As mentioned, the time of these stories is the early 1930s and the comments about the Chinese character and situation are appropriate to that era so it is historically rather accurate.
The Danger Zone
The Danger Zone
Major Brane had accepted his mission among these e hidden places of San Francisco's Chinatown---accepted at the point of a gun
Chapter I "The Master Awaits"
A FEW blocks to the north of South Market Street in San Francisco, Grant Avenue ceases to be a street of fourth class stores and becomes part of Chinatown.
Major Copely Brane, freelance diplomat, soldier of fortune, knew every inch of this strange section. For
Major Brane knew his wife Chinese as most baseball fans know the strength and weakness of opposing teams.
Not that Major Brane had consciously confined his freelance diplomatic activities to matters pertaining to the Orient. His services were available to various and sundry. He had accepted employment from a patriotic German who wished to ascertain certain information about the French attitude toward reparations; and it was perhaps significant of the Major's absolute fairness, that the fee he had received from the German upon the successful completion of his task was exactly the amount which he had previously charged a French banker for obtaining confidential information from the file of a visiting ambassador as to the exact proposals which the German government was prepared to make as a final offer.
In short, Major Brane worked for various governments and various individuals. Those who had the price could engage his services. There was only one requirement: The task must be within the legitimate field of diplomatic activity. Major Brane was a clearing house of international and political information, and he took pride in doing his work well. Those who employed him could count upon his absolute loyalty upon all matters connected with the employment, could bank upon his subsequent silence; and best of all, they could rest assured that if Major Brane encountered any serious trouble in the discharge of his duties, he would never mention the name of his employer.
Of late, however, the Major's activities had been centered upon the situation in the Orient. This was due in part to the extreme rapidity with which that situation was changing from day to day; and in part to the fact that Major Brane prided himself upon his ability to deliver results. There is no one who appreciates results more, and explanations less, than the native of the Orient.
It was early evening, and the streets of San Francisco's Chinatown were giving forth their strange sounds - the shuffling feet of herded tourists, gazing open-mouthed at the strange life which seethed about them; the slippety-slop of Chinese shoes - skidded along the cement by feet that were lifted only a fraction of an inch; the pounding heels of plainclothes men who always worked in pairs when on Chinatown duty.
Major Brane's ears heard these sounds and interpreted them mechanically. Major Brane was particularly interested to notice the changing window displays of the Chinese stores. The embargo on Japanese products was slowly working a complete change in the merchandise handled by the curio stores, and Major Brane's eyes narrowed as he noticed the fact. Disputes over the murder of a subject can be settled by arbitration, but there can be but one answer to a blow that hits hard at a nation's business.
Major Brane let his mind dwell upon certain angles of the political situation which were unknown to the average man. Would the world powers close their eyes to developments in Manchuria, providing those same developments smashed the five year plan and...?
HIS ears, trained to constant watchfulness in the matter of unusual sounds, noticed the change in the tempo of the hurrying feet behind him. He knew that some man was going to accost him, even before he turned coldly appraising eyes upon the other.
The man was Chinese, probably Western born, since he wore his Occidental clothes with the air of one who finds in them nothing awkward; and he thudded his feet emphatically upon the sidewalk, slamming his heels hard home with every step.
He had been hurrying and the narrow chest was laboring. The eyes were glittering with some inner emotion of which there was no other external sign, save, perhaps, a very slight muscular tenseness about the expressionless mask of the face.
"Major Brane," he said in excellent English, and then stopped to suck in a lungful of air. "I have been to your hotel. You were out. I came here. I saw you, and ran."
Major Brane bowed, and his bow was polite, yet uncordial. Major Brane did not like to have men run after him on the street. Much of his employment entailed very great dangers, and it was always advisable to keep his connections as secret as possible. Grant Avenue in the heart of San Francisco's Chinatown at the hour of eight forty-seven in the evening was hardly a proper place to discuss matters of business --- not when the business of the person accosted was that of interfering with the political situation in the far east.
"Well?" said Major Brane.
"You must come, sir!"
"Where?"
"To my grandfather."
"And who is your grandfather?"
"Wong Sing Lee."
The lad spoke in the Chinese manner, giving the surname first. Major Brane knew that the family of Wong was very powerful, and that Chinese venerate age, age being synonymous with wisdom. Therefore, the grandfather of the panting youth must be a man of great importance in the social life of Chinatown. Yet Major Brane could recall no prominent member of the Wong family whose given name was Sing Lee. Somehow, the entire name sounded manufactured for the occasion.
Major Brane turned these matters over in his mind rapidly.
"I am afraid I am not at liberty to accept," he said. "Will you convey my very great regrets to your estimable grandparent?"
THE lad's hand moved swiftly. His face remained utterly expressionless, but the black lacquer of the eyes assumed a reddish glint which would have spoken volumes to those who have studied the psychology of the Oriental.'
"You come," he said fiercely, his voice almost breaking, "or I kill."
Major Brane squared his shoulders, studied the face intently. "You might get away with it," he said in a dispassionate voice that was almost impersonal, "but you'd be caught before you'd gone twenty feet---and you'd be hung for it."
The boy's eyes still held their reddish glint. "Without the help which you alone can give," he said, "death is preferable to life!"
And it was only because major Brane knew his Chinese so well that he determined to accompany the boy when he heard that burst of impassioned speech. When your Chinese resolves upon murder, he is very, very cool; and very, very wily. Only when a matter of honor is concerned, only when there is a danger of "losing face," does he resolve upon a heedless sacrifice. But when such occasions arise he considers his own life but minor moment.
Major Brane nodded. "Remove your hand from the gun," he said. "There is a plainclothesman coming this way. I will go with you."
He reached out, clamped a friendly hand about the arm of the youth, taking hold of the muscles just above the elbow. If the plainclothes officer should accost them, Major Brane wanted to prevent the youth from doing anything rash. And as his fingers clamped about the arm, Major Brane felt the quivering of the flesh, that tremor which comes from taut nerves.
"Steady!" he warned.
There is a popular belief that the Chinese is unemotional. The fallacy of that belief is on a par with the hundreds of fallacies which bar an understanding of the Orient by the Occident. Major Brane realized just how dangerous the present situation was. If the officer should insist on searching the youth for a weapon ... But the officer was reassured by Major Brane's words.
"If it's real jade," said Major Brane in a loud tone of voice, regarding the bulge in the pocket of the youth's coat. I'll look at it, but I want a bargain."
THE officer veered off. The Chinese glittered his beady eyes at Major Brane and said nothing. A casual observer would have gathered that he was totally oblivious of the danger he had just escaped as well as the ruse by which he had been saved. But the reddish tinge left the surface of the eyes, and the boy took a deep breath.
M'goy!" he muttered mechanically, which is a Cantonese expression of thanks, and means "I am not worthy."
Major Brane made the prompt reply which etiquette demanded.
"Hoh wah!" he said, which in turn means "good talk!"
And the fact that most Westerners would have found the words amusing as well as entirely unrelated to expressions of thanks and welcome is but illustrative of the gulf between the races.
The young Chinese led the way down a side street. Major Brane fell in, slightly behind, walked unhesitatingly, his hands swinging free, making no covert effort to reach toward the shoulder holster which was slung beneath his left arm. He had given his word, and his word had been accepted.
They paused before a dark door which was the center one of a row of dark doors. Apparently these entrances were to separate buildings huddled closely together in the congestion of poverty; but when the door swung open, Major Brane found himself in a courtyard enclosed by a brick wall. The enclosure was spacious and airy. The other doors had been but dummies set in the brick wall, and were kept locked. Had one opened any one of those other doors, he would have encountered nothing but brick.
Major Brane gave no evidence of surprise. He had been in such places before. The Chinese of wealth always builds his house with a cunning simulation of external poverty. In the Orient one may look in vain for mansions, unless one has the entrée to private homes. The street entrances always give the impression of congestion and poverty, and the lines of architecture are carefully carried out so that no glimpse of the mansion itself is visible over the forbidding false front of what appears to be a squalid hovel.
"Quickly!" breathed the Chinese.
His feet pattered over flagstones, paused at an entrance, to the side of which was an altar and the Chinese characters which signify the presence of Toe Day, the god whose duty it is to frighten away the "homeless ghosts" and she would attach herself to family yet would permit full access to the spirits of departed ancestors.
A bell jangled. The door swung open. A huge Chinese servant stood in the doorway.
"The master awaits," he said.
The boy pushed his way into the house, through a reception room furnished in conventional dark wood furnishings, into an inner room, the doorway to which was a circle with a high ledge at the entrance, to keep away evil spirits.
A FEW blocks to the north of South Market Street in San Francisco, Grant Avenue ceases to be a street of fourth class stores and becomes part of Chinatown.
Major Copely Brane, freelance diplomat, soldier of fortune, knew every inch of this strange section. For
Major Brane knew his wife Chinese as most baseball fans know the strength and weakness of opposing teams.
Not that Major Brane had consciously confined his freelance diplomatic activities to matters pertaining to the Orient. His services were available to various and sundry. He had accepted employment from a patriotic German who wished to ascertain certain information about the French attitude toward reparations; and it was perhaps significant of the Major's absolute fairness, that the fee he had received from the German upon the successful completion of his task was exactly the amount which he had previously charged a French banker for obtaining confidential information from the file of a visiting ambassador as to the exact proposals which the German government was prepared to make as a final offer.
In short, Major Brane worked for various governments and various individuals. Those who had the price could engage his services. There was only one requirement: The task must be within the legitimate field of diplomatic activity. Major Brane was a clearing house of international and political information, and he took pride in doing his work well. Those who employed him could count upon his absolute loyalty upon all matters connected with the employment, could bank upon his subsequent silence; and best of all, they could rest assured that if Major Brane encountered any serious trouble in the discharge of his duties, he would never mention the name of his employer.
Of late, however, the Major's activities had been centered upon the situation in the Orient. This was due in part to the extreme rapidity with which that situation was changing from day to day; and in part to the fact that Major Brane prided himself upon his ability to deliver results. There is no one who appreciates results more, and explanations less, than the native of the Orient.
It was early evening, and the streets of San Francisco's Chinatown were giving forth their strange sounds - the shuffling feet of herded tourists, gazing open-mouthed at the strange life which seethed about them; the slippety-slop of Chinese shoes - skidded along the cement by feet that were lifted only a fraction of an inch; the pounding heels of plainclothes men who always worked in pairs when on Chinatown duty.
Major Brane's ears heard these sounds and interpreted them mechanically. Major Brane was particularly interested to notice the changing window displays of the Chinese stores. The embargo on Japanese products was slowly working a complete change in the merchandise handled by the curio stores, and Major Brane's eyes narrowed as he noticed the fact. Disputes over the murder of a subject can be settled by arbitration, but there can be but one answer to a blow that hits hard at a nation's business.
Major Brane let his mind dwell upon certain angles of the political situation which were unknown to the average man. Would the world powers close their eyes to developments in Manchuria, providing those same developments smashed the five year plan and...?
HIS ears, trained to constant watchfulness in the matter of unusual sounds, noticed the change in the tempo of the hurrying feet behind him. He knew that some man was going to accost him, even before he turned coldly appraising eyes upon the other.
The man was Chinese, probably Western born, since he wore his Occidental clothes with the air of one who finds in them nothing awkward; and he thudded his feet emphatically upon the sidewalk, slamming his heels hard home with every step.
He had been hurrying and the narrow chest was laboring. The eyes were glittering with some inner emotion of which there was no other external sign, save, perhaps, a very slight muscular tenseness about the expressionless mask of the face.
"Major Brane," he said in excellent English, and then stopped to suck in a lungful of air. "I have been to your hotel. You were out. I came here. I saw you, and ran."
Major Brane bowed, and his bow was polite, yet uncordial. Major Brane did not like to have men run after him on the street. Much of his employment entailed very great dangers, and it was always advisable to keep his connections as secret as possible. Grant Avenue in the heart of San Francisco's Chinatown at the hour of eight forty-seven in the evening was hardly a proper place to discuss matters of business --- not when the business of the person accosted was that of interfering with the political situation in the far east.
"Well?" said Major Brane.
"You must come, sir!"
"Where?"
"To my grandfather."
"And who is your grandfather?"
"Wong Sing Lee."
The lad spoke in the Chinese manner, giving the surname first. Major Brane knew that the family of Wong was very powerful, and that Chinese venerate age, age being synonymous with wisdom. Therefore, the grandfather of the panting youth must be a man of great importance in the social life of Chinatown. Yet Major Brane could recall no prominent member of the Wong family whose given name was Sing Lee. Somehow, the entire name sounded manufactured for the occasion.
Major Brane turned these matters over in his mind rapidly.
"I am afraid I am not at liberty to accept," he said. "Will you convey my very great regrets to your estimable grandparent?"
THE lad's hand moved swiftly. His face remained utterly expressionless, but the black lacquer of the eyes assumed a reddish glint which would have spoken volumes to those who have studied the psychology of the Oriental.'
"You come," he said fiercely, his voice almost breaking, "or I kill."
Major Brane squared his shoulders, studied the face intently. "You might get away with it," he said in a dispassionate voice that was almost impersonal, "but you'd be caught before you'd gone twenty feet---and you'd be hung for it."
The boy's eyes still held their reddish glint. "Without the help which you alone can give," he said, "death is preferable to life!"
And it was only because major Brane knew his Chinese so well that he determined to accompany the boy when he heard that burst of impassioned speech. When your Chinese resolves upon murder, he is very, very cool; and very, very wily. Only when a matter of honor is concerned, only when there is a danger of "losing face," does he resolve upon a heedless sacrifice. But when such occasions arise he considers his own life but minor moment.
Major Brane nodded. "Remove your hand from the gun," he said. "There is a plainclothesman coming this way. I will go with you."
He reached out, clamped a friendly hand about the arm of the youth, taking hold of the muscles just above the elbow. If the plainclothes officer should accost them, Major Brane wanted to prevent the youth from doing anything rash. And as his fingers clamped about the arm, Major Brane felt the quivering of the flesh, that tremor which comes from taut nerves.
"Steady!" he warned.
There is a popular belief that the Chinese is unemotional. The fallacy of that belief is on a par with the hundreds of fallacies which bar an understanding of the Orient by the Occident. Major Brane realized just how dangerous the present situation was. If the officer should insist on searching the youth for a weapon ... But the officer was reassured by Major Brane's words.
"If it's real jade," said Major Brane in a loud tone of voice, regarding the bulge in the pocket of the youth's coat. I'll look at it, but I want a bargain."
THE officer veered off. The Chinese glittered his beady eyes at Major Brane and said nothing. A casual observer would have gathered that he was totally oblivious of the danger he had just escaped as well as the ruse by which he had been saved. But the reddish tinge left the surface of the eyes, and the boy took a deep breath.
M'goy!" he muttered mechanically, which is a Cantonese expression of thanks, and means "I am not worthy."
Major Brane made the prompt reply which etiquette demanded.
"Hoh wah!" he said, which in turn means "good talk!"
And the fact that most Westerners would have found the words amusing as well as entirely unrelated to expressions of thanks and welcome is but illustrative of the gulf between the races.
The young Chinese led the way down a side street. Major Brane fell in, slightly behind, walked unhesitatingly, his hands swinging free, making no covert effort to reach toward the shoulder holster which was slung beneath his left arm. He had given his word, and his word had been accepted.
They paused before a dark door which was the center one of a row of dark doors. Apparently these entrances were to separate buildings huddled closely together in the congestion of poverty; but when the door swung open, Major Brane found himself in a courtyard enclosed by a brick wall. The enclosure was spacious and airy. The other doors had been but dummies set in the brick wall, and were kept locked. Had one opened any one of those other doors, he would have encountered nothing but brick.
Major Brane gave no evidence of surprise. He had been in such places before. The Chinese of wealth always builds his house with a cunning simulation of external poverty. In the Orient one may look in vain for mansions, unless one has the entrée to private homes. The street entrances always give the impression of congestion and poverty, and the lines of architecture are carefully carried out so that no glimpse of the mansion itself is visible over the forbidding false front of what appears to be a squalid hovel.
"Quickly!" breathed the Chinese.
His feet pattered over flagstones, paused at an entrance, to the side of which was an altar and the Chinese characters which signify the presence of Toe Day, the god whose duty it is to frighten away the "homeless ghosts" and she would attach herself to family yet would permit full access to the spirits of departed ancestors.
A bell jangled. The door swung open. A huge Chinese servant stood in the doorway.
"The master awaits," he said.
The boy pushed his way into the house, through a reception room furnished in conventional dark wood furnishings, into an inner room, the doorway to which was a circle with a high ledge at the entrance, to keep away evil spirits.
----
CHAPTER II
"IF SHE DIES, YOU DIE"
MAJOR BRANE knew at once that he was dealing with an old family who had retained all the conventions of ten thousand years; knew also that he would be kept with his back to the door if he were received as a prisoner, and given a seat across the room, facing the doorway if he were an honored guest.
His eyes, suddenly grown as hard as polished steel, surveyed the interior of the room. An old man sat on a low stool. A wisp of white beard straggled down from either side of his chin. His face was withered and wrinkled. Most of the hair was gone from the head. The nails of the little fingers were almost three inches long. The left hand waved toward a stool which was at the end of the room, facing the door.
"Cheng nay cho," he said to Major Brane , and the boy interpreted. "Please sit down," he said.
Major Brane heaved a sigh of relief as he sat down upon the rigidly uncomfortable chair which faced the doorway, the seat of honor. The servant brought him a cup of tea and a plate of dried melon seeds, which he set down upon a stand of teak wood inlaid with ivory and jade. Major Brane knew that, regardless of the urgency of the matter in hand, it would not be broached until he had partaken of the food and drink, so he sipped the scalding tea, took a melon seed between his teeth, cracked it and extracted the meat with a celerity which branded him at once as one who knew his way about. Chopsticks can be mastered in a few lessons, but not so with the technique of melon seeds.
The old man sucked upon a bamboo pipe , the bowl of which was of metal. It was packed with sook yen, the Chinese tobacco which will eat the membranes from an uneducated throat. He gurgled into speech.
There was no doubt in Major Brane's mind that the young boy would act as interpreter; and he guessed that the lad was quite familiar with the situation, and eager to express himself upon it. Yet such is the veneration for age that the boy kept his eyes upon the old man's face, listening intently, ready to interpret, not what he himself wanted to say, but what the head of the family should utter.
For some three minutes the old man spoke. Major Brane caught a word here and there, and, as his ears conveyed those words to his consciousness, Major Brane sat very rigidly attentive.
THE boy interpreted, when the grandfather had finished speaking; and his words held that absence of tone that comes to one who is repeating but the words of another. "Ji Kit King had been taken by bad people. She will be tortured until she speaks or until she dies, and she will not speak. You are to save her. You must work with speed. And your own life will be in danger."
Major Brane snapped questions. "Who are your enemies?"
"Enemies of China."
"Who are they?"
"We do not know."
"How long has the girl been missing?"
"Less than one hour."
"Why do they torture her?"
"To find out what she did with the evidence."
"What evidence?"
That question brought a period of silence. Then the boy turned to the old man and rattled forth a swift sentence of Cantonese. Major Brane understood enough of that question to know that the youth was asking the old man for permission to give Major Brane the real facts; but even as the old man pursed his puckered lips about the stained mouthpiece of the pipe, Major Brane sensed that the reply would be adverse.
In fact there was no reply at all. The old man smoked placidly, puffing out the oily tobacco smoke, his eyes glittering, fixed upon the distance.
The young man whirled back to Major Brane, lowered his voice.
"There is in this city, Mah Bak Heng, who comes from Canton."
Major Brane let his eyes show merely polite interest. He already knew much of Mah Bak Heng, and of his mission, but he kept that knowledge from showing in his eyes.
THE boy began to outline certain salient facts.
"Mah Bak Heng has power in Canton. Canton is in revolt against the government to the end that war may be declared upon Japan, over Manchuria. Until the Canton matter is fixed there can be no war. Canton has money and influence ...
Mah Bak Heng keeps peace from being made. He cables his men to yield to the Nanking government only upon terms that are impossible. Mah Bak Heng is a traitor. He is accepting pay from the enemies of China, to keep the revolution alive. If we could prove that, the people of Canton would no longer listen to the voice of the traitor.
"Ji Kit King is my sister. This man is the grandfather. We talked it over. Ji Kit King has studied in the business schools. She can write down the words of a man as fast as a man can speak, and then she can copy those words on a typewriter. She is very bright. She agreed that she would trap Mah Bak Heng into employing her as his secretary. Then, when the payment for his treason was delivered, she would get sufficient evidence to prove that payment and would come to us.
"We know she secured that evidence. She left the place of Mah Bak Heng. But on the way here two men spoke to her. She accompanied them to a cab. She has not been seen since. "
The boy ceased speaking, drew a quivering breath.
The old man puffed placidly upon the last dying embers of the oily tobacco, reached a stained thumb and forefinger into a time-glazed pouch of leather for a fresh portion.
Major Brane squinted his eyes slightly in thought. "Perhaps she went with friends."
"No. They were enemies.
"She has the evidence with her."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because just before I went to you, three men came hurriedly to her room and made a search.
Major Brane puckered his forehead in thought.
"That means?" he asked.
"That they captured her, searched her but could not find that which they sought, and then went into the room, thinking it was hidden there."
"And not finding it?" asked Major Brane.
"Not finding it they will torture Ji Kit King." The boy wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, gave a motion that was like a shudder. "They are very cruel," he said. "They can torture well. They remove the clothes, string the body by hands and feet, and build small fires in the middle of the back."
"The girl will not speak," said the boy.
"How can I save her? There is no time. Even now they will have started the torture," said Major Brane, and he strove to make his tone as kindly as possible.
THE boy gave vent to a little scream. His hand flashed out from his pocket. The last vestige of self control left him. He thrust a trembling revolver barrel into the middle of Major Brane's stomach.
"When she dies," he screamed, "you die! You can save her!---You alone. You have knowledge in such matters. If she dies, you die. I swear it on the memories of my ancestors.
Major Brane glanced sideways from the menace of the cocked revolver's quivering hand. He saw the old man was lighting a fresh bowl of tobacco and that the clawlike hand which held the flaming match was steady as a rock. The ebony eyes were still fixed upon distance. He had not so much as turned his head.
Major Brane realized several things. "I will do my best," he soothed and gently moved backwards, as though to get to his feet. The motion pushed the gun a little to one side. "If this girl is your sister," he said, "why is she a Ji, when your grandfather is a Wong?"
"She is not my sister. I love her. I am to marry her!---You must save her. Fast! Quick! Go and do something, and prepare to die if you do not. Here, you can have money, money in plenty!"
The old man, his eyes still fixed upon space, his head never turning, reached his left hand beneath the folds of his robe and tossed a leather bag toward Major Brane. The mouth of the bag was open, and the light glinted upon a great roll of currency.
"Where does the girl have her room?" asked Major Brane, making no move to reach for the money.
The boy was too nervous to speak. He seemed about to faint or to become hysterical. The shaking hand which held the revolver jiggled the weapon about in a half circle.
"Quick!" snapped Major Brane. "If I am to be of help I must know where she lives."
But the boy only writhed his lips.
It was the old man who answered. He remove the stained stem of the pipe from his mouth, and Brane was surprised to hear him speak in excellent English. "She has a room in Number Thirteen, Stockton Street," he said. "The room is maintained in her name."
Major Brane swung his eyes.
"I've seen you somewhere before ..." he said and would have said more. But as though some giant hand had snuffed out the lights, the room became suddenly dark, a pitch black darkness that was oppressive as a blanket. And the darkness gave forth the rustling sound of bodies, moving with surreptitious swiftness.
Major Brane flung himself to one side. His hand darted beneath the lapel of his coat, clutched the reassuring bulk of the automatic which reposed in the shoulder holster.
Then the lights came on as abruptly as they had extinguished. The room was exactly as it had been three or four seconds before, save that Major Brane was the only occupant. The chairs were there. The old man's pipe, the bowl still smoking and the oily tobacco sizzling against the side of the metal, was even propped against a small table.
But the old Chinese grandfather and the boy himself had disappeared.
A MAN came shuffling along the flagstones of the outer room. It was the same servant who had escorted Major Brane into the room.
"What do you want here?" he asked.
"I want to see the master," said Major Brane.
"Master not home. You go out now."
Major Brane holstered his weapon, smiling affably. "Very well."
The servant slip-slopped to the courtyard, unlocked the door.
"Good-bye," he said.
"Good-bye," observed Major Brane, and stepped into the street. The sounds of traffic from the main avenues came to him, muffled as though they were the sounds of another world.
Major Brane moved, and as he moved a patch of shadow across the street slipped into furtive motion. A stooped figure hugged the patch of darkness which extended along the front of the dark and silent buildings. Another figure walked casually out of a doorway of the building at the corner, stood in the light, looking up and down the lighted thoroughfare. It might have been waiting for a friend. A bulky figure, padded out with a quilted coat, hands thrust up the sleeves, came from a doorway to the rear and started walking directly toward Major Brane.
Major Brane sighed, turned and walked rapidly toward the lighted thoroughfare. The fact that the boy had been forced to accost him on the street made it doubly inconvenient.
Things which happen upon the streets of Chinatown seldom go unobserved.
Major Brane had no way of knowing who those shadowy figures might be; they might be friends of the people who had employed him, keeping a watch upon him lest he seek to escape the trust which had been thrust upon him. or they might be emissaries of the enemy, seeking to balk him in accomplishing anything of value.
But one thing was positive. Somewhere in the city a Chinese girl was held in restraint by enemies who were, in all probabilities, proceeding even now to slow torture that would either end in speech or death. And another thing was equally positive: unless Major Brane could effect the rescue of that girl he could count on no less than his life for forfeit. The young man had sworn upon the memory of his ancestors, and such oaths are not to be disregarded. Moreover, there had been the silent acquiescence of the old man.
"Grandfather!" sputtered Major Brane under his breath. "He's no more her grandfather than I am! I've seen him before somewhere, and I'll place him yet!"
But he knew better than to waste any mental energy in jogging a tardy recollection. Major Brane was having his hands full at the moment. He had a task before him which required rare skill, and the price of failure would be death.
HE reached back for his tobacco pouch, and his hand touched something which swung in a dangling circle from the skirt of his coat.He pulled the garment around. The thing was the leather pouch which the old man had tossed to him. It was filled with greenbacks of large denomination, rolled tightly together.
That bag must have been pinned to his coat by the old servant as he was leaving the courtyard. The knowledge gave Major Brane a feeling of security and uneasiness. That meant that at least one of his shadows must be in the employ of the old man who had posed as the girl's grandfather. That shadow would make certain that Major Brane found the sack of currency, that it did not come loose and roll unheeded into the gutter.
But there were three shadows. What were the other two? And there was the disquieting knowledge that even the friendly shadow would become hostile should Major Brane fail in his undertaking. The young man had promised that. But it should not outlive the girl, and the promise had been sworn by the sacred memory of the young man's ancestors.
So far, then, the enemies were deprived of the evidence which they had sought to take from the girl. The girl had hidden it in some place that was not on her person. ---Where?
Obviously, those enemies had thought the most likely place was the girl's bedroom. Rightly or wrongly, they had reasoned that the check was hidden there.
It was impossible now to find the girl within the time necessary to save her life; but the people who held her captive would torture her, not for the pleasure of torture, but for the purpose of securing that which they coveted---the check. Therefore, if they secured the check without torture, they would refrain from torture. That thought lodged in Major Brane's mind, and he immediately seized on it as being the key to the situation. His eyes stared unwinkingly, his brows deepened into straight lines of thought.
Then, after a few moments, he nodded his head. His eyes snapped to a focus upon the dial of the wrist watch. The time lacked thirteen seconds of the three-minute limit he had imposed upon himself.
MAJOR BRANE crossed to a desk in one corner of his room. That desk contained many curious odds and ends. They were articles which Major Brane had collected against future contingencies, and they dealt with many phases of the Orient. He selected a tinted oblong of paper. It was a check upon a bank that was known for its connections in the far east. The check was, of course, blank. He filled it in.
The name of the payee was Mah Bak Heng. The amount caused Major Brane some deliberation. He finally resolved upon the figure of fifty thousand dollars. He felt that in all probability that amount would be the top price for any final payment, and he knew Mah Bak Heng well enough to believe that he would command the top price for the final payment, assuming that there had been several previous payments. It was when it came to filling in the name of the payer at the bottom of the check that Major Brane pulled his master stroke. There was a slight smile twisting the corners of his lips as he made a very credible forgery of a signature. The signature was that of a man who was utterly unknown in the Oriental situation, saved by a very select few. But Major Brane had always made it his business to secure knowledge which was not available to the average diplomat.
He blotted the check, folded it once, straightened the fold and folded it again. Then he began to fold it into the smallest possible compass, taking care to iron down each fold with the handle of an ivory paper knife. When he had finished, the check was but a tight wad of paper, folded into an oblong.
Major Brane took the cellophane wrapping from a package of cigarette, carefully wrapping the spurious check in it, and thrusting the tiny package into his pocket. He left the room by the secret exit: through the connecting door into another room through another connecting door into a room that had a window that opened on a fire escape platform; out the window to the platform; along the platform to a door; through the door to a back staircase; down the stairs to an alley exit; out the alley to the side street.
He hailed a passing cab and gave the address of the building where Jee Kit King had her residence. As the cab swung into speed, Major Brane looked behind him.
There were two cars, following closely.
Major Brane sighed wearily. It was no surprise; merely what he had expected. He was dealing with men who were very, very capable. He didn't know whether he had shaken off one of the shadows, or whether one of the following cars held two men, the other holding one; but he was inclined to believe all three were following, two in one car, one in the other.
He made an abortive effort to shake off the pursuit. It was an effort that was purposely clumsy. The following cars dropped well to the rear, however, and switched off their lights.
A less experienced man than Major Brane would have believed that the ruse had been a success, and that the shadows were lost. Major Brane merely smiled and sent the cab rushing to the address where the girl had lived.
HE found her apartment without difficulty.
It was on a third floor. The lodgings were, for the most part, given over to people of limited means who were neat and cleanly but economical. The door of the girl's apartment was locked. Major Brane hesitated over that lock only long enough to get a key that would turn the bolt; and his collection of skeleton keys was sufficiently complete to cut that delay to a period of less than four seconds. He entered the apartment, leaving the door open behind him; not much, just a sufficient crack to ensure a surreptitious bolting from the other side without his knowledge.
When he had jerked out a few drawers and rumpled a few clothes, Major Brane picked up a jar of cold cream. A frown of annoyance crossed his features as he saw that there was only a small amount of cream in the jar.
But in the bathroom he found a fresh jar, unopened. He unscrewed the top, thrust the cellophane-wrapped deep down into the greasy mixture. He let it remain there for a few seconds, then fished it out again. In taking it out, he smeared a copious supply of cold cream over the edge of the jar and wiped his fingers on a convenient towel, leaving the excess cold cream smeared about the edge of the jar, a deep hole in the center of the cream.
Unwrapping the cellophane, he left it on the shelf over the washstand, a transparent oblong of paper smeared with cold cream; left it in such a shape that it was readily apparent it had served as a container for some small object.
Then Major Brane, pocketing the spurious check, wiped his hands carefully to remove all traces of the cream from his fingertips but was careful to leave a sufficient deposit under the edges of his fingers to be readily apparent.
At the doorway of the apartment he passed into the hallway, came to the stairs, took them upon cautious feet, and emerged upon the sidewalks.
HE motioned to his cab driver.
"Married?" he asked.
The man nodded.
"Children?" Another nod.
"Remember them, if anything happens," said Major Brane. "Your first duty is to them."
"I'll say it is," agreed the cab driver. "What's the racket?"
"Nothing," commented Major Brane crisply. "I simply wanted to impress that particular thought on your mind. Swing toward Chinatown and drive as fast as you can. Keep to the dark side streets."
"Whereabouts in Chinatown, Boss?"
"It doesn't matter. Just in that general direction."
"And drive fast."
"Take 'em on two wheels!"
"Get in," snapped the driver.
He slammed the door. The cab started with a jerk. The tires screamed on the first corner, but all four wheels remained on the pavement. The cabbie did better at the second corner. Then he nearly tipped over as he cut into a side street.
Major Brane gave no sign of nervousness. He was watching the road behind him and his eyes were cold and hard, frosty in their unwinking stare.
They were midway in the block when a car swung into the cross street. It was a low roadster, powerful, capable of great speed and swept down on the taxicab as a hawk swoops on a sparrow. There sounded a swift explosion that might have been a backfire. The taxicab swerved as a rear tire went out. Then it settled to the rim and the thunkety-thunk-thunk-thunk, marked the revolutions as the car skidded to the pavement and stopped.
The cab driver turned a white face to Major Brane, started to say something, then thrust his hands up as high as he could get them, the fingertips jammed into the top of the roof. For he was gazing directly into the business end of a large calibre automatic, held in the hands of one of the figures that has leaped from the roadster. The other figure was holding a machine gun pointed directly at Major Brane's stomach.
Major Brane snapped questions. "Who are your enemies?"
"Enemies of China."
"Who are they?"
"We do not know."
"How long has the girl been missing?"
"Less than one hour."
"Why do they torture her?"
"To find out what she did with the evidence."
"What evidence?"
That question brought a period of silence. Then the boy turned to the old man and rattled forth a swift sentence of Cantonese. Major Brane understood enough of that question to know that the youth was asking the old man for permission to give Major Brane the real facts; but even as the old man pursed his puckered lips about the stained mouthpiece of the pipe, Major Brane sensed that the reply would be adverse.
In fact there was no reply at all. The old man smoked placidly, puffing out the oily tobacco smoke, his eyes glittering, fixed upon the distance.
The young man whirled back to Major Brane, lowered his voice.
"There is in this city, Mah Bak Heng, who comes from Canton."
Major Brane let his eyes show merely polite interest. He already knew much of Mah Bak Heng, and of his mission, but he kept that knowledge from showing in his eyes.
THE boy began to outline certain salient facts.
"Mah Bak Heng has power in Canton. Canton is in revolt against the government to the end that war may be declared upon Japan, over Manchuria. Until the Canton matter is fixed there can be no war. Canton has money and influence ...
Mah Bak Heng keeps peace from being made. He cables his men to yield to the Nanking government only upon terms that are impossible. Mah Bak Heng is a traitor. He is accepting pay from the enemies of China, to keep the revolution alive. If we could prove that, the people of Canton would no longer listen to the voice of the traitor.
"Ji Kit King is my sister. This man is the grandfather. We talked it over. Ji Kit King has studied in the business schools. She can write down the words of a man as fast as a man can speak, and then she can copy those words on a typewriter. She is very bright. She agreed that she would trap Mah Bak Heng into employing her as his secretary. Then, when the payment for his treason was delivered, she would get sufficient evidence to prove that payment and would come to us.
"We know she secured that evidence. She left the place of Mah Bak Heng. But on the way here two men spoke to her. She accompanied them to a cab. She has not been seen since. "
The boy ceased speaking, drew a quivering breath.
The old man puffed placidly upon the last dying embers of the oily tobacco, reached a stained thumb and forefinger into a time-glazed pouch of leather for a fresh portion.
Major Brane squinted his eyes slightly in thought. "Perhaps she went with friends."
"No. They were enemies.
"She has the evidence with her."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because just before I went to you, three men came hurriedly to her room and made a search.
Major Brane puckered his forehead in thought.
"That means?" he asked.
"That they captured her, searched her but could not find that which they sought, and then went into the room, thinking it was hidden there."
"And not finding it?" asked Major Brane.
"Not finding it they will torture Ji Kit King." The boy wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, gave a motion that was like a shudder. "They are very cruel," he said. "They can torture well. They remove the clothes, string the body by hands and feet, and build small fires in the middle of the back."
"The girl will not speak," said the boy.
"How can I save her? There is no time. Even now they will have started the torture," said Major Brane, and he strove to make his tone as kindly as possible.
THE boy gave vent to a little scream. His hand flashed out from his pocket. The last vestige of self control left him. He thrust a trembling revolver barrel into the middle of Major Brane's stomach.
"When she dies," he screamed, "you die! You can save her!---You alone. You have knowledge in such matters. If she dies, you die. I swear it on the memories of my ancestors.
Major Brane glanced sideways from the menace of the cocked revolver's quivering hand. He saw the old man was lighting a fresh bowl of tobacco and that the clawlike hand which held the flaming match was steady as a rock. The ebony eyes were still fixed upon distance. He had not so much as turned his head.
Major Brane realized several things. "I will do my best," he soothed and gently moved backwards, as though to get to his feet. The motion pushed the gun a little to one side. "If this girl is your sister," he said, "why is she a Ji, when your grandfather is a Wong?"
"She is not my sister. I love her. I am to marry her!---You must save her. Fast! Quick! Go and do something, and prepare to die if you do not. Here, you can have money, money in plenty!"
The old man, his eyes still fixed upon space, his head never turning, reached his left hand beneath the folds of his robe and tossed a leather bag toward Major Brane. The mouth of the bag was open, and the light glinted upon a great roll of currency.
"Where does the girl have her room?" asked Major Brane, making no move to reach for the money.
The boy was too nervous to speak. He seemed about to faint or to become hysterical. The shaking hand which held the revolver jiggled the weapon about in a half circle.
"Quick!" snapped Major Brane. "If I am to be of help I must know where she lives."
But the boy only writhed his lips.
It was the old man who answered. He remove the stained stem of the pipe from his mouth, and Brane was surprised to hear him speak in excellent English. "She has a room in Number Thirteen, Stockton Street," he said. "The room is maintained in her name."
Major Brane swung his eyes.
"I've seen you somewhere before ..." he said and would have said more. But as though some giant hand had snuffed out the lights, the room became suddenly dark, a pitch black darkness that was oppressive as a blanket. And the darkness gave forth the rustling sound of bodies, moving with surreptitious swiftness.
Major Brane flung himself to one side. His hand darted beneath the lapel of his coat, clutched the reassuring bulk of the automatic which reposed in the shoulder holster.
Then the lights came on as abruptly as they had extinguished. The room was exactly as it had been three or four seconds before, save that Major Brane was the only occupant. The chairs were there. The old man's pipe, the bowl still smoking and the oily tobacco sizzling against the side of the metal, was even propped against a small table.
But the old Chinese grandfather and the boy himself had disappeared.
