A BREAK FOR LIBERTY
The heavy iron door closed behind them with a slight grating sound. Jack
turned his head. The door could not be distinguished from the wall.
Hangings of thick silken stuffs covered it.
"Black George" continued to smile unpleasantly, the Chinaman to regard
them inscrutably. Neither spoke. The atmosphere was close and heavy, and
pungent with strange Oriental odors and scents. The boys waited for Mr.
Temple to take the initiative, and he was sizing up the situation.
Obviously they were trapped. And not for money. The presence of "Black
George," whom they had overheard on the train and who had spied on them
since at the Palace Hotel, meant only one thing to Mr. Temple. That was,
that the underworld leader suspected them of having learned something of
his plans.
Why had he brought them here? Again, there could be only one answer. He
wanted to prevent them from informing on him to the authorities. Either
he would hold them prisoner, or intimidate them with threats so that,
when released, they would fear to betray him.
How much did he know? Was he aware that they already had conferred with
Inspector Burton? Had he shadowed the boys to the inventor's store? Did
he know or suspect the plan to utilize Inventor Bender's device for
locating the radio station at the smugglers' cove?
Mr. Temple told himself it was not possible that "Black George" knew to
what lengths they had gone already. Otherwise, of what use to him to
capture them? The damage already was done. And, if he did not know that
they already had laid their information before the authorities and that
even now the move to locate the smugglers' radio was launched, then it
behooved him and the boys not to tell. For, if they told, "Black George"
would be forewarned, and Inspector Burton's plans to round up the
smuggling band would be thwarted.
Mr. Temple glanced quickly at the boys. Would they tell? Each in turn
caught his eye and gave him a scarcely perceptible nod of reassurance.
It gave him something of a shock, for he realized that their active
minds also had been sizing up the situation and, probably, had arrived
at the same conclusions as he. They were letting him know that they
could be counted upon.
Good boys! For a moment, a little mist obscured his eyes. He had been
accustomed to thinking of them only as youngsters. But this summer was
opening his eyes. They had played men's parts on the Mexican border.
They could be counted on in this unfortunate business, too.
All these thoughts, which require some time to record, had passed
through Mr. Temple's mind with lightning-like rapidity. Not a word had
been spoken since their entrance.
"Black George" continued to smile at them evilly, the Chinaman to regard
them with the impassive and inscrutable countenance of his race, their
false guide to stand motionless to one side.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" demanded Mr. Temple angrily.
He determined to adopt the attitude that the ordinary citizen not in
possession of the key to the situation would be likely to adopt under
similar circumstances. It would not do to let "Black George" see they
suspected his reason for entrapping them. That would indicate to him
that they already had taken action against him.
"If it is money you want," he said, "say so and be done with it."
"Black George" spoke at last.
"My dear Mr. Temple," he said, "perhaps we may get some of your money,
too, before we finish with you. But that isn't our first object."
Turning to their attendant he commanded:
"Bring some chairs and then leave us."
Silently but swiftly, the man brought lacquered stools without back
supports, placed one behind each of the four, then lifted the hangings
and disappeared.
"Sit down," said "Black George" in a suave voice, "and let us talk
things over."
They complied.
"I hope," said "Black George," "that my men did not handle you roughly.
They had instructions not to, and if they disobeyed they shall be
punished."
"Come, come," said Mr. Temple, "drop this note of hospitality and come
to the point. We are prisoners, we have been foully entrapped. What is
your object?"
Dropping something of his suavity and letting more of his true character
show, "Black George" leaned forward.
"I think you know, Mr. Temple," He said, "my reason for bringing you
here."
"What do you mean?"
Mr. Temple was determined to maintain an attitude of outraged innocence.
"I mean," said the other, his voice growing more harsh, "that you have
been meddling in matters that did not concern you."
"Explain."
"Your young men"--with a sweep of the hand that indicated the three
chums--"overheard words not intended for their ears on the Flyer from the
East. They sat on the observation platform while I was in conversation
with a companion."
"Well?"
"No, it's far from well," said the other menacingly. "You called
Inspector Burton to your apartment at the Palace."
He paused and looked fixedly at Mr. Temple.
"Now," he resumed, "I want to know just how much of my conversation
these boys overheard, and just what they told Inspector Burton."
Further pretence of innocence was useless.
"And if we refuse to tell?" queried Mr. Temple.
"Black George" grinned evilly. He looked long at Mr. Temple and the boys
in turn. Then he addressed the silent old Chinaman.
"Would your men like to play with them?" he asked.
"Um."
"Would they like to torture those young boys?"
"Um."
"Would they like to apply the water cure and the red-hot needles?"
"Um."
"And pull out fingernails?"
"Um."
The old Chinaman never changed expression.
In spite of their courageous spirits, the boys shivered. Mr. Temple
thought only of the boys, not of himself. Would these scoundrels really
torture them? It was unbelievable. Yet if they should----
"Look here," he said gruffly, "quit this nonsense. This is the twentieth
century, and such things are not done. We are not children to be
frightened by such talk."
"Ah," said "Black George" smoothly, "but this is San Francisco's
Chinatown. Don't forget that. You probably thought it was not possible
to trap you, either. But you notice it was done. Your presence here
ought to be sufficient indication to you that torture is not
impossible."
"You, scoundrel," blazed Mr. Temple, "you'll pay for this. Others know
where I have gone. My original guide from the restaurant is waiting for
me, and----"
"One of my men," said "Black George" succinctly. "And your chauffeur,
too."
"Well and good, but the head waiter at the restaurant has my name and----"
"My man, too," said "Black George." He rose suddenly, walked close to
Mr. Temple, and leaned over and glared into his face.
"Furthermore," he added, "supposing you get out of this scrape, don't
try to make trouble for them. My agents don't know all I do, but I
protect the men useful to me. Understand?"
As Mr. Temple kept silence, controlling his features, but in reality
sore at heart, "Black George" started to move backward slowly.
Suddenly big Bob, who all the time had been quietly working his hands
free from the hastily tied bonds, leaped upon him. Bob's hands went
around the other's throat, throttling him and preventing him from crying
out.
At the same moment, Frank and Jack, who also had been working at their
bonds and with equal success, leaped for the old Chinaman. The latter
moved with surprising swiftness for one of his age. Springing from the
chair, he waved a long dagger which mysteriously appeared in his
talon-like hand and began to shout a shrill jabber of Chinese words.
Jack leaped in low, arms extended, making a flying tackle as he so often
had done on the football field at Harrington Hall Military Academy. The
old Chinaman started to move backward, waving his dagger.
Frank swung the lacquered stool upon which he had been seated aloft and
sent it hurtling through the air. His aim was deadly. The heavy stool
caught the Chinaman square on the side of the head, just as Jack pinned
him around the knees.
He went down like a log, his dagger clattering to the floor.