without a flicker. But after a moment the
cruel lips curled scornfully.
“Well, my good fellow, have you quite finished with your inspection?”
said Carew. “I hope you have discovered nothing about my appearance
that displeases you.”
The cavalier tone brought Martin to himself with a start. He had
been taken aback by the appearance of Captain Carew, the man so
different from his preconceived picture. This was no rough bully of
the seas; Carew’s bearing and dandified apparel bespoke gentility.
Martin had just observed one of the captain’s hands, a slender, white,
aristocratic hand, small for the man’s size. On the back of the hand
was a star, tattooed in red.
The tattooing recalled Smatt and Smatt’s words; recalled to Martin
his reason for being in that room; banished for the moment his
knight-errant mood. He thrust his hand into his inside overcoat pocket
and felt of the envelope. Smatt’s formula came to his lips.
“I wish to see you on the Hakodate business,” he said.
“It is time that business was settled. Did the Chief send you?” Carew
responded promptly.
“That is correct,” said Martin.
He half withdrew the envelope from his pocket and then hesitated. This
Carew was a severe and superior person. The packet delivered, Martin
foresaw instant dismissal. And that poor girl! Yet, Carew was a white
man.
“But, Captain Carew, you could not have understood me aright!” he
appealed. “I tell you, these Japanese have a young white woman——”
“Enough!” barked Carew. His tone made Martin jump. “Young man, you were
sent here to deliver certain papers to me. Do so.”
Silently, Martin handed over the envelope. He was baffled. He was angry.
“Now—get out!” commanded Carew, waving him toward the hall.
Martin turned toward the exit. Hot, edged words were on his tongue’s
tip, and he could not trust himself to further urge this cold-blooded
wretch. He took a step toward the door and then stopped short, staring
into the corner of the room. He saw a man’s gray overcoat lying on the
floor in the corner.
He wheeled upon Carew again and found the latter’s eyes upon him in a
threatening glare. “You—you—that coat!” stammered Martin.
“Enough!” exclaimed Carew. “You have finished your business with me,
young man. You will find your guide in the hall; he will conduct you
to the street. And a word of advice, my good fellow: If you value your
skin and your employment, you will promptly forget everything and
anything you may have seen in this house!”
Martin choked upon his rage. Within him surged a hot hatred of this
insolent sailor; this captain of yellow bravos; this abductor of girls;
this man who dared not face the daylight. He was a worm beneath the
Captain’s feet. He was—well, the worm could turn.
He moved toward the door. Yes, he would go, and quickly.
“If you value your skin and your employment!” So that was it—a threat!
He would show this high-handed captain that Martin Blake would risk his
skin as readily as the next man; and as for his employment—a fig for
Smatt, and Dr. Ichi, and all their ilk! They were crooks; this Carew
was a crook. They held that girl against her will. It was all a piece
of some dirty, crooked work. Well, the police....
“God, what treachery is this!”
The booming sentence arrested Martin at the door. He lifted his hand
from the knob and turned to the voice. Carew, his face convulsed with
passion, was regarding him.
“What does this mean?” cried Carew. He shook a handful of papers at
Martin. “Come back here, you! Explain this beastly trick!”
Martin went back. He noticed, as he drew close to the other, that the
envelope he had given the captain lay empty and torn on the table.
“Well, what is it? What trick?” he demanded shortly.
“What trick!” mimicked Carew. “Look here. Is this what you were to
deliver to me?”
He thrust the sheaf of papers beneath Martin’s nose. They were sheets
of blank, white paper, and they had been creased by folding.
“This is what that precious envelope contained,” continued Carew. “Tell
me, what —— foolery is this? Where is that code translation? Where are
my instructions? Where are my clearance papers? Hey—you staring fool!”
“Stop that!” flared Martin. “You moderate your tone when you speak
to me! If you have any complaint to make about the contents of that
envelope, make them to Josiah Smatt, and that Dr. Ichi. I know nothing
about the contents. The envelope was given to me sealed, and I
delivered it to you sealed.”
“It has been tampered with,” declared Carew.
“It has not,” asserted Martin. “I have had it in my pocket, on my
person, since Smatt gave it to me. I delivered it to you with the
contents intact. If you found those blank sheets within, they were
placed there before I received the envelope.”
Carew favored Martin with a steely and searching stare; and Martin,
ablaze with resentment, stared boldly back. Martin’s bearing, and his
positive statements, evidently impressed the captain.
“You had better take the matter up with the men who sent me here,” said
Martin. “I have finished with my part of the affair. I wish to go.”
“You are jolly well right I’ll take the matter up with the men who
sent you here!” exclaimed Carew. “And I’ll take the matter up at once.
Meanwhile, you will remain here. I’ll not lose track of you until I get
to the bottom of this affair.”
“Do you mean you intend to detain me here? Whether I will or no?”
demanded the thoroughly angered Martin.
“I do,” stated Carew.
He barked an order in a foreign tongue. The two gargoyles at the other
end of the room sprang to life and started swiftly toward Martin.
Martin wheeled about and darted for the door to the hallway. He reached
it, and was jerking it open, when the two Japs flung themselves upon
him. He lifted one from his feet with a well-placed swing. The other
flung his arms about Martin’s neck and clung there.
Martin staggered into the hall, wrestling with that leech-like hug. He
tore free from the fellow; and as he did he caught a glimpse of Captain
Carew through the open door. The man had not moved from his station
behind the table.
Then a mountain seemed to drop upon Martin’s back. He was crushed
face downward upon the floor, enveloped and smothered by a vast and
sour-smelling bulk.
He struggled desperately and succeeded in partly rolling over on his
back. He flailed his arm twice, and felt his fist strike against
soft flesh. He saw hanging over him the unwholesome face of the
saloonkeeper, Spulvedo.
Then a heavy blow smote his jaw-bone, and he went a-dancing through a
world of bright, shooting stars, into darkness.