A MAN came shuffling along the flagstones of the outer room. It was the same servant who had escorted Major Brane into the room.
"What do you want here?" he asked.
"I want to see the master," said Major Brane.
"Master not home. You go out now."
Major Brane holstered his weapon, smiling affably. "Very well."
The servant slip-slopped to the courtyard, unlocked the door.
"Good-bye," he said.
"Good-bye," observed Major Brane, and stepped into the street. The sounds of traffic from the main avenues came to him, muffled as though they were the sounds of another world.
Major Brane moved, and as he moved a patch of shadow across the street slipped into furtive motion. A stooped figure hugged the patch of darkness which extended along the front of the dark and silent buildings. Another figure walked casually out of a doorway of the building at the corner, stood in the light, looking up and down the lighted thoroughfare. It might have been waiting for a friend. A bulky figure, padded out with a quilted coat, hands thrust up the sleeves, came from a doorway to the rear and started walking directly toward Major Brane.
Major Brane sighed, turned and walked rapidly toward the lighted thoroughfare. The fact that the boy had been forced to accost him on the street made it doubly inconvenient.
Things which happen upon the streets of Chinatown seldom go unobserved.
Major Brane had no way of knowing who those shadowy figures might be; they might be friends of the people who had employed him, keeping a watch upon him lest he seek to escape the trust which had been thrust upon him. or they might be emissaries of the enemy, seeking to balk him in accomplishing anything of value.
But one thing was positive. Somewhere in the city a Chinese girl was held in restraint by enemies who were, in all probabilities, proceeding even now to slow torture that would either end in speech or death. And another thing was equally positive: unless Major Brane could effect the rescue of that girl he could count on no less than his life for forfeit. The young man had sworn upon the memory of his ancestors, and such oaths are not to be disregarded. Moreover, there had been the silent acquiescence of the old man.
"Grandfather!" sputtered Major Brane under his breath. "He's no more her grandfather than I am! I've seen him before somewhere, and I'll place him yet!"
But he knew better than to waste any mental energy in jogging a tardy recollection. Major Brane was having his hands full at the moment. He had a task before him which required rare skill, and the price of failure would be death.
HE reached back for his tobacco pouch, and his hand touched something which swung in a dangling circle from the skirt of his coat.He pulled the garment around. The thing was the leather pouch which the old man had tossed to him. It was filled with greenbacks of large denomination, rolled tightly together.
That bag must have been pinned to his coat by the old servant as he was leaving the courtyard. The knowledge gave Major Brane a feeling of security and uneasiness. That meant that at least one of his shadows must be in the employ of the old man who had posed as the girl's grandfather. That shadow would make certain that Major Brane found the sack of currency, that it did not come loose and roll unheeded into the gutter.
But there were three shadows. What were the other two? And there was the disquieting knowledge that even the friendly shadow would become hostile should Major Brane fail in his undertaking. The young man had promised that. But it should not outlive the girl, and the promise had been sworn by the sacred memory of the young man's ancestors.
----
CHAPTER III
WRAPPED IN CELLOPHANE
MAJOR COPELEY BRANE walked directly to his room in the hotel, which was almost on the outskirts of Chinatown. That step was, at least, noncommittal, and Major Brane needed time to think. Also he had a secret method of exit from that room in the hotel.
He opened the door with his key, switched on the lights, bolted the door behind him and dropped into a chair. He held his arm at an angle so that his wrist watch ticked off the seconds before his eyes.
He knew that it was hopeless to plunge blindly into the case without a plan of campaign. And he knew that it would be fatal to consume too much time in thought. Therefore he allowed himself precisely three minutes of concentration---one hundred and eighty seconds within which to work out some plan which might save the life of the girl, and, incidentally, preserve his own safety.
He thought of Mah Bak Heng. Major Brane had some shrewd suspicions about Mah Bak Heng, but he had no proof.
Subsequent events would prove to Major Brane that the girl had been "taken for a ride". Undoubtedly she had been searched almost immediately; and the subsequent searching of the rooms would indicate that this search had been fruitless.He opened the door with his key, switched on the lights, bolted the door behind him and dropped into a chair. He held his arm at an angle so that his wrist watch ticked off the seconds before his eyes.
He knew that it was hopeless to plunge blindly into the case without a plan of campaign. And he knew that it would be fatal to consume too much time in thought. Therefore he allowed himself precisely three minutes of concentration---one hundred and eighty seconds within which to work out some plan which might save the life of the girl, and, incidentally, preserve his own safety.
He thought of Mah Bak Heng. Major Brane had some shrewd suspicions about Mah Bak Heng, but he had no proof.
So far, then, the enemies were deprived of the evidence which they had sought to take from the girl. The girl had hidden it in some place that was not on her person. ---Where?
Obviously, those enemies had thought the most likely place was the girl's bedroom. Rightly or wrongly, they had reasoned that the check was hidden there.
It was impossible now to find the girl within the time necessary to save her life; but the people who held her captive would torture her, not for the pleasure of torture, but for the purpose of securing that which they coveted---the check. Therefore, if they secured the check without torture, they would refrain from torture. That thought lodged in Major Brane's mind, and he immediately seized on it as being the key to the situation. His eyes stared unwinkingly, his brows deepened into straight lines of thought.
Then, after a few moments, he nodded his head. His eyes snapped to a focus upon the dial of the wrist watch. The time lacked thirteen seconds of the three-minute limit he had imposed upon himself.
MAJOR BRANE crossed to a desk in one corner of his room. That desk contained many curious odds and ends. They were articles which Major Brane had collected against future contingencies, and they dealt with many phases of the Orient. He selected a tinted oblong of paper. It was a check upon a bank that was known for its connections in the far east. The check was, of course, blank. He filled it in.
The name of the payee was Mah Bak Heng. The amount caused Major Brane some deliberation. He finally resolved upon the figure of fifty thousand dollars. He felt that in all probability that amount would be the top price for any final payment, and he knew Mah Bak Heng well enough to believe that he would command the top price for the final payment, assuming that there had been several previous payments. It was when it came to filling in the name of the payer at the bottom of the check that Major Brane pulled his master stroke. There was a slight smile twisting the corners of his lips as he made a very credible forgery of a signature. The signature was that of a man who was utterly unknown in the Oriental situation, saved by a very select few. But Major Brane had always made it his business to secure knowledge which was not available to the average diplomat.
He blotted the check, folded it once, straightened the fold and folded it again. Then he began to fold it into the smallest possible compass, taking care to iron down each fold with the handle of an ivory paper knife. When he had finished, the check was but a tight wad of paper, folded into an oblong.
Major Brane took the cellophane wrapping from a package of cigarette, carefully wrapping the spurious check in it, and thrusting the tiny package into his pocket. He left the room by the secret exit: through the connecting door into another room through another connecting door into a room that had a window that opened on a fire escape platform; out the window to the platform; along the platform to a door; through the door to a back staircase; down the stairs to an alley exit; out the alley to the side street.
He hailed a passing cab and gave the address of the building where Jee Kit King had her residence. As the cab swung into speed, Major Brane looked behind him.
There were two cars, following closely.
Major Brane sighed wearily. It was no surprise; merely what he had expected. He was dealing with men who were very, very capable. He didn't know whether he had shaken off one of the shadows, or whether one of the following cars held two men, the other holding one; but he was inclined to believe all three were following, two in one car, one in the other.
He made an abortive effort to shake off the pursuit. It was an effort that was purposely clumsy. The following cars dropped well to the rear, however, and switched off their lights.
A less experienced man than Major Brane would have believed that the ruse had been a success, and that the shadows were lost. Major Brane merely smiled and sent the cab rushing to the address where the girl had lived.
HE found her apartment without difficulty.
It was on a third floor. The lodgings were, for the most part, given over to people of limited means who were neat and cleanly but economical. The door of the girl's apartment was locked. Major Brane hesitated over that lock only long enough to get a key that would turn the bolt; and his collection of skeleton keys was sufficiently complete to cut that delay to a period of less than four seconds. He entered the apartment, leaving the door open behind him; not much, just a sufficient crack to ensure a surreptitious bolting from the other side without his knowledge.
When he had jerked out a few drawers and rumpled a few clothes, Major Brane picked up a jar of cold cream. A frown of annoyance crossed his features as he saw that there was only a small amount of cream in the jar.
But in the bathroom he found a fresh jar, unopened. He unscrewed the top, thrust the cellophane-wrapped deep down into the greasy mixture. He let it remain there for a few seconds, then fished it out again. In taking it out, he smeared a copious supply of cold cream over the edge of the jar and wiped his fingers on a convenient towel, leaving the excess cold cream smeared about the edge of the jar, a deep hole in the center of the cream.
Unwrapping the cellophane, he left it on the shelf over the washstand, a transparent oblong of paper smeared with cold cream; left it in such a shape that it was readily apparent it had served as a container for some small object.
Then Major Brane, pocketing the spurious check, wiped his hands carefully to remove all traces of the cream from his fingertips but was careful to leave a sufficient deposit under the edges of his fingers to be readily apparent.
At the doorway of the apartment he passed into the hallway, came to the stairs, took them upon cautious feet, and emerged upon the sidewalks.
HE motioned to his cab driver.
"Married?" he asked.
The man nodded.
"Children?" Another nod.
"Remember them, if anything happens," said Major Brane. "Your first duty is to them."
"I'll say it is," agreed the cab driver. "What's the racket?"
"Nothing," commented Major Brane crisply. "I simply wanted to impress that particular thought on your mind. Swing toward Chinatown and drive as fast as you can. Keep to the dark side streets."
"Whereabouts in Chinatown, Boss?"
"It doesn't matter. Just in that general direction."
"And drive fast."
"Take 'em on two wheels!"
"Get in," snapped the driver.
He slammed the door. The cab started with a jerk. The tires screamed on the first corner, but all four wheels remained on the pavement. The cabbie did better at the second corner. Then he nearly tipped over as he cut into a side street.
Major Brane gave no sign of nervousness. He was watching the road behind him and his eyes were cold and hard, frosty in their unwinking stare.
They were midway in the block when a car swung into the cross street. It was a low roadster, powerful, capable of great speed and swept down on the taxicab as a hawk swoops on a sparrow. There sounded a swift explosion that might have been a backfire. The taxicab swerved as a rear tire went out. Then it settled to the rim and the thunkety-thunk-thunk-thunk, marked the revolutions as the car skidded to the pavement and stopped.
The cab driver turned a white face to Major Brane, started to say something, then thrust his hands up as high as he could get them, the fingertips jammed into the top of the roof. For he was gazing directly into the business end of a large calibre automatic, held in the hands of one of the figures that has leaped from the roadster. The other figure was holding a machine gun pointed directly at Major Brane's stomach.
----
CHAPTER IV
A BIT OF AMMONIA
BOTH of the men were masked.
"Seem to have tire trouble," said one of the men. He spoke in the peculiar accents of a foreigner whose language is more staccato than musical.
Major Brane kept his hands in sight, but he did not elevate them. "Yes." he said.
The man with the sub machine gun grinned. The flashing teeth were plainly visible below the protection of the mask.
He spoke English with the easy familiarity of one who has spoken no other language since birth. "Better ride with us," he said. You seem to be in a hurry and it will take time to repair that tire."
"I prefer to wait," said Major Brane with a smile.
"We prefer to have you ride," said the man with the sub machine gun politely, and the muzzle wavered suggestively in a little arc that took in Major Brane's torso. "You might find it healthier to ride."
"Thanks," said Major Brane. "I'll ride, then."
The man in the roadster snapped a command. "Open the car door for him," he said.
The one who held the automatic stretched back his hand, worked the catch of the door.
"Okay,"said the man in the roadster.
Major Brane stumbled. As he stumbled, he threw forth his hand to catch his balance, and the other hand slipped the folded check from his pocket. He lowered his head, thrust the folded check in his mouth.
The man with the automatic jumped toward him. The man with the sub machine gun laughed sarcastically.
"No you don't," he said. "Get it!"
The last two words were cracked at the man who held the automatic. That man leaped forward. Stubby fingers that were evidently well acquainted with the human anatomy , pressed against nerve centers in Major Brane's neck. Brane writhed with pain and opened his jaw. The folded bit of tinted paper dropped to the pavement. The man swooped down upon it, picked it up with eager hands.
A police whistle trilled through the night.
"In!" crisped the man with the sub machine gun.
Major Brane felt arms about him, felt his automatic whisked from its holster. Then he was boosted into the roadster. The gears clashed. The car lurched into speed.
Behind him, Major Brane could hear the taxicab driver yelling for the police so loudly as to send echoes from the sides of the sombre buildings that lined the dark street.
The roadster's lights clicked on. The man who held the sub machine gun was driving. The other man was crowded close beside Major Brane, one arm around Major Brane's neck, the other jabbing the end of the automatic into Major Brane's ribs.
The man at the wheel knew the city and he knew his car. The machine kept almost entirely to dark streets and went swiftly. Within five minutes, it had turned to an alley on a steep hill, slid slowly downward, wheels rubbing against brake bands.
A garage door silently opened. The roadster went into the garage. The door closed. The roadster lights were switched off. A door opened from the side of the garage.
"Well?" said a voice.
"We got it. He found it---We grabbed him. He tried to swallow it but we got it."
"Where was it?" asked the voice from the darkness.
"In a jar of cold cream in her apartment."
The voice made no answer. For several seconds the weight of the dark silence oppressed them. Then the voice gave a crisp command.
"Bring him in."
The man who had driven the car took Major Brane's arm above the elbow. The other man, an arm still around Major Brane's neck, jammed the gun firmly against Major Brane's ribs.
"Okay, guy. No funny stuff," said the one who had held the machine gun.
Major Brane groped with his feet, found the floor. The guards were on either side of him, pushing him forward. A door opened, disclosing a glow of diffused light. A flight of stairs led upward.
"Up and at'em!" said the man on Major Brane's left.
They clumped up the stairs, maintaining their awkward formation of three abreast. There was a landing at the top, then a hallway. Major Brane was taken down the hallway into a room that was furnished with exquisite care, a room in which massive furniture dwardfed the high ceilings, the wide windows. These windows were covered with heavy drapes that had been tightly drawn.
MAJOR BRANE was pushed into a chair.
"Park yourself, guy."
Major Brane sank into the cushions. His hands were on the arms of the chair. The room was deserted, save for his two guards. The man whose voice had given the orders to the pair was nowhere in evidence.
"May I smoke?" asked Major Brane.
The masked guard grinned. "Brother," he said, "if there's any smoking to be done, I'll do it. You just sit pretty like you were having your picture taken, and don't make no sudden moves. I've got your gat; but they say you're full of tricks, and if I was to see any sudden moves, I'd have to cut you open to see whether you was stuffed with sawdust or tricks. You've got my curiosity aroused."
Major Brane said nothing.
The man who had taken the check walked purposely toward one of the draped exits, pushed aside the rich hangings and disappeared.
Major Brane eyed the mask figure who remained to guard him. The man grinned.
"Don't bother, he said, "You wouldn't know me even if it wasn't for the mask.
Major Brane lowered his voice, cautiously. "Are you in this thing for money?" he asked.
The man grinned.
"No, no, brother. You got me wrong. I'm in it for my health!" And he laughed gleefully.
Major Brane was earnest. "They've got the check. That's all they're concerned with. There'd be some money in it for you if you let me go."
The eyes glittered through the mask in scornful appraisal. "Think I'm a fool?"
Major Brane leaned forward very slightly. "They won't hurt me," he said. "And the check's gone already. But there are some other important papers that I don't want them to find. They simply can't find them---musn't." Those papers are worth a great deal to certain parties, and it would be most unfortunate if they should fall into the hands of these men who were interested in the check. If you would only accept those papers and deliver them to the proper parties, you could get enough money to make you independent for years to come."
The eyes back of the mask were no longer scornful. "Where are these papers?" asked the man.
"You promise to deliver them?"
"Yeah. Sure."
"In my cigarette case," said Major Brane. "Get them---quick!"
And he half raised his hands.
The mask figure came to him in two swift strides.
"No you don't! Keep your hands down. I'll get the cigarette case..---In your inside pocket, eh? All right, guy; try anything and you'll get bumped!" He held a heavy gun in his left hand, thrust an exploring right hand into Major Brane's inside coat pocket. He extracted the cigarette case, grinned at Major Brane, stepped back.
"I said I'd deliver'em. That was a promise. The only thing I didn't promise was who I'd deliver 'em to. I'll have to take a look at 'em first. I might be interested myself." And he gloatingly held the cigarette case up, pressed the catch.
The cigarette case had been designed by Major Brane against just such an emergency. The man pressed the catch. The halves flew open and a spring mechanism shot a stream of ammonia full into the man's eyes.
Major Brane was out of the chair with a flashing spurt of motion which was deadly and swift. His right hand crossed over in the sort of blow which is only given by the trained boxer. It was a perfectly timed blow, the powerful muscles of the body swinging into play as the fist pivoted over and around.
The man with the mask caught the blow on the button of the jaw. Major Brane listened for an instant seemed to have heard the man's fall. He walked swiftly to the doorway which led into the hall, then down the hall and down the steps to the garage. He opened the garage door, got in the roadster, turned on the ignition, stepped on the starter. The motor throbbed into life.
Major Brane backed the car, spun the wheel, started down the hill.
A light flashed on in the garage. A grotesque figure stumbled out through the door, silhouetted as a black blotch against the light of the garage. The man was waving his arms, shouting.
Major Brane spun the wheel, sent the car skidding around the corner. Behind him there sounded a single shot; and the bullet whined from the pavement. There were no more shots.
Major Brane stepped on the gas.
HE drove three blocks toward the south, headed toward Market Street. He saw a garage that was open, slowed the car, swung the wheel, rolled into the garage.
"Storage," he said.
"Day, week or moth?" asked the man in overalls and faded coat who slouched forward.
"Just for an hour or two; maybe all night."
The attendant grinned. "Four bits," he said.
Major Brane nodded, handed him a half a dollar, received an oblong of pasteboard with a number. He turned, walked out of the garage, paused at the curb and tore the oblong of numbered pasteboard into small bits. Then he started walking, directing his steps over the same route he had traveled in the roadster.
He heard the snarl of a racing motor, the peculiar screaming noise made by protesting tires when a corner is rounded too fast, and he stepped back into a doorway. A touring car shot past. There were three men in it; three grim figures who sat very erect and whose hands were concealed.
When the car had passed, Major Brane stepped out and resumed his rapid walk, back toward the house from which he had escaped.
He walked up the hill. The garage was dark now, but the door was still open.
Major Brane walked cautiously but kept up his speed. He slipped into the dark garage, waited, advanced, tried the door which opened to the flight of stairs. The door was locked now from the inside. Major Brane stooped, applied an eye to the keyhole. The key, he saw, was in the lock. He took out his skeleton keys, also a long, slender-bladed penknife. With the point of the knife blade he worked the end of the key around, up and down, up and down. Gradually, as he freed the key, the heavier end, containing the flange had a tendency to drop down. Major Brane manipulated this key until this tendency had ample opportunity to assert itself. Then he pushed with the point of the knife. The key slid out of the lock, thudded to the floor on the other side of the door.
Major Brane inserted a skeleton key, pressed up and around the key, felt the bolt snap back, and opened the door. The little entrance way with the flight of stairs was before him. Major Brane walked cautiously up those stairs. His eyes were slitted,
his body poised for swift action.
He gained the hallway at the top of the stairs, started down it cautiously. He could hear voices from one end of the corridor, voices that were raised in excited conversation. Major Brane avoided that room, but slipped into the room which adjoined it. That room was dark; and Major Brane, closing the door behind him, listened for a moment while he stood perfectly still, his every faculty concentrated.
He swooped toward the chair which lay on the floor, lifted it bodily, held it poised for a moment, and then flung it straight through the glass of the window.
The chair smashed a great jagged hole in the glass. There sounded the crash, the tinkle of falling glass fragments. Then the chair toppled outward and vanished into the night. There came a thud from the ground below.
Major Brane jumped for a closed door on one side of the room. He flung it open and found, not that it led to an adjoining room as he had hoped but into a closet. The closet was well filled with stacks of papers, papers that were arranged in bundles tied with tape.
Major Brane leaped inside, scrambled atop the bundles, pawed at the door trying to get it closed. He had but partially succeeded when he heard the door of the room burst open, and the sound of bodies catapulting into the room.
A police whistle trilled through the night.
"In!" crisped the man with the sub machine gun.
Major Brane felt arms about him, felt his automatic whisked from its holster. Then he was boosted into the roadster. The gears clashed. The car lurched into speed.
Behind him, Major Brane could hear the taxicab driver yelling for the police so loudly as to send echoes from the sides of the sombre buildings that lined the dark street.
The roadster's lights clicked on. The man who held the sub machine gun was driving. The other man was crowded close beside Major Brane, one arm around Major Brane's neck, the other jabbing the end of the automatic into Major Brane's ribs.
The man at the wheel knew the city and he knew his car. The machine kept almost entirely to dark streets and went swiftly. Within five minutes, it had turned to an alley on a steep hill, slid slowly downward, wheels rubbing against brake bands.
A garage door silently opened. The roadster went into the garage. The door closed. The roadster lights were switched off. A door opened from the side of the garage.
"Well?" said a voice.
"We got it. He found it---We grabbed him. He tried to swallow it but we got it."
"Where was it?" asked the voice from the darkness.
"In a jar of cold cream in her apartment."
The voice made no answer. For several seconds the weight of the dark silence oppressed them. Then the voice gave a crisp command.
"Bring him in."
The man who had driven the car took Major Brane's arm above the elbow. The other man, an arm still around Major Brane's neck, jammed the gun firmly against Major Brane's ribs.
"Okay, guy. No funny stuff," said the one who had held the machine gun.
Major Brane groped with his feet, found the floor. The guards were on either side of him, pushing him forward. A door opened, disclosing a glow of diffused light. A flight of stairs led upward.
"Up and at'em!" said the man on Major Brane's left.
They clumped up the stairs, maintaining their awkward formation of three abreast. There was a landing at the top, then a hallway. Major Brane was taken down the hallway into a room that was furnished with exquisite care, a room in which massive furniture dwardfed the high ceilings, the wide windows. These windows were covered with heavy drapes that had been tightly drawn.
MAJOR BRANE was pushed into a chair.
"Park yourself, guy."
Major Brane sank into the cushions. His hands were on the arms of the chair. The room was deserted, save for his two guards. The man whose voice had given the orders to the pair was nowhere in evidence.
"May I smoke?" asked Major Brane.
The masked guard grinned. "Brother," he said, "if there's any smoking to be done, I'll do it. You just sit pretty like you were having your picture taken, and don't make no sudden moves. I've got your gat; but they say you're full of tricks, and if I was to see any sudden moves, I'd have to cut you open to see whether you was stuffed with sawdust or tricks. You've got my curiosity aroused."
Major Brane said nothing.
The man who had taken the check walked purposely toward one of the draped exits, pushed aside the rich hangings and disappeared.
Major Brane eyed the mask figure who remained to guard him. The man grinned.
"Don't bother, he said, "You wouldn't know me even if it wasn't for the mask.
Major Brane lowered his voice, cautiously. "Are you in this thing for money?" he asked.
The man grinned.
"No, no, brother. You got me wrong. I'm in it for my health!" And he laughed gleefully.
Major Brane was earnest. "They've got the check. That's all they're concerned with. There'd be some money in it for you if you let me go."
The eyes glittered through the mask in scornful appraisal. "Think I'm a fool?"
Major Brane leaned forward very slightly. "They won't hurt me," he said. "And the check's gone already. But there are some other important papers that I don't want them to find. They simply can't find them---musn't." Those papers are worth a great deal to certain parties, and it would be most unfortunate if they should fall into the hands of these men who were interested in the check. If you would only accept those papers and deliver them to the proper parties, you could get enough money to make you independent for years to come."
The eyes back of the mask were no longer scornful. "Where are these papers?" asked the man.
"You promise to deliver them?"
"Yeah. Sure."
"In my cigarette case," said Major Brane. "Get them---quick!"
And he half raised his hands.
The mask figure came to him in two swift strides.
"No you don't! Keep your hands down. I'll get the cigarette case..---In your inside pocket, eh? All right, guy; try anything and you'll get bumped!" He held a heavy gun in his left hand, thrust an exploring right hand into Major Brane's inside coat pocket. He extracted the cigarette case, grinned at Major Brane, stepped back.
"I said I'd deliver'em. That was a promise. The only thing I didn't promise was who I'd deliver 'em to. I'll have to take a look at 'em first. I might be interested myself." And he gloatingly held the cigarette case up, pressed the catch.
The cigarette case had been designed by Major Brane against just such an emergency. The man pressed the catch. The halves flew open and a spring mechanism shot a stream of ammonia full into the man's eyes.
Major Brane was out of the chair with a flashing spurt of motion which was deadly and swift. His right hand crossed over in the sort of blow which is only given by the trained boxer. It was a perfectly timed blow, the powerful muscles of the body swinging into play as the fist pivoted over and around.
The man with the mask caught the blow on the button of the jaw. Major Brane listened for an instant seemed to have heard the man's fall. He walked swiftly to the doorway which led into the hall, then down the hall and down the steps to the garage. He opened the garage door, got in the roadster, turned on the ignition, stepped on the starter. The motor throbbed into life.
Major Brane backed the car, spun the wheel, started down the hill.
A light flashed on in the garage. A grotesque figure stumbled out through the door, silhouetted as a black blotch against the light of the garage. The man was waving his arms, shouting.
Major Brane spun the wheel, sent the car skidding around the corner. Behind him there sounded a single shot; and the bullet whined from the pavement. There were no more shots.
Major Brane stepped on the gas.
HE drove three blocks toward the south, headed toward Market Street. He saw a garage that was open, slowed the car, swung the wheel, rolled into the garage.
"Storage," he said.
"Day, week or moth?" asked the man in overalls and faded coat who slouched forward.
"Just for an hour or two; maybe all night."
The attendant grinned. "Four bits," he said.
Major Brane nodded, handed him a half a dollar, received an oblong of pasteboard with a number. He turned, walked out of the garage, paused at the curb and tore the oblong of numbered pasteboard into small bits. Then he started walking, directing his steps over the same route he had traveled in the roadster.
He heard the snarl of a racing motor, the peculiar screaming noise made by protesting tires when a corner is rounded too fast, and he stepped back into a doorway. A touring car shot past. There were three men in it; three grim figures who sat very erect and whose hands were concealed.
When the car had passed, Major Brane stepped out and resumed his rapid walk, back toward the house from which he had escaped.
He walked up the hill. The garage was dark now, but the door was still open.
Major Brane walked cautiously but kept up his speed. He slipped into the dark garage, waited, advanced, tried the door which opened to the flight of stairs. The door was locked now from the inside. Major Brane stooped, applied an eye to the keyhole. The key, he saw, was in the lock. He took out his skeleton keys, also a long, slender-bladed penknife. With the point of the knife blade he worked the end of the key around, up and down, up and down. Gradually, as he freed the key, the heavier end, containing the flange had a tendency to drop down. Major Brane manipulated this key until this tendency had ample opportunity to assert itself. Then he pushed with the point of the knife. The key slid out of the lock, thudded to the floor on the other side of the door.
Major Brane inserted a skeleton key, pressed up and around the key, felt the bolt snap back, and opened the door. The little entrance way with the flight of stairs was before him. Major Brane walked cautiously up those stairs. His eyes were slitted,
his body poised for swift action.
He gained the hallway at the top of the stairs, started down it cautiously. He could hear voices from one end of the corridor, voices that were raised in excited conversation. Major Brane avoided that room, but slipped into the room which adjoined it. That room was dark; and Major Brane, closing the door behind him, listened for a moment while he stood perfectly still, his every faculty concentrated.
----
CHAPTER V
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE
HE was standing so, when there sounded the click of a light switch and the room was flooded with light.
A rather tall man with a black beard and eyes that seemed the shade of dull silver was standing by a light switch, holding a huge automatic in a hand that was a mass of bony knuckles, of long fingers and black hair.
"Sit down, Major Brane," said the man.
Major Brane sighed, for the man was he whose name Major Brane had forged to the spurious check.
The man chuckled. "Do you know, Major, I rather expected you back. Clever, aren't you? But after one has dealt with you a few times he learns to anticipate your little schemes."
Major Brane said nothing. He stood rigidly motionless, taking great care not to move his hands. He knew this man, knew the ruthless cruelty of him, the shrewd resourcefulness of his mind, the deadly determination which actuated him.
"Do sit down, Major."
Major Brane crossed to a chair, sat down. The man with the beard let the tips of his white teeth glitter below the gloss of dark hairs which swept his upper lip in smooth regularity. The tip of the pointed beard quivered as the chin muscles twitched. "Yes," he said, "I expected you back."
Major Brane nodded. "I didn't know you were here," he observed. "Otherwise I would have been more cautious."
"Thanks for the compliment, Major. Incidentally, my associates here know me by the name of Brinkhoff. It would be most unfortunate if they should learn of my real identity, or of my connections."
"Unfortunately for you?" asked Major Brane meaningfully.
The teeth glittered again as the lips swept back in a mirthless and all but noiseless laugh.
"It is unfortunate for both of us Major. Slightly unfortunate for me, but doubly --terribly--unfortunate for you."
Major Brane nodded. "Very well, Mr. Brinkhoff," he said.
The dulled silver eyes regarded him speculatively, morosely. "Rather clever of you to prepare a forgery which you could use as a red herring to drag across the trail," he said. "That's what comes of trusting subordinates. As soon as they told me how clumsy you were in your attempt to thrust the check into your mouth and swallow it, I knew they had been duped. -- Fools! They were laughing over your clumsy attempt! Bah!"
MAJOR BRANE inclined his head. "Thank you, Brinkhoff." Ominous lights glinted back of the dulled silver of the eyes. "Well," rasped the man, after a moment, "what did you do with it?"
"The original?"
"Naturally."
Major Brane took a deep breath. "I placed it where you could never find it, of course."
The teeth shone again as the man grinned. "No you didn't, Major. You took advantage of your arrival here to conceal it some place in the room -- perhaps in the cushion of the chair. When you escaped, you went in a hurry to draw pursuit. You returned to get the check."
Major Brane shook his head. "No. The check isn't in the house. I placed it where it would be safe. I returned for the girl."
A frown divided the man's forehead.
"You hid it?"
Major Brane chose his words carefully. "I feel certain that it is safe from discovery," he said.
The man with the beard rasped out an oath, started toward Major Brane.
"Damn you,"he gritted, "I believe you're telling the truth! I told them you'd come back after the girl. That's why I had them carrying on a loud conversation in the next room. I thought you'd try to slip in here and listen, particularly if the room was dark."
Major Brane inclined his head. "Well reasoned," he said. His voice was as impersonally courteous as that of a tennis player who mutters a "well played" to his opponent.
For a long three seconds the two men locked eyes.
"There are ways," said the bearded man, ending that long period of menacing silence, "of making even the stoutest heart weaken, of making even the most stubborn tongue talk."
Major Brane shrugged his shoulders. "Naturally," he said. " I hope you are not so stupid as to think that I would overlook that fact, and not take steps to guard against it."
"Such as?"
"Such as seeing that the check was placed entirely out of my control before I returned."
"Thinking that would make you immune from -- persuasion?" asked the bearded man mockingly.
Major Brane nodded his head. "Thinking you would not waste time on torture when it could do you no good, and when your time is so short."
"Time so short, Major?"
"Yes, I rather think there will be many things for you to do, now that that check is to be made public. There will be complete new arrangements to make, and your time is short. The Nanking government and the Canton government will be forced to settle their differences as soon as the knowledge of that check becomes public property."
THE bearded man crushed his cigarette, bitterly, harshly. Major Brane sat perfectly immobile.
The bearded one raised his voice. "All right. Here he is. Come in."
The door of the room in which the loud conversation had taken place burst open. Four men came tumbling eagerly into the room. They were not masked. Major Brane knew none of them. They stared at him curiously.
The bearded man glowered at them. "He claims he ditched the original check in a safe place," he said. " He's clever enough to have done something that'll be hard to check up on. The check may be in the house. He may have left it in the room where he sat; or he may have picked it up when he came in the second time, and put it some place where we'd never think to look. He's that clever.
"Search him first, and then search the house. Then take up the trail of the car. He wouldn't have taken it far. He was back too soon...Still, he wouldn't have left it parked on the street. He'd known we'd spot it. He must have left it in the garage that's down..."
Major Brane interrupted, courteously. "Pardon me, it is in the garage. I left it there and tore up the ticket. I didn't know you were here, at the time, Brinkhoff, or I would have saved myself the trouble."
The bearded man gave a formal inclination of the head. "Thanks. Now, since we understand each other so thoroughly, and since you have shown such a disposition to cooperate, there's a possibility we can simplify matters still further. We can make a deal between us two. I'll trade you the girl for the check."
Major Brane smiled, the patronizing, chiding smile which a parent gives to a precocious child who is trying to obtain some unfair advantage. "No. The check will have to be eliminated from the discussion now."
"We'll get it eventually."
"I hardly think so."
"That which is going to happen to the girl is hardly a pleasant subject to discuss. You see, there are very major political issues involved. You, my dear Major, and I, have long since learned not to grow emotional over political matters. Unfortunately, some of my subordinates -- or perhaps I should refer to them as associates -- are still in the emotional stage. If they feel that major political issues have been shaped by the theft of a check, and that this girl is the guilty party..." He broke off with a suggestive shrug.
Major Brane sighed. The sigh seemed to be almost an incipient yawn. "As you, yourself, have so aptly remarked," he said indifferently, "we have learned not to grow emotional over political matters."
The bearded man sneered. "I thought you came here for the girl?"
"I did."
"You don't seem anxious to save her from an unpleasant experience."
Major Brane made a slight gesture with his shoulders. "I was employed to recover the check. I thought it might be a good plan to throw in a rescue of the girl for good measure."
THE bearded man suddenly lost his semblance of poise, his veneer of culture. He took a swift step forward, his beard bristling, the strong white fangs behind it contrasting with the jet black of the beard.
"Damn you! We'll get that check out of you. We'll fry you in hot grease, a bit at a time. We'll pull off the skin and stick burning cigars in the flash. We'll ..." He choked with the very vehemence of his rage.
This time Major Brane yawned outright. "Come, come!" he said. "I thought we had outgrown these childish displays of emotion! We are playing major politics, we two. If you have lost the check, you have lost the fight. Touring through vengeance won't help you any."
"It'll make you suffer! It'll eliminate you from any future interference. You've blocked too many of my plans before this!"
Major Brane nodded. It was as though he considered an impersonal problem. "Of course," he muttered politely, "if you look at it that way!"
The man turned his dulled silver eyes morosely upon the others, who had been standing at sullen attention. "Search him. Then the house. Then the streets."
The men came forward. They were thorough about the search and not at all gentle. Major Brane assisted them wherever he could. They pulled his pockets inside out, took away all of his personal belongings, searched his shoes, his coat lining, the lapels of his coat, under the collar.
Then they divided into two groups. One searched the house, the other group the street. The man with the beard remained with Major Brane, glowering at him, the nature of his thoughts indicated by the dark of his skin, the closed fists, the level brows.
Major Brane regarded him speculatively. "The girl is here?" he asked. His answer was a scornful, mocking laugh.
"I merely asked," said Major Brane, "because it is so greatly to your advantage to see that she doesn't come to harm. I telephoned, of course, to friends of hers before I returned to the house."
The bearded man gave a sudden start. Despite himself, he changed color. "Yes?" he asked. "And just what do you expect her friends to do?"
Major Brane pursued his lips. "Probably," he remarked, "they would not be so unwise as to storm the house; but they are well versed in certain matters of indirection. You might have some trouble in leaving the house."
The dulled silver eyes regarded him scornfully. "You lie!" said the man who went under the name of Brinkhoff. Major Brane made a gesture with the palms of his hads, a deprecating gesture, partially of apology.
"Sometimes," he said, "I despair of you, Brinkhoff. You have a certain shrewdness, yes. But you lack perspective, breadth of vision; and you are unspeakably common!"
THAT last remark was like the lash of a whip.
"Common!" yelled the infuriated man."I who have the blood of three thousands years of royalty in my veins! Common, you scum of the gutter! I'll draw the sight of this gun across your cursed face! Just a taste of what you can expect..."
He leaped forward, swinging his arm so that the sight of the gun made a sudden, sharp arc. But Major Brane's forehead wasn't there when the gun sight swished through the air. Major Brane had flung himself backwards in the chair; and as he went over, he watched the sweep of the arm, elevated his foot with every bit of strength he could muster. The foot caught the wrist of the enraged man, sent the gun swirling through the air in a lopsided flight. The chair crashed to the floor, Major Brane rolled clear.
Brinkhoff saw his danger and jumped back. His bony, capable hand went to the back of his coat collar, reaching for the hilt of a concealed knife.
He caught the knife, jerked it out and down. The lights glinted from the whirling steel. Major Brane flung his arms out in a football tackle. For a moment it seemed that the downward stroke of the knife would strike squarely between Major Brane's shoulders. But the Major was first to reach his goal, first by that split fraction of a watch tick which seems to be so long when men are fighting for life and death, yet is the smallest unit of measured time. (Ed.: I.e., the Chronum; Cf., the Planck Quantum)
The Major's weight crashed against the shins of the man with the dulled silver eyes. The impact threw him back. The stroke of the knife swung wild. The two men teetered, crashed. The man with the beard shouted, squirmed.
Outside the hallway pounded with running feet. There were other voices calling down from an upper floor.
Major Brane swung his fist. Brinkhoff's cries ceased. Instantly, Major Brane was on his feet, as lithely active as a cat.A rather tall man with a black beard and eyes that seemed the shade of dull silver was standing by a light switch, holding a huge automatic in a hand that was a mass of bony knuckles, of long fingers and black hair.
"Sit down, Major Brane," said the man.
Major Brane sighed, for the man was he whose name Major Brane had forged to the spurious check.
The man chuckled. "Do you know, Major, I rather expected you back. Clever, aren't you? But after one has dealt with you a few times he learns to anticipate your little schemes."
Major Brane said nothing. He stood rigidly motionless, taking great care not to move his hands. He knew this man, knew the ruthless cruelty of him, the shrewd resourcefulness of his mind, the deadly determination which actuated him.
"Do sit down, Major."
Major Brane crossed to a chair, sat down. The man with the beard let the tips of his white teeth glitter below the gloss of dark hairs which swept his upper lip in smooth regularity. The tip of the pointed beard quivered as the chin muscles twitched. "Yes," he said, "I expected you back."
Major Brane nodded. "I didn't know you were here," he observed. "Otherwise I would have been more cautious."
"Thanks for the compliment, Major. Incidentally, my associates here know me by the name of Brinkhoff. It would be most unfortunate if they should learn of my real identity, or of my connections."
"Unfortunately for you?" asked Major Brane meaningfully.
The teeth glittered again as the lips swept back in a mirthless and all but noiseless laugh.
"It is unfortunate for both of us Major. Slightly unfortunate for me, but doubly --terribly--unfortunate for you."
Major Brane nodded. "Very well, Mr. Brinkhoff," he said.
The dulled silver eyes regarded him speculatively, morosely. "Rather clever of you to prepare a forgery which you could use as a red herring to drag across the trail," he said. "That's what comes of trusting subordinates. As soon as they told me how clumsy you were in your attempt to thrust the check into your mouth and swallow it, I knew they had been duped. -- Fools! They were laughing over your clumsy attempt! Bah!"
MAJOR BRANE inclined his head. "Thank you, Brinkhoff." Ominous lights glinted back of the dulled silver of the eyes. "Well," rasped the man, after a moment, "what did you do with it?"
"The original?"
"Naturally."
Major Brane took a deep breath. "I placed it where you could never find it, of course."
The teeth shone again as the man grinned. "No you didn't, Major. You took advantage of your arrival here to conceal it some place in the room -- perhaps in the cushion of the chair. When you escaped, you went in a hurry to draw pursuit. You returned to get the check."
Major Brane shook his head. "No. The check isn't in the house. I placed it where it would be safe. I returned for the girl."
A frown divided the man's forehead.
"You hid it?"
Major Brane chose his words carefully. "I feel certain that it is safe from discovery," he said.
The man with the beard rasped out an oath, started toward Major Brane.
"Damn you,"he gritted, "I believe you're telling the truth! I told them you'd come back after the girl. That's why I had them carrying on a loud conversation in the next room. I thought you'd try to slip in here and listen, particularly if the room was dark."
Major Brane inclined his head. "Well reasoned," he said. His voice was as impersonally courteous as that of a tennis player who mutters a "well played" to his opponent.
For a long three seconds the two men locked eyes.
"There are ways," said the bearded man, ending that long period of menacing silence, "of making even the stoutest heart weaken, of making even the most stubborn tongue talk."
Major Brane shrugged his shoulders. "Naturally," he said. " I hope you are not so stupid as to think that I would overlook that fact, and not take steps to guard against it."
"Such as?"
"Such as seeing that the check was placed entirely out of my control before I returned."
"Thinking that would make you immune from -- persuasion?" asked the bearded man mockingly.
Major Brane nodded his head. "Thinking you would not waste time on torture when it could do you no good, and when your time is so short."
"Time so short, Major?"
"Yes, I rather think there will be many things for you to do, now that that check is to be made public. There will be complete new arrangements to make, and your time is short. The Nanking government and the Canton government will be forced to settle their differences as soon as the knowledge of that check becomes public property."
THE bearded man crushed his cigarette, bitterly, harshly. Major Brane sat perfectly immobile.
The bearded one raised his voice. "All right. Here he is. Come in."
The door of the room in which the loud conversation had taken place burst open. Four men came tumbling eagerly into the room. They were not masked. Major Brane knew none of them. They stared at him curiously.
The bearded man glowered at them. "He claims he ditched the original check in a safe place," he said. " He's clever enough to have done something that'll be hard to check up on. The check may be in the house. He may have left it in the room where he sat; or he may have picked it up when he came in the second time, and put it some place where we'd never think to look. He's that clever.
"Search him first, and then search the house. Then take up the trail of the car. He wouldn't have taken it far. He was back too soon...Still, he wouldn't have left it parked on the street. He'd known we'd spot it. He must have left it in the garage that's down..."
Major Brane interrupted, courteously. "Pardon me, it is in the garage. I left it there and tore up the ticket. I didn't know you were here, at the time, Brinkhoff, or I would have saved myself the trouble."
The bearded man gave a formal inclination of the head. "Thanks. Now, since we understand each other so thoroughly, and since you have shown such a disposition to cooperate, there's a possibility we can simplify matters still further. We can make a deal between us two. I'll trade you the girl for the check."
Major Brane smiled, the patronizing, chiding smile which a parent gives to a precocious child who is trying to obtain some unfair advantage. "No. The check will have to be eliminated from the discussion now."
"We'll get it eventually."
"I hardly think so."
"That which is going to happen to the girl is hardly a pleasant subject to discuss. You see, there are very major political issues involved. You, my dear Major, and I, have long since learned not to grow emotional over political matters. Unfortunately, some of my subordinates -- or perhaps I should refer to them as associates -- are still in the emotional stage. If they feel that major political issues have been shaped by the theft of a check, and that this girl is the guilty party..." He broke off with a suggestive shrug.
Major Brane sighed. The sigh seemed to be almost an incipient yawn. "As you, yourself, have so aptly remarked," he said indifferently, "we have learned not to grow emotional over political matters."
The bearded man sneered. "I thought you came here for the girl?"
"I did."
"You don't seem anxious to save her from an unpleasant experience."
Major Brane made a slight gesture with his shoulders. "I was employed to recover the check. I thought it might be a good plan to throw in a rescue of the girl for good measure."
THE bearded man suddenly lost his semblance of poise, his veneer of culture. He took a swift step forward, his beard bristling, the strong white fangs behind it contrasting with the jet black of the beard.
"Damn you! We'll get that check out of you. We'll fry you in hot grease, a bit at a time. We'll pull off the skin and stick burning cigars in the flash. We'll ..." He choked with the very vehemence of his rage.
This time Major Brane yawned outright. "Come, come!" he said. "I thought we had outgrown these childish displays of emotion! We are playing major politics, we two. If you have lost the check, you have lost the fight. Touring through vengeance won't help you any."
"It'll make you suffer! It'll eliminate you from any future interference. You've blocked too many of my plans before this!"
Major Brane nodded. It was as though he considered an impersonal problem. "Of course," he muttered politely, "if you look at it that way!"
The man turned his dulled silver eyes morosely upon the others, who had been standing at sullen attention. "Search him. Then the house. Then the streets."
The men came forward. They were thorough about the search and not at all gentle. Major Brane assisted them wherever he could. They pulled his pockets inside out, took away all of his personal belongings, searched his shoes, his coat lining, the lapels of his coat, under the collar.
Then they divided into two groups. One searched the house, the other group the street. The man with the beard remained with Major Brane, glowering at him, the nature of his thoughts indicated by the dark of his skin, the closed fists, the level brows.
Major Brane regarded him speculatively. "The girl is here?" he asked. His answer was a scornful, mocking laugh.
"I merely asked," said Major Brane, "because it is so greatly to your advantage to see that she doesn't come to harm. I telephoned, of course, to friends of hers before I returned to the house."
The bearded man gave a sudden start. Despite himself, he changed color. "Yes?" he asked. "And just what do you expect her friends to do?"
Major Brane pursued his lips. "Probably," he remarked, "they would not be so unwise as to storm the house; but they are well versed in certain matters of indirection. You might have some trouble in leaving the house."
The dulled silver eyes regarded him scornfully. "You lie!" said the man who went under the name of Brinkhoff. Major Brane made a gesture with the palms of his hads, a deprecating gesture, partially of apology.
"Sometimes," he said, "I despair of you, Brinkhoff. You have a certain shrewdness, yes. But you lack perspective, breadth of vision; and you are unspeakably common!"
THAT last remark was like the lash of a whip.
"Common!" yelled the infuriated man."I who have the blood of three thousands years of royalty in my veins! Common, you scum of the gutter! I'll draw the sight of this gun across your cursed face! Just a taste of what you can expect..."
He leaped forward, swinging his arm so that the sight of the gun made a sudden, sharp arc. But Major Brane's forehead wasn't there when the gun sight swished through the air. Major Brane had flung himself backwards in the chair; and as he went over, he watched the sweep of the arm, elevated his foot with every bit of strength he could muster. The foot caught the wrist of the enraged man, sent the gun swirling through the air in a lopsided flight. The chair crashed to the floor, Major Brane rolled clear.
Brinkhoff saw his danger and jumped back. His bony, capable hand went to the back of his coat collar, reaching for the hilt of a concealed knife.
He caught the knife, jerked it out and down. The lights glinted from the whirling steel. Major Brane flung his arms out in a football tackle. For a moment it seemed that the downward stroke of the knife would strike squarely between Major Brane's shoulders. But the Major was first to reach his goal, first by that split fraction of a watch tick which seems to be so long when men are fighting for life and death, yet is the smallest unit of measured time. (Ed.: I.e., the Chronum; Cf., the Planck Quantum)
The Major's weight crashed against the shins of the man with the dulled silver eyes. The impact threw him back. The stroke of the knife swung wild. The two men teetered, crashed. The man with the beard shouted, squirmed.
Outside the hallway pounded with running feet. There were other voices calling down from an upper floor.
He swooped toward the chair which lay on the floor, lifted it bodily, held it poised for a moment, and then flung it straight through the glass of the window.
The chair smashed a great jagged hole in the glass. There sounded the crash, the tinkle of falling glass fragments. Then the chair toppled outward and vanished into the night. There came a thud from the ground below.
Major Brane jumped for a closed door on one side of the room. He flung it open and found, not that it led to an adjoining room as he had hoped but into a closet. The closet was well filled with stacks of papers, papers that were arranged in bundles tied with tape.
Major Brane leaped inside, scrambled atop the bundles, pawed at the door trying to get it closed. He had but partially succeeded when he heard the door of the room burst open, and the sound of bodies catapulting into the room.
----
CHAPTER VI
ARSENAL
OF a sudden, the sounds ceased. That, reasoned Major Brane, perched precariously atop the slippery pile of documents, would be when the others entered the room and took in the situation, the unconscious form of Brinkhoff sprawled on the floor, the window with its great jagged hole.
"Gone!" a voice croaked, and added a curse.
"Jumped out of the window ..."
"Quick! After him.---No, no, not that way! Close the block! Signal the others! He's got fifty yards the start of us. Turn on the red lights. Hurry!"
Once more, feet pounded in haste. Major Brane could hear excited shouts, comments that were called back and forth.
A small section of the lighted floor of the room showed through the half-open door of the closet. Major Brane watched that section of floor for a full two seconds to see if there were any moving shadows crossing it. There were no shadows. The room seemed utterly silent.
Major Brane strove to step quietly from his perch, but a packet of documents tilted, slid. Major Brane flung himself back, lost his balance, put out his arms and crashed through the closet door into the room.
Brinkhoff lay sprawled on the floor. A man was bending over him and that man had evidently been in the act of going through Brinkhoff's pockets when Major Brane, catapulting from the closet, had frozen him into startled immobility.
He looked at Major Brane and Major Brane took advantage of his first moment of surprise. He rushed.
The man teetered back to his heels, jumped backward in time to escape the momentum of that first rush. Major Brane landed a glancing blow with his left. Then he caught himself, turned and lashed out with his right.
He realized then that the man with whom he had to deal was one who was trained in jujutsu. Too late he strained to beat down the other one's left. It caught his right wrist; a foot shot out, a hand darted down with bone-crushing violence.
Major Brane knew the method of attack well enough to know that there was but one possible defense. To resist would be to have his arm snapped. The hands of the other were in a position to exert a tremendous leverage against the victim's own weight. Major Brane therefore did the only thing that would save him. Even before the last ounce of pressure had been brought to play upon his arms, he flung himself in a whirling somersault, using the momentum of his rush to send him over and around.
He whirled through the air like a pinwheel, and crashed to the floor. But even while he was in midair, his brain trained to instant appreciation to all of the angles of any situation, remembered the gun which had been kicked from Brinkhoff's hand.
MAJOR BRANE whirled, even as the flashing shape of his opponent hurtled at him. His clawing hand groped for and found the automatic. The other pounced, and the automatic jabbed into his ribs.
"I shall pull the trigger," said Major Brane, his words muffled by the weight of the other, in exactly one and one-half seconds!"
The words had the desired effect. Major Brane had a reputation for doing exactly whatever he said he would do, and the figure that had been on top of him flung backwards, hands elevated.
Major Brane, still lying on the floor, thrust the gun forward so that it was plainly visible.
From the yard outside the window could be heard the low voices of men who were closing in on the spot where the chair had thudded to the ground.
"Don't move!" said Major Brane
The man who faced him, twisted back his lips in a silent snarl, then let his face become utterly expressionless.
Major Brane smiled at him. "I wonder," he said, "what you were searching for, my friend?"
The man made no sound.
"Back against the wall," said Major Brane
The man hesitated, then caught the steely glitter in Major Brane's eye. He backed slowly. Major Brane raised himself to his knees, then to his feet. His eyes were almost dreamy with concentration.
"You want something," mused Major Brane, "that Brinkhoff is supposed to have on him; but you don't want the rest of the gang to know that you want it. You'd yell if you were really one of them.---The answer is that you're hostile. Probably the others don't even know you're here."
The man, who stood against the wall, had been breathing heavily. Now, as Major Brane summed up the situation, he held himself rigidly motionless, even the rising and falling of his shoulders ceasing. It was as though he held his breath the better to check any possible betrayal of his thoughts through some involuntary start of surprise.
Major Brane moved toward the unconscious form of the man who went under the name of Brinkhoff. From outside came a series of cries; rage, surprise, disappointment, shouted instructions.---The attackers had found that they had been stalking only a chair that had been thrown from a window.
Major Brane remained as calmly cool as though he had ample time at his disposal.
"Therefore," he said, "the thing to do is to search until I find what you were looking for, and ..."
HIS prisoner could stand the strain no longer. Already the thud of running feet showed that the others were coming toward the house. The man blurted out in excellent English.
"It's in the wallet, in the inside pocket. It's nothing that concerns you. It relates to another matter. My government wants it. They'll kill me if they find it, and they'll kill you. Let me have the paper, and I'll show you the girl."
Major Brane smiled. "Fair enough," he said. No, don't move. Not yet!" His hands went to Brinkhoff's inside pocket, scooped out the leather folder, abstracted a document. The man against the wall was breathing heavily, as though he had been running. His hands were clenching and unclenching. A door banged somewhere in the house, feet sounded in the corridor. Brinkhoff stirred and groaned.
Major Brane paused to cast a swift eye over the documents which he had abstracted from the leather folder. He smiled, nodded.
"Okay," he said. "It's a go. Show me the girl."
"This way," said the man and ran toward a corner of the room. He opened a door, disclosed another closet, pressed a section of the wall. It opened upon a flight of stairs.
Major Brane followed, taking care to close the closet door after him. He could hear the sound of steps dashing down the corridor, the sound of confused voices shouting instructions.
The man led him down a winding staircase to a cellar stored with various and sundry munitions and supplies. The house was a veritable arsenal, on a small scale. He crossed the storeroom, opened another door; and Major Brane, half expecting that which he was to find, came to an abrupt pause and took a deep breath.
The Chinese girl sat in a chair. Her arms and legs were bound. The clothing had been ripped from her torso and there were evidences that her captors had been trying to make her talk. But she was staring ahead of her with a face absolutely void of expression, with eyes that glittered like lacquer. She was not gagged, for the room was virtually sound proof.
The girl surveyed them with eyes that remained glitteringly inexpressive, with a face that was like ivory, and she said nothing.
The man who had guided Major Brane to the room pulled a knife and slit the bonds.
"Devils!" said Major Brane. The man with the knife turned to him. "I have done my share. From now on, it is each man for himself. They have the entire block well guarded. I can't bother with the woman. Give me the paper."
Major Brane tossed him the wallet.
The man dashed from the room. "Each man for himself.---Remember!" he said as he left.
Major Brane nodded. He picked up a ragged remnant of the girl's clothing, flung it over her shoulder, looked around for a coat.
FROM the cellar he heard a voice calling.
"He is down here, with the girl!"
It was the voice of the man who had just guided Major Brane to the torture chamber. The Major nodded approvingly. The man had warned him; it was to be each man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.
Major Brane heard the men running, coming pell mell down the stairs which led to the room. And the block was surrounded, guarded. They were many, and they were ruthless. Here, in the heart of San Francisco, he had stumbled into a spy's nest, perhaps the headquarters for the lone wolves of diplomacy, the outlaws who ran a head which no government dared assume even a partial responsibility.
Major Brane stepped out into the cellar. He could see a pair of legs coming down the cellar stairs.
Major Brane observed a can of gasoline. The automatic he had captured barked twice. One shot splintered the stairs, just below the legs of the man who was descending, caused him to come to an abrupt halt. The other shot ripped through the can of gasoline.
The liquid poured out, ran along the cement floor of the cellar. Major Brane tossed a match, stepped back into the room which had been used as a torture chamber, and closed the door.
From the cellar came a loud poof! then a roaring, crackling sound.
Immediately, Major Brane dismissed the cellar from his thoughts and turned his attention to the room in which he found himself. The girl had arranged the clothing about her, had found a coat. She regarded him with glittering eyes and silent lips.
Major Brane pursed his lips. There seemed to be no opening from the room; yet he knew the type of mind with which he had to deal, and he sensed that there would be an opening.
The crackling sound was growing louder now. Major Brane could hear the frantic beat of panic-stricken feet on the floor above. Then there was an explosion, coming from the cellar. Those would be cartridges exploding.
Major Brane upset a chest of drawers to examine the wall behind it. He picked up a hammer and pounded the cement of the floor. He cocked a wary eye at the ceiling, studied it.
The girl watched him in silence.
The fire was seething flame now, crackling, roaring. The door of the room in which they found themselves began to warp under the heat.
Major Brane was as calm as though he had been solving a chess problem, over a cigarette and cordial. He moved a box. The box didn't tip as it should.
It pivoted instead. An oblong opening showed in the wall as the swinging box moved back a slab of what appeared to be solid concrete.
A fire siren was wailing in the distance. There were heavier explosions from the seat of the fire; then a terrific explosion that burst in the warped door. An inferno of red, roaring flame showed its hideous maw. Heat transformed the room into an oven. The red flames were bordered with a twisting vortex of black smoke.
Major Brane gave the inferno a casual glance, stood to one side to let the girl join him. She walked steadily to his side, and together, they walked along the passage, climbed a flight of stairs.
They came to what appeared to be a solid wall. Major Brane pushed against it. It was plaster and lath, and doubtless swung on a pivot. Major Brane had no time to locate the catch which controlled the opening; he lashed out with his foot, kicked a hole in the plaster. When he looked through the opening, he was peering into a room, furnished as a bedroom. It was deserted.
His second kick dislodged the spring mechanism which controlled the door.
The section of plastered wall swung around. Major Brane led the girl into the room, Brinkhoff's automatic ready at his side. They walked through the room to a passage.
An open door led to the night, revealed a glimpse of the street outside, which was already crowded with curious spectators, and showed firemen running with a hose. But Major Brane turned in the other direction.
"This way," he said. It will avoid explanations.
They ran down the corridor, toward a rear exit. Major Brane recognized the stairs which led to the garage. He piloted the girl toward him.
In the garage she paused, looked about her. There was a wooden jack handle lying on a bench. The girl stopped to pick it up.
Major Brane grinned at her. "You won't need it. They've all ducked for cover," he said.
The girl said nothing, which was as he had expected.
A fireman came running down the alley, motioning, calling instructions to the other men, who were dragging a hose. He glanced sharply at Major Brane and the girl.
Get outa here!" he yelled. " You're inside the fire lines. You'll get killed, sticking your nose into danger zones."
Major Brane bowed apologetically.
"Is this the danger zone?" he asked, wide-eyed in his innocence.
The fireman snorted.
"It sure is. Get out!"
Major Brane followed instructions. They came to the fire lines at the corner, turned into a dark building entrance. Major Brane peered out, whispered to the girl.
"We don't want to be seen coming out of this district. The thing to do is to wait until they run in that second hose, then slip along the shadows, and ..."
He sensed a surreptitious rustle behind him. He turned, startled, just in time to see the jack handle coming down. He tried to throw up his hand, and was too late. The jack handle crashed on his head. He fought to keep his senses. There were blinding lights before his eyes, a black nausea gripping him.
Something seemed to burst in his brain. He realized it was the jack handle making a second blow, and then he knew nothing further, save a vast engulfing wall of blackness that smothered him with a rushing embrace.
"Gone!" a voice croaked, and added a curse.
"Jumped out of the window ..."
"Quick! After him.---No, no, not that way! Close the block! Signal the others! He's got fifty yards the start of us. Turn on the red lights. Hurry!"
Once more, feet pounded in haste. Major Brane could hear excited shouts, comments that were called back and forth.
A small section of the lighted floor of the room showed through the half-open door of the closet. Major Brane watched that section of floor for a full two seconds to see if there were any moving shadows crossing it. There were no shadows. The room seemed utterly silent.
Major Brane strove to step quietly from his perch, but a packet of documents tilted, slid. Major Brane flung himself back, lost his balance, put out his arms and crashed through the closet door into the room.
Brinkhoff lay sprawled on the floor. A man was bending over him and that man had evidently been in the act of going through Brinkhoff's pockets when Major Brane, catapulting from the closet, had frozen him into startled immobility.
He looked at Major Brane and Major Brane took advantage of his first moment of surprise. He rushed.
The man teetered back to his heels, jumped backward in time to escape the momentum of that first rush. Major Brane landed a glancing blow with his left. Then he caught himself, turned and lashed out with his right.
He realized then that the man with whom he had to deal was one who was trained in jujutsu. Too late he strained to beat down the other one's left. It caught his right wrist; a foot shot out, a hand darted down with bone-crushing violence.
Major Brane knew the method of attack well enough to know that there was but one possible defense. To resist would be to have his arm snapped. The hands of the other were in a position to exert a tremendous leverage against the victim's own weight. Major Brane therefore did the only thing that would save him. Even before the last ounce of pressure had been brought to play upon his arms, he flung himself in a whirling somersault, using the momentum of his rush to send him over and around.
He whirled through the air like a pinwheel, and crashed to the floor. But even while he was in midair, his brain trained to instant appreciation to all of the angles of any situation, remembered the gun which had been kicked from Brinkhoff's hand.
MAJOR BRANE whirled, even as the flashing shape of his opponent hurtled at him. His clawing hand groped for and found the automatic. The other pounced, and the automatic jabbed into his ribs.
"I shall pull the trigger," said Major Brane, his words muffled by the weight of the other, in exactly one and one-half seconds!"
The words had the desired effect. Major Brane had a reputation for doing exactly whatever he said he would do, and the figure that had been on top of him flung backwards, hands elevated.
Major Brane, still lying on the floor, thrust the gun forward so that it was plainly visible.
From the yard outside the window could be heard the low voices of men who were closing in on the spot where the chair had thudded to the ground.
"Don't move!" said Major Brane
The man who faced him, twisted back his lips in a silent snarl, then let his face become utterly expressionless.
Major Brane smiled at him. "I wonder," he said, "what you were searching for, my friend?"
The man made no sound.
"Back against the wall," said Major Brane
The man hesitated, then caught the steely glitter in Major Brane's eye. He backed slowly. Major Brane raised himself to his knees, then to his feet. His eyes were almost dreamy with concentration.
"You want something," mused Major Brane, "that Brinkhoff is supposed to have on him; but you don't want the rest of the gang to know that you want it. You'd yell if you were really one of them.---The answer is that you're hostile. Probably the others don't even know you're here."
The man, who stood against the wall, had been breathing heavily. Now, as Major Brane summed up the situation, he held himself rigidly motionless, even the rising and falling of his shoulders ceasing. It was as though he held his breath the better to check any possible betrayal of his thoughts through some involuntary start of surprise.
Major Brane moved toward the unconscious form of the man who went under the name of Brinkhoff. From outside came a series of cries; rage, surprise, disappointment, shouted instructions.---The attackers had found that they had been stalking only a chair that had been thrown from a window.
Major Brane remained as calmly cool as though he had ample time at his disposal.
"Therefore," he said, "the thing to do is to search until I find what you were looking for, and ..."
HIS prisoner could stand the strain no longer. Already the thud of running feet showed that the others were coming toward the house. The man blurted out in excellent English.
"It's in the wallet, in the inside pocket. It's nothing that concerns you. It relates to another matter. My government wants it. They'll kill me if they find it, and they'll kill you. Let me have the paper, and I'll show you the girl."
Major Brane smiled. "Fair enough," he said. No, don't move. Not yet!" His hands went to Brinkhoff's inside pocket, scooped out the leather folder, abstracted a document. The man against the wall was breathing heavily, as though he had been running. His hands were clenching and unclenching. A door banged somewhere in the house, feet sounded in the corridor. Brinkhoff stirred and groaned.
Major Brane paused to cast a swift eye over the documents which he had abstracted from the leather folder. He smiled, nodded.
"Okay," he said. "It's a go. Show me the girl."
"This way," said the man and ran toward a corner of the room. He opened a door, disclosed another closet, pressed a section of the wall. It opened upon a flight of stairs.
Major Brane followed, taking care to close the closet door after him. He could hear the sound of steps dashing down the corridor, the sound of confused voices shouting instructions.
The man led him down a winding staircase to a cellar stored with various and sundry munitions and supplies. The house was a veritable arsenal, on a small scale. He crossed the storeroom, opened another door; and Major Brane, half expecting that which he was to find, came to an abrupt pause and took a deep breath.
The Chinese girl sat in a chair. Her arms and legs were bound. The clothing had been ripped from her torso and there were evidences that her captors had been trying to make her talk. But she was staring ahead of her with a face absolutely void of expression, with eyes that glittered like lacquer. She was not gagged, for the room was virtually sound proof.
The girl surveyed them with eyes that remained glitteringly inexpressive, with a face that was like ivory, and she said nothing.
The man who had guided Major Brane to the room pulled a knife and slit the bonds.
"Devils!" said Major Brane. The man with the knife turned to him. "I have done my share. From now on, it is each man for himself. They have the entire block well guarded. I can't bother with the woman. Give me the paper."
Major Brane tossed him the wallet.
The man dashed from the room. "Each man for himself.---Remember!" he said as he left.
Major Brane nodded. He picked up a ragged remnant of the girl's clothing, flung it over her shoulder, looked around for a coat.
FROM the cellar he heard a voice calling.
"He is down here, with the girl!"
It was the voice of the man who had just guided Major Brane to the torture chamber. The Major nodded approvingly. The man had warned him; it was to be each man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.
Major Brane heard the men running, coming pell mell down the stairs which led to the room. And the block was surrounded, guarded. They were many, and they were ruthless. Here, in the heart of San Francisco, he had stumbled into a spy's nest, perhaps the headquarters for the lone wolves of diplomacy, the outlaws who ran a head which no government dared assume even a partial responsibility.
Major Brane stepped out into the cellar. He could see a pair of legs coming down the cellar stairs.
Major Brane observed a can of gasoline. The automatic he had captured barked twice. One shot splintered the stairs, just below the legs of the man who was descending, caused him to come to an abrupt halt. The other shot ripped through the can of gasoline.
The liquid poured out, ran along the cement floor of the cellar. Major Brane tossed a match, stepped back into the room which had been used as a torture chamber, and closed the door.
From the cellar came a loud poof! then a roaring, crackling sound.
Immediately, Major Brane dismissed the cellar from his thoughts and turned his attention to the room in which he found himself. The girl had arranged the clothing about her, had found a coat. She regarded him with glittering eyes and silent lips.
Major Brane pursed his lips. There seemed to be no opening from the room; yet he knew the type of mind with which he had to deal, and he sensed that there would be an opening.
The crackling sound was growing louder now. Major Brane could hear the frantic beat of panic-stricken feet on the floor above. Then there was an explosion, coming from the cellar. Those would be cartridges exploding.
Major Brane upset a chest of drawers to examine the wall behind it. He picked up a hammer and pounded the cement of the floor. He cocked a wary eye at the ceiling, studied it.
The girl watched him in silence.
The fire was seething flame now, crackling, roaring. The door of the room in which they found themselves began to warp under the heat.
Major Brane was as calm as though he had been solving a chess problem, over a cigarette and cordial. He moved a box. The box didn't tip as it should.
It pivoted instead. An oblong opening showed in the wall as the swinging box moved back a slab of what appeared to be solid concrete.
A fire siren was wailing in the distance. There were heavier explosions from the seat of the fire; then a terrific explosion that burst in the warped door. An inferno of red, roaring flame showed its hideous maw. Heat transformed the room into an oven. The red flames were bordered with a twisting vortex of black smoke.
Major Brane gave the inferno a casual glance, stood to one side to let the girl join him. She walked steadily to his side, and together, they walked along the passage, climbed a flight of stairs.
They came to what appeared to be a solid wall. Major Brane pushed against it. It was plaster and lath, and doubtless swung on a pivot. Major Brane had no time to locate the catch which controlled the opening; he lashed out with his foot, kicked a hole in the plaster. When he looked through the opening, he was peering into a room, furnished as a bedroom. It was deserted.
His second kick dislodged the spring mechanism which controlled the door.
The section of plastered wall swung around. Major Brane led the girl into the room, Brinkhoff's automatic ready at his side. They walked through the room to a passage.
An open door led to the night, revealed a glimpse of the street outside, which was already crowded with curious spectators, and showed firemen running with a hose. But Major Brane turned in the other direction.
"This way," he said. It will avoid explanations.
They ran down the corridor, toward a rear exit. Major Brane recognized the stairs which led to the garage. He piloted the girl toward him.
In the garage she paused, looked about her. There was a wooden jack handle lying on a bench. The girl stopped to pick it up.
Major Brane grinned at her. "You won't need it. They've all ducked for cover," he said.
The girl said nothing, which was as he had expected.
A fireman came running down the alley, motioning, calling instructions to the other men, who were dragging a hose. He glanced sharply at Major Brane and the girl.
Get outa here!" he yelled. " You're inside the fire lines. You'll get killed, sticking your nose into danger zones."
Major Brane bowed apologetically.
"Is this the danger zone?" he asked, wide-eyed in his innocence.
The fireman snorted.
"It sure is. Get out!"
Major Brane followed instructions. They came to the fire lines at the corner, turned into a dark building entrance. Major Brane peered out, whispered to the girl.
"We don't want to be seen coming out of this district. The thing to do is to wait until they run in that second hose, then slip along the shadows, and ..."
He sensed a surreptitious rustle behind him. He turned, startled, just in time to see the jack handle coming down. He tried to throw up his hand, and was too late. The jack handle crashed on his head. He fought to keep his senses. There were blinding lights before his eyes, a black nausea gripping him.
Something seemed to burst in his brain. He realized it was the jack handle making a second blow, and then he knew nothing further, save a vast engulfing wall of blackness that smothered him with a rushing embrace.
----
CHAPTER VII
LONE WOLF
WHEN next he knew anything, it was a series of joltings and swayings interspersed with demoniacal screams. The screams grew and receded at regular intervals, split the tortured head of Major Brane at regular intervals as though they had been edged with the teeth of a saw.
Then he identified them. They were the wails of a siren, and he was riding in an ambulance.
A bell clanged. The screams died away. The ambulance stopped, backed. The door opened. Hands slid out the stretcher. Major Brane groaned, tried to sit up, was gripped with faintness and nausea. He became unconscious again.
The next thing he knew there was a bright light in his eyes, and something soothing on his head. He felt soft hands patting about in the finishing touches of a dressing.
He opened his eyes. A nurse regarded him without pity, without scorn, merely as a receiving hospital nurse regards any minor case.
"You got past the fire line and into the danger zone," she said. "Something fell on your head."
Major Brane had the presence of mind enough to heave a sigh of relief that the Chinese girl had taken his automatic with her. To have had that in his possession when he was found would have necessitated explanation.
"A Chinese girl told them about seeing you run past the line, when something fell on a building," said the nurse. "Her name's on record if you want a witness for anything."
Major Brane grinned. "Not at all necessary," he said. "I was simply careless, that's all."
"I'll say you were," said the nurse, helping him sit upright. "Feel better?"
MAJOR BRANE slid his feet over the edge of the surgical table.
"I think I can make it all right," he said.
She helped him to a chair, gave him a stimulant. Fifteen minutes later he was able to call a cab and leave the hospital. He went at once to his hotel.
He brushed past the clerk, who stared at his bandaged head curiously; he took the elevator, went to his own room. He fitted a key, opened the door. The smell of Chinese tobacco assailed his nostrils.
"Do not turn on the light," said a voice, and Major Brane recognized it as that of the old Chinese sage who had started him upon his mission.
Major Brane hesitated, sighed, walked into the room and closed the door.
"I came to give my apologies," said the old man, a huddled figure of dark mystery in the darkened room, illuminated only by such light as came through the transom over the door.
"Don't mention it," said Major Brane. "I was careless."
"But," said the sage, "I want you to understand..."
"I understood," he said. "as soon as I saw the jack handle coming down on my head. The girl had the check hidden, and she wanted to get it right away. She couldn't be certain that my rescue wan't a ruse on the part of her enemies. I didn't have anything to identify me as coming from her friends. Therefore, it was possible that her enemies, seeing that torture would do no good, had staged a fake rescue, hoping to trap her into taking her supposed rescuer to the place where the check was hidden. I should have anticipated such a thought on her part."
The old man got to his feet. Major Brane could hear him sigh. "It is satisfying to deal with one who has understanding," he said.
Major Brane saw him move to the door, open it, saw the hunched figure silhouetted against the oblong of light from the corridor.
"She had dropped the check in the waste basket by the side of her desk when she knew her theft was discovered," said the old man, and closed the door.
Major Brane sat in the darkness for some seconds before he tuned on the light. When he did so he saw two articles on the table near which the old man had sat. One was a white jade figure of the Goddess of Mercy, a figure that was carved with infinite cunning and patience, a figure that thrilled the collector's heart of Major Brane. Instantly he knew that it was something that was almost priceless. The second object was a purse, crammed with bills of large denomination.
Major Brane inspected the jade figure with appreciative eyes, touched it with fingertips that were almost reverent for a full ten minutes before he even thought to count the currency in the purse. The amount was ample.
Then Major Brane undressed, crawled into bed. He got up an hour later, took ten grains of aspirin, and drifted off to sleep. He awoke in the morning, jumped from bed and pulled the morning paper out from under the door.
Headlines announced that representatives of the Cantonese government had consented to consult with Chiang Kai-shek at the international port of Shanghai, the object being to patch up their internal difficulties so that China could present an unbroken front to her external enemies.
Major Brane sighed. It had been a hard night's work, but the results had been speedy.
On his way to breakfast, he encountered the night operator.
"There was an old Chinaman who called on me last night," he said.
"What time did he come in?"
The operator stared at him with wide eyes. " There wasn't any Chinaman came in while I was on duty," he said.
Major Brane nodded. "Perhaps", he said, " I was mistaken".
When he came to think of it, the Chinese sage would never have left a back track which could be traced to Major Brane. Doubtless the events of the preceding night had been such that no man and no government wished to be officially identified either with their success or failure.
Major Brane was a lone wolf, prowling through a diplomatic danger zone; but he would not have others know it.
Then he identified them. They were the wails of a siren, and he was riding in an ambulance.
A bell clanged. The screams died away. The ambulance stopped, backed. The door opened. Hands slid out the stretcher. Major Brane groaned, tried to sit up, was gripped with faintness and nausea. He became unconscious again.
The next thing he knew there was a bright light in his eyes, and something soothing on his head. He felt soft hands patting about in the finishing touches of a dressing.
He opened his eyes. A nurse regarded him without pity, without scorn, merely as a receiving hospital nurse regards any minor case.
"You got past the fire line and into the danger zone," she said. "Something fell on your head."
Major Brane had the presence of mind enough to heave a sigh of relief that the Chinese girl had taken his automatic with her. To have had that in his possession when he was found would have necessitated explanation.
"A Chinese girl told them about seeing you run past the line, when something fell on a building," said the nurse. "Her name's on record if you want a witness for anything."
Major Brane grinned. "Not at all necessary," he said. "I was simply careless, that's all."
"I'll say you were," said the nurse, helping him sit upright. "Feel better?"
MAJOR BRANE slid his feet over the edge of the surgical table.
"I think I can make it all right," he said.
She helped him to a chair, gave him a stimulant. Fifteen minutes later he was able to call a cab and leave the hospital. He went at once to his hotel.
He brushed past the clerk, who stared at his bandaged head curiously; he took the elevator, went to his own room. He fitted a key, opened the door. The smell of Chinese tobacco assailed his nostrils.
"Do not turn on the light," said a voice, and Major Brane recognized it as that of the old Chinese sage who had started him upon his mission.
Major Brane hesitated, sighed, walked into the room and closed the door.
"I came to give my apologies," said the old man, a huddled figure of dark mystery in the darkened room, illuminated only by such light as came through the transom over the door.
"Don't mention it," said Major Brane. "I was careless."
"But," said the sage, "I want you to understand..."
"I understood," he said. "as soon as I saw the jack handle coming down on my head. The girl had the check hidden, and she wanted to get it right away. She couldn't be certain that my rescue wan't a ruse on the part of her enemies. I didn't have anything to identify me as coming from her friends. Therefore, it was possible that her enemies, seeing that torture would do no good, had staged a fake rescue, hoping to trap her into taking her supposed rescuer to the place where the check was hidden. I should have anticipated such a thought on her part."
The old man got to his feet. Major Brane could hear him sigh. "It is satisfying to deal with one who has understanding," he said.
Major Brane saw him move to the door, open it, saw the hunched figure silhouetted against the oblong of light from the corridor.
"She had dropped the check in the waste basket by the side of her desk when she knew her theft was discovered," said the old man, and closed the door.
Major Brane sat in the darkness for some seconds before he tuned on the light. When he did so he saw two articles on the table near which the old man had sat. One was a white jade figure of the Goddess of Mercy, a figure that was carved with infinite cunning and patience, a figure that thrilled the collector's heart of Major Brane. Instantly he knew that it was something that was almost priceless. The second object was a purse, crammed with bills of large denomination.
Major Brane inspected the jade figure with appreciative eyes, touched it with fingertips that were almost reverent for a full ten minutes before he even thought to count the currency in the purse. The amount was ample.
Then Major Brane undressed, crawled into bed. He got up an hour later, took ten grains of aspirin, and drifted off to sleep. He awoke in the morning, jumped from bed and pulled the morning paper out from under the door.
Headlines announced that representatives of the Cantonese government had consented to consult with Chiang Kai-shek at the international port of Shanghai, the object being to patch up their internal difficulties so that China could present an unbroken front to her external enemies.
Major Brane sighed. It had been a hard night's work, but the results had been speedy.
On his way to breakfast, he encountered the night operator.
"There was an old Chinaman who called on me last night," he said.
"What time did he come in?"
The operator stared at him with wide eyes. " There wasn't any Chinaman came in while I was on duty," he said.
Major Brane nodded. "Perhaps", he said, " I was mistaken".
When he came to think of it, the Chinese sage would never have left a back track which could be traced to Major Brane. Doubtless the events of the preceding night had been such that no man and no government wished to be officially identified either with their success or failure.
Major Brane was a lone wolf, prowling through a diplomatic danger zone; but he would not have others know it.
THE END
NEXT MAJOR BRANE
STRANGLE HOLDS
Major Copely Brane Knew the dark corners of Shanghai streets like a book ---
and being a free lance diplomat in a warlike world, he had
desperate need of reading their hidden meanings
CHAPTER I
"Can Do!"
NEXT MAJOR BRANE
STRANGLE HOLDS
Major Copely Brane Knew the dark corners of Shanghai streets like a book ---
and being a free lance diplomat in a warlike world, he had
desperate need of reading their hidden meanings
CHAPTER I
"Can Do!"
MAJOR COPELY BRANE. free lance diplomat, stood on the deck of the great ship and surveyed the lights of Shanghai. The hour was midnight, the cruise across the Pacific had been long and tedious. Yet Major Brane had not gone ashore.
Despite the political tension which had gripped the place, the night life, for which Shanghai is justly famous, went on as usual. All of the passengers had gone ashore to get a first glimpse of China, to see the hectic night life of the cosmopolitan city.
Major Copely Brane knew Shanghai intimately. There were a dozen little out-of-the-way places where he would have liked to spend an hour or two. Yet he dared not go ashore. Major Brane, free lance diplomat, was on a mission which was taking him to the port of Hongkong, and he dared not jeopardize the safety of that mission. China is China, and Shanghai is Shanghai; and there were powerful interests who would have been very, very pleased had Major Brane's trip to Hongkong been postponed.
Each section of China specializes in a certain brand of crime, just as each section specializes in a certain type of manufacture. The specialty of Shanghai, as every seasoned traveler knows, is the science of kidnapping.
Kidnapping in Shanghai is, in fact, more than a science. It has become an art. Not only are the authorities seemingly powerless to curb the activities of the gangs, but there are even whispered rumors concerning the ultimate destination of bills of large denomination, which have been used as ransom. They are rumors which one does not repeat save in whispers, but they persist.
Major Brane paced the deck of the liner. The ship was tied to a morning buoy in the Whangpoo, slightly below the mouth of Soochow Creek. The muddy waters gurgled sullenly by. The river teemed with traffic, and the hulking shapes of the Japanese warships furnished black silhouettes which blotted out vast segments of the Chinese shore lights. There might have been, in that, something significant, a symbol.
Native craft crept creakingly past. In all this snarl of river traffic there was but little noise. Gasoline is replaced in the Orient by the more economical use of man power. The great sampans are propelled by huge sweeps, cunningly fastened ropes giving leverage and bearing the weight. All of the manpower goes into propulsion.
The coughing of a gasoline motor sounded through the night, and Major Brane paused in his walking to peer at the red and green lights of a power launch which was headed directly for the ship and he knew that this would be the last boatload of passengers returning to the ship.
He strode to the rail, leaned over it, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the darkness. The launch made a swinging circle, grappled the dangling lines, and swung into position against the side of the ship. Passengers shuffled off the boat and up the long inclined stairs to the deck.
Major Brane looked them over. There was an air of suppressed excitement about them -- the air of people who have been through dangerous experiences -- and a certain breathlessness. Such is the invariable appearance of the Occidental passenger who returns to the ship after that first evening in Shanghai.
Major Brane's eyes were filmed, far-focused. He thought of that night, years ago, when he had first seen Shanghai. He had hardly dreamt then that destiny was to bind him so firmly to the Orient.
A HAND touched his arm. "Major Brane". Major Brane turned eyes which had become suddenly as hard as polished steel. The young man who stood at his side was breathing heavily, as though he had been running, and his voice held the suggestion of a quaver. "What is it, Rawlins?" he asked, recognizing in the dim figure the person of a fellow passenger, young, inexperienced but personable.
The young man's voice was almost a whisper now. "Bess," he said, "went..." He could say no more. He cleared his throat, swallowed audibly.
Major Brane's voice cracked like the lash of a whip, yet the tone remained low. "You mean your sister?"
The young man nodded. "All right," snapped Major Brane, "what about her?"
"She -- she's lost. We went to one of the funny Chinese places where they have stores on the lower floors and a lot of cabaret stuff on the upper floors and a roof garden. It was awfully strange, and ..."
"Never mind that," said Major Brane, "What happened?"
"The crowds! There were so many people. I couldn't keep with her. We couldn't walk abreast. I walked ahead. She took hold of my coat. I plowed through the crowd. When I got through, I reached back and took hold of the wrist of the hand that had been holding my coat. It wasn't Bess at all. It was a Chinese girl, and she was as surprised as I was.
"Lord knows how she got there! She couldn't talk English. Nobody could. I tried to ask her where Bess was, and a crowd of curious people ringed me around. She said something to me in Chinese and the whole crowd laughed. It wasn't a friendly laugh, either.
"Then this girl stuck her chin up in the air and walked away. The crowd let her through. I tried to get back and find Bess. I had the devil of a time. The crowd kept getting in my way. They weren't hostile, and they didn't say much, but they were curious. They just cluttered everything all up.
"Then a policeman came. He was Chinese, too, and he couldn't talk English. Can you fancy that?"
"You're in China," said Major Brane sternly. "What happened then?"
"The policeman took me with him. We went to some sort of an office or headquarters. A whole crowd of natives trailed along. There was a man there who spoke English. He listened to what I had to tell him. He asked me if I could identify the Chinese girl. Good Lord! They all look alike to me. Thin, in silk dresses that fit'em like the skin of a sausage, slit so the knees show and all of' 'em cut on the same pattern. And the faces all look alike...”
"Well?" prompted Major Brane. "Go on."
The young man sighed. "That's about all. The officer asked something of the crowd that had followed me. He spoke to them in Chinese. I couldn't understand what he said. I guess he was asking for witnesses. One of the men said something. He talked a lot, acted as though he'd seen it all.
"The officer listened to it and said something, and then everybody laughed. Then he told me that I should go back to the boat, that Bess would be back here, that she's just got separated from me and had taken a ricksha back. I came on back. -- But I'd like to have you go to her cabin with me. I've felt sort of funny! It was all so strange! And there were so many people! Heavens, I never saw people packed into such small spaces. The roads...!”
Major Brane interrupted by placing a purposeful hand upon the boy's arm.
'That's enough of that." he said. And he led the way toward the stateroom assigned to Bess Rawlins.
THE girl, had been a trifle older than her brother, perhaps a year and a half. She was clever, intelligent and beautiful, and she had taken a great interest in Major Brane on the way across the Pacific. Perhaps she had marveled that Major Brane, so well versed on the Orient, had not gone ashore at Yokohama, nor at Kobe, nor yet at Shanghai.
Major Brane had been able to tell her little intimate details of the places at which the ship had stopped. And he had given her one of his cards. If anything happened to her she was to communicate with him aboard the boat. The card had contained his name, the number of his stateroom.
And he had particularly warned her about Shanghai. There are those who claim that a white woman can never be safe upon the streets of Shanghai at any hour, day or night, unless she is escorted; and even then she is in danger. That such statements are exaggerations is evidenced by the very considerable number of white women who daily travel the streets in rickshas, unescorted. Yet that there is some foundation in fact is shown by an examination of the police reports of the city.
The Shanghai Chinese are clever beyond belief. They can tell within a few seconds whether the occupant of a ricksha knows his China or whether he is seeing it for the first time. How they can do this is a secret that is not known to the Westerner. That they can do it, every fair-minded person who has remained for any time in the Orient will agree.
Major Brane had particularly warned both Steve Rawlins and his sister about the ricksha coolies of Shanghai. They will invariably take the circuitous route when dealing with a stranger, and at times they do worse things. Major Brane had told both Rawlins and his sister to be sure to take the license numbers of the rickshas in which they rode, and to remember them.
Major Brane knocked on the door of the girl's stateroom. There was no reply. He was conscious of the heavy breathing of the white-faced young man at his side.
"Go around through the connecting door of your suite," Major Brane told the boy.
Ten seconds after, the boy had the door open, and was staring at Major Brane from round eyes in which there was a trace of fear, and utter helplessness.
"Not here! But -- surely...Why, she's an American, and ..." His voice trailed into bewildered silence.
Major Brane nodded. "Wait here." He strode down the narrow passage toward his own stateroom. Here and there, low voiced conversations came to his ears. No one whom he encountered gave him more than a curious gaze and an impersonal smile.
Major Brane had been the enigma on the ship coming over. For days, persons had discussed him, stared at him, asked him personal questions. Then they had given him up. Only Rawlins and his sister had remained friendly, accepting without question his silence concerning his business, his political views, and his reasons for travel.
Major Brane unlocked his stateroom, and made certain swift preparations for emergencies. Those preparations consisted in the placing of a leather pouch beneath the pit of his right arm, and swinging a holstered automatic from a strap over his left shoulder. He walked back to the place where young Rawlins was trembling with worry, blinking back a sudden moisture that filmed the worry-laden eyes, staring at Major Brane dumbly.
"The ship," said Major Brane, "sails at eleven to-morrow morning. If I am not here at ten thirty, take this note to the captain. Under no circumstances deliver it before ten thirty; and under no circumstances delay it after that hour."
The boy took the folded note, gulped, nodded. "Is there -- is there -- is there any hope?"
Major Brane regarded him with expressionless eyes. The free lance diplomat was standing very erect, looking very capable, yet very dignified.
"I think," he said, slowly and distinctly, "that I can promise you your sister will be aboard the ship when it sails, and that she will be unharmed. I am afraid that your association with me has perhaps attracted certain dangers to your sister. If I am correct, there will be no danger to her. She will be merely inconvenienced."
He turned with a military precision and marched down the deck, leaving behind him a young man with sagging jaw, white face and wide eyes.
Major Brane went to the rail, looked down upon the dark waters of the muddy river, He could hear vague sounds which floated up to him out of the darkness. Major Brane knew his China. His was a few words of Shanghainese. He raised his voice, yet spoke not too loudly.
"Ngoo iau tau Seunghoy!" he said. There was the swirl of motion from the dark waters. Half a dozen voices answered. Then, abruptly, Major Brane became aware that another voice was speaking rapidly from the river, that his voice was insistent, that its owner was offering the other boatmen money.
Then a light sampan shot into the circle of light about the foot of the stairway leading from the deck. "Massa!" called a voice.
The man who stood in the stern of the small craft was a muscular figure, stocky, well put up, and he held himself with a certain assurance of manner which ill became a sampan coolie. He held up a small oblong pasteboard in his left hand.
"Massa," he said again, "I bring card." Major Brane's face became utterly without expression.
"Wait," he called, and walked down the stairway, down past the lighted portholes, past the dark steel plates of the huge liner, down to the tiny craft which bobbed about on the waters like a cork.
THE coolie showed the grimed pasteboard.
It was the card of Major Copley Brane, with the number of his stateroom and the name of the liner written upon it in the handwriting of Major Brane. It was the card he had given to Bessie Rawlins when she had gone ashore.
The coolie regarded Major Brane shrewdly. "You him?" he asked. "Why you think same person?" asked Major Brane. The Chinese coolie grinned. "I think so," he said.
"Why you think?"
"No Savvy."
Major Brane knew his Orientals, knew when it was useless to question. He turned the soiled oblong of pasteboard over in his fingers. There were some pencil marks on the reverse side.
Those marks were crude drawings of Chinese characters. Evidently some unskilled hand had endeavored to duplicate the peculiar brush markings of the Chinese characters, with the result that the copy, while stiff and ungraceful, could be deciphered. Major Brane knew enough of the Chinese written language, which is universal throughout China, regardless of the differences in dialect, to realize that the pencil marks represented three figures, and that these three figures were perhaps the license number of a ricksha. He pocketed the card. The coolie gestured toward the bobbing sampan." You likee go Shanghai?"
Major Brane entered the craft, the boatman adjusted the tiny wooden shield which keeps vagrant spray from a high class passenger.
"Can go quick?" asked Major Brane.
"Can do!" said the coolie. The scull bit deep in the water. The light craft leaped ahead. The steel plates of the liner slipped astern. And all at once Major Brane was aware that there were other sampans, three or four of them, standing off at a respectful distance. As he departed from the ship, they moved -in closer to the inclined stairway.
For some reason, these others had not asked for his patronage. To those who knew the keen competition of China, where coolies fight for scraps of food thrown from a boat, the conclusion was obvious. But Major Brane sat very silent, very motionless.
Under the law, Major Brane was to be taken to the landing in front of the customs shed. He felt, however, that there would be a short cut to the law, in this instance.
His conclusion was well founded. The sampan swung in toward Soochow Creek. Major Brane landed at a deserted, dark dock.
He handed the boatman some small money, waiting for the unusual howl for big money which would go up. There is much difference between twenty cents in "small money" and twenty cents in "big money". The coolie merely grinned, bowed, Major Brane;s suspicions were confirmed. He felt certain that he would soon happen upon a ricksha, the license number of which was the same as the number which appeared on the back of his card.
NOR was he disappointed. Standing almost in front of the Astor House Hotel, under the very eyes of the huge Sikh policeman who stood guard there, was a smart ricksha, and the license number showed plainly.
Major Brane walked to the ricksha. The coolie grinned, stooped to the shafts.
"You see American woman tonight?" Small girl, black hair, dark eyes, red dress, small black hat with some red...?
The coolie interrupted, grinning "Plenty see same missee. You likee go see same person?"
"Can do?" asked Major Brane. “Can do".
Major Brane settled back in the ricksha. The coolie took a deep breath, bent well forward into the shafts, lurched into motion. Major Brane was under no illusions as to where he would go.
There are two Chinese cities in Shanghai. The more open, modern one of Chapei, which lies to the north of the international concessions; and the walled city of Nantao, known as the Chinese City. That walled city is a rabbit warren of crowded humanity. Originally it was a small, walled city. Now the interior of that city conforms to the outline of the ancient walls. It is a circular blob of crowded humanity, packed as tightly as sardines in a tin. All authorities upon Shanghai agree upon one point -- the tourist should never go there without a competent guide.
Major Brane listened to the sandal feet of the coolie pounding the pavements. He lit a cigarette, felt for the holstered automatic under his arm, consulted his watch.There was less than twelve hours remaining for the accomplishment of that which must be done.
The ricksha swung away from the Bund down into the more narrow side streets, abruptly veered, crossed Avenue Edward VII, and shot into a tiny opening between forbidding houses. They were in the Chinese City. The coolie ran the faster now, the ricksha swinging upon its springs as the great, rubber-tired wheels spun around the curves.
Abruptly, the coolie flung back on the shafts.
"Massa," he panted, " missee go this place."
Major Brane descended from the ricksha, regarded the dark doorway of the forbidding house. He walked to that doorway, pushed it open.
"Wait," he told the coolie. But even as Major Brane mouthed the words, the man swung into a swift stride and vanished in the darkness. A white-clad policeman had come around the turn of the road.
Each section of China specializes in a certain brand of crime, just as each section specializes in a certain type of manufacture. The specialty of Shanghai, as every seasoned traveler knows, is the science of kidnapping.
Kidnapping in Shanghai is, in fact, more than a science. It has become an art. Not only are the authorities seemingly powerless to curb the activities of the gangs, but there are even whispered rumors concerning the ultimate destination of bills of large denomination, which have been used as ransom. They are rumors which one does not repeat save in whispers, but they persist.
Major Brane paced the deck of the liner. The ship was tied to a morning buoy in the Whangpoo, slightly below the mouth of Soochow Creek. The muddy waters gurgled sullenly by. The river teemed with traffic, and the hulking shapes of the Japanese warships furnished black silhouettes which blotted out vast segments of the Chinese shore lights. There might have been, in that, something significant, a symbol.
Native craft crept creakingly past. In all this snarl of river traffic there was but little noise. Gasoline is replaced in the Orient by the more economical use of man power. The great sampans are propelled by huge sweeps, cunningly fastened ropes giving leverage and bearing the weight. All of the manpower goes into propulsion.
The coughing of a gasoline motor sounded through the night, and Major Brane paused in his walking to peer at the red and green lights of a power launch which was headed directly for the ship and he knew that this would be the last boatload of passengers returning to the ship.
He strode to the rail, leaned over it, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the darkness. The launch made a swinging circle, grappled the dangling lines, and swung into position against the side of the ship. Passengers shuffled off the boat and up the long inclined stairs to the deck.
Major Brane looked them over. There was an air of suppressed excitement about them -- the air of people who have been through dangerous experiences -- and a certain breathlessness. Such is the invariable appearance of the Occidental passenger who returns to the ship after that first evening in Shanghai.
Major Brane's eyes were filmed, far-focused. He thought of that night, years ago, when he had first seen Shanghai. He had hardly dreamt then that destiny was to bind him so firmly to the Orient.
A HAND touched his arm. "Major Brane". Major Brane turned eyes which had become suddenly as hard as polished steel. The young man who stood at his side was breathing heavily, as though he had been running, and his voice held the suggestion of a quaver. "What is it, Rawlins?" he asked, recognizing in the dim figure the person of a fellow passenger, young, inexperienced but personable.
The young man's voice was almost a whisper now. "Bess," he said, "went..." He could say no more. He cleared his throat, swallowed audibly.
Major Brane's voice cracked like the lash of a whip, yet the tone remained low. "You mean your sister?"
The young man nodded. "All right," snapped Major Brane, "what about her?"
"She -- she's lost. We went to one of the funny Chinese places where they have stores on the lower floors and a lot of cabaret stuff on the upper floors and a roof garden. It was awfully strange, and ..."
"Never mind that," said Major Brane, "What happened?"
"The crowds! There were so many people. I couldn't keep with her. We couldn't walk abreast. I walked ahead. She took hold of my coat. I plowed through the crowd. When I got through, I reached back and took hold of the wrist of the hand that had been holding my coat. It wasn't Bess at all. It was a Chinese girl, and she was as surprised as I was.
"Lord knows how she got there! She couldn't talk English. Nobody could. I tried to ask her where Bess was, and a crowd of curious people ringed me around. She said something to me in Chinese and the whole crowd laughed. It wasn't a friendly laugh, either.
"Then this girl stuck her chin up in the air and walked away. The crowd let her through. I tried to get back and find Bess. I had the devil of a time. The crowd kept getting in my way. They weren't hostile, and they didn't say much, but they were curious. They just cluttered everything all up.
"Then a policeman came. He was Chinese, too, and he couldn't talk English. Can you fancy that?"
"You're in China," said Major Brane sternly. "What happened then?"
"The policeman took me with him. We went to some sort of an office or headquarters. A whole crowd of natives trailed along. There was a man there who spoke English. He listened to what I had to tell him. He asked me if I could identify the Chinese girl. Good Lord! They all look alike to me. Thin, in silk dresses that fit'em like the skin of a sausage, slit so the knees show and all of' 'em cut on the same pattern. And the faces all look alike...”
"Well?" prompted Major Brane. "Go on."
The young man sighed. "That's about all. The officer asked something of the crowd that had followed me. He spoke to them in Chinese. I couldn't understand what he said. I guess he was asking for witnesses. One of the men said something. He talked a lot, acted as though he'd seen it all.
"The officer listened to it and said something, and then everybody laughed. Then he told me that I should go back to the boat, that Bess would be back here, that she's just got separated from me and had taken a ricksha back. I came on back. -- But I'd like to have you go to her cabin with me. I've felt sort of funny! It was all so strange! And there were so many people! Heavens, I never saw people packed into such small spaces. The roads...!”
Major Brane interrupted by placing a purposeful hand upon the boy's arm.
'That's enough of that." he said. And he led the way toward the stateroom assigned to Bess Rawlins.
THE girl, had been a trifle older than her brother, perhaps a year and a half. She was clever, intelligent and beautiful, and she had taken a great interest in Major Brane on the way across the Pacific. Perhaps she had marveled that Major Brane, so well versed on the Orient, had not gone ashore at Yokohama, nor at Kobe, nor yet at Shanghai.
Major Brane had been able to tell her little intimate details of the places at which the ship had stopped. And he had given her one of his cards. If anything happened to her she was to communicate with him aboard the boat. The card had contained his name, the number of his stateroom.
And he had particularly warned her about Shanghai. There are those who claim that a white woman can never be safe upon the streets of Shanghai at any hour, day or night, unless she is escorted; and even then she is in danger. That such statements are exaggerations is evidenced by the very considerable number of white women who daily travel the streets in rickshas, unescorted. Yet that there is some foundation in fact is shown by an examination of the police reports of the city.
The Shanghai Chinese are clever beyond belief. They can tell within a few seconds whether the occupant of a ricksha knows his China or whether he is seeing it for the first time. How they can do this is a secret that is not known to the Westerner. That they can do it, every fair-minded person who has remained for any time in the Orient will agree.
Major Brane had particularly warned both Steve Rawlins and his sister about the ricksha coolies of Shanghai. They will invariably take the circuitous route when dealing with a stranger, and at times they do worse things. Major Brane had told both Rawlins and his sister to be sure to take the license numbers of the rickshas in which they rode, and to remember them.
Major Brane knocked on the door of the girl's stateroom. There was no reply. He was conscious of the heavy breathing of the white-faced young man at his side.
"Go around through the connecting door of your suite," Major Brane told the boy.
Ten seconds after, the boy had the door open, and was staring at Major Brane from round eyes in which there was a trace of fear, and utter helplessness.
"Not here! But -- surely...Why, she's an American, and ..." His voice trailed into bewildered silence.
Major Brane nodded. "Wait here." He strode down the narrow passage toward his own stateroom. Here and there, low voiced conversations came to his ears. No one whom he encountered gave him more than a curious gaze and an impersonal smile.
Major Brane had been the enigma on the ship coming over. For days, persons had discussed him, stared at him, asked him personal questions. Then they had given him up. Only Rawlins and his sister had remained friendly, accepting without question his silence concerning his business, his political views, and his reasons for travel.
Major Brane unlocked his stateroom, and made certain swift preparations for emergencies. Those preparations consisted in the placing of a leather pouch beneath the pit of his right arm, and swinging a holstered automatic from a strap over his left shoulder. He walked back to the place where young Rawlins was trembling with worry, blinking back a sudden moisture that filmed the worry-laden eyes, staring at Major Brane dumbly.
"The ship," said Major Brane, "sails at eleven to-morrow morning. If I am not here at ten thirty, take this note to the captain. Under no circumstances deliver it before ten thirty; and under no circumstances delay it after that hour."
The boy took the folded note, gulped, nodded. "Is there -- is there -- is there any hope?"
Major Brane regarded him with expressionless eyes. The free lance diplomat was standing very erect, looking very capable, yet very dignified.
"I think," he said, slowly and distinctly, "that I can promise you your sister will be aboard the ship when it sails, and that she will be unharmed. I am afraid that your association with me has perhaps attracted certain dangers to your sister. If I am correct, there will be no danger to her. She will be merely inconvenienced."
He turned with a military precision and marched down the deck, leaving behind him a young man with sagging jaw, white face and wide eyes.
Major Brane went to the rail, looked down upon the dark waters of the muddy river, He could hear vague sounds which floated up to him out of the darkness. Major Brane knew his China. His was a few words of Shanghainese. He raised his voice, yet spoke not too loudly.
"Ngoo iau tau Seunghoy!" he said. There was the swirl of motion from the dark waters. Half a dozen voices answered. Then, abruptly, Major Brane became aware that another voice was speaking rapidly from the river, that his voice was insistent, that its owner was offering the other boatmen money.
Then a light sampan shot into the circle of light about the foot of the stairway leading from the deck. "Massa!" called a voice.
The man who stood in the stern of the small craft was a muscular figure, stocky, well put up, and he held himself with a certain assurance of manner which ill became a sampan coolie. He held up a small oblong pasteboard in his left hand.
"Massa," he said again, "I bring card." Major Brane's face became utterly without expression.
"Wait," he called, and walked down the stairway, down past the lighted portholes, past the dark steel plates of the huge liner, down to the tiny craft which bobbed about on the waters like a cork.
THE coolie showed the grimed pasteboard.
It was the card of Major Copley Brane, with the number of his stateroom and the name of the liner written upon it in the handwriting of Major Brane. It was the card he had given to Bessie Rawlins when she had gone ashore.
The coolie regarded Major Brane shrewdly. "You him?" he asked. "Why you think same person?" asked Major Brane. The Chinese coolie grinned. "I think so," he said.
"Why you think?"
"No Savvy."
Major Brane knew his Orientals, knew when it was useless to question. He turned the soiled oblong of pasteboard over in his fingers. There were some pencil marks on the reverse side.
Those marks were crude drawings of Chinese characters. Evidently some unskilled hand had endeavored to duplicate the peculiar brush markings of the Chinese characters, with the result that the copy, while stiff and ungraceful, could be deciphered. Major Brane knew enough of the Chinese written language, which is universal throughout China, regardless of the differences in dialect, to realize that the pencil marks represented three figures, and that these three figures were perhaps the license number of a ricksha. He pocketed the card. The coolie gestured toward the bobbing sampan." You likee go Shanghai?"
Major Brane entered the craft, the boatman adjusted the tiny wooden shield which keeps vagrant spray from a high class passenger.
"Can go quick?" asked Major Brane.
"Can do!" said the coolie. The scull bit deep in the water. The light craft leaped ahead. The steel plates of the liner slipped astern. And all at once Major Brane was aware that there were other sampans, three or four of them, standing off at a respectful distance. As he departed from the ship, they moved -in closer to the inclined stairway.
For some reason, these others had not asked for his patronage. To those who knew the keen competition of China, where coolies fight for scraps of food thrown from a boat, the conclusion was obvious. But Major Brane sat very silent, very motionless.
Under the law, Major Brane was to be taken to the landing in front of the customs shed. He felt, however, that there would be a short cut to the law, in this instance.
His conclusion was well founded. The sampan swung in toward Soochow Creek. Major Brane landed at a deserted, dark dock.
He handed the boatman some small money, waiting for the unusual howl for big money which would go up. There is much difference between twenty cents in "small money" and twenty cents in "big money". The coolie merely grinned, bowed, Major Brane;s suspicions were confirmed. He felt certain that he would soon happen upon a ricksha, the license number of which was the same as the number which appeared on the back of his card.
NOR was he disappointed. Standing almost in front of the Astor House Hotel, under the very eyes of the huge Sikh policeman who stood guard there, was a smart ricksha, and the license number showed plainly.
Major Brane walked to the ricksha. The coolie grinned, stooped to the shafts.
"You see American woman tonight?" Small girl, black hair, dark eyes, red dress, small black hat with some red...?
The coolie interrupted, grinning "Plenty see same missee. You likee go see same person?"
"Can do?" asked Major Brane. “Can do".
Major Brane settled back in the ricksha. The coolie took a deep breath, bent well forward into the shafts, lurched into motion. Major Brane was under no illusions as to where he would go.
There are two Chinese cities in Shanghai. The more open, modern one of Chapei, which lies to the north of the international concessions; and the walled city of Nantao, known as the Chinese City. That walled city is a rabbit warren of crowded humanity. Originally it was a small, walled city. Now the interior of that city conforms to the outline of the ancient walls. It is a circular blob of crowded humanity, packed as tightly as sardines in a tin. All authorities upon Shanghai agree upon one point -- the tourist should never go there without a competent guide.
Major Brane listened to the sandal feet of the coolie pounding the pavements. He lit a cigarette, felt for the holstered automatic under his arm, consulted his watch.There was less than twelve hours remaining for the accomplishment of that which must be done.
The ricksha swung away from the Bund down into the more narrow side streets, abruptly veered, crossed Avenue Edward VII, and shot into a tiny opening between forbidding houses. They were in the Chinese City. The coolie ran the faster now, the ricksha swinging upon its springs as the great, rubber-tired wheels spun around the curves.
Abruptly, the coolie flung back on the shafts.
"Massa," he panted, " missee go this place."
Major Brane descended from the ricksha, regarded the dark doorway of the forbidding house. He walked to that doorway, pushed it open.
"Wait," he told the coolie. But even as Major Brane mouthed the words, the man swung into a swift stride and vanished in the darkness. A white-clad policeman had come around the turn of the road.
CHAPTER II
Unwelcome Work
Major Brane pushed the door back into place, found himself in a dark passageway. He flattened himself against the wall. A flickering light showed at the other end of the passage, and his ears could hear the sippety-slop, slappety-slip of Chinese slippers shuffling along a floor worn smooth by countless years of dragging feet.
The light grew brighter, showed as a peanutoil lamp, shaded by a claw-like yellow hand. The light was held low, and the reflected light glinted upon a scarred, expressionless face. The light, shining upward, glided the tip of the chin and the high cheek bones, made dark, gruesome shadows of the deep eye sockets.
"Whassa matta?" asked the shuffling figure.
Major Brane stepped forward. " Tell your master," he said, "that Major Brane is here."
The man grunted, paused, turned. "You come," he said.
Major Brane turned, followed. Nor was he unconscious of the fact that the passageway either gave forth peculiar echoes, or that some one's feet were slippety-slopping along behind him.
He turned his head. The passageway behind was as black as ink.
The flickering light led the way, along a winding gallery, into a spacious room lit with tapers. Huge gods stood guard here, and there was the smell of incense. A high threshold barred the "homeless ghosts" from the place.
The guide turned squarely between two of these dimly mysterious figures, which stood in the midst of the heavy smoke of the incense, with ferocious faces and glittering, basilisk eyes. He ascended a flight of stone stairs. Major Brane followed. The guide flung open a door. Major Brane walked past the silent figure and into a room that was sumptuously furnished. A man sat in a straight-backed chair, Chinese fashion, smoking a very long cigarette. On a teak wood table in front of him was a steaming pot of tea, with two cups.
Major Brane crossed the room, seated himself on the other side of the little table.
"Good evening, Ivan Balovich," he said. "I rather expected I was being guided to you."
The man reached out his hand and poured the tea. His own voice was as casual as had been that of Major Brane. He spoke with just the barest trace of an accent. But there was a purring eloquence about his words, a certain glibness of speech which showed that the man could talk well in a number of languages.
"I was disappointed, major, to think that you would pass up Shanghai without a visit. Surely, the place has attractions for one who has been long on board ship. And then, there are your old friends here. You should at least look us up."
Major Brane sipped the tea, reached for a cigarette.
"Permit me," said Balovich, and handed him an amber cigarette case, carved with writhing dragons, filled with long, slender cigarettes.
"I remember you cultivated a taste for these, major, when you were last in Peiping."
Major Brane took one of the cigarettes. The man across the table held a match.
The flickering flame showed his face to advantage. The features were heavy, regular. The lips were a trifle full. The eyes were a steady, expressionless black. The face was as rigidly immobile as a frozen plaster cast. The man's shoulders were huge and hulking. The arms were long, the wrists big, the fingers tapering and slender. Yet there was an air of strength and utter ruthlessness about the man, a radiation of a dominant power.
"It was hardly fair," said Major Brane, "to bring the girl into it."
The other smiled, but the smile was without spontaneity or mirth. "It was necessary," he said. "When I realized that you did not intend to come ashore, I felt that a little persuasion would be in order."
A flicker of annoyance crossed Major Brane's face. "But I hardly knew her. She was merely a casual acquaintance."
"Exactly," agreed the other. "But I felt certain that you would investigate her disappearance. As soon as you realized that this disappearance had been due to the fact that she was friendly with you... A gentleman such as yourself, could not do otherwise."
Major Brane sighed. "Now that she has served her purpose, I trust she has been returned to the ship?"
The other inhaled appreciatively upon his cigarette.
"She has not entirely served her purpose -- as yet," he said. " She is a strangle hold," And he laughed.
Major Brane's lips became a firm line. "Ivan," he said, " I rarely lose my temper. But you cannot use this girl for such a purpose!"
The other grunted, frowned, then smiled. " It has already been done," he purred.
"And the object?" asked Major Brane.
The man across the table became suddenly suave, gracious. "Come, come, major, we should not be at loggerheads. I had you brought to me because I wished to give you employment. There will be compensation. It is only necessary that you miss the ship to-morrow, that your arrival in Hong Kong be delayed by a matter of three days."
Major Brane shook his head, doggedly. " I have given my word. I promised that I would arrive in Hong Kong upon that ship, and I will be upon it." Ivan laughed, and the laugh was not pleasant.
"You Americans!" he exclaimed. "What incurable optimists you are! You are here. The girl you seek is -- where? Yet you talk of taking ships as though your own destinies were entirely in your own control."
Major Brane snapped out two words. "They are," he said.
The two men locked eyes. The ruthlessness of brutal power battled against the keen intelligence of a mind that had been disciplined to quick, accurate thinking.
Ivan Balovich looked away. "It is not impossible," he said. " I have a little employment to give you, Major Brane. If, after all, you should accept this employment and discharge the mission satisfactorily, you and your friend would sail down the Whangpoo tomorrow morning, having lost nothing save a little sleep, and having gained a goodly sum of gold.
"But, unfortunately, the matter cannot be concluded that quickly. It is not that I wish to insure the satisfactory conclusion of my own undertaking."
The black eyes wrinkled at the corners as the lips twisted into a friendly smile. But there could be no softening of polished ebony. They remained a lacquered enigma.
Major Brane sipped his tea. Ivan studied him for several seconds, then placed his right forearm upon the top of the table. the long, tapering fingers twisting spiral of blue smoke eddied steadily upwards."In this little unpleasantness," said Ivan "you have consistently taken the part of China."
Major Brane nodded. "China," he said, "has employed me."
Ivan made a little sweeping gesture with his arm. " There are Japanese -- not officials, you understand, but powerful individuals -- who would also employ you, upon better terms, perhaps. There are certain matters which they wish to ascertain."
Major Brane took a deep inhalation at the Russian cigarette, exhaled the smoke, watched it dreamily.
"I do not," he said," swap horses in the middle of the stream, regardless of the amount of the compensation."
Ivan Balovich nodded, and something of the ruthlessness of the man sounded in the timbre of his voice.
"That is it, exactly," he said. "Therefore, I decided that a little persuasion would be in order. Hence the little affair of the girl. Need I be so crude as to suggest to you, Major Brane, that if you do that which I wish, you will be able to arrive in Hongkong upon the following boat, in time to discharge your mission there? Need I tell you that if you do not accept the employment I have to offer you, and discharge the obligations I shall place upon you, you will never see Hongkong? Furthermore, that the girl will suffer a certain indignities that will precede a rather unpleasant death? You are a man of obstinacy of purpose, Major Brane. I am a man who stops at nothing." Ivan ceased speaking, and his eyes were like those of some huge cat crouched before a mouse hole.
"Why bring the girl into it?" said Major Brane, irritable. " She knows nothing, is no more than a casual acquaintance of shipboard."
Ivan laughed. "For that very reason! You are too much of a gentleman to let an innocent girl suffer, merely because she was nice to you. I knew that. You might become obstinate and sacrifice your own life, but you would never be able to dispose so lightly of hers"
Major Brane tapped upon the table with the fingers of his left hand.
"Ivan," he said slowly, " look here..."
And his right hand dashed the cup of tea full into the eyes of the big man across the table. The left lifted the table upon a sharp incline. The teapot rolled over and spilled the scalding fluid upon the breast and lap of the struggling, dazed man.
Major Brane flipped the automatic from its holster, snapped his wrist over and down. Ivan Balovich caught the blow on theforehead, slumped backward to the floor. Brane moved upon swift, silent feet to a passageway which opened from the room.
He was half way down this passageway when a door opened. A Chinese girl, slender, beautiful, attired in one of those tight-fitting Chinese dresses which reveal the contours of the figure with a sophistication which comes as somewhat of a surprise to the Occidental vision, stood upon the threshold. She stared incredulously.
Major Brane regarded her with steely eye. " I am looking for the white girl," he said.
The girl's lacquered eyes were expressionless. " No savvy, massa."
"Woman," said Major Brane. "American woman; Me-kok nyuinyung!"
The Chinese girl nodded comprehension. " Come," she said.
Major Brane reckoned with the possibility of treachery. Also, however, he realized that Balovich had undoubtedly safeguarded Bess Rawlins. He had taken her for a purpose, and the consummation of that purpose would require that the girl be given the best of treatment. It was therefore reasonable to suppose that the Chinese girl had been employed to watch over the captured American. But Major Brane let her see the automatic in his hand, so that she would know the danger of treachery. The girl's slender figure wove gracefully across the room, slipping past teak-wood furniture, and came into a passageway. There she paused before another door, entered a different room, where the furniture was of the Chinese black-wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. She motioned toward a curtained doorway.
"You wait," she said. "Go find." She had slipped through that doorway before Major Brane could voice a remonstrance. He backed into a corner, from which he could command both entrances to the room. He held his automatic in his hand, and his watchful eyes shifted from one doorway to the other. Ivan Balovich knew the reputation of Major Copley Brane, and it was hardly possible that he would resort to direct force, not when Major Brane held his automatic ready in his hand.
Five minutes passed. There was utter silence within the room. Then the smiling figure of the Chinese girl was in the doorway, beckoning. Major Brane cautiously moved forward. As he reached the girl, he stretched forth his hand, grasped her shoulder, spun her and flung his arm about her waist. Then, pushing her into the room first, his automatic over her right shoulder, Major Brane stepped forward.
She made no sound, no comment, no gesture of protest. Had there been treachery afoot, had there been men waiting withing that room, ready to shoot, they would have been handicapped by the girl's figure, and undoubtedly she would have resisted. It was not that Major Brane intended actually to use her as a shield. It was that he wanted to ascertain whether she herself contemplated violent action when they stood upon the threshold of the room.
Her lack of resistance convinced Major Brane. He flung the girl to one side, walked into the room. There were some chairs -- straight-backed, uncomfortable, Chinese chairs -- a table, a bed, in the chamber. The clothes of a woman were littered about on the backs of the chairs. A figure lay huddled that was shaking with convulsive sobs.
The sound of those dry, racking sobs, sounding utterly hopeless, evidencing fear and anguish, spurred Major Brane to swift action. He flashed one swift galnce about him, saw that the Chinese girl was the only other occupant of the room, save for himself and the sobbing figure on the bed, and strode forward.
"It's all right, Bess," he said reasuringly. "I've come to take you back!"
The figure stirred beneath the covers, but the sobs continued. Major Brane reached forward with a solicitous hand, patted the shoulder where it protruded beneath the covers of the bed.
"There, there," he stood... He would have said more, but something other than a shoulder protruded from beneath the covers of that bed. It was the ugly blued-steel barrel of a heavy automatic.
"Stick'em up!" said a muffled voice.
Major Brane stared at that automatic. A sibilant voice, speaking soft accents of excellent English, sounded behind him. "It is unfortunate Major Brane that you should be menaced, but your life is most certainly in danger!"
It was the Chinese girl, and from some place within the clinging folds of her skin-tight silk dress, she had produced a little pearl-handled, nickelplated weapon, and that weapon was held in a very steady hand.
The bed covers were flung back. The figure that sat up in the bed was fully clothed, and it was not the figure of Bess Rawlins. It was the igure of Ivan Balovich, rather a livid swelling showing on one side of his head, and his eyes glittering dangerously.
He held the automatic steadily pointing it at Major Brane's stomach.
" I said, put your hands up!" he snarled. Major Brane laughed. " That is the talk of the slums," he said. " You have outwitted me, rather neatly. There is no necessity for the melodrama, nor for the gangster talk." And he flipped back the lapel of his coat, calmly holstered the automatic, dropped his hands to his sides." Rather neat," he commented. Ivan Balovich continued to sit in the bed, the automatic menacing the major.
"Now," he said. "I'm going to tell you exactly what you're going to do. And you haven't got very much time to do it in, either. If you fail me, you'll most surely regret it, and this girl you seem so anxious about will have occasion to curse the day she ever met you!"
Major Brane shook his head sadly. "Balovich, you will never make a good diplomatic campaigner until you learn to control your emotions, and quit your confounded melodrama. The threats are but a waste of time. You have outwitted me -- for the present. Tell me what you want."
Balovich spoke thickly, his voice husked with an emotion which he strove to control. The Chinese girl, standing erect, with expressionless features and steady hand, continued to point her small weapon at Major Brane's back.
"There is," husked the Russian, "a certain man in the Cathay Hotel who is registered under the name of C. Kobas. He is in Room Four Eighty-Six. He has a certain letter from General Gregory Semenov which is to be delivered to parties who need not concern you."
"There is a man named James Swett in Room Three Twenty-One at the Astor House Hotel. You know Swett, and he knows you. He'll take your word for anything. Swett's connections are known to you, and to me. He wants that letter which Semenov wrote and which Kobas is holding for delivery. He's made a bid for it, and he suspects what its terms are. We want to allay his fears as to the contents of the letter. To do that, we've got to slip him a forgery under such circumstances that it'll be considered as being genuine by him.
"Now, he knows you, He knows you're a free lance diplomat. If you go to him, tell him that you understand he is anxious to get a certain letter, tell him that you'll undertake the getting of it for five thousand dollars, he'll employ you to get it.
"Then you'll go out for an hour, return with the forged letter, surrender it as genuine, swear that you obtained it directly from C. Kobas, collect your five thousand, and return here. The girl will be waiting for you. If you make it with sufficient speed, you can catch your ship in the morning- But it'll be better to take a little more time to it, enough to convince Swett that it wasn't too easy a job. otherwise he might sense a trap. Major Brane laughed, and the laugh was tinged more with sarcasm and pity than with amusement.
"Balovich, I despair of you. You don't think Swett would fall for any such scheme as that, do you? He'd know the letter was a forgery. He'd be a fool to be taken in by any such crude scheme."
The Russian shook his head doggedly," Not with you bringing him the letter. You've got a reputation in diplomatic circles. You're going to stake that reputation that the letter is genuine He'll accept your word,"
Major Brane studied the Russian with thoughtful eyes. "How are you going to know that I don't double cross you? Because I warn you if I can. You have forced me into this and it is distasteful to me. "
The Russian laughed - - a heavy, coarse laugh. "Don't worry. You won't do a thing in Swett's room that isn't known to me within five minutes after it's happened. And the girl you want won't be released until Swett has become covinced that he has the genuine letter."
Major Brane stood motionless for a few seconds, concentrating . His eyes were focused upon the distance. His manner was that of a man who is hypnotized. Those who knew him were always puzzled by those momentary fits of concentration, which shut out from the man's senses all of his environment, left him dwelling for the time in a purely mental world. For the Major claimed that if the human mind could absolutely concentrate for so much as three minutes upon any problem, that almost any problem could be solved. Ordinarily, he claimed, the mind never concentrated for more than a split fraction of a second upon any given subject. Impinging upon the edges of the consciousness were a thousand trivial matters, the realization that the mind was attempting to concentrate, the knowledge of a thousand and one incidental and exatraneous matters.
Major Brane had cultivated his powers of concentration until he had become about to throw his consciousness into a white-hot focus of thought and hold that intense concentration steady. He remained motionless for perhaps ten seconds. Then he smiled. "Very well, Ivan." You have forced me into this, I am supposed to do as you request. I have warned you fairly that I will short-cut you if I can."
The Russian grinned.
"You can't."
"A ricksha?"
"Is waiting. Here is the counterfeit." Major Brane bowed. He took the letter." I shall be seeing you later."
The girl slipped the tiny weapon down the front of her dress. Her expressionless eyes, black and inscrutable, fastened upon Major Brane.
"Come," she said, " I will show you the way out."
And Major Brane followed her from the room, down a flight of stairs, through a winding passage, to a dark side street.
A ricksha moved from the shadows. "Good night," said Major Brane.
"Good night," said the girl. And then, to the surprise of Major Brane, there came a whispered comment, as soft as the drifting of a summer zephyr across the placid surface of the far famed Hangchow Lake. "You are a brave man, may you have success!"
And the door slammed.
The dark shadows of the Chinese street squirmed into activity, and a barefoot coolie pulled a silent wheeled ricksha upon pneumatic tires out into the half light at the center of the street. "Ready, massa!"
Major Brane stepped into a cushioned seat. The coolie flung his weight into the shafts, and the vehicle slid into that softly seductive motion which is experienced only at night on the mysterious streets of a Chinese city.
-----
CHAPTER III
NO MISTAKES
THE foreign concessions of Shanghai represent a gathering place for various and sundry diplomatic attachés, just as the Whangpoo River serves as a concentration point for various and sundry craft of war. This was one of those night when no one sleeps. Worried and harried officials dispatched messengers, paced floors, puffed incessantly upon cigars and cigarettes, and jumped at any sudden sound.
James Swett sat in his room at the Astor House Hotel . A sheaf of cablegrams was on the table in front of him. The room was blue with tobacco smoke. Silent and subdued servants slipped in and out of the outer room of the suite. A very plain, stern-lipped secretary guarded the portal of the inner room.
Major Brane presented himself to the secretary. "Tell Mr. Swett that Major Copely Brane would like five minutes."
The girl regarded Major Brane with glassy eyes that bulged out from her head. They were expressionless, large eyes that yet held a hint of merciless efficiency.
"Major Brane of San Francisco?" she asked.
"The same, " he said.
"The eyes blinked once. "We had heard you were not disembarking, but were headed straight through for Hongkong, " she said.
Major Brane snapped a swift comment. "When you inform Mr. Swett that I am here," he observed, he will then know that his understanding was erroneous."
The girl nodded her head in jerking motion.
"There's the door,"she said. "He'll want to see you."
Major Brane strode to the door, knocked.
"Yeah," rasped a voice from the inner room, and that voice told of sleepless nights of taut nerves.
Major Brane opened the door.
James Swett got to his feet, his manner belligerent.
"I'm busy and --- Major Brane ! Well, well. Welcome to Shanghai. I understood you were holed up on the boat, afraid of missing connections !"
Major Brane shook hands, allowed himself to be given a cigar and a chair, then launched at once into the distasteful subject. He had a feeling that unseen eyes were watching his every move, that attentive ears were listening to his every utterance.
In the side pocket of Major Brane's coat reposed the envelope and letter which he had been commissioned to deliver to James Swett at the proper time. Major Brane was conscious of that document. It tugged at his coat as though it had been weighted.
With James Swett deceived as to the moves of the Semenov clique in Inner Mongolia it was possible that the great powers might blunder. James Swett represented a news gathering agency. Yet most of the news which he gathered never saw the black of printer's ink. That news was disseminated by code cablegram to various clients, and the clients were men with large financial interests who required absolutely authentic knowledge of certain events before those events were noised abroad in the marts of industry or in financial circles. Yet those same men were patriotic, and such bits of information which would have an important bearing upon government policies, were invariably communicated to certain department heads.
"I understood," said Major Brane, "that you would be interested in a certain letter."
Swett grinned a wry grin.
"There are several letters I should like to see, very, very much," he observed.
MAJOR BRANE nodded, regarded the tip of his cigar.
"General Gregory Semenov is active again in Inner Mongolia," he remarked.
"Precisely," agreed James Swett, his eyes narrowing. Then he added another comment. "Still the diplomatic free lance, Major?"
Major Brane grinned. "I make a living from occassional commissions," he said.
"Any ideas about Semenov?"
"I understand he has certain plans. The general nature of those plans is common knowledge."
Swett was thoughtful.
"My clients are not interested in generalities, but information as to certain specific dates and names would be welcome, very welcome indeed."
"How welcome?" asked Major Brane.
"If in the form of a certain document," said Swett, a sum of five thousand dollars, gold, would be considered fair compensation by my clients. A statement in the handwriting of Semenov would be worth that sum."
Major Brane got to his feet. "You'll be up for a while, I take it?"
Swett nodded. He also arose and his eyes were brittle, hard now.
"Look here, Major Brane, you're well known. I've dealt with you before and others have dealt with you. I'm not interested in failures, nor am I interested in methods that would bring trouble.
"I'd like to get certain documents. But if you think that you can casually stroll in here, get a bid, go out and pick up the document you want, and pick up five thousand dollars in gold as the simple result of an evening stroll from your ship, you're enjoying a reputation that's vastly over-rated."
Major Brane's tone was slightly bored. "What would you expect by way of proof?"
"I'd want to see a document that checked up with the physical description I have, and I'd want your absolute assurance that the document was genuine."
Major Brane's smile was paternal.
"That," he said, "would be almost a matter of course." And he bowed and took himself from the room.
As the door of the inner office closed, James Swett stared scowlingly at it. As the door of the outer room of the suite slammed, the glassy-eyed secretary wet her thin lips with the tip of a pale tongue, blinked her glassy eyes---and smiled.
MAJOR BRANE stepped out of the lobby of the Astor House and into the oppressive streets of the great city that is known as the Paris of the Orient. Those streets where guarded, suspicious looking characters were being stopped, interrogated. Rickshas hummed back and forth bearing messengers or minor diplomatic officials. Those officials traveled rapidly, with extra coolies on each side of the ricksha and in the rear, giving it added power and speed.
Major diplomatic officials did not venture out. They remained where they could be located on a moment's notice. The world trembled upon the brink of a war that threatened to leave civilization itself tottering. Those who might possibly avert a catastrophe were where they could intantly be reached by others who worked for the same purpose. And out in the river, the ominous shape of warships loomed as hulks of destiny, grim harbingers of death.
Major Brane caught the eye of his ricksha coolie. "Wait here," he said.
The coolie hesitated, gave sullen acquiescence.
Major Brane swung into a swift walk, crossed the bridge over Soochow Creek, and traversed the Bund with steps that propelled him at almost the speed of a trotting ricksha coolie.
Everywhere was bustle and confusion. Men were working in frenzied haste, erecting barriers of steel and barbed wire. Bags were being filled with sand and placed in strategic positions. No one thought of sleep. There is this about the streets of Chinese cities: it is impossible to tell if one is being followed. There are such great crowds, composed of people who dress alike and look alike, that one grows dizzy in an attempt to segregate individual entities. Major Brane, however, reasoned that he could make better time on foot than a ricksha could make, particularly if that ricksha held a European passenger.
He walked into the lobby of the Cathay Hotel, without once having looked behind him. It was possible that James Swett had had him shadowed from the time he left the Astor House. James Swett would dislike the idea of paying five thousand dollars for that which was not genuine, even when dealing with his clients' monies. And he would dislike more than all to make a report as to times and places, names and dates, which would subsequently turn out to be false.
Then, there was Ivan Balovich. The Russian was crude and ruthless. But he, too, would certainly make some attempt to have Major Brane shadowed.
Major Brane, however, did not let these matters concern him. He crossed the lobby of the Cathay Hotel, engaged a ricksha, took a brief spin through the streets, was stopped by the authorities on six different occasions, and then returned to the Cathay.
He went to the clerk's desk, scrawled his name upon the register, and was assigned to a room. The clerk watched him with a curiosity which was ill-concealed. But that curiosity remained unsatisfied. The guest had registered merely as C. Brane, San Francisco. The room which was assigned to him was on the third floor. Through the windows sounded that murmur of confused noise which characterizes the Chinese ports. Now the murmur contained an undertone which is seldom heard save when crowded people face imminent danger. It was a sullen undertone of apprehension.
Great events were in the making. And the activities of Major Brane within the next few hours would have much to do with those events.
MAJOR BRANE sat down in the hotel chair, lit a cigarette, the cigar having been thrown away, and concentrated for the space of some thirty seconds. Then he arose, smiled, nodded and left his room. He went down to the lobby.
"Let me look at the register, please," he told the clerk.
"Give me the name, please," said that individual.
"Kukui Sakamisto," said Major Brane without the slightest hesitation.
"I want to know if he's registered."
The clerk had no need to consult his records. "Room Two Nineteen," he said.
Major Brane bowed and left the desk.
He was smiling. Without having seen the man who was registered under the name of C. Kobas, without having made certain that he actually was registered, Major Brane had surmised the man's real identity. He knew that if this surmise was correct there would be another man to back him up; someone ready to stand by the mysterious C. Kobas and give him instructions. Major Brane had guessed shrewdly that this man would be none other than Kukui Sakamisto. He knew the personnel of the various diplomatic staffs, did Major Brane. And he knew the politics of the Orient better than any white man. It takes highly specialized knowledge as well as quick wits, to engage in diplomatic free lancing, maintaining the integrity of one's reputation, yet keeping free of surreptitious knife thrusts --- particularly when one travels in the Orient.
Major Brane sought his room once more. C. Kobas undoubtedly had the original letter, the forged substitute of which Major Brane had been commissioned to deliver as the genuine original to James Swett. It was equally certain that the man who went by the name of C. Kobas would have this document where it could be readily delivered to the proper parties, but where it would be safe from theft. C. Kobas was no fool. He did diplomatic dirty work. He was a go-between, one who garnered money for doing things that no nation cared to do officially.
If the deed was completed and the backtrail not too plain, nations would avail themselves of the fruits of the toil of the man who went by the name of C. Kobas. Beyond that they would not go---officially.
But Kukui Sakamisto was registered in the hotel, which showed that the man who was going by the name of C. Kobas was being given every aid and assistance which could be given---unofficially.
Major Copely Brane arose, snuffed out his cigarette and wrote a note, which he addressed to the head of the police of the international settlement. It was brief and to the point:
I happen to know the man who is registered as C. Kobas, in Room 486 of the Cathay Hotel, is here on a secret mission, that he is carrying on negotiations between General Gregory Semenov and a certain Power. That those negotiations include the establishment of a so-called independent government in Inner Mongolia; and that a letter is in possession of this C. Kobas telling exactly when Semenov will strike and exactly where he will go to receive the person who is to be the head of that independent government.
The identity of the person is also mentioned in the letter. The information should be of value and is contained in the letter which is to be found on the man who is registered as C. Kobas.
WHEN he had finished the note, Major Brane read it over twice, pursed his lips, nodded, extinguished the light in his room, made certain that he had left nothing behind, and stepped into the corridor, locking the door behind him.
He went once more to the lobby. He was now certain that his motions were the object of attention from spying eyes. He could not pick out the eyes in question, but he had been too long engaged in the field of free lance diplomacy not to tell when he was being shadowed.
He went to the street, nodded to the Sikh policeman who stood on guard at the front of the hotel. "A ricksha," he said.
The policeman blew a whistle. There was no sudden rush of ricksha coolies to attention; instead, a single ricksha man came to the curb with that smooth assurance of motion that characterizes one who is not accustomed to scrambling. Major Brane knew that this ricksha had been planted, and he smiled enigmatically as he got in.
"To the headquarters of the international police," he told the Sikh.
That officer interpreted the command in a voice which was not at all lowered. It was a deep, booming voice that spattered the words of Shanghainese upon the night air for all to hear who were interested.
The coolie hesitated, then slowly leaned his weight against the shafts. He seemed sullen, indisposed to make speed. Once he hesitated so that he came almost to a full stop. Twice he took the wrong turn; and upon each occasion was called sharply to time by Major Brane, who showed that he knew his Shanghai.
It was shortly after his second attempt to swing from the main road that Major Brane called a choked command. The coolie turned, to find his fare doubled up, gasping for breath. The major had the manner of a person suddenly stricken with a deadly malady, or perhaps unexpectedly pierced by the blade of a knife.
The coolie turned, paused, lowered the shafts of the ricksha. For a long moment he stared at the twisting features of his passenger. Then a slow smile spread over his face. For a second only did that smile twist his features. Then he was humbly solicitous.
"Massa want go back?" he asked.
Major Brane tried to answer. The paroxysms gripped him before the words came. He gasped, choked. Finally, he managed to sit erect, to speak in gasping words.
"I'm sick. No can go policee station. You takee this chit to police. Be sure now. You no take, make plenty trouble. I make another chit, allee samee, send him by other coolie, so be sure be all right. You go. I get another ricksha go back hotel." Major Brane lurched forward to the ground, handed the coolie the folded note. "Hurry !" he said.
Regardless of the stress of the times, or the hour of the night, when one of the "white devils" and a ricksha coolie engage in any unusual conversation upon the streets of Shanghai there are dozens of interested spectators who seem to conjure themselves up out of nowhere, only to congregate in large numbers. Two rickshas swung around a nearby corner, paused to gape. Half a dozen people slipped softly out of the shadowed streets, stood gawping.
Major Brane staggered across to one of the empty rickshas. "Cathay Hotel," he said. "Go quick !"
The new ricksha coolie leaned into the shafts. There were a few swift words of Chinese and the crowd melted.
But Major Brane noted that the other coolie, who had taken him from the hotel, had not taken any part in the conversation carried on in the native tongue.
Major Brane shrewdly surmised that the man might have had some difficulty in passing himself off as a native of Shanghai. He looked more like a man from the north.
Once back in the hotel, Major Brane made a remarkable recovery. There was nothing in his appearance to indicate illness when he strolled across the lobby, took the elevator to the third floor.
From the third floor he walked the corridor to the stairs, climbed to the fourth floor, and walked to a position from which he could view the doorway of Room 486---the room occupied by the individual who had registered as C. Kobas.
He waited for fifteen minutes. A floor boy discovered him, received a tip of five dollars in gold---unprecedented wealth from his point of view---and took himself off.
Shortly afterward, Major Brane was opportunely discovered by the bath boy, the room boy and a porter. Brane was slightly less generous with these individuals, shrewdly suspecting that a large commission was going back to the original discoverer.
Ten minutes later the door of the room he was watching opened and the man who called himself C. Kobas emerged into the hallway. He was a tall, gaunt individual with long legs and narrow chest, this C. Kobas, and he walked with long, purposeful strides---not toward the elevators but toward the stairways.
Major Brane had anticipated this moment, and his hand crept to the shoulder holster.The fingers caressed the butt of the automatic.
But luck turned against him. The door of the elevator clanged open and three Japanese officials strutted importantly into the corridor, peered about them. C. Kobas chose that moment to pass Major Brane, and to give him a suspicious glance. Then he hit the stairs, taking them two steps at a time.
MAJOR BRANE shrugged his shoulders. It was but the fortunes of war, and he who is a clever winner must be, first, a good loser. Brane fancied that it would be futile to try to catch the gaunt, long-legged man on the stairs, and it needed but a few seconds to demonstrate that futility to him. The man had gained the second floor before Major Brane had even reached the foot of the stairs to the third floor. Since Major Brane dared not follow on the run, the man ahead of him was making all the time that his long legs were capable of. The major also knew better than to loiter around the second floor. C. Kobas had rushed to Kukui Sakamisto's room, and there he would find protection and aid. Accordingly the American walked down the third floor corridor and waited at a point where he could peer down the stair well. He waited for some two or three minutes and then he saw a figure hurry to the stairs.
Brane leaned far over and glanced down. He could see the hand of a man sliding along the rail which bordered the stairs, could see a part of the coat sleeve. The material was a loud check, which coincided with the material that was in the suit which Kobas had been wearing.
Major Brane walked slowly down to the second floor. He paused for aswift moment of thought, then set his shoulders and walked purposefully toward Room 219.
He knocked. There was a moment of surreptitious motion from within, then the door opened a crack and a face that was wrinkled in a meaningless, mirthless smile regarded him.
"A man came out of here and dropped something," said Major Brane.
The door, which had been open but a crack, popped wide open now.
"Come in," said the man who stood there smiling.
The major walked into the room. The man who greeted him bowed and showed his teeth, sucking spittle against the roof of his mouth, so making curious hissing or bubbling noises. He indicated a chair.
Major Brane sat down. The other man, squat, broad-shouldered, powerful, walked to the door, turned the bolt, and locked the door.
Brane was under no illusions regarding Kukui Sakamisto. The man was clever. He had received certain documents from C. Kobas, and he had hidden these documents. They were in a safe place. --- Where was that place? It might be possible to find it if one had unlimited time; but Major Brane did not have unlimited time.
The Japanese bowed again, sucked spittle, smiled. And Brane was not deceived in the least. The man was intelligent, cunning, a dangerous enemy; and he had locked the door.
MAJOR BRANE reached a hand to his inside pocket. "I come," he said, "from the man who has just been here. He made a mistake."
Kukui Sakamisto shook his head. "Mistakes," he said in excellent English, "are not made by men who come to this room."
Major Brane bowed. "Thank you," he said.
Kukui Sakamisto laughed, a hissing laugh that trickled through prominent teeth.
Major Brane extracted the counterfeit letter, toyed with it.
"The man," he said, "who went by the name of C. Kobas, had two letters. One of them was to be used for a purpose. The other was genuine. He gave you the wrong one, and he wants the other one back. But he is afraid to come back to the hotel because of the police."
Kukui Sakamisto was bristling. "The international police," he said, "have no right to make a search merely because a man has political documents. It is no crime. They dare not !"
Major Brane grinned. "Certainly. But they could make a raid if they suspected a room of containing smuggled arms or a cache of opium; and then find out they had the wrong room, but only after they've found the letter. The police would like to read that letter. They are not averse to securing information---these international police."
Kukui Sakamisto's eyes glittered. "They will respect Japan's rights or they will no longer remain in power here!"
Major Brane made a gesture with his right hand, an airy gesture which showed that he considered the matter of no importance so far as he was concerned.
"That," he said, "doesn't affect the question of the letter." And he tossed the counterfeit letter over to the Japanese.
Kukui Sakamisto studied that envelope, then the letter. Ivan Balovich had made a good job of the counterfeit. There was nothing about either letter or envelope which indicated that the document was spurious. Balovich had seen to that. The issues involved were too important to allow the use of any forgery which could be detected.
Kukui Sakamisto hesitated, sucked spittle against the roof of his mouth, clapped his hands, rattled off a swift sentence in staccato Japanese.
AN inner door opened and a huge figure, attired in one of the kimonos which are worn universally by Japanese men as their native garb, entered the room. He bowed. Kukui Sakamisto spat forth some more Japanese, rose from the chair, moved to the inner room. He had the letter with him.
The man in the kimono smiled broadly but meaninglessly at Major Brane. Brane returned the smile. There were sounds from the inner room. The American got to his feet.
The man in the kimono smiled again, shook his head, motioned Major Brane back to the chair.
The major took a swift step forward. The Japanese opened his mouth to protest. Brane's hand flicked to the shoulder holster underneath his left armpit. The Japanese muttered an exclamation and launched himself, an avalanche of aggressive bone and muscle.
The skill and speed of the stocky man were tremendous. Short, squat, yet heavily muscled, he was like a rubber ball. His hands flashed forth with gripping fingers. A moment, and the hand with the gun would have been grabbed, then the arm hooked over the shoulder of the attacker, and Major Brane would have been hurtled through the air.
But Brane was no novice at this method of fighting. He knew it well enough to have a wholesome respect for it, as well as for the courage and stamina of those who had studied it and mastered it. The ordinary man would have sought to extend the gun and would have received a bad fall, a broken arm, and the humiliation of failure.
Brane jerked the gun hand back. The grasping fingers sought to follow the jerking wrist; they grappled and missed. Brane's left swung in a well-timed pivot. The blow caught flush on the man's jaw. As the jarring impact dazed his senses, the gun swung up and around in a swift arc. Metal thudded on bone and the major eased the figure in the kimono to the floor.
Brane walked swiftly, noiselessly to the communicating door, stepped into the inner room. Kukui Sakamisto was crouched on the floor, sitting Japanese fashion. He was staring in puzzled bewilderment at two letters which he held in either hand.
Major Brane knew his Japanese. The true son of Nippon prefers death to failure. It is a part of his racial creed. Hence, Major Brane wasted no time in words that would have necessitated the use of the gun. He stepped forward, extended his arm, thrust the cold ring of the barrel into the neck of the Japanese spy.
"It is the part of wisdom to avoid unnecessary violence," he said softly.
Sakamisto's body stiffened. For a moment he was rigid; then he did that which Major Brane had rather expected, that which makes Oriental psychology and enigma to the Occidental. A man of another race would have complied with the order, waiting for some future opportunity to rob the victor of his spoils. Kukui Sakamisto faced a certain death to "save his face." He whirled, grabbed, dropping the letters circling his arms.
Brane raised the gun barrel, whipped it down. Sakamisto gave a convulsive twitching of the body muscles, then dropped back unconscious. And Major Brane, free lance diplomat, pocketed both the letters. Next he took sheets from the bed, bound and gagged the two unconscious figures, and he made certain that the gags and bonds would hold. Then he set about finding the secret hiding place where the letters had been placed.
BRANE nodded his sympathy. His forehead was creased in thought.
THE car which had circled came roaring alongside them. In the car was a driver, and next to the driver was Alvaro de Gomez, grinning evilly and holding a shotgun in his hands, the barrels pointed straight at the heart of Major Brane.
AT dawn they started to walk. It was noon when they reached San Juan Capistrano. Edith rushed to a store and emerged with a paper.
Major Brane presented himself to the secretary. "Tell Mr. Swett that Major Copely Brane would like five minutes."
The girl regarded Major Brane with glassy eyes that bulged out from her head. They were expressionless, large eyes that yet held a hint of merciless efficiency.
"Major Brane of San Francisco?" she asked.
"The same, " he said.
"The eyes blinked once. "We had heard you were not disembarking, but were headed straight through for Hongkong, " she said.
Major Brane snapped a swift comment. "When you inform Mr. Swett that I am here," he observed, he will then know that his understanding was erroneous."
The girl nodded her head in jerking motion.
"There's the door,"she said. "He'll want to see you."
Major Brane strode to the door, knocked.
"Yeah," rasped a voice from the inner room, and that voice told of sleepless nights of taut nerves.
Major Brane opened the door.
James Swett got to his feet, his manner belligerent.
"I'm busy and --- Major Brane ! Well, well. Welcome to Shanghai. I understood you were holed up on the boat, afraid of missing connections !"
Major Brane shook hands, allowed himself to be given a cigar and a chair, then launched at once into the distasteful subject. He had a feeling that unseen eyes were watching his every move, that attentive ears were listening to his every utterance.
In the side pocket of Major Brane's coat reposed the envelope and letter which he had been commissioned to deliver to James Swett at the proper time. Major Brane was conscious of that document. It tugged at his coat as though it had been weighted.
With James Swett deceived as to the moves of the Semenov clique in Inner Mongolia it was possible that the great powers might blunder. James Swett represented a news gathering agency. Yet most of the news which he gathered never saw the black of printer's ink. That news was disseminated by code cablegram to various clients, and the clients were men with large financial interests who required absolutely authentic knowledge of certain events before those events were noised abroad in the marts of industry or in financial circles. Yet those same men were patriotic, and such bits of information which would have an important bearing upon government policies, were invariably communicated to certain department heads.
"I understood," said Major Brane, "that you would be interested in a certain letter."
Swett grinned a wry grin.
"There are several letters I should like to see, very, very much," he observed.
MAJOR BRANE nodded, regarded the tip of his cigar.
"General Gregory Semenov is active again in Inner Mongolia," he remarked.
"Precisely," agreed James Swett, his eyes narrowing. Then he added another comment. "Still the diplomatic free lance, Major?"
Major Brane grinned. "I make a living from occassional commissions," he said.
"Any ideas about Semenov?"
"I understand he has certain plans. The general nature of those plans is common knowledge."
Swett was thoughtful.
"My clients are not interested in generalities, but information as to certain specific dates and names would be welcome, very welcome indeed."
"How welcome?" asked Major Brane.
"If in the form of a certain document," said Swett, a sum of five thousand dollars, gold, would be considered fair compensation by my clients. A statement in the handwriting of Semenov would be worth that sum."
Major Brane got to his feet. "You'll be up for a while, I take it?"
Swett nodded. He also arose and his eyes were brittle, hard now.
"Look here, Major Brane, you're well known. I've dealt with you before and others have dealt with you. I'm not interested in failures, nor am I interested in methods that would bring trouble.
"I'd like to get certain documents. But if you think that you can casually stroll in here, get a bid, go out and pick up the document you want, and pick up five thousand dollars in gold as the simple result of an evening stroll from your ship, you're enjoying a reputation that's vastly over-rated."
Major Brane's tone was slightly bored. "What would you expect by way of proof?"
"I'd want to see a document that checked up with the physical description I have, and I'd want your absolute assurance that the document was genuine."
Major Brane's smile was paternal.
"That," he said, "would be almost a matter of course." And he bowed and took himself from the room.
As the door of the inner office closed, James Swett stared scowlingly at it. As the door of the outer room of the suite slammed, the glassy-eyed secretary wet her thin lips with the tip of a pale tongue, blinked her glassy eyes---and smiled.
MAJOR BRANE stepped out of the lobby of the Astor House and into the oppressive streets of the great city that is known as the Paris of the Orient. Those streets where guarded, suspicious looking characters were being stopped, interrogated. Rickshas hummed back and forth bearing messengers or minor diplomatic officials. Those officials traveled rapidly, with extra coolies on each side of the ricksha and in the rear, giving it added power and speed.
Major diplomatic officials did not venture out. They remained where they could be located on a moment's notice. The world trembled upon the brink of a war that threatened to leave civilization itself tottering. Those who might possibly avert a catastrophe were where they could intantly be reached by others who worked for the same purpose. And out in the river, the ominous shape of warships loomed as hulks of destiny, grim harbingers of death.
Major Brane caught the eye of his ricksha coolie. "Wait here," he said.
The coolie hesitated, gave sullen acquiescence.
Major Brane swung into a swift walk, crossed the bridge over Soochow Creek, and traversed the Bund with steps that propelled him at almost the speed of a trotting ricksha coolie.
Everywhere was bustle and confusion. Men were working in frenzied haste, erecting barriers of steel and barbed wire. Bags were being filled with sand and placed in strategic positions. No one thought of sleep. There is this about the streets of Chinese cities: it is impossible to tell if one is being followed. There are such great crowds, composed of people who dress alike and look alike, that one grows dizzy in an attempt to segregate individual entities. Major Brane, however, reasoned that he could make better time on foot than a ricksha could make, particularly if that ricksha held a European passenger.
He walked into the lobby of the Cathay Hotel, without once having looked behind him. It was possible that James Swett had had him shadowed from the time he left the Astor House. James Swett would dislike the idea of paying five thousand dollars for that which was not genuine, even when dealing with his clients' monies. And he would dislike more than all to make a report as to times and places, names and dates, which would subsequently turn out to be false.
Then, there was Ivan Balovich. The Russian was crude and ruthless. But he, too, would certainly make some attempt to have Major Brane shadowed.
Major Brane, however, did not let these matters concern him. He crossed the lobby of the Cathay Hotel, engaged a ricksha, took a brief spin through the streets, was stopped by the authorities on six different occasions, and then returned to the Cathay.
He went to the clerk's desk, scrawled his name upon the register, and was assigned to a room. The clerk watched him with a curiosity which was ill-concealed. But that curiosity remained unsatisfied. The guest had registered merely as C. Brane, San Francisco. The room which was assigned to him was on the third floor. Through the windows sounded that murmur of confused noise which characterizes the Chinese ports. Now the murmur contained an undertone which is seldom heard save when crowded people face imminent danger. It was a sullen undertone of apprehension.
Great events were in the making. And the activities of Major Brane within the next few hours would have much to do with those events.
MAJOR BRANE sat down in the hotel chair, lit a cigarette, the cigar having been thrown away, and concentrated for the space of some thirty seconds. Then he arose, smiled, nodded and left his room. He went down to the lobby.
"Let me look at the register, please," he told the clerk.
"Give me the name, please," said that individual.
"Kukui Sakamisto," said Major Brane without the slightest hesitation.
"I want to know if he's registered."
The clerk had no need to consult his records. "Room Two Nineteen," he said.
Major Brane bowed and left the desk.
He was smiling. Without having seen the man who was registered under the name of C. Kobas, without having made certain that he actually was registered, Major Brane had surmised the man's real identity. He knew that if this surmise was correct there would be another man to back him up; someone ready to stand by the mysterious C. Kobas and give him instructions. Major Brane had guessed shrewdly that this man would be none other than Kukui Sakamisto. He knew the personnel of the various diplomatic staffs, did Major Brane. And he knew the politics of the Orient better than any white man. It takes highly specialized knowledge as well as quick wits, to engage in diplomatic free lancing, maintaining the integrity of one's reputation, yet keeping free of surreptitious knife thrusts --- particularly when one travels in the Orient.
Major Brane sought his room once more. C. Kobas undoubtedly had the original letter, the forged substitute of which Major Brane had been commissioned to deliver as the genuine original to James Swett. It was equally certain that the man who went by the name of C. Kobas would have this document where it could be readily delivered to the proper parties, but where it would be safe from theft. C. Kobas was no fool. He did diplomatic dirty work. He was a go-between, one who garnered money for doing things that no nation cared to do officially.
If the deed was completed and the backtrail not too plain, nations would avail themselves of the fruits of the toil of the man who went by the name of C. Kobas. Beyond that they would not go---officially.
But Kukui Sakamisto was registered in the hotel, which showed that the man who was going by the name of C. Kobas was being given every aid and assistance which could be given---unofficially.
Major Copely Brane arose, snuffed out his cigarette and wrote a note, which he addressed to the head of the police of the international settlement. It was brief and to the point:
I happen to know the man who is registered as C. Kobas, in Room 486 of the Cathay Hotel, is here on a secret mission, that he is carrying on negotiations between General Gregory Semenov and a certain Power. That those negotiations include the establishment of a so-called independent government in Inner Mongolia; and that a letter is in possession of this C. Kobas telling exactly when Semenov will strike and exactly where he will go to receive the person who is to be the head of that independent government.
The identity of the person is also mentioned in the letter. The information should be of value and is contained in the letter which is to be found on the man who is registered as C. Kobas.
WHEN he had finished the note, Major Brane read it over twice, pursed his lips, nodded, extinguished the light in his room, made certain that he had left nothing behind, and stepped into the corridor, locking the door behind him.
He went once more to the lobby. He was now certain that his motions were the object of attention from spying eyes. He could not pick out the eyes in question, but he had been too long engaged in the field of free lance diplomacy not to tell when he was being shadowed.
He went to the street, nodded to the Sikh policeman who stood on guard at the front of the hotel. "A ricksha," he said.
The policeman blew a whistle. There was no sudden rush of ricksha coolies to attention; instead, a single ricksha man came to the curb with that smooth assurance of motion that characterizes one who is not accustomed to scrambling. Major Brane knew that this ricksha had been planted, and he smiled enigmatically as he got in.
"To the headquarters of the international police," he told the Sikh.
That officer interpreted the command in a voice which was not at all lowered. It was a deep, booming voice that spattered the words of Shanghainese upon the night air for all to hear who were interested.
The coolie hesitated, then slowly leaned his weight against the shafts. He seemed sullen, indisposed to make speed. Once he hesitated so that he came almost to a full stop. Twice he took the wrong turn; and upon each occasion was called sharply to time by Major Brane, who showed that he knew his Shanghai.
It was shortly after his second attempt to swing from the main road that Major Brane called a choked command. The coolie turned, to find his fare doubled up, gasping for breath. The major had the manner of a person suddenly stricken with a deadly malady, or perhaps unexpectedly pierced by the blade of a knife.
The coolie turned, paused, lowered the shafts of the ricksha. For a long moment he stared at the twisting features of his passenger. Then a slow smile spread over his face. For a second only did that smile twist his features. Then he was humbly solicitous.
"Massa want go back?" he asked.
Major Brane tried to answer. The paroxysms gripped him before the words came. He gasped, choked. Finally, he managed to sit erect, to speak in gasping words.
"I'm sick. No can go policee station. You takee this chit to police. Be sure now. You no take, make plenty trouble. I make another chit, allee samee, send him by other coolie, so be sure be all right. You go. I get another ricksha go back hotel." Major Brane lurched forward to the ground, handed the coolie the folded note. "Hurry !" he said.
Regardless of the stress of the times, or the hour of the night, when one of the "white devils" and a ricksha coolie engage in any unusual conversation upon the streets of Shanghai there are dozens of interested spectators who seem to conjure themselves up out of nowhere, only to congregate in large numbers. Two rickshas swung around a nearby corner, paused to gape. Half a dozen people slipped softly out of the shadowed streets, stood gawping.
Major Brane staggered across to one of the empty rickshas. "Cathay Hotel," he said. "Go quick !"
The new ricksha coolie leaned into the shafts. There were a few swift words of Chinese and the crowd melted.
But Major Brane noted that the other coolie, who had taken him from the hotel, had not taken any part in the conversation carried on in the native tongue.
Major Brane shrewdly surmised that the man might have had some difficulty in passing himself off as a native of Shanghai. He looked more like a man from the north.
Once back in the hotel, Major Brane made a remarkable recovery. There was nothing in his appearance to indicate illness when he strolled across the lobby, took the elevator to the third floor.
From the third floor he walked the corridor to the stairs, climbed to the fourth floor, and walked to a position from which he could view the doorway of Room 486---the room occupied by the individual who had registered as C. Kobas.
He waited for fifteen minutes. A floor boy discovered him, received a tip of five dollars in gold---unprecedented wealth from his point of view---and took himself off.
Shortly afterward, Major Brane was opportunely discovered by the bath boy, the room boy and a porter. Brane was slightly less generous with these individuals, shrewdly suspecting that a large commission was going back to the original discoverer.
Ten minutes later the door of the room he was watching opened and the man who called himself C. Kobas emerged into the hallway. He was a tall, gaunt individual with long legs and narrow chest, this C. Kobas, and he walked with long, purposeful strides---not toward the elevators but toward the stairways.
Major Brane had anticipated this moment, and his hand crept to the shoulder holster.The fingers caressed the butt of the automatic.
But luck turned against him. The door of the elevator clanged open and three Japanese officials strutted importantly into the corridor, peered about them. C. Kobas chose that moment to pass Major Brane, and to give him a suspicious glance. Then he hit the stairs, taking them two steps at a time.
MAJOR BRANE shrugged his shoulders. It was but the fortunes of war, and he who is a clever winner must be, first, a good loser. Brane fancied that it would be futile to try to catch the gaunt, long-legged man on the stairs, and it needed but a few seconds to demonstrate that futility to him. The man had gained the second floor before Major Brane had even reached the foot of the stairs to the third floor. Since Major Brane dared not follow on the run, the man ahead of him was making all the time that his long legs were capable of. The major also knew better than to loiter around the second floor. C. Kobas had rushed to Kukui Sakamisto's room, and there he would find protection and aid. Accordingly the American walked down the third floor corridor and waited at a point where he could peer down the stair well. He waited for some two or three minutes and then he saw a figure hurry to the stairs.
Brane leaned far over and glanced down. He could see the hand of a man sliding along the rail which bordered the stairs, could see a part of the coat sleeve. The material was a loud check, which coincided with the material that was in the suit which Kobas had been wearing.
Major Brane walked slowly down to the second floor. He paused for aswift moment of thought, then set his shoulders and walked purposefully toward Room 219.
He knocked. There was a moment of surreptitious motion from within, then the door opened a crack and a face that was wrinkled in a meaningless, mirthless smile regarded him.
"A man came out of here and dropped something," said Major Brane.
The door, which had been open but a crack, popped wide open now.
"Come in," said the man who stood there smiling.
The major walked into the room. The man who greeted him bowed and showed his teeth, sucking spittle against the roof of his mouth, so making curious hissing or bubbling noises. He indicated a chair.
Major Brane sat down. The other man, squat, broad-shouldered, powerful, walked to the door, turned the bolt, and locked the door.
Brane was under no illusions regarding Kukui Sakamisto. The man was clever. He had received certain documents from C. Kobas, and he had hidden these documents. They were in a safe place. --- Where was that place? It might be possible to find it if one had unlimited time; but Major Brane did not have unlimited time.
The Japanese bowed again, sucked spittle, smiled. And Brane was not deceived in the least. The man was intelligent, cunning, a dangerous enemy; and he had locked the door.
MAJOR BRANE reached a hand to his inside pocket. "I come," he said, "from the man who has just been here. He made a mistake."
Kukui Sakamisto shook his head. "Mistakes," he said in excellent English, "are not made by men who come to this room."
Major Brane bowed. "Thank you," he said.
Kukui Sakamisto laughed, a hissing laugh that trickled through prominent teeth.
Major Brane extracted the counterfeit letter, toyed with it.
"The man," he said, "who went by the name of C. Kobas, had two letters. One of them was to be used for a purpose. The other was genuine. He gave you the wrong one, and he wants the other one back. But he is afraid to come back to the hotel because of the police."
Kukui Sakamisto was bristling. "The international police," he said, "have no right to make a search merely because a man has political documents. It is no crime. They dare not !"
Major Brane grinned. "Certainly. But they could make a raid if they suspected a room of containing smuggled arms or a cache of opium; and then find out they had the wrong room, but only after they've found the letter. The police would like to read that letter. They are not averse to securing information---these international police."
Kukui Sakamisto's eyes glittered. "They will respect Japan's rights or they will no longer remain in power here!"
Major Brane made a gesture with his right hand, an airy gesture which showed that he considered the matter of no importance so far as he was concerned.
"That," he said, "doesn't affect the question of the letter." And he tossed the counterfeit letter over to the Japanese.
Kukui Sakamisto studied that envelope, then the letter. Ivan Balovich had made a good job of the counterfeit. There was nothing about either letter or envelope which indicated that the document was spurious. Balovich had seen to that. The issues involved were too important to allow the use of any forgery which could be detected.
Kukui Sakamisto hesitated, sucked spittle against the roof of his mouth, clapped his hands, rattled off a swift sentence in staccato Japanese.
AN inner door opened and a huge figure, attired in one of the kimonos which are worn universally by Japanese men as their native garb, entered the room. He bowed. Kukui Sakamisto spat forth some more Japanese, rose from the chair, moved to the inner room. He had the letter with him.
The man in the kimono smiled broadly but meaninglessly at Major Brane. Brane returned the smile. There were sounds from the inner room. The American got to his feet.
The man in the kimono smiled again, shook his head, motioned Major Brane back to the chair.
The major took a swift step forward. The Japanese opened his mouth to protest. Brane's hand flicked to the shoulder holster underneath his left armpit. The Japanese muttered an exclamation and launched himself, an avalanche of aggressive bone and muscle.
The skill and speed of the stocky man were tremendous. Short, squat, yet heavily muscled, he was like a rubber ball. His hands flashed forth with gripping fingers. A moment, and the hand with the gun would have been grabbed, then the arm hooked over the shoulder of the attacker, and Major Brane would have been hurtled through the air.
But Brane was no novice at this method of fighting. He knew it well enough to have a wholesome respect for it, as well as for the courage and stamina of those who had studied it and mastered it. The ordinary man would have sought to extend the gun and would have received a bad fall, a broken arm, and the humiliation of failure.
Brane jerked the gun hand back. The grasping fingers sought to follow the jerking wrist; they grappled and missed. Brane's left swung in a well-timed pivot. The blow caught flush on the man's jaw. As the jarring impact dazed his senses, the gun swung up and around in a swift arc. Metal thudded on bone and the major eased the figure in the kimono to the floor.
Brane walked swiftly, noiselessly to the communicating door, stepped into the inner room. Kukui Sakamisto was crouched on the floor, sitting Japanese fashion. He was staring in puzzled bewilderment at two letters which he held in either hand.
Major Brane knew his Japanese. The true son of Nippon prefers death to failure. It is a part of his racial creed. Hence, Major Brane wasted no time in words that would have necessitated the use of the gun. He stepped forward, extended his arm, thrust the cold ring of the barrel into the neck of the Japanese spy.
"It is the part of wisdom to avoid unnecessary violence," he said softly.
Sakamisto's body stiffened. For a moment he was rigid; then he did that which Major Brane had rather expected, that which makes Oriental psychology and enigma to the Occidental. A man of another race would have complied with the order, waiting for some future opportunity to rob the victor of his spoils. Kukui Sakamisto faced a certain death to "save his face." He whirled, grabbed, dropping the letters circling his arms.
Brane raised the gun barrel, whipped it down. Sakamisto gave a convulsive twitching of the body muscles, then dropped back unconscious. And Major Brane, free lance diplomat, pocketed both the letters. Next he took sheets from the bed, bound and gagged the two unconscious figures, and he made certain that the gags and bonds would hold. Then he set about finding the secret hiding place where the letters had been placed.
------
CHAPTER IV
Reprisal
AFTER all, Major Brane recognized that knowledge is power; and one who is engaged in the field of diplomatic free lancing must glean whatever morsels of knowledge opportunity sees fit to place in his way. He found the cache, cunningly concealed in the side of the wall, where a section of the baseboard had been removed. Though he had the letters, both original and counterfeit, Major Brane inspected the other papers which were in the cache. They were papers which were highly confidential, and they were literally loaded with dynamite.
Major Brane whistled softly as he read some of them. Then he selected a bag from the closet, a leather handbag that was not too big , yet was large enough to hold the documents. He scooped them in, switched off the lights, took a pillow and placed it under the head of Sakamisto, another one to place under the unconscious figure in the kimono. Then he took blankets from the bed, covered them, and, obeying a whimsical impulse, tucked them in snugly.
He unlocked the door, stepped into the corridor, left the building, and went at once to the Astor House Hotel. James Swett received him, inspected the letter which Major Brane handed him. He stroked his chin.
"If," he said, "this is genuine, it is worth a great deal."
Major Brane lit a cigarette with a hand that was as steady as the bronze hand of one of the statues in the park.
"You have my word," he observed calmly, 'that it is genuine."
James Swett nodded, reached for a drawer in the desk, disclosed a secret drawer behind it, and pulled out a book of travelers' checks. Those checks were signed with a name other than James Swett, but the signature which the pen dashed off on them was the exact duplicate of the signature at the top of the check.
"You'll have no trouble cashing these," he said.
Major Brane nodded his thanks.
Swett got to his feet. "How the devil did you do it?" he inquired. "You breeze in here, get things that I'm never even able to look at---and you do it all so casually ! As though it wasn't anything to stop off for an hour or two and scoop the lot of us."
Major Brane smiled enigmatically. "Well," he said, "you are hampered by more or less conventional methods. My own methods are hampered by nothing."
Swett's lips clamped in a grim line. "You'd be surprised to find how unconventional some of my methods are," he grunted. "But they don't get me results like yours."
Major Brane bowed his farewell. "After all," he observed, "results count."
And the glassy-eyed secretary stared at him in expressionless regard, blinked her huge eyes once, and then went back to some typing.
HIS ricksha Major Brane found waiting for him in front of the hotel. He was taken with speed to the walled Chinese city. Yet word of his success had preceded him. The dark door flung open. Ivan Balovich's personal servant was bowing and smiling. He ushered Major Brane in.
Balovich was jubilant. "He fell for it !" he exclaimed. He is already dispatching code cables. You did well !"
Major Brane bowed. "I did," he said, "exactly what I told you I would do. I did exactly that which I agreed to do, no more, no less."
Balovich nodded. The significance of the remark escaped him.
"The girl," said Major Brane ominously.
Balovich grinned. "I'm having you taken to her. Now, here's what's happened with her. She was taken by the Chinese girl to the place where she was to meet her brother, and she was given some Chinese cakes and candies to eat. They were drugged. She went to sleep.
"She's in a sampan on the river edge asleep. You must get her on board the ship. She doesn't know anything about where she's been. You'd better not tell her. There might be complications, you know."
Major Brane nodded. "Take me to her."
Balovich was expansive, triumphant, radiating gleeful good nature. "My but you're in a hurry. That damned Hongkong mission of yours, I guess. I didn't think you could possibly put this across in such a short time ! Tell me, what was the object of all that running around at the Cathay ? And you sent some letters or other to the police that almost raised hell ... Oh, don't think I don't know what you did !"
Major Brane smiled, a close, clipped smile of enigma. "I knew, of course," he said, "that the ricksha man to whom I gave the message was a spy. I knew also that Swett's secretary was a spy of yours. The message I sent, and the things I did at the Cathay, were all for one purpose---to make Swett believe that the letter I gave him was genuine. He accepted my word but he took the precaution of having spies trail me, to see what moves I made."
Balovich was more puzzled than ever. "But," he said, "Swett relied upon your word that the letter was genuine. That's what he said in his code cablegram to the people he represents."
Major Brane flicked a bit of cigarette ash with his little finger. "Indeed ?" he said, disinterestedly.
"Sure,"said Balovich. "That's what he relied on, so I don't see any use in setting the stage with all that hooey."
Major Brane concealed a yawn with polite fingers.
"Our methods," he observed, "are different.
BALOVICH grinned again. "Yeah, sure, major, results count. Well, I'm going to give you a break. I won't let it leak out that the letter was a forgery until the false information has done all the damage it can. And you won't dare to, either, major, because I've got a strangle hold on you. When the information leaks out that that letter is a forgery, your career as a free lance diplomat is finished.
"So you'll keep quiet, to make all the money you can now and then. Your people have a saying about making hay while the sun shines. And you'll remember that strangle hold I've got on you in the meantime. When you speak, then your earnings stop; because when you tell part of the story, I'll tell it all !" And Balovich grinned and rubbed his hands, very pleased with himself.
"I see," said Major Brane. "Thanks for your overwhelming gratitude. And how about having me taken to the girl ?"
Balovich clapped his huge hands. The slender Chinese girl glided into the room, her face utterly expressionless.
"Take him to the girl," said Ivan Balovich.
She turned without a word, walked to a closet, slipped on a fur coat, a hat.
Ivan Balovich grinned at Major Brane. "Well," he chuckled, "I can't blame you if you don't shake hands. You chaps are poor losers."
Major Brane bowed. "Good morning," he said, formally. "And I hardly deem it necessary to mention that if that girtl has been harmed, or if there is any treachery, you'll hardly see another sunrise."
Balovich laughed long and loudly. "What a sentimental cuss you are ! No, she hasn't been harmed. She's your reward for sacrificing a big chunk of your reputation ... Major Brane---the man who never failed.---Haw; haw haw !" And he was laughing as Major Brane left with the Chinese girl.
They went down the back way, out to a side street, where rickshas were waiting. Silently these rickshas paddled through the streets, came at length to the river. A covered sampan was there.
The light of dawn disclosed the Japanese battle wagons, lying grimly in the yellow waters. The Chinese girl looked at them with expressionless eyes.
Major Brane stepped aboard the craft. The boatman pulled back a sheet. Bess Rawlins, sleeping peacefully, a slight smile twisting the corners of her mouth, lay on a pile of blankets.
Brane nodded. "I will go as far as the ship with you," said the Chinese girl. "She may wake up, but if she has to be assisted aboard, it will be better if I am there. It will protect her good name somewhat."
THEY sculled to the ship, swung along the inclined stairs. Major Brane and the Chinese girl got Bess Rawlins into a state of half wakefulness. She climbed the stairs gripped between them. Major Brane, holding her left arm with his right, gripped the leather bag of papers in his left hand.
They went to the cabin of Bess Rawlins. Her brother was pacing the deck. Bess smiled wanly at him, moistened her dry lips. Her eyes were still dull, her words slurred with that blurring accent that characterizes those who talk in their sleep.
"Gosh, Stevey---I'm sorry. Had lil' drink with you and started hangin' onto your coat. Then the crowd separated us. A Chinese girl who spoke English---this one right here, nice girl---said she'd take me aboard. Gave me some cakes. Didn' have anything more to drink, but I just passed out ! Stevey, have I been a lot of trouble to you?---Let me flop for an hour, and I'll be all right. Did I shock the boat-gossips?"
Bess Rawlins staggered to the bed, dropped down upon it and sank instantly into a sound sleep.
Major Brane nodded crisply to young Rawlins. "Let her sleep. She'll be all right. But you'd better stay here with her.
He left the cabin, escorted the Chinese girl to the head of the inclined stairway.
She turned to him impulsively. "I know what you think. But please don't. That man is a devil. He always gets a strangle hold, as he calls it, on people. Makes them do what he wants.---That's what he did to you, got a strangle hold on you. And it's what he's done to me. He makes me work for him, do everything he orders. His allies have got my mother, my father, my younger sister. They hold them hostage. The minute I refuse to do as he orders, he will say the word and they will die.
"They will too. This is China. His allies are the pirates and the bandits. I have to do whatever he says. I had to betray you tonight when I wanted to help you to escape. But that would have meant the deaths of those I love.---And he makes me betray my country !"
She spoke in unemotional tones and expressionless eyes. But she stared unwinkingly at the grim outlines of the Japanese warships as she finished speaking.
Major Brane nodded. "Very well," he said. "If Balovich likes to use strangle holds, perhaps I can give him another one he won't relish.
"When you return to him, tell him that he may now go to the room of Kukui Sakamisto, turn the Japanese loose, and pick up the forged letter, which I left behind when I took the genuine original. And you might also tell him that you are leaving him for good. Mention that if he interferes with you, or if he tries to have me arrested before the boat leaves port, I will see that the other documents which I took from Sakamisto are made public. They are going in the purser's safe with a letter of instructions that will cover the case.."
The Chinese girl stared with yeys that gradually drew wider. "Oh !" she gasped.
Major Brane smiled. "Try that for a strangle hold on your Russian friend.
The Chinese girl stared for a long moment toward the east. Then she nodded and shook his hand.
"Thank you, Major Brane," she said, and was gone.
MAJOR BRANE sought his cabin, gave the documents he had stolen into the custody of the purser, and dropped off to sleep.
He awoke to hear the hoarse booming of a long-drawn whistle, and smiled. The engines were throbbing. The liner was headed down the Whangpoo, on her way to Hongkong; and Major Brane had not been arrested. His threat about the papers had been a strangle hold.
The Major arose, tubbed, and sought the deck. The skyline of Shanghai, looming like a jewel of civic wealth, was outlined against the blue sky. The city seemed peaceful, viewed from the deck of the big ship. Yet it was seething with excitement, soon to be torn by bombs and ravaged by fire, as Major Brane knew from a hasty reading of those documents which he had taken from the Japanese and which now reposed in the purser's safe. Balovich would never dare run the risk that those documents might be made public, badly as the Russian might have liked to try reprisals.
And that was the ultimate strangle hold.
Major Brane whistled softly as he read some of them. Then he selected a bag from the closet, a leather handbag that was not too big , yet was large enough to hold the documents. He scooped them in, switched off the lights, took a pillow and placed it under the head of Sakamisto, another one to place under the unconscious figure in the kimono. Then he took blankets from the bed, covered them, and, obeying a whimsical impulse, tucked them in snugly.
He unlocked the door, stepped into the corridor, left the building, and went at once to the Astor House Hotel. James Swett received him, inspected the letter which Major Brane handed him. He stroked his chin.
"If," he said, "this is genuine, it is worth a great deal."
Major Brane lit a cigarette with a hand that was as steady as the bronze hand of one of the statues in the park.
"You have my word," he observed calmly, 'that it is genuine."
James Swett nodded, reached for a drawer in the desk, disclosed a secret drawer behind it, and pulled out a book of travelers' checks. Those checks were signed with a name other than James Swett, but the signature which the pen dashed off on them was the exact duplicate of the signature at the top of the check.
"You'll have no trouble cashing these," he said.
Major Brane nodded his thanks.
Swett got to his feet. "How the devil did you do it?" he inquired. "You breeze in here, get things that I'm never even able to look at---and you do it all so casually ! As though it wasn't anything to stop off for an hour or two and scoop the lot of us."
Major Brane smiled enigmatically. "Well," he said, "you are hampered by more or less conventional methods. My own methods are hampered by nothing."
Swett's lips clamped in a grim line. "You'd be surprised to find how unconventional some of my methods are," he grunted. "But they don't get me results like yours."
Major Brane bowed his farewell. "After all," he observed, "results count."
And the glassy-eyed secretary stared at him in expressionless regard, blinked her huge eyes once, and then went back to some typing.
HIS ricksha Major Brane found waiting for him in front of the hotel. He was taken with speed to the walled Chinese city. Yet word of his success had preceded him. The dark door flung open. Ivan Balovich's personal servant was bowing and smiling. He ushered Major Brane in.
Balovich was jubilant. "He fell for it !" he exclaimed. He is already dispatching code cables. You did well !"
Major Brane bowed. "I did," he said, "exactly what I told you I would do. I did exactly that which I agreed to do, no more, no less."
Balovich nodded. The significance of the remark escaped him.
"The girl," said Major Brane ominously.
Balovich grinned. "I'm having you taken to her. Now, here's what's happened with her. She was taken by the Chinese girl to the place where she was to meet her brother, and she was given some Chinese cakes and candies to eat. They were drugged. She went to sleep.
"She's in a sampan on the river edge asleep. You must get her on board the ship. She doesn't know anything about where she's been. You'd better not tell her. There might be complications, you know."
Major Brane nodded. "Take me to her."
Balovich was expansive, triumphant, radiating gleeful good nature. "My but you're in a hurry. That damned Hongkong mission of yours, I guess. I didn't think you could possibly put this across in such a short time ! Tell me, what was the object of all that running around at the Cathay ? And you sent some letters or other to the police that almost raised hell ... Oh, don't think I don't know what you did !"
Major Brane smiled, a close, clipped smile of enigma. "I knew, of course," he said, "that the ricksha man to whom I gave the message was a spy. I knew also that Swett's secretary was a spy of yours. The message I sent, and the things I did at the Cathay, were all for one purpose---to make Swett believe that the letter I gave him was genuine. He accepted my word but he took the precaution of having spies trail me, to see what moves I made."
Balovich was more puzzled than ever. "But," he said, "Swett relied upon your word that the letter was genuine. That's what he said in his code cablegram to the people he represents."
Major Brane flicked a bit of cigarette ash with his little finger. "Indeed ?" he said, disinterestedly.
"Sure,"said Balovich. "That's what he relied on, so I don't see any use in setting the stage with all that hooey."
Major Brane concealed a yawn with polite fingers.
"Our methods," he observed, "are different.
BALOVICH grinned again. "Yeah, sure, major, results count. Well, I'm going to give you a break. I won't let it leak out that the letter was a forgery until the false information has done all the damage it can. And you won't dare to, either, major, because I've got a strangle hold on you. When the information leaks out that that letter is a forgery, your career as a free lance diplomat is finished.
"So you'll keep quiet, to make all the money you can now and then. Your people have a saying about making hay while the sun shines. And you'll remember that strangle hold I've got on you in the meantime. When you speak, then your earnings stop; because when you tell part of the story, I'll tell it all !" And Balovich grinned and rubbed his hands, very pleased with himself.
"I see," said Major Brane. "Thanks for your overwhelming gratitude. And how about having me taken to the girl ?"
Balovich clapped his huge hands. The slender Chinese girl glided into the room, her face utterly expressionless.
"Take him to the girl," said Ivan Balovich.
She turned without a word, walked to a closet, slipped on a fur coat, a hat.
Ivan Balovich grinned at Major Brane. "Well," he chuckled, "I can't blame you if you don't shake hands. You chaps are poor losers."
Major Brane bowed. "Good morning," he said, formally. "And I hardly deem it necessary to mention that if that girtl has been harmed, or if there is any treachery, you'll hardly see another sunrise."
Balovich laughed long and loudly. "What a sentimental cuss you are ! No, she hasn't been harmed. She's your reward for sacrificing a big chunk of your reputation ... Major Brane---the man who never failed.---Haw; haw haw !" And he was laughing as Major Brane left with the Chinese girl.
They went down the back way, out to a side street, where rickshas were waiting. Silently these rickshas paddled through the streets, came at length to the river. A covered sampan was there.
The light of dawn disclosed the Japanese battle wagons, lying grimly in the yellow waters. The Chinese girl looked at them with expressionless eyes.
Major Brane stepped aboard the craft. The boatman pulled back a sheet. Bess Rawlins, sleeping peacefully, a slight smile twisting the corners of her mouth, lay on a pile of blankets.
Brane nodded. "I will go as far as the ship with you," said the Chinese girl. "She may wake up, but if she has to be assisted aboard, it will be better if I am there. It will protect her good name somewhat."
THEY sculled to the ship, swung along the inclined stairs. Major Brane and the Chinese girl got Bess Rawlins into a state of half wakefulness. She climbed the stairs gripped between them. Major Brane, holding her left arm with his right, gripped the leather bag of papers in his left hand.
They went to the cabin of Bess Rawlins. Her brother was pacing the deck. Bess smiled wanly at him, moistened her dry lips. Her eyes were still dull, her words slurred with that blurring accent that characterizes those who talk in their sleep.
"Gosh, Stevey---I'm sorry. Had lil' drink with you and started hangin' onto your coat. Then the crowd separated us. A Chinese girl who spoke English---this one right here, nice girl---said she'd take me aboard. Gave me some cakes. Didn' have anything more to drink, but I just passed out ! Stevey, have I been a lot of trouble to you?---Let me flop for an hour, and I'll be all right. Did I shock the boat-gossips?"
Bess Rawlins staggered to the bed, dropped down upon it and sank instantly into a sound sleep.
Major Brane nodded crisply to young Rawlins. "Let her sleep. She'll be all right. But you'd better stay here with her.
He left the cabin, escorted the Chinese girl to the head of the inclined stairway.
She turned to him impulsively. "I know what you think. But please don't. That man is a devil. He always gets a strangle hold, as he calls it, on people. Makes them do what he wants.---That's what he did to you, got a strangle hold on you. And it's what he's done to me. He makes me work for him, do everything he orders. His allies have got my mother, my father, my younger sister. They hold them hostage. The minute I refuse to do as he orders, he will say the word and they will die.
"They will too. This is China. His allies are the pirates and the bandits. I have to do whatever he says. I had to betray you tonight when I wanted to help you to escape. But that would have meant the deaths of those I love.---And he makes me betray my country !"
She spoke in unemotional tones and expressionless eyes. But she stared unwinkingly at the grim outlines of the Japanese warships as she finished speaking.
Major Brane nodded. "Very well," he said. "If Balovich likes to use strangle holds, perhaps I can give him another one he won't relish.
"When you return to him, tell him that he may now go to the room of Kukui Sakamisto, turn the Japanese loose, and pick up the forged letter, which I left behind when I took the genuine original. And you might also tell him that you are leaving him for good. Mention that if he interferes with you, or if he tries to have me arrested before the boat leaves port, I will see that the other documents which I took from Sakamisto are made public. They are going in the purser's safe with a letter of instructions that will cover the case.."
The Chinese girl stared with yeys that gradually drew wider. "Oh !" she gasped.
Major Brane smiled. "Try that for a strangle hold on your Russian friend.
The Chinese girl stared for a long moment toward the east. Then she nodded and shook his hand.
"Thank you, Major Brane," she said, and was gone.
MAJOR BRANE sought his cabin, gave the documents he had stolen into the custody of the purser, and dropped off to sleep.
He awoke to hear the hoarse booming of a long-drawn whistle, and smiled. The engines were throbbing. The liner was headed down the Whangpoo, on her way to Hongkong; and Major Brane had not been arrested. His threat about the papers had been a strangle hold.
The Major arose, tubbed, and sought the deck. The skyline of Shanghai, looming like a jewel of civic wealth, was outlined against the blue sky. The city seemed peaceful, viewed from the deck of the big ship. Yet it was seething with excitement, soon to be torn by bombs and ravaged by fire, as Major Brane knew from a hasty reading of those documents which he had taken from the Japanese and which now reposed in the purser's safe. Balovich would never dare run the risk that those documents might be made public, badly as the Russian might have liked to try reprisals.
And that was the ultimate strangle hold.
THE END
Next Story
Next Story
The Watchful Eyes of Taiping
The eyes that never close were upon Major Brane, free lance diplomat, as he started on that mission out of Hongkong
CHAPTER I.
THE PROPOSITION .
THE tourist who lands in the Orient is almost certain to see Hongkong. If he is of a venturesome frame of mind, he may drop in upon the natives of Canton. But, unless he has more curiosity than discretion he will not see the village of Taiping which lies between.
Yet Major Copely Brane was utterly without curiosity. There were those who said that he was also utterly without discretion. At any rate, Major Copely Brane was in Taiping, and the native inhabitants stared at him with sullen passivity which can mark a race whose creed is that of passive resistance.
But that which particularly concerned Major Brane was the safety of the American tourist who had insisted upon accompanying him. Not that Major Brane had willingly saddled himself with the burden of the tourist, for he had not. The tourist had, so to speak, been thrust upon him.
The man had met Major Brane over cocktails in Hongkong. A chance remark had acquainted him with the remarkable knowledge which Major Brane possessed concerning the Orient. Thereafter the tourist had shown a disposition to stick to Major Brane closer than a brother.
Now the work which Major Brane carried on required secrecy. It was necessary for him to appear to have no work at all, but to be merely an idler, drifting about the tourist lanes in casual contact with the Orient. To have been decidedly uncivil to a fellow countryman in Hongkong would be to arouse suspicion, particularly when that countryman was John C. Malloy.
Therefore Major Brane smiled vaguely at Malloy's anecdotes, allowed himself to accompany Malloy upon a shopping expedition or two, used his knowledge of Cantonese to prevent the American tourist from being unmercifully fleeced by the clever merchants, and received in return the very evident gratitude of Malloy.
It had come as a relief when Major Brane found it necessary to go upriver. He had communicated to Malloy the bare fact of an intended journey. Malloy had requested permission to come along, and Major Brane, somewhat curtly, had refused that permission.
After all, there was such a thing as stretching the bonds of a friendship which was founded primarily upon the fact that both parties had common nationality and were staying at the same hotel.
For Major Brane was a free lance diplomat. He sold his knowledge and skill in delicate matters of intrigue much the same as regular diplomats served the govenments of their appointment. And, of late, Major Brane had taken particular pains to disguise his unique profession, even to the extent of masquerading as a casual tourist and fraternizing with other tourists.
Then had come the summons from Taiping, the secret chartering of a river boat, and the subsequent finding of the stowaway in the person of John C. Malloy himself.
"I know it was beastly rude," said Malloy humbly, "but you seem to get along with these Chinese so much better than any one I know, and I'm simply dying of curiosity to see this back country."
Major Brane scowlingly consulted his watch, not that the thing was at all necessary. He knew that he had no time to put back. Nor was there any other place where the tourist could be landed with any degree of comparative safety.
As he snapped the watch back inot his pocket, he spoke coldly.
"I can't say that I fancy your methods, Malloy. You're here. You'll see some interesting Chinese life outside of the tourist lanes. I presume that the gratification of your curiosity will be ample compensation in your mind for the forfeiture of my regard."
Malloy's face flushed.
"Oh I say !" he exclaimed.
But Major Brane, stiffly formal, had turned and was walking along the teakwood deck of the boat, his manner that of one who has very finally and definitely terminated a discussion.
So Major Brane was in Taiping, and, as he threaded his way along the street, avoiding the ever present puddles, seeing the sullen stares of the Chinese who lined the mat-covered alcoves along the sides of the roadway, he scowlingly considered the safety of the tourist who had forced his company upon him.
But Major Brane had other matters which also commanded consideration. Chief among these was the errand which had brought him to Taiping. Old Wu Ting Ma would be waiting, and Major Brane did not care to keep Wu Ting Ma waiting.
The doorway was like all the other doorways of the squalid street. Filth cluttered the entrance. The hot, steaming air conveyed a stench to the nostrils which seemed as a blanket. There was a naked child crouched on the doorstep, a bit of bamboo matting which served to give a degree of shade. All about were sing-song voices , chattering incessantly, the sound of shuffling feet, the sight of impassive yellow faces.
Major Brane pushed his way through the doorway.
THERE was a long passageway which turned abruptly. Major Brane's sun-dazzled eyes sought in vain to adjust themselves to the warm humidity of the darkness, and he pushed his feet cautiously ahead of him, looking for the elevated sill which would serve as a protection against the "homeless ghosts" who drifted uncertainly about, looking for someone upon whom they could attach themselves.
He stumbled upon that which he had expected, at length, a long beam of polished wood stretched across the passageway, rising to a height of some eight inches above the floor. Once across that, Major Brane proceded more expeditiously.
He came at length to a door made of heavy wood, crossed with stout beams. He raised his fist to pound upon this door, when it was opened. A half naked Chinese stood in the doorway, surveyed Major Brane through the darkened passageway with expressionless eyes, and then stood to one side.
Major Brane walked past. The door silently closed.
Major Brane was in a conventional reception room with its array of stiff chairs on either side, each of the chairs having a significance in the social scale. There was a rounded doorway at the far end of the room, and a figure clad in white silk came through this doorway, paused, raised both hands, and shook them.
Major Brane, mindful of the Chinese custom, raised his own hands and shook them.
The white-clad figure stood to one side, bowed.
Major Brane went forward, making a swift survey of the man. He was tall and thin. The taut skin over the high cheek bones, the sunken hollows beneath, showed that he was one of the old school who sought solace in the poppy pipe. The long nails showed that he was a gentleman. The large, thoughtful eyes proclaimed him a scholar.
Major Brane allowed himself to be ushered into an inner room.
A young girl drifted out of a connecting doorway, bowed to Major Brane. She was, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Her features were aristocratic, her bearing royal. Her skin was as old ivory, smooth and without blemish. Her manner contained the poise which comes to those who can trace an unbroken line of ancestry back for more than a thousand years.
Major Brane bowed again and was given the seat of honor.
As is required by Chinese custom, he protested that such an honor was not for him; and, as is also customary, allowed his host to carry the point.
That much of the conversation was in Cantonese. Then the girl spoke in excellent English. Yet her accent was that of one whose mother tongue is sung through eight modes of expression; an accent which Major Brane found pleasing to the ear.
"I know," she said, exactly what it is my father wants. I will save time by explaining."
Major Brane nodded.
A slave girl appeared with tea in covered cups, with the dried melon seed without which no conference can be complete. Major Brane sipped his tea, even showed the extent to which he had mastered the Chinese customs by cracking a melon seed with his teeth and extracting the meat in one piece.
The girl's mellow voice spoke pleasantly.
"My father," she said, "is a fish merchant. He deals extensively in fish. Recently he has experienced many misfortunes. Pirates have taken some of his profits. More than that there are some foreign influences seeking to obtain a concession upon his fishing grounds. In order to obtain this concession it would be necessary that my father should first have joined his ancestors. They seek to send him upon that journey.
"Among the Chinese the name of Major Brane stands for success in those things he undertakes. My father has, therefore, sent for you."
She ceased talking.
There was no smirking smile as would have been the case with a young woman of the white race, no display of emotion, no gesture. She merely spoke while she was saying that which she had to say, and ceased to speak when she had finished.
MAJOR BRANE regarded the impassive face of the older Chinese, stared at the thoughtful, serious eyes. "Exactly what," he asked, "could I do?"
He fancied that the man flicked a swift glance to the girl. There was a moment of silence. Then the girl spoke.
"You could ascertain the identity of the one who seeks to rob us of our concessions. We wish to know his identity."
"You have no clew?" he asked.
"None, " she said. "The man works utterly in the dark."
Major Brane scowled thoughtfully and remarked:
"I am afraid that which you wish is out of my line."
"Out of your line?" asked the girl, not comprehending the expression.
"Not the kind of employment I can take," explained Major Brane.
There was a momentary flicker of expression in the girl's eyes, a swift stab of pain. It came and vanished almost instantly. The eyes of the man conveyed nothing to one who did not know the Chinese much to those who did. They were rigidly expressionless, staring with wooden concentration at nothing, eyes that were held blank by an effort. It was as though the eyes had suddenly held their breath.
Major Brane knew then that the man understood English.
"That decision is final?" asked the girl.
"It is final," said Major Brane. "Your customs are not my customs. I can understand what would happen once you learned the identity of this man who was plotting against you. I would not care to become involved in the sort of justice which would be dealt."
For the first time there was some trace of spirit in the girl's tone. "It would be justice, simple justice, and no more !" she said.
Major Brane bowed.
"I do not question that," he said. "I merely remarked that I am not free to undertake the employment."
The man muttered a swift sentence in Cantonese. It was to the effect that the host did not argue with the guest. Major Brane heard and correctly interpreted that remark. The girl said abruptly:
You have made a long journey which was tedious. You will have a meal with us.
Major Brane inclined his head and muttered a phrase of acceptance.
Thereafter there was no further talk of business. On the other hand there was no indication of friendship. These people were discharging their duties as host and hostess, and Major Brane was careful to see that he remained in his place as a guest, observing the formal niceties of Chinese etiquette.
For Major Brane knew his China, and the knowledge brought him both a pleasure and a responsibility. He saw back of the veil, was privileged to peer beneath the inky surface of Chinese psychology. The great, throbbing mystery of the Orient with its teeming millions, its strange habits of thought, its peculiar reactions, was to Major Brane no mystery at all, but a fascinating spectacle, a drama which was being daily unfolded to his appreciative vision.
He was privileged to enter into the niceties of Chinese life, and saw things which perhaps no other white man had seen. But he had a corresponding responsibility. He could not break the Chinese conventions and plead ignorance. Nor could he, nor did he care to, force the Chinese to meet him upon his own ground. He became as a native when he dealt with the natives.
And so he sat through the long formality of the elaborate dinner, dipping his chopsticks into the central dishes in the middle of the table, conveying the choice morsels to his individual bowl of rice, scooping them into his mouth with that peculiar wrist motion which is the only effective way of handling rice with chopsticks.
IN between courses he raised the small gold wine cup, regarded the man and the girl, said in rapid repetition: "Doh jeah, doh jeah, doh jeah !" For the drinking of the Chinese is all ceremonial, being done at a certain time during the banquet, and in a certain manner. And when the girl slid a particularly choice morsel to the side of the central dish with her chopsticks, Major Brane did not hesitate, but accepted the honor by swooping down with his chopsticks much like the snapping beak of a water bird , and bearing the morsel directly to his lips.
In short, Major Brane acted as a native and was treated as such. It was well after dark when he had finished the meal and taken the formal farewell of his hosts which etiquette required. Never once did they mention their disappointment, or again refer to the business which brought Major Brane to Taiping.
And, upon his departure, the man had handed a package to the girl, who had, in turn, with a very pretty presentation speech, handed it to Major Brane, who accepted it with thanks. Then he had emerged from the passageway into the street of Taiping, taking care not to stumble over the beam which was laid to prevent the homeless ghosts from trooping into the house.
For the Chinese believe that certain ghosts are homeless. This is particularly true of the spirits who have died by drowning or by murder. These ghosts can only travel in straight lines, nor can they raise themselves to drift over a beam placed across an entrance.
The god who guards the doorways is supposed to frown upon these homeless ghosts and bid them begone. But occasionally one will elude his vigilance and crowd in with the spirits of the ancestors who rightfully belong in the abode. Therefore Chinese architecture abounds with traps to turn back these homeless ghosts.
And woe betide the man who finds the swollen corpse of a drowned man and lays hands upon it, for the homeless ghost, wailing through the shadow world in search of a dwelling place, will be sure to follow the finder to his home, and not all the frownings of the god of the entrance way will serve to keep the ghost of such a one from the house.
These thoughts were brought home to Major Brane as he threaded his way through the dark streets until he came to the water front where the dark waters lapped sluggishly against the wharves, constructed of lashed bamboo poles. For Major Brane had a pocket flashlight to use in emergencies, and there was something dark on the brim of the black waters which might have been the body of a dog, washed in by the current. But the flashlight of Major Brane, stabbing through the darkness, proclaimed at once that the body was not that of a dog. It was naked from the waist up, and the features were swollen and discolored, although the silk cord which had encircled the neck was no longer visible.
Yet Major Copely Brane was utterly without curiosity. There were those who said that he was also utterly without discretion. At any rate, Major Copely Brane was in Taiping, and the native inhabitants stared at him with sullen passivity which can mark a race whose creed is that of passive resistance.
But that which particularly concerned Major Brane was the safety of the American tourist who had insisted upon accompanying him. Not that Major Brane had willingly saddled himself with the burden of the tourist, for he had not. The tourist had, so to speak, been thrust upon him.
The man had met Major Brane over cocktails in Hongkong. A chance remark had acquainted him with the remarkable knowledge which Major Brane possessed concerning the Orient. Thereafter the tourist had shown a disposition to stick to Major Brane closer than a brother.
Now the work which Major Brane carried on required secrecy. It was necessary for him to appear to have no work at all, but to be merely an idler, drifting about the tourist lanes in casual contact with the Orient. To have been decidedly uncivil to a fellow countryman in Hongkong would be to arouse suspicion, particularly when that countryman was John C. Malloy.
Therefore Major Brane smiled vaguely at Malloy's anecdotes, allowed himself to accompany Malloy upon a shopping expedition or two, used his knowledge of Cantonese to prevent the American tourist from being unmercifully fleeced by the clever merchants, and received in return the very evident gratitude of Malloy.
It had come as a relief when Major Brane found it necessary to go upriver. He had communicated to Malloy the bare fact of an intended journey. Malloy had requested permission to come along, and Major Brane, somewhat curtly, had refused that permission.
After all, there was such a thing as stretching the bonds of a friendship which was founded primarily upon the fact that both parties had common nationality and were staying at the same hotel.
For Major Brane was a free lance diplomat. He sold his knowledge and skill in delicate matters of intrigue much the same as regular diplomats served the govenments of their appointment. And, of late, Major Brane had taken particular pains to disguise his unique profession, even to the extent of masquerading as a casual tourist and fraternizing with other tourists.
Then had come the summons from Taiping, the secret chartering of a river boat, and the subsequent finding of the stowaway in the person of John C. Malloy himself.
"I know it was beastly rude," said Malloy humbly, "but you seem to get along with these Chinese so much better than any one I know, and I'm simply dying of curiosity to see this back country."
Major Brane scowlingly consulted his watch, not that the thing was at all necessary. He knew that he had no time to put back. Nor was there any other place where the tourist could be landed with any degree of comparative safety.
As he snapped the watch back inot his pocket, he spoke coldly.
"I can't say that I fancy your methods, Malloy. You're here. You'll see some interesting Chinese life outside of the tourist lanes. I presume that the gratification of your curiosity will be ample compensation in your mind for the forfeiture of my regard."
Malloy's face flushed.
"Oh I say !" he exclaimed.
But Major Brane, stiffly formal, had turned and was walking along the teakwood deck of the boat, his manner that of one who has very finally and definitely terminated a discussion.
So Major Brane was in Taiping, and, as he threaded his way along the street, avoiding the ever present puddles, seeing the sullen stares of the Chinese who lined the mat-covered alcoves along the sides of the roadway, he scowlingly considered the safety of the tourist who had forced his company upon him.
But Major Brane had other matters which also commanded consideration. Chief among these was the errand which had brought him to Taiping. Old Wu Ting Ma would be waiting, and Major Brane did not care to keep Wu Ting Ma waiting.
The doorway was like all the other doorways of the squalid street. Filth cluttered the entrance. The hot, steaming air conveyed a stench to the nostrils which seemed as a blanket. There was a naked child crouched on the doorstep, a bit of bamboo matting which served to give a degree of shade. All about were sing-song voices , chattering incessantly, the sound of shuffling feet, the sight of impassive yellow faces.
Major Brane pushed his way through the doorway.
THERE was a long passageway which turned abruptly. Major Brane's sun-dazzled eyes sought in vain to adjust themselves to the warm humidity of the darkness, and he pushed his feet cautiously ahead of him, looking for the elevated sill which would serve as a protection against the "homeless ghosts" who drifted uncertainly about, looking for someone upon whom they could attach themselves.
He stumbled upon that which he had expected, at length, a long beam of polished wood stretched across the passageway, rising to a height of some eight inches above the floor. Once across that, Major Brane proceded more expeditiously.
He came at length to a door made of heavy wood, crossed with stout beams. He raised his fist to pound upon this door, when it was opened. A half naked Chinese stood in the doorway, surveyed Major Brane through the darkened passageway with expressionless eyes, and then stood to one side.
Major Brane walked past. The door silently closed.
Major Brane was in a conventional reception room with its array of stiff chairs on either side, each of the chairs having a significance in the social scale. There was a rounded doorway at the far end of the room, and a figure clad in white silk came through this doorway, paused, raised both hands, and shook them.
Major Brane, mindful of the Chinese custom, raised his own hands and shook them.
The white-clad figure stood to one side, bowed.
Major Brane went forward, making a swift survey of the man. He was tall and thin. The taut skin over the high cheek bones, the sunken hollows beneath, showed that he was one of the old school who sought solace in the poppy pipe. The long nails showed that he was a gentleman. The large, thoughtful eyes proclaimed him a scholar.
Major Brane allowed himself to be ushered into an inner room.
A young girl drifted out of a connecting doorway, bowed to Major Brane. She was, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Her features were aristocratic, her bearing royal. Her skin was as old ivory, smooth and without blemish. Her manner contained the poise which comes to those who can trace an unbroken line of ancestry back for more than a thousand years.
Major Brane bowed again and was given the seat of honor.
As is required by Chinese custom, he protested that such an honor was not for him; and, as is also customary, allowed his host to carry the point.
That much of the conversation was in Cantonese. Then the girl spoke in excellent English. Yet her accent was that of one whose mother tongue is sung through eight modes of expression; an accent which Major Brane found pleasing to the ear.
"I know," she said, exactly what it is my father wants. I will save time by explaining."
Major Brane nodded.
A slave girl appeared with tea in covered cups, with the dried melon seed without which no conference can be complete. Major Brane sipped his tea, even showed the extent to which he had mastered the Chinese customs by cracking a melon seed with his teeth and extracting the meat in one piece.
The girl's mellow voice spoke pleasantly.
"My father," she said, "is a fish merchant. He deals extensively in fish. Recently he has experienced many misfortunes. Pirates have taken some of his profits. More than that there are some foreign influences seeking to obtain a concession upon his fishing grounds. In order to obtain this concession it would be necessary that my father should first have joined his ancestors. They seek to send him upon that journey.
"Among the Chinese the name of Major Brane stands for success in those things he undertakes. My father has, therefore, sent for you."
She ceased talking.
There was no smirking smile as would have been the case with a young woman of the white race, no display of emotion, no gesture. She merely spoke while she was saying that which she had to say, and ceased to speak when she had finished.
MAJOR BRANE regarded the impassive face of the older Chinese, stared at the thoughtful, serious eyes. "Exactly what," he asked, "could I do?"
He fancied that the man flicked a swift glance to the girl. There was a moment of silence. Then the girl spoke.
"You could ascertain the identity of the one who seeks to rob us of our concessions. We wish to know his identity."
"You have no clew?" he asked.
"None, " she said. "The man works utterly in the dark."
Major Brane scowled thoughtfully and remarked:
"I am afraid that which you wish is out of my line."
"Out of your line?" asked the girl, not comprehending the expression.
"Not the kind of employment I can take," explained Major Brane.
There was a momentary flicker of expression in the girl's eyes, a swift stab of pain. It came and vanished almost instantly. The eyes of the man conveyed nothing to one who did not know the Chinese much to those who did. They were rigidly expressionless, staring with wooden concentration at nothing, eyes that were held blank by an effort. It was as though the eyes had suddenly held their breath.
Major Brane knew then that the man understood English.
"That decision is final?" asked the girl.
"It is final," said Major Brane. "Your customs are not my customs. I can understand what would happen once you learned the identity of this man who was plotting against you. I would not care to become involved in the sort of justice which would be dealt."
For the first time there was some trace of spirit in the girl's tone. "It would be justice, simple justice, and no more !" she said.
Major Brane bowed.
"I do not question that," he said. "I merely remarked that I am not free to undertake the employment."
The man muttered a swift sentence in Cantonese. It was to the effect that the host did not argue with the guest. Major Brane heard and correctly interpreted that remark. The girl said abruptly:
You have made a long journey which was tedious. You will have a meal with us.
Major Brane inclined his head and muttered a phrase of acceptance.
Thereafter there was no further talk of business. On the other hand there was no indication of friendship. These people were discharging their duties as host and hostess, and Major Brane was careful to see that he remained in his place as a guest, observing the formal niceties of Chinese etiquette.
For Major Brane knew his China, and the knowledge brought him both a pleasure and a responsibility. He saw back of the veil, was privileged to peer beneath the inky surface of Chinese psychology. The great, throbbing mystery of the Orient with its teeming millions, its strange habits of thought, its peculiar reactions, was to Major Brane no mystery at all, but a fascinating spectacle, a drama which was being daily unfolded to his appreciative vision.
He was privileged to enter into the niceties of Chinese life, and saw things which perhaps no other white man had seen. But he had a corresponding responsibility. He could not break the Chinese conventions and plead ignorance. Nor could he, nor did he care to, force the Chinese to meet him upon his own ground. He became as a native when he dealt with the natives.
And so he sat through the long formality of the elaborate dinner, dipping his chopsticks into the central dishes in the middle of the table, conveying the choice morsels to his individual bowl of rice, scooping them into his mouth with that peculiar wrist motion which is the only effective way of handling rice with chopsticks.
IN between courses he raised the small gold wine cup, regarded the man and the girl, said in rapid repetition: "Doh jeah, doh jeah, doh jeah !" For the drinking of the Chinese is all ceremonial, being done at a certain time during the banquet, and in a certain manner. And when the girl slid a particularly choice morsel to the side of the central dish with her chopsticks, Major Brane did not hesitate, but accepted the honor by swooping down with his chopsticks much like the snapping beak of a water bird , and bearing the morsel directly to his lips.
In short, Major Brane acted as a native and was treated as such. It was well after dark when he had finished the meal and taken the formal farewell of his hosts which etiquette required. Never once did they mention their disappointment, or again refer to the business which brought Major Brane to Taiping.
And, upon his departure, the man had handed a package to the girl, who had, in turn, with a very pretty presentation speech, handed it to Major Brane, who accepted it with thanks. Then he had emerged from the passageway into the street of Taiping, taking care not to stumble over the beam which was laid to prevent the homeless ghosts from trooping into the house.
For the Chinese believe that certain ghosts are homeless. This is particularly true of the spirits who have died by drowning or by murder. These ghosts can only travel in straight lines, nor can they raise themselves to drift over a beam placed across an entrance.
The god who guards the doorways is supposed to frown upon these homeless ghosts and bid them begone. But occasionally one will elude his vigilance and crowd in with the spirits of the ancestors who rightfully belong in the abode. Therefore Chinese architecture abounds with traps to turn back these homeless ghosts.
And woe betide the man who finds the swollen corpse of a drowned man and lays hands upon it, for the homeless ghost, wailing through the shadow world in search of a dwelling place, will be sure to follow the finder to his home, and not all the frownings of the god of the entrance way will serve to keep the ghost of such a one from the house.
These thoughts were brought home to Major Brane as he threaded his way through the dark streets until he came to the water front where the dark waters lapped sluggishly against the wharves, constructed of lashed bamboo poles. For Major Brane had a pocket flashlight to use in emergencies, and there was something dark on the brim of the black waters which might have been the body of a dog, washed in by the current. But the flashlight of Major Brane, stabbing through the darkness, proclaimed at once that the body was not that of a dog. It was naked from the waist up, and the features were swollen and discolored, although the silk cord which had encircled the neck was no longer visible.
----
CHAPTER II
MURDER
YET Major Brane knew at once that the man was dead, and also the manner of his death. More than that the beam of flashlight showed him something which otherwise he would not have known. For corpses that drift along the waterfront in China are by no means so rare that he who has dealt long in the country has stumbled upon them from time to time.
In the darkness Major Brane would have been inclined to shrug his shoulders and pass on. After all, the man was dead, and nothing that Major Brane could have done would have restored him to life.
But the light from the flashlight disclosed to Major Brane a certain familiarity about the man's swollen features. Major Brane looked again and verified his first impression.
The dead man was none other than the captain of the boat which had piloted him up from Hongkong, and which was waiting to take him back, a heavy junk with a broad, high stern and sails of woven matting.
Major Brane stepped back into the shadows to give the full significance of that fact a chance to soak in. It was, of course, possible that the watchful ones of Taiping had observed that the boat had been chartered by a foreigner and deduced that the captain would have much gold as much a conseqence.
Yet, it was equally possible that the death of this man was from other reasons, reasons which were more closely connected with Major Brane himself.
Crouched in the smelly shadows of Taiping, Major Brane considered the matter and considered the "fish business" of the man with the sunken cheeks.
He knew his Chinese well enough to know that merely because the girl was of a high character and good breeding was no sign that she told the truth, particularly to one who was under no obligations to keep her confidences secret.
So he took the small package from his pocket, undid the red colored rice paper, disclosed a wooden box, within which was a small box of cunningly carved ivory.
The light from the flash penetrated this ivory receptacle and disclosed the lustrous loveliness of a huge pearl.
Major Brane abruptly extinguished his flashlight and turned his steps back in the direction from which he had come. His lips were clamped in a firm line and his eyes were level lidded.
Here and there he passed shadowy figures moving through the damp darkness. The night was hot and muggy. Perspiration streamed from the pores with the mere exertion of slow walking, despite the suit of light silk which clothed Major Brane.
He knew his China and he knew the inadvisability of hurrying to his destination, so he kept his feet at a sane pace. Yet his mind was churning thoughts about with hectic speed, and many things which had not been clear to him before were clear to him now.
He came at length to the doorway from which he had emerged.
The outer door was open. Two Chinese symbols were painted upon the wall. To the uninitiated those were merely black brush marks on masonry. To the initiated they proclaimed themselves as marking the presence of the god of the doorway. Major Brane brushed on past, used his flashlight to penetrate the darkness of the passageway, came at length to the barred door. Once more he raised his fist to pound upon the door, the flashlight flooding the place with brilliant illumination.
His hand came to pause as he saw that which was in the passageway underfoot. It was a puddle of dark, viscid liquid, and the surface of the pool gave forth a red reflection of the flashlight.
The stream of blood was coming from under the door, and Major Brane saw then that the door was not tightly closed. He pushed at it and the door opened far enough for him to walk into the room beyond. The door would not open further because of the presence of that which furnished the source of the trickling red pool which had seeped into the stone flagged passageway.
It was the man who had acted as guard for the door, and the manner in which his throat had been slit from ear to ear proclaimed the killer to have been unusually adept in such matters.
Major Brane brushed on past. His flashlight was in his left hand now, and the perspiring palm of his right gripped the warm metal of his automatic.
A crouched figure caught the rays of his light.
It was the slave girl who had served the dinner. She was seated upon a stool, her head forward, her eyes staring. At first Major Brane thought that she too had felt the kiss of death; but the eyes were not the eyes of a corpse. She was merely absorbed in her grief. Where a white woman would have fainted, and so lulled her consciousness into merciful oblivion, this Chinese slave girl had accomplished the same thing by a trick of concentration.
It would have been as impossible to obtain information from her as it would have been to question one who is far gone with poppy smoke, and Major Brane pushed on.
He heard the rustle of motion, and came upon an inner room.
BEFORE an altar which had been erected at the far end of the room, tapers burned with a flickering yellow flame. There were offerings placed upon this altar, bits of pork, a bowl of rice, a small bowl filled with earth in which were embedded smoldering joss sticks. The place was redolent with the pungent odor of the joss sticks.
The figure of the old man in the white silk garment was kneeling before this altar.
Major Brane waited.
Minutes passed. The man turned away from the altar.
"Tell me," said Major Brane, "what happened."
The man stared at Major Brane for a full five seconds before he made any answer. There was no expression of surprise, no startled question, merely the answer to the question. It was in Cantonese, and Major Brane made shift to interpret it.
"The watchful ones," said the man, "saw you emerge from this house. You were to keep your coming a guarded secret. Yet it was no secret to my enemies. They pushed past the guard, killed many of my servants, and took my daughter Moe Jing."
Major Brane nodded curtly.
"I came to tell you," he said, "that I had decided to accept the commission you offerred me. Circumstances made me change my mind.
He spoke in English with the assurance that the tall Chinese could understand that which he said.
The man showed no enthusiasm.
"When the pearl has been pried from the oyster," he remarked, "is no time to guard the shell."
Major Brane nodded. He was standing very erect, very soldierly, and there were glinting lightnings in his eyes.
"True," he said." I seek to recover the pearl.
"There is no clew to the thief," protested the man. "Now I put my things in order and prepare for poverty. The price which will be demanded in return of my daughter will be all of my wealth, and, in addition, a surrender of my rights to the pearl bed."
Major Brane nodded at that. He knew the methods of the Chinese pirates who had doubtless been commissioned to handle the actual kidnapping of the girl. First there would be a polite demand. The second command would be accompanied by the ear of the victim, or one of the fingers, later one would come further bits of anatomical urging.
Major Brane turned toward the doorway. "You do not know who did it? Don't have any ideas?"
The man swept his arm in a wide gesture.
"This is Taiping. Out on the waterfront you will see hundreds of junks. Perhaps half of those junks are bristling with cannon. Ask their owners and you will be informed that they carry silk and that the risk from pirates is so great that they must carry guns."
He paused, dramatically, and then added, significantly: "Yet not all of those boats which are so armed with cannon carry silk."
Major Brane strode toward the door.
No need to tell him of Taiping, or of the significance of the boats which were anchored there along the waterfront, grimly forbidding boats bristling with cannon.
"I go," he said simply. "I will return with your daughter."
The man shook his head.
"It is a question of ransom," he said.
Major Brane said nothing, but strode out through the doorway, past the still form of the silent guard whose throat was a gaping thing of red horror; out past the solid beam which was to guard against the homeless ghosts, out into the Taiping night. And he had the feeling that the eyes of the watchful ones of Taiping were fastened upon him. It was a feeling which gave him something of a chill, as though the black waters of the rivers were even now slapping against his cold flesh, as though the swollen neck muscles hid the silk cord which had purpled the dead features.
Major Brane shook off the feeling and he took steps to shake off the scrutiny of the watchful ones. He moved deliberately into those patches of darkness where smells assailed the nostrils as with a physical impact .He skirted the narrow alleys where humans were packed like sardines, and where the tropical night gave unmistakable evidences of the crowded humanity which packed the shadows.
BY devious means he came at once more to the waterfront. And this time he carried with him a bundle, a mat which he had ripped from the front of the establishment, a mat made of interlaced strips, light yet durable.
Major Brane felt that the eyes of the watchful ones had temporarily missed him. They would be waiting to pick him up at some point where he must contact a means of egress from the town. In the meantime Major Brane was free of their scrutiny.
And he was single-handed, one against teeming hordes.
The authorities leave Taiping very much alone. When the foreign controlled port of Hongkong must needs lock passengers of upriver steamers behind steel bars so that pirates cannot get at them; when they much search every passenger to board the boats; when they must have Indian guards to stand constant watch behind steel doors with loaded rifles at ready; when they must, in addition to all these precautions, send their river steamers in a convoy system with signals ready to flare out a request for help; then one can expect that the native authorities can do but little to patrol the stretch of river up which these boats sail.
The city of Taiping, in short, was a hotbed of piracy. The delta was literally infested with pirate craft. These men were armed. They were cunning, and their powers of observation were cultivated to a greater extent than the powers of observation of any other race in the world.
These men had taken Moe Jing, and Major Brane, single-handed, had agreed to get her back. Added to these odds were the further odds that these enemies had doubtless conspired to take the life of Major Brane, merely by way of precaution.
The odds were not favorable, to say the least, and no one knew it better than Major Brane.
He used his flashlight not at all, but prowled the edge of the waterfront like some hungry dog, seeking hopefully for scraps of refuse in a country where even refuse is a luxury to many hungry humans.
He came at length to that which he sought, the dead form of the boat captain. And he pulled and tugged this form from the water, dried it as much as he could, rolled it onto the mat which he spread out on the incline which led to the water, then rolled the mat around the form.
When he had done that he pulled wax cord from his pocket and trussed up the mat so there would be no chance of its pulling loose. Prowling about, he discovered a piece of lumber and his knife cut loose a length of light rope from the rigging of a junk which was anchored in dark silhouette against the reflected skylight which came from the water.
Major Brane toiled perspiringly. When he was finished he had the thing which was in the matting lashed firmly to the board. Then he set about looking for bearers.
He saw a form ahead of him, staring curiously at the shops along the waterfront and gave an exclamation under his breath as he recognized the man. It was John C. Malloy.
In the darkness Major Brane would have been inclined to shrug his shoulders and pass on. After all, the man was dead, and nothing that Major Brane could have done would have restored him to life.
But the light from the flashlight disclosed to Major Brane a certain familiarity about the man's swollen features. Major Brane looked again and verified his first impression.
The dead man was none other than the captain of the boat which had piloted him up from Hongkong, and which was waiting to take him back, a heavy junk with a broad, high stern and sails of woven matting.
Major Brane stepped back into the shadows to give the full significance of that fact a chance to soak in. It was, of course, possible that the watchful ones of Taiping had observed that the boat had been chartered by a foreigner and deduced that the captain would have much gold as much a conseqence.
Yet, it was equally possible that the death of this man was from other reasons, reasons which were more closely connected with Major Brane himself.
Crouched in the smelly shadows of Taiping, Major Brane considered the matter and considered the "fish business" of the man with the sunken cheeks.
He knew his Chinese well enough to know that merely because the girl was of a high character and good breeding was no sign that she told the truth, particularly to one who was under no obligations to keep her confidences secret.
So he took the small package from his pocket, undid the red colored rice paper, disclosed a wooden box, within which was a small box of cunningly carved ivory.
The light from the flash penetrated this ivory receptacle and disclosed the lustrous loveliness of a huge pearl.
Major Brane abruptly extinguished his flashlight and turned his steps back in the direction from which he had come. His lips were clamped in a firm line and his eyes were level lidded.
Here and there he passed shadowy figures moving through the damp darkness. The night was hot and muggy. Perspiration streamed from the pores with the mere exertion of slow walking, despite the suit of light silk which clothed Major Brane.
He knew his China and he knew the inadvisability of hurrying to his destination, so he kept his feet at a sane pace. Yet his mind was churning thoughts about with hectic speed, and many things which had not been clear to him before were clear to him now.
He came at length to the doorway from which he had emerged.
The outer door was open. Two Chinese symbols were painted upon the wall. To the uninitiated those were merely black brush marks on masonry. To the initiated they proclaimed themselves as marking the presence of the god of the doorway. Major Brane brushed on past, used his flashlight to penetrate the darkness of the passageway, came at length to the barred door. Once more he raised his fist to pound upon the door, the flashlight flooding the place with brilliant illumination.
His hand came to pause as he saw that which was in the passageway underfoot. It was a puddle of dark, viscid liquid, and the surface of the pool gave forth a red reflection of the flashlight.
The stream of blood was coming from under the door, and Major Brane saw then that the door was not tightly closed. He pushed at it and the door opened far enough for him to walk into the room beyond. The door would not open further because of the presence of that which furnished the source of the trickling red pool which had seeped into the stone flagged passageway.
It was the man who had acted as guard for the door, and the manner in which his throat had been slit from ear to ear proclaimed the killer to have been unusually adept in such matters.
Major Brane brushed on past. His flashlight was in his left hand now, and the perspiring palm of his right gripped the warm metal of his automatic.
A crouched figure caught the rays of his light.
It was the slave girl who had served the dinner. She was seated upon a stool, her head forward, her eyes staring. At first Major Brane thought that she too had felt the kiss of death; but the eyes were not the eyes of a corpse. She was merely absorbed in her grief. Where a white woman would have fainted, and so lulled her consciousness into merciful oblivion, this Chinese slave girl had accomplished the same thing by a trick of concentration.
It would have been as impossible to obtain information from her as it would have been to question one who is far gone with poppy smoke, and Major Brane pushed on.
He heard the rustle of motion, and came upon an inner room.
BEFORE an altar which had been erected at the far end of the room, tapers burned with a flickering yellow flame. There were offerings placed upon this altar, bits of pork, a bowl of rice, a small bowl filled with earth in which were embedded smoldering joss sticks. The place was redolent with the pungent odor of the joss sticks.
The figure of the old man in the white silk garment was kneeling before this altar.
Major Brane waited.
Minutes passed. The man turned away from the altar.
"Tell me," said Major Brane, "what happened."
The man stared at Major Brane for a full five seconds before he made any answer. There was no expression of surprise, no startled question, merely the answer to the question. It was in Cantonese, and Major Brane made shift to interpret it.
"The watchful ones," said the man, "saw you emerge from this house. You were to keep your coming a guarded secret. Yet it was no secret to my enemies. They pushed past the guard, killed many of my servants, and took my daughter Moe Jing."
Major Brane nodded curtly.
"I came to tell you," he said, "that I had decided to accept the commission you offerred me. Circumstances made me change my mind.
He spoke in English with the assurance that the tall Chinese could understand that which he said.
The man showed no enthusiasm.
"When the pearl has been pried from the oyster," he remarked, "is no time to guard the shell."
Major Brane nodded. He was standing very erect, very soldierly, and there were glinting lightnings in his eyes.
"True," he said." I seek to recover the pearl.
"There is no clew to the thief," protested the man. "Now I put my things in order and prepare for poverty. The price which will be demanded in return of my daughter will be all of my wealth, and, in addition, a surrender of my rights to the pearl bed."
Major Brane nodded at that. He knew the methods of the Chinese pirates who had doubtless been commissioned to handle the actual kidnapping of the girl. First there would be a polite demand. The second command would be accompanied by the ear of the victim, or one of the fingers, later one would come further bits of anatomical urging.
Major Brane turned toward the doorway. "You do not know who did it? Don't have any ideas?"
The man swept his arm in a wide gesture.
"This is Taiping. Out on the waterfront you will see hundreds of junks. Perhaps half of those junks are bristling with cannon. Ask their owners and you will be informed that they carry silk and that the risk from pirates is so great that they must carry guns."
He paused, dramatically, and then added, significantly: "Yet not all of those boats which are so armed with cannon carry silk."
Major Brane strode toward the door.
No need to tell him of Taiping, or of the significance of the boats which were anchored there along the waterfront, grimly forbidding boats bristling with cannon.
"I go," he said simply. "I will return with your daughter."
The man shook his head.
"It is a question of ransom," he said.
Major Brane said nothing, but strode out through the doorway, past the still form of the silent guard whose throat was a gaping thing of red horror; out past the solid beam which was to guard against the homeless ghosts, out into the Taiping night. And he had the feeling that the eyes of the watchful ones of Taiping were fastened upon him. It was a feeling which gave him something of a chill, as though the black waters of the rivers were even now slapping against his cold flesh, as though the swollen neck muscles hid the silk cord which had purpled the dead features.
Major Brane shook off the feeling and he took steps to shake off the scrutiny of the watchful ones. He moved deliberately into those patches of darkness where smells assailed the nostrils as with a physical impact .He skirted the narrow alleys where humans were packed like sardines, and where the tropical night gave unmistakable evidences of the crowded humanity which packed the shadows.
BY devious means he came at once more to the waterfront. And this time he carried with him a bundle, a mat which he had ripped from the front of the establishment, a mat made of interlaced strips, light yet durable.
Major Brane felt that the eyes of the watchful ones had temporarily missed him. They would be waiting to pick him up at some point where he must contact a means of egress from the town. In the meantime Major Brane was free of their scrutiny.
And he was single-handed, one against teeming hordes.
The authorities leave Taiping very much alone. When the foreign controlled port of Hongkong must needs lock passengers of upriver steamers behind steel bars so that pirates cannot get at them; when they much search every passenger to board the boats; when they must have Indian guards to stand constant watch behind steel doors with loaded rifles at ready; when they must, in addition to all these precautions, send their river steamers in a convoy system with signals ready to flare out a request for help; then one can expect that the native authorities can do but little to patrol the stretch of river up which these boats sail.
The city of Taiping, in short, was a hotbed of piracy. The delta was literally infested with pirate craft. These men were armed. They were cunning, and their powers of observation were cultivated to a greater extent than the powers of observation of any other race in the world.
These men had taken Moe Jing, and Major Brane, single-handed, had agreed to get her back. Added to these odds were the further odds that these enemies had doubtless conspired to take the life of Major Brane, merely by way of precaution.
The odds were not favorable, to say the least, and no one knew it better than Major Brane.
He used his flashlight not at all, but prowled the edge of the waterfront like some hungry dog, seeking hopefully for scraps of refuse in a country where even refuse is a luxury to many hungry humans.
He came at length to that which he sought, the dead form of the boat captain. And he pulled and tugged this form from the water, dried it as much as he could, rolled it onto the mat which he spread out on the incline which led to the water, then rolled the mat around the form.
When he had done that he pulled wax cord from his pocket and trussed up the mat so there would be no chance of its pulling loose. Prowling about, he discovered a piece of lumber and his knife cut loose a length of light rope from the rigging of a junk which was anchored in dark silhouette against the reflected skylight which came from the water.
Major Brane toiled perspiringly. When he was finished he had the thing which was in the matting lashed firmly to the board. Then he set about looking for bearers.
He saw a form ahead of him, staring curiously at the shops along the waterfront and gave an exclamation under his breath as he recognized the man. It was John C. Malloy.
----
CHAPTER III
Brane's Scheme
Major Brane hesitated, then went forward. Malloy whirled at the sound of shod feet, saw Major Brane and grinned.
"Hope you've got over your grouch !" he said. "I wouldn't have missed this thing for five thousand dollars. It's been a wonderful experience. Man, but this is China ! A China that the tourist never sees !"
Major Brane spoke dryly.
"Exactly," he said. "The reason the tourist doesn't see it is because of the danger. And I might as well warn you that you've probably rushed headlong into things from which you may never get out.
"You're a countryman of mine and I feel duty bound to tell you, although I shall cut you dead when we get back to Hongkong, if we ever do. But I came here on a secret mission. I didn't know the exact importance of that mission myself. But I find out that it has to do with pearls that are probably worth a big fortune, that because of them a beautiful Chinese girl has been kidnapped by pirates, that a house has been invaded and servants and slaves ruthlessly butchered, that enemies will probably seek to kill me before I can return to Hongkong.
"You can figure for yourself exactly where that leaves you."
In the half darkness Major Brane could see the man shiver, could hear the throat muscles force saliva down his gullet as he swallowed spasmodically. Then Malloy said: "Bosh. You're trying to frighten me. Such things don't happen !"
Major Brane reached in his pocket and took out the wooden box. He opened it and disclosed the curved ivory receptacle, the pearl which nestled within. He directed the beam of his flashlight upon that pearl.
"A slight present," he said. "Given to me merely because I came in response to a summons. It is probably but a small part of the gems which are involved."
John C. Malloy whistled. Then he laughed nervously.
"Right in the middle of an adventure !" he exclaimed gleefully.
Major Brane grunted. "If you'd seen the gaping throat of the doorman at the house I visited you'd sing another tune. You're plunged into the middle of an adventure, and a knife probably will be plunged into the middle of your gizzard."
Malloy sobered.
"What am I to do?"
"Are you armed?"
"Yes."
"How did you come from the boat?"
"In a little affair. I guess you call 'em sampans. The man's waiting for me."
"All right. We go back in it. But first I get some coolies to carry a bundle, a present which was given me unexpectedly."
"Coolies, now? The place seems to have gone dead !"
"I'll get them."
AND Major Brane walked to a doorway and began banging upon it with fists and feet. Almost at once the shadows disgorged other shadows, shadows which moved restlessly formed a ring about the foreign devil who was battering upon the door. Major Brane whirled and addressed these circled shadows.
"Triple pay for two men and a bamboo pole," he said. "Much silver to carry a burden and I pay the money in Hongkong."
He spoke in Cantonese and the men understood him and surged forward. In a matter of seconds Major Brane had his coolies, two of whom he had selected from some fifty applicants. He led them to the place where he had his burden and the curious throng trooped along with him.
Malloy spoke curiously.
"Who was this girl who was kidnapped?" he asked.
"A girl named Moe Jing. About nineteen, very pretty, slender, aristocratic."
"Moe Jing, that's a funny name."
"It is a name with a meaning," answered Major Brane. "Translated, it means Admirer of Virtue."
Malloy chuckled.
"Meaning that that's why she sent for you in her ...ah...hour of tribulation?"
Major Brane eyed him with disgust.
"I can begin to understand," he said, "something of the hatred of the better class of Chinese for the tourist."
And he indicated the burden, saw that it was safely hoisted to the shoulders of the coolies, dangling stiffly from the bamboo pole.
"I say," said Malloy, "how the devil did you get it this far?"
"Had two coolies," explained Major Brane shortly and with unhesitating deceit. "A black cat spit at them, or some omen frightened them. They dropped it and ran."
"What's in it?" Malloy inquired.
"Don't know. It's a present. May be valuable. Probably two or three roast pigs, varnished, and about a month old. There's no way of telling, but it would be impolite to abandon it. Lead the way to your sampan and don't talk so damn much. Some of thee natives may be able to understand what we're saying."
Malloy grunted, led the ay to the sampan.
"I wish," he complained, "you'd act human about this thing, Brane. After all, I had to see what Taiping was like, and you knew the country so well that I thought it'd be a good chance to come along for a look-see."
Major Brane said nothing. He superintended the unloading of the heavy bundle from the shoulders of the coolies, arranged with them to come with him out to the junk which was waiting, well out in the middle of the anchorage, sail ready to catch the wind.
THE junk loomed dark and forbidding. Major Brane could hear low, cautious voices, the sound of feet slipping about the deck. He sensed that these men were hostile, ready to slit his throat. He knew, with the finding of the murdered body of the captain, that the boat was in hostile hands. Yet there was nothing in his manner which betrayed that knowledge.
He leapt to the deck, and Malloy waited until it was apparent that there was to be no rush of attack before he came up from the sampan. He seemed in rare good humor.
Major Brane had kept over to the edge of the rail. His right hand was kept in the pocket of his silk suit, and that pocket sagged ominously.
"I say," whispered Malloy. "You've got a gun and I have. Standing together we could fight off swarms of these naked boatmen. I've got extra ammunition and I suppose you have."
Major Brane grunted.
"You don't know these men," he said. "What's more we've got a job ahead of us. We've got to find Moe Jing, and rescue her."
"That's right," said Malloy. "The Admirer of Virtue. I think I'm going to like her. I'd almost forgotten about her. Personally I think the thing to do is get out of here, get back to Hongkong and notify the authorities there."
Major Brane's comment was terse.
"You're in China now, not the States," he said. "Try reporting something to the authorities in China once, if you want an exasperating experience. Hongkong is British. The authorities there are powerless to deal with problems in Chinese waters except by negotiations. "
Malloy shrugged his shoulders and the gesture was visible in the dim light.
"Okay," he said, you're the captain and you know the ropes. Go ahead. I'll trail along behind. You make the move."
Major Brane grunted.
"Once out in the darkness," he observed, "and we won't have to make a move. It'll be made for us. We'll have to defend ourselves."
"Oh, well," said Malloy cheerfully, "we can do it. I refuse to be frightened. Two white men. Lord, we're worth a boatload of natives. Shoulder to shoulder, you know, and all that sort of stuff. Say the word and we'll start the attack and beat 'em to it. We could account for about half of 'em before they knew what it was about."
"We'll determine our strategy later," said Major Brane.
He went to the bow of the boat, looked out at the water, then indicated to the coolies where he wished his things placed. There had been a cabin placed at his disposal but in the moist warmth of the tropics, those who know China prefer a place in the bows of the boat to a cooped-up interior, and Major Brane had occupied the bow of the boat on the long trip up from Hongkong.
The anchor came up to the tune of chorused grunts. The sail bellied into the wind. The moist warmth of the breeze struck their sweat-soggy garments, and the pinpoints of light which marked Taiping began to slip astern.
Major Brane whispered to Malloy.
"You might," he said, "look around," and he spoke in the sing-song of Cantonese.
Malloy turned, stared at him blankly.
Major Brane laughed and apologized: "All worked up over that girl," he said. "I was thinking about the Chinese and I talked in Chinese. I was suggesting that you work your way up along the rail, keeping your gun ready. See if you can see 'em bunching anywhere. There's a chance they'll open up fire from the stern."
Malloy seemed to be getting his assurance back.
"Okay," he said, but I think it's all a false alarm. They won't do anything to us. They don't dare to tackle a white man this close to the treaty ports. I'll take a look-see, though."
He moved up along the rail, cautiously, slowly, a black figure, which was soon dissolved in the shadows. And Major Brane, waiting a moment, set to work with swift fingers untying ropes, pulling away matting.
He uncovered, propped the board up against the bow of the boat, lashed the shoulder and waist to the board so that the corpse stood upright. Then he ripped away the matting and threw it into the waters that were slipping silently by in the blackness beneath.
IT was then, hand on gun, he moved forward.
"Triple pay for two men and a bamboo pole," he said. "Much silver to carry a burden and I pay the money in Hongkong."
He spoke in Cantonese and the men understood him and surged forward. In a matter of seconds Major Brane had his coolies, two of whom he had selected from some fifty applicants. He led them to the place where he had his burden and the curious throng trooped along with him.
Malloy spoke curiously.
"Who was this girl who was kidnapped?" he asked.
"A girl named Moe Jing. About nineteen, very pretty, slender, aristocratic."
"Moe Jing, that's a funny name."
"It is a name with a meaning," answered Major Brane. "Translated, it means Admirer of Virtue."
Malloy chuckled.
"Meaning that that's why she sent for you in her ...ah...hour of tribulation?"
Major Brane eyed him with disgust.
"I can begin to understand," he said, "something of the hatred of the better class of Chinese for the tourist."
And he indicated the burden, saw that it was safely hoisted to the shoulders of the coolies, dangling stiffly from the bamboo pole.
"I say," said Malloy, "how the devil did you get it this far?"
"Had two coolies," explained Major Brane shortly and with unhesitating deceit. "A black cat spit at them, or some omen frightened them. They dropped it and ran."
"What's in it?" Malloy inquired.
"Don't know. It's a present. May be valuable. Probably two or three roast pigs, varnished, and about a month old. There's no way of telling, but it would be impolite to abandon it. Lead the way to your sampan and don't talk so damn much. Some of thee natives may be able to understand what we're saying."
Malloy grunted, led the ay to the sampan.
"I wish," he complained, "you'd act human about this thing, Brane. After all, I had to see what Taiping was like, and you knew the country so well that I thought it'd be a good chance to come along for a look-see."
Major Brane said nothing. He superintended the unloading of the heavy bundle from the shoulders of the coolies, arranged with them to come with him out to the junk which was waiting, well out in the middle of the anchorage, sail ready to catch the wind.
THE junk loomed dark and forbidding. Major Brane could hear low, cautious voices, the sound of feet slipping about the deck. He sensed that these men were hostile, ready to slit his throat. He knew, with the finding of the murdered body of the captain, that the boat was in hostile hands. Yet there was nothing in his manner which betrayed that knowledge.
He leapt to the deck, and Malloy waited until it was apparent that there was to be no rush of attack before he came up from the sampan. He seemed in rare good humor.
Major Brane had kept over to the edge of the rail. His right hand was kept in the pocket of his silk suit, and that pocket sagged ominously.
"I say," whispered Malloy. "You've got a gun and I have. Standing together we could fight off swarms of these naked boatmen. I've got extra ammunition and I suppose you have."
Major Brane grunted.
"You don't know these men," he said. "What's more we've got a job ahead of us. We've got to find Moe Jing, and rescue her."
"That's right," said Malloy. "The Admirer of Virtue. I think I'm going to like her. I'd almost forgotten about her. Personally I think the thing to do is get out of here, get back to Hongkong and notify the authorities there."
Major Brane's comment was terse.
"You're in China now, not the States," he said. "Try reporting something to the authorities in China once, if you want an exasperating experience. Hongkong is British. The authorities there are powerless to deal with problems in Chinese waters except by negotiations. "
Malloy shrugged his shoulders and the gesture was visible in the dim light.
"Okay," he said, you're the captain and you know the ropes. Go ahead. I'll trail along behind. You make the move."
Major Brane grunted.
"Once out in the darkness," he observed, "and we won't have to make a move. It'll be made for us. We'll have to defend ourselves."
"Oh, well," said Malloy cheerfully, "we can do it. I refuse to be frightened. Two white men. Lord, we're worth a boatload of natives. Shoulder to shoulder, you know, and all that sort of stuff. Say the word and we'll start the attack and beat 'em to it. We could account for about half of 'em before they knew what it was about."
"We'll determine our strategy later," said Major Brane.
He went to the bow of the boat, looked out at the water, then indicated to the coolies where he wished his things placed. There had been a cabin placed at his disposal but in the moist warmth of the tropics, those who know China prefer a place in the bows of the boat to a cooped-up interior, and Major Brane had occupied the bow of the boat on the long trip up from Hongkong.
The anchor came up to the tune of chorused grunts. The sail bellied into the wind. The moist warmth of the breeze struck their sweat-soggy garments, and the pinpoints of light which marked Taiping began to slip astern.
Major Brane whispered to Malloy.
"You might," he said, "look around," and he spoke in the sing-song of Cantonese.
Malloy turned, stared at him blankly.
Major Brane laughed and apologized: "All worked up over that girl," he said. "I was thinking about the Chinese and I talked in Chinese. I was suggesting that you work your way up along the rail, keeping your gun ready. See if you can see 'em bunching anywhere. There's a chance they'll open up fire from the stern."
Malloy seemed to be getting his assurance back.
"Okay," he said, but I think it's all a false alarm. They won't do anything to us. They don't dare to tackle a white man this close to the treaty ports. I'll take a look-see, though."
He moved up along the rail, cautiously, slowly, a black figure, which was soon dissolved in the shadows. And Major Brane, waiting a moment, set to work with swift fingers untying ropes, pulling away matting.
He uncovered, propped the board up against the bow of the boat, lashed the shoulder and waist to the board so that the corpse stood upright. Then he ripped away the matting and threw it into the waters that were slipping silently by in the blackness beneath.
IT was then, hand on gun, he moved forward.
CHAPTER IV
THE WATCHFUL ONES
HE could see the dim shadow against the rail, saw another figure skulk up out of the darkness and slide up against that figure. There was a low-voiced conversation.
Major Brane tiptoed his way toward the pair. It was vital that he should hear the language in which it was carried on.
He caught a whispered word: "Now ... top side ..."
The conversation was in English.
The figure slipped along the rail. The second figure remained where it had joined the first for a moment, then moved toward the stern. Major Brane crossed the deck.
That figure which was going toward the bow came to an abrupt halt, hand streaking to the side.
"All right, Malloy," said Major Brane.
Malloy laughed nervously.
"Gee, but you gave me a start," he said, and moved away from the rail toward Major Brane.
"Yes," observed Major Brane, "it's a bit eerie out here on the water---"
Flames spat forth from the dark side of the figure.
Malloy's shot, coming from the hip as it did, missed.
Major Brane jumped for him. His automatic spat viciously. Malloy, half spun about, staggered. Major Brane was on him, whipping his left to the jaw. There was the rush of pattering feet on the deck. A swirling group of shadows rushed forward.
Major Brane sent five shots from his automatic into the thick of them. The swirling shadows disintegrated. There were spasmodic shots, bullets which whistled past Major Brane, thunked into the deck planks. Major Brane retreated.
He raised his voice and called out in Cantonese:
"Fools, you have given yourself unto the leadership of a fool !" He went to the dead captain and touched the body. "Now the ghost haunts the boat. See ! The homeless ghost who comes to make this boat his home !"
Major Brane clicked on his flashlight and directed the beam at the corpse that was lashed in an upright position in the bow of the boat.
The ropes were cunningly tied so that they did not show. There was, perhaps, a suggestion of awkwardness to the set of the shoulders and close inspection would have shown the rope which held the head against the board. But the effect was startling.
The deck of the junk, the pointed bow, gently hissing its way through the water. The black night forming a backdrop of velvety darkness. Etched against this backdrop by the white beam of the flashlight, the sinister figure of the dead man, the features distorted and swollen. The body still glistening with such moisture as remained, clinging to the skin.
For a second only did Major Brane keep on the flashlight.
Then he pulled back the snap switch and darkness pressed once more upon the deck of the junk.
Malloy, the white leader, lay stretched on the deck, a sprawled lump of blackness. The Thing was in the bow, staring at them. The lights of Taiping were not too far astern.
Something went over the rail. There was a splash. It was followed by more splashes. In vain the leader urged his men to return, condemned the magic of the white devil. Panic had gripped the men. They had seen with their own eyes the thing that was in the bow. It was the ghost of the former commander of the junk. That was certain. They had recognized the features, the glistening body.
A small group moved dubiously forward.
MAJOR BRANE possessed himself of Malloy's gun. He held a weapon in either hand, and flattened himself to the deck. He was under no illusions. This was to the death.
The men moved forward. Their hearts were not in the work. Always they realized that every step they took forward took them that much nearer to that which was in the bow of the junk.
Major Brane fired. He took careful aim down the barrels of his guns between shots. The bullets spatted out into the darkness at regularly spaced intervals. The men rushed. The firing from the group was ragged and wild. Invariably the bullets went over Major Brane.
He stemmed the first charge.
He reloaded, moved along the deck to the shelter of a capstan. The swirling figures went into motion once more. But this time there was no advance. It was a swirling motion the vortex of which was in the group.
Then there was a cry, a cry which abruptly faded into a moist gurgling, as though the person making the cry had suddenly started to gargle his throat. Then the cry ceased. Something black went into the night, up over the rail, hit the water with a great splash.
"That," whispered Major Brane to himself, "will be the body of the native leader."
The group once more went into motion. This time it was a motion toward the rear. A small boat hit the warer, jabbering men piled helter skelter into it. Excited voices sounded from the waterline, then slipped rapidly astern.
Major Brane moved along the deck of the boat. He found rope, and he trussed up Malloy like a pig for market. As he snapped the ropes home and tightened the knots, Malloy's eyes fluttered open.
Major Brane's voice was grim.
"If she is aboard," he said, "and unharmed, you can perhaps hope for a punishment that won't include torture. If she isn't aboard, you'll scream out your regrets for hours before you die. That much I know of the Chinese my avaricious murderer."
Malloy's lips spat curses.
Major Brane tightened the last knot and moved along the deck. Here and there were still, crumpled figures, sign of the accuracy of his fire.
He found her in the captain's cabin, a room furnished with carved screens, redolent of poppy smokes, filled with the indescribable odor of human occupancy which adheres to cabins in the junks. She was tied with a cunning skill which held her powerless. Yet she could talk.
"I heard the shots," she said, "and hoped that it was you."
Major Brane liberated her. She got to her feet, smiled at him with her lips. But her eyes were steady and grave.
"Father?" she asked.
Major Brane nodded his head.
"All right when I left him. I think he still is. Have you friends in Taiping?"
She nodded.
"The flash of the shots and the noise of the reports could be heard in the city," he said. "Perhaps your father will know."
She nodded again and said: "There are watchful ones in Taiping, those who watch us for our harm, and those who watch us for our protection ..."
A voice sounded cautiously from the darkness, a quavering treble of Cantonese. The girl gave an exclamation.
There are those who claim that the Chinese women are utterly without emotion. Those are the ones who do not know the Orient. They have simply never seen the women confronted with an emotion strong enough to break through the barriers of their reserve. Those women feel emotion as keenly as the most high strung of the emotional races; but they are schooled to repress their feelings back of a wall of reserve. Once these pent up feelings burst through the walls of that reserve, the Chinese woman becomes as a different creature.
At the sound of her father's voice, hailing in trembling uncertainty from the dark waters, the girl dashed from the cabin, screaming incoherently. She ran to the rail of the boat. Chattered Cantonese left her lips and rattled out into the darkness with a speed so great that Major Brane's ears could not keep up with the flow of language. Nor could he interpret what she said. She talked herself completely away from his understanding.
And, across the dark ribbon of water came the sound of frantic splashings as hurried hands dashed oars and sculls into the water. A dozen voices shrilled into spontaneous and simultaneous conversation. The voice of the girl arose and joined in the mad conversational melee of confusion.
Major Brane smiled, shrugged his shoulders.
THE clerk of the Hongkong Hotel bowed ingratiatingly.
"Back again, Major Brane," he said.
Major Brane, smiled, nodded, extended his hands for his mail.
The clerk gave him the package of letters and cablegrams.
"There was a man who was with you some," he added. "A Mr. John C. Malloy. He left abruptly when you did.We have heard nothing from him. I thought ... perhaps ..."
Major Brane's eyes were cold and unfaltering. He spoke calmly, finally: "I am sorry, but I cannot tell you where John C. Malloy is."
The clerk fidgeted.
"You chartered a boat to go somewhere? Upriver, perhaps?"
Major Brane's smile was frosty.
"Perhaps," he agreed. "If you wish to know of my journeyings, you might ask the homeless ghosts of the river. Or perhaps the Watchful Ones who act as spies for the pirates. In the meantime, please place this package in your safe until I can bathe and go to my bank. Have a care, for they are pearls of the finest quality."
The man felt the weight of the package.
"Pearls !" he said.
"Precisely," said Major Brane. "And if your curiosity still persists, I might mention that they were given to me by the homeless ghost of a junk captain which flies up and down the river on the cold mists which rise in the darkness."
And Major Brane moved on toward his room and a bath.
The secret of his pearls, the ultimate fate of the man who had spied upon him, wormed his way into his confidence only to betray him, was known only to the watchful ones of Taiping.
Major Brane had blundered once. But he had lived by his wits too long not to have put two and two together. When the Chinese pearl owner had told him of the mysterious foreigner who was striking for his concession, when that foreigner had known of Major Brane's secret mission to Taiping, Major Brane had kept a ready finger on the trigger as he approached John C. Malloy there on the deck of the deck of the river junk, and that ready trigger finger had turned the tables. That and his knowledge of Chinese psychology.
But the secret was locked in the mystery of the upriver country, known only to the watchful ones of Taiping. And those people did not talk. They watched and they acted, but they kept silent.
Which was as Major Brane would wish it.
Major Brane tiptoed his way toward the pair. It was vital that he should hear the language in which it was carried on.
He caught a whispered word: "Now ... top side ..."
The conversation was in English.
The figure slipped along the rail. The second figure remained where it had joined the first for a moment, then moved toward the stern. Major Brane crossed the deck.
That figure which was going toward the bow came to an abrupt halt, hand streaking to the side.
"All right, Malloy," said Major Brane.
Malloy laughed nervously.
"Gee, but you gave me a start," he said, and moved away from the rail toward Major Brane.
"Yes," observed Major Brane, "it's a bit eerie out here on the water---"
Flames spat forth from the dark side of the figure.
Malloy's shot, coming from the hip as it did, missed.
Major Brane jumped for him. His automatic spat viciously. Malloy, half spun about, staggered. Major Brane was on him, whipping his left to the jaw. There was the rush of pattering feet on the deck. A swirling group of shadows rushed forward.
Major Brane sent five shots from his automatic into the thick of them. The swirling shadows disintegrated. There were spasmodic shots, bullets which whistled past Major Brane, thunked into the deck planks. Major Brane retreated.
He raised his voice and called out in Cantonese:
"Fools, you have given yourself unto the leadership of a fool !" He went to the dead captain and touched the body. "Now the ghost haunts the boat. See ! The homeless ghost who comes to make this boat his home !"
Major Brane clicked on his flashlight and directed the beam at the corpse that was lashed in an upright position in the bow of the boat.
The ropes were cunningly tied so that they did not show. There was, perhaps, a suggestion of awkwardness to the set of the shoulders and close inspection would have shown the rope which held the head against the board. But the effect was startling.
The deck of the junk, the pointed bow, gently hissing its way through the water. The black night forming a backdrop of velvety darkness. Etched against this backdrop by the white beam of the flashlight, the sinister figure of the dead man, the features distorted and swollen. The body still glistening with such moisture as remained, clinging to the skin.
For a second only did Major Brane keep on the flashlight.
Then he pulled back the snap switch and darkness pressed once more upon the deck of the junk.
Malloy, the white leader, lay stretched on the deck, a sprawled lump of blackness. The Thing was in the bow, staring at them. The lights of Taiping were not too far astern.
Something went over the rail. There was a splash. It was followed by more splashes. In vain the leader urged his men to return, condemned the magic of the white devil. Panic had gripped the men. They had seen with their own eyes the thing that was in the bow. It was the ghost of the former commander of the junk. That was certain. They had recognized the features, the glistening body.
A small group moved dubiously forward.
MAJOR BRANE possessed himself of Malloy's gun. He held a weapon in either hand, and flattened himself to the deck. He was under no illusions. This was to the death.
The men moved forward. Their hearts were not in the work. Always they realized that every step they took forward took them that much nearer to that which was in the bow of the junk.
Major Brane fired. He took careful aim down the barrels of his guns between shots. The bullets spatted out into the darkness at regularly spaced intervals. The men rushed. The firing from the group was ragged and wild. Invariably the bullets went over Major Brane.
He stemmed the first charge.
He reloaded, moved along the deck to the shelter of a capstan. The swirling figures went into motion once more. But this time there was no advance. It was a swirling motion the vortex of which was in the group.
Then there was a cry, a cry which abruptly faded into a moist gurgling, as though the person making the cry had suddenly started to gargle his throat. Then the cry ceased. Something black went into the night, up over the rail, hit the water with a great splash.
"That," whispered Major Brane to himself, "will be the body of the native leader."
The group once more went into motion. This time it was a motion toward the rear. A small boat hit the warer, jabbering men piled helter skelter into it. Excited voices sounded from the waterline, then slipped rapidly astern.
Major Brane moved along the deck of the boat. He found rope, and he trussed up Malloy like a pig for market. As he snapped the ropes home and tightened the knots, Malloy's eyes fluttered open.
Major Brane's voice was grim.
"If she is aboard," he said, "and unharmed, you can perhaps hope for a punishment that won't include torture. If she isn't aboard, you'll scream out your regrets for hours before you die. That much I know of the Chinese my avaricious murderer."
Malloy's lips spat curses.
Major Brane tightened the last knot and moved along the deck. Here and there were still, crumpled figures, sign of the accuracy of his fire.
He found her in the captain's cabin, a room furnished with carved screens, redolent of poppy smokes, filled with the indescribable odor of human occupancy which adheres to cabins in the junks. She was tied with a cunning skill which held her powerless. Yet she could talk.
"I heard the shots," she said, "and hoped that it was you."
Major Brane liberated her. She got to her feet, smiled at him with her lips. But her eyes were steady and grave.
"Father?" she asked.
Major Brane nodded his head.
"All right when I left him. I think he still is. Have you friends in Taiping?"
She nodded.
"The flash of the shots and the noise of the reports could be heard in the city," he said. "Perhaps your father will know."
She nodded again and said: "There are watchful ones in Taiping, those who watch us for our harm, and those who watch us for our protection ..."
A voice sounded cautiously from the darkness, a quavering treble of Cantonese. The girl gave an exclamation.
There are those who claim that the Chinese women are utterly without emotion. Those are the ones who do not know the Orient. They have simply never seen the women confronted with an emotion strong enough to break through the barriers of their reserve. Those women feel emotion as keenly as the most high strung of the emotional races; but they are schooled to repress their feelings back of a wall of reserve. Once these pent up feelings burst through the walls of that reserve, the Chinese woman becomes as a different creature.
At the sound of her father's voice, hailing in trembling uncertainty from the dark waters, the girl dashed from the cabin, screaming incoherently. She ran to the rail of the boat. Chattered Cantonese left her lips and rattled out into the darkness with a speed so great that Major Brane's ears could not keep up with the flow of language. Nor could he interpret what she said. She talked herself completely away from his understanding.
And, across the dark ribbon of water came the sound of frantic splashings as hurried hands dashed oars and sculls into the water. A dozen voices shrilled into spontaneous and simultaneous conversation. The voice of the girl arose and joined in the mad conversational melee of confusion.
Major Brane smiled, shrugged his shoulders.
THE clerk of the Hongkong Hotel bowed ingratiatingly.
"Back again, Major Brane," he said.
Major Brane, smiled, nodded, extended his hands for his mail.
The clerk gave him the package of letters and cablegrams.
"There was a man who was with you some," he added. "A Mr. John C. Malloy. He left abruptly when you did.We have heard nothing from him. I thought ... perhaps ..."
Major Brane's eyes were cold and unfaltering. He spoke calmly, finally: "I am sorry, but I cannot tell you where John C. Malloy is."
The clerk fidgeted.
"You chartered a boat to go somewhere? Upriver, perhaps?"
Major Brane's smile was frosty.
"Perhaps," he agreed. "If you wish to know of my journeyings, you might ask the homeless ghosts of the river. Or perhaps the Watchful Ones who act as spies for the pirates. In the meantime, please place this package in your safe until I can bathe and go to my bank. Have a care, for they are pearls of the finest quality."
The man felt the weight of the package.
"Pearls !" he said.
"Precisely," said Major Brane. "And if your curiosity still persists, I might mention that they were given to me by the homeless ghost of a junk captain which flies up and down the river on the cold mists which rise in the darkness."
And Major Brane moved on toward his room and a bath.
The secret of his pearls, the ultimate fate of the man who had spied upon him, wormed his way into his confidence only to betray him, was known only to the watchful ones of Taiping.
Major Brane had blundered once. But he had lived by his wits too long not to have put two and two together. When the Chinese pearl owner had told him of the mysterious foreigner who was striking for his concession, when that foreigner had known of Major Brane's secret mission to Taiping, Major Brane had kept a ready finger on the trigger as he approached John C. Malloy there on the deck of the deck of the river junk, and that ready trigger finger had turned the tables. That and his knowledge of Chinese psychology.
But the secret was locked in the mystery of the upriver country, known only to the watchful ones of Taiping. And those people did not talk. They watched and they acted, but they kept silent.
Which was as Major Brane would wish it.
THE END
The Devil's Due
The Devil's Due
As a free-lance adventurer in diplomacy, Major Brane of California undertakes to hijack a secret oriental treaty without the least idea who has it or where it is --- and the penalty of failure is death
CHAPTER I
AN ORIENTAL TREATY
IT was early in May that those who prided themselves upon inside knowledge of oriental affairs learned that Chiang Kai-shek had secretely agreed with Japan to repay the fifty-million-dollar Nishihara loans.
Major Copley Brane had known of the arrangment well before the first of May. Major Brane, free-lance diplomat, adventurer in international politics, knew many things which even those who prided themselves upon their inside information did not even suspect.
But the Nishihara loans did not concern Major Brane in the least, and he strolled down Grant Avenue watching the lighted windows of the Chinese curio stores with tolerant amusement, accurately appraising the real and imitation in Chinese art.
There were shuffling steps behind him, and a young Chinese lad jog-trotted by with breathless haste. Perhaps there was the faintest suggestion of a flickering glance toward Major Brane; perhaps it was because the runner swung very far toward the curb to avoid touching Major Brane; perhaps it was merely some telepathic warning; but, as the runner passed, Major Brane became very alert, very cool, very deliberate.
The runner vanished into a lighted doorway in the middle of the block.
Major Brane strolled along the sidewalk, his light cane tapping the pavement. His eyes were as steel. He came abreast of the lighted doorway where the runner had vanished. A man was just thrusting some object into the display window.
The major's eyes glittered to the hands. They were yellow hands, shapely, tapering to points at the fingers, and the object that was being placed in the window was a bit of carved jade which had been fashioned into a Buddha. Both stone and workmanship were of the highest quality, and Brane's eyes kindled with the delight of a connoisseur.
The yellow hands slid a bit of pasteboard in front of the jade, and upon that pasteboard was a price which was so ridiculously low that no collector could ever have knowingly passed up such a buy.
But the major was thoughtful as he stepped into the store. He was not forgetful of the young man who had passed him in such a hurry and vanished into the curio store.
The door to the street closed behind Major Brane.
The door was glass. The window was of glass. The thronged sidewalks were plainly visible. The figures of Chinese and whites, of plain-clothes men and of San Francisco's nightly tourist crop, straggled past that window.
It seemed impossible that there could be any danger.
MAJOR BRANE stared into the eyes of the man who smiled a greeting from behind the counter. A student of Chinese character would have doubted very much that the owner of those eyes was a humble curio merchant, and Major Brane was a student of Chinese character.
"The jade Buddha you have just placed in the window," said Major Brane, and indicated the object with an inclination of his head, "interests me."
The man behind the counter said no word. He bent to the window, took out the jade Buddha, handed it to Major Brane.
Major Brane turned the object over in his hands. Close inspection revealed that it was what Major Brane had hoped it might be.
"Is that price right?" asked Major Brane.
The Chinese picked up the pasteboard tag, studied it.
" I will ask the proprietor," he said in excellent, accentless English, and moved toward the rear of the store. "This way, please."
And with the sound of that voice Major Brane knew at once that this man was no mere curio dealer, was no employee of any sort. But the jade Buddha was almost priceless, and the glass windows showed the lighted thoroughfare with its crowded pedestrian traffic.
Major Brane moved toward the back of the store. But his right hand was close to the lapel of his coat, and there was an automatic suspended just under the left armpit. His senses were keenly alert, but if he heard a very faint rumbling sound behind him he supposed it was out in the street.
The Chinaman stepped under an electric light as though to observe the jade figure more closely.
"The price is right," he said.
Major Brane nodded. "I will buy it."
The Chinese bowed.
"It is yours ... and I am forced to ask a slight favor of you, Major Brane."
Major Brane stiffened as he became aware that the man knew his name. His right hand became rigidly motionless.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Yes. I must ask that you come with me to the Master. And if you will please lower your right hand, you will have no temptation to reach for your weapon."
Major Brane partially turned, but his right hand remained elevated. From the corner of his eye he glanced toward the place where the lighted street should have showed through the plate-glass windows, where hundreds of ears could have heard the sound of a shot, or a cry.
But his eyes encountered a blank wall.
In some mysterious manner, partitions had slid into place while Major Brane was inspecting the jade figure. The front of the store, as well as the street, was shut out from the vision and hearing of the two men.
Major Brane smiled a quick, courteous smile of easy affirmation.
"I shall be pleased to accompany you," he said, and lowered his hand from the vicinity of his coat lapel.
The smile of the Chinese matched his own.
"I felt certain you would be reasonable, major."
The man clapped his hands. There was a stirring of motion within the half shadows of the darkened interior of the storeroom. Three men slipped upon furtive feet from places of concealment.
"I felt certain you would be reasonable. This way, please."
THE major followed his guide. He was a student of Chinese psychology and he knew when resistance was useless. The Chinese possess infinite patience, a capacity for detail which is unique. When a Chinese has planned that a certain thing is to happen in a certain manner, it nearly always does. It is also most unwise for one to interfere with such a plan, as long as one is within the power of the Chinese.
So Major Brane walked with steps that may have been apprehensive, but were outwardly willing enough.
They went through a door, into a passage, down a flight of stairs to a basement, across the basement to a steel door which swung open for them by some invisible mechanism, along this passage, up a long flight of stairs, and paused before a door.
The outer side of the door was of steel. The guide smacked his palm against it and waited. Major Brane said nothing.
They stood before that door for fully ten seconds, then a bolt clicked, the door swung open.
The room was furnished with rich carpets into which feet sank noiselessly; massive chairs of teakwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, golden ornaments, crystal chandeliers. An aged Chinese sat at a little table. A loose-sleeve silken coat, emblazoned with rich colors, draped itself from the withered form. The man had his hands concealed by the flowing sleeves.
The guide approached, bowed.
"Sin Saling, k'wei chut lie."
Major Brane bowed formally. He knew enough Cantonese to interpret the remark. And he knew that Sin Saling, meaning literarily "first born," is applied to those who are very wise.
The aged Chinaman surveyed him with eyes that were as sanded ebony. Dull, they were, yet intensely black. The face was puckered and dark like the outside of a dried lichee nut. The lips were sucked in, the center of a mass of wrinkles which radiated from the mouth.
The man made no sign, gave no gesture, said no word.
There was a silence for the space of long seconds. During that time Major Brane was weighed in some invisible balance.
THE man who had acted as guide bowed, turned to Major Brane. His English had a trace of the Oxford accent, but was fluent, easily followed.
"You are familiar with the situation in the East, Major Brane?"
The major nodded.
"And you style yourself a free-lance diplomat. You have accepted employment from various governments in times past."
Major Brane nodded again.
The Chinese spoke more rapidly now. There was a trace of eagerness in his voice. "You have heard that Chiang Kai-shek has executed a secret treaty with Japan by which fifty million dollars are to be repaid to Japan."
It was a statement, not a question, and Major Brane made no comment.
"Very well. That treaty cannot stand unless it has the support of the influential Cantonese in the United States. There is a powerful and dangerous clique that would like very much to discredit Chiang Kai-shek and to thwart the treaty. Now, in that treaty certain concessions are made to Japan. No one knows what they are but many would be interested.Yet it must be a secret treaty. To divulge it to the rabble would be fatal.
"Here is what that clique are doing. They are sending a man to this country with a forged treaty. The terms of the forged treaty are such that no patriotic Chinese would consent to it. It is the plan that the forged treaty will be carelessly guarded, and that the representative of some powerful newspaper will steal it and publish it.
That will force Chiang Kai-shek into a place where he will have to exhibit the original treaty to prove that the other is a forgery. And even then, there will be those who will believe the forgery. It is a very good forgery."
Major Brane bowed, smiled. His mind appreciated the typical oriental diplomacy, realized the damning possibilities of the situation. A stolen treaty published, a hue and cry among the Chinese, a party divided within itself, charges, counter charges, squabbles, strife.
The Chinese looked Major Brane squarely in the eyes.
"It will be your duty to secure that forged treaty before the opportunity is given the newspaper reporter to steal it."
Major Brane smiled indulgently, shook his head.
"No, thank you," he said. "It is not employment I can accept. The holder of the forged treaty and the newspaper man will be in collusion. No man could prevent the delivery of the forged document."
IN answer the Chinese let his coat fall slightly open. The butt of a revolver showed, and his right hand hovered near that butt.
"No man except you, Major Brane. And the matter is of sufficient importance to us to keep us from accepting a refusal."
The major pointed to the butt of the weapon. "Does that enforce your demands?"
The Chinaman's eyes glittered. "It is a symbol of power," he said; and Major Brane, knowing the oriental mind, knew that he was left with no alternative in the matter of accepting the employment.
"When you succeed, there will be abundant money. In the meantime your wants will be supplied.
The old man slid open a drawer in the table. A withered hand picked out an enormous package of bank notes, slid them across the table. The gold and jade nail guards scraped across the polished wood.
"But," protested Major Brane, "if this forged treaty is stolen they will forge another."
The Chinese shook his head.
"No. There are certain things about this forgery which cannot be duplicated, the paper and a seal. There will be only one attempt."
"And who," asked Major Brane, "will bring this document to this country? Where will it be delivered?"
The bland smile of the Chinese was accompanied by a gesture with the hand.
"We have not the slightest idea. If we knew, we could handle the matter ourselves."
The major smiled.
"You are absurd. The thing is utterly impossible. Knowing who had this forged treaty, where it was to be delivered and to whom, one might manage. Without this information it is like hunting for a needle in a haystack."
The Chinese was still bland but his words fell as a sentence of death:
"As we said, you are not at liberty to decline. And it may interest you to know, Major Brane, that we have banded ourselves and taken an oath.That oath is that we will not fail. Those who do not succeed will join their ancestors."
The major flashed a look at the old man.
He was sitting at the table, his head slumped forward, the eyes closed. He seemed asleep and there was a smile flickering the corners of his mouth, a bland smile of cherubic innocence.
But Brane made no mistake in interpreting that smile. He realized that he was under sentence of death. He could annul that sentence only by thwarting the delivery of a forged document by a person he did not know to another he had never seen.
"This way, major," said his guide, and led the way through another door, down a passage, down stairs, around turns, up a short flight of stairs and to a side street.
That side street was two blocks from the curio store on Grant Avenue.
The guide extended to Major Brane the package of currency which the old man had slid across the table.
"For expenses, Major. The jade Buddha you admired will be delivered to you. Good night."
And a heavy door slammed, leaving Major Brane on the side street, a small fortune in currency in his right hand.
UNostentatiously, a floor man moved forward. For this is a recognized game of women adventureesses the world over. They will attach themselves to gentleman who seem to have means at a roulette table, and will manage to share in his winings by the simple expedient of helping themselves, either to more than their share, if they are also on the number, or, if they are not, by merely pretending they thought they were.
The runner vanished into a lighted doorway in the middle of the block.
Major Brane strolled along the sidewalk, his light cane tapping the pavement. His eyes were as steel. He came abreast of the lighted doorway where the runner had vanished. A man was just thrusting some object into the display window.
The major's eyes glittered to the hands. They were yellow hands, shapely, tapering to points at the fingers, and the object that was being placed in the window was a bit of carved jade which had been fashioned into a Buddha. Both stone and workmanship were of the highest quality, and Brane's eyes kindled with the delight of a connoisseur.
The yellow hands slid a bit of pasteboard in front of the jade, and upon that pasteboard was a price which was so ridiculously low that no collector could ever have knowingly passed up such a buy.
But the major was thoughtful as he stepped into the store. He was not forgetful of the young man who had passed him in such a hurry and vanished into the curio store.
The door to the street closed behind Major Brane.
The door was glass. The window was of glass. The thronged sidewalks were plainly visible. The figures of Chinese and whites, of plain-clothes men and of San Francisco's nightly tourist crop, straggled past that window.
It seemed impossible that there could be any danger.
MAJOR BRANE stared into the eyes of the man who smiled a greeting from behind the counter. A student of Chinese character would have doubted very much that the owner of those eyes was a humble curio merchant, and Major Brane was a student of Chinese character.
"The jade Buddha you have just placed in the window," said Major Brane, and indicated the object with an inclination of his head, "interests me."
The man behind the counter said no word. He bent to the window, took out the jade Buddha, handed it to Major Brane.
Major Brane turned the object over in his hands. Close inspection revealed that it was what Major Brane had hoped it might be.
"Is that price right?" asked Major Brane.
The Chinese picked up the pasteboard tag, studied it.
" I will ask the proprietor," he said in excellent, accentless English, and moved toward the rear of the store. "This way, please."
And with the sound of that voice Major Brane knew at once that this man was no mere curio dealer, was no employee of any sort. But the jade Buddha was almost priceless, and the glass windows showed the lighted thoroughfare with its crowded pedestrian traffic.
Major Brane moved toward the back of the store. But his right hand was close to the lapel of his coat, and there was an automatic suspended just under the left armpit. His senses were keenly alert, but if he heard a very faint rumbling sound behind him he supposed it was out in the street.
The Chinaman stepped under an electric light as though to observe the jade figure more closely.
"The price is right," he said.
Major Brane nodded. "I will buy it."
The Chinese bowed.
"It is yours ... and I am forced to ask a slight favor of you, Major Brane."
Major Brane stiffened as he became aware that the man knew his name. His right hand became rigidly motionless.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Yes. I must ask that you come with me to the Master. And if you will please lower your right hand, you will have no temptation to reach for your weapon."
Major Brane partially turned, but his right hand remained elevated. From the corner of his eye he glanced toward the place where the lighted street should have showed through the plate-glass windows, where hundreds of ears could have heard the sound of a shot, or a cry.
But his eyes encountered a blank wall.
In some mysterious manner, partitions had slid into place while Major Brane was inspecting the jade figure. The front of the store, as well as the street, was shut out from the vision and hearing of the two men.
Major Brane smiled a quick, courteous smile of easy affirmation.
"I shall be pleased to accompany you," he said, and lowered his hand from the vicinity of his coat lapel.
The smile of the Chinese matched his own.
"I felt certain you would be reasonable, major."
The man clapped his hands. There was a stirring of motion within the half shadows of the darkened interior of the storeroom. Three men slipped upon furtive feet from places of concealment.
"I felt certain you would be reasonable. This way, please."
THE major followed his guide. He was a student of Chinese psychology and he knew when resistance was useless. The Chinese possess infinite patience, a capacity for detail which is unique. When a Chinese has planned that a certain thing is to happen in a certain manner, it nearly always does. It is also most unwise for one to interfere with such a plan, as long as one is within the power of the Chinese.
So Major Brane walked with steps that may have been apprehensive, but were outwardly willing enough.
They went through a door, into a passage, down a flight of stairs to a basement, across the basement to a steel door which swung open for them by some invisible mechanism, along this passage, up a long flight of stairs, and paused before a door.
The outer side of the door was of steel. The guide smacked his palm against it and waited. Major Brane said nothing.
They stood before that door for fully ten seconds, then a bolt clicked, the door swung open.
The room was furnished with rich carpets into which feet sank noiselessly; massive chairs of teakwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, golden ornaments, crystal chandeliers. An aged Chinese sat at a little table. A loose-sleeve silken coat, emblazoned with rich colors, draped itself from the withered form. The man had his hands concealed by the flowing sleeves.
The guide approached, bowed.
"Sin Saling, k'wei chut lie."
Major Brane bowed formally. He knew enough Cantonese to interpret the remark. And he knew that Sin Saling, meaning literarily "first born," is applied to those who are very wise.
The aged Chinaman surveyed him with eyes that were as sanded ebony. Dull, they were, yet intensely black. The face was puckered and dark like the outside of a dried lichee nut. The lips were sucked in, the center of a mass of wrinkles which radiated from the mouth.
The man made no sign, gave no gesture, said no word.
There was a silence for the space of long seconds. During that time Major Brane was weighed in some invisible balance.
THE man who had acted as guide bowed, turned to Major Brane. His English had a trace of the Oxford accent, but was fluent, easily followed.
"You are familiar with the situation in the East, Major Brane?"
The major nodded.
"And you style yourself a free-lance diplomat. You have accepted employment from various governments in times past."
Major Brane nodded again.
The Chinese spoke more rapidly now. There was a trace of eagerness in his voice. "You have heard that Chiang Kai-shek has executed a secret treaty with Japan by which fifty million dollars are to be repaid to Japan."
It was a statement, not a question, and Major Brane made no comment.
"Very well. That treaty cannot stand unless it has the support of the influential Cantonese in the United States. There is a powerful and dangerous clique that would like very much to discredit Chiang Kai-shek and to thwart the treaty. Now, in that treaty certain concessions are made to Japan. No one knows what they are but many would be interested.Yet it must be a secret treaty. To divulge it to the rabble would be fatal.
"Here is what that clique are doing. They are sending a man to this country with a forged treaty. The terms of the forged treaty are such that no patriotic Chinese would consent to it. It is the plan that the forged treaty will be carelessly guarded, and that the representative of some powerful newspaper will steal it and publish it.
That will force Chiang Kai-shek into a place where he will have to exhibit the original treaty to prove that the other is a forgery. And even then, there will be those who will believe the forgery. It is a very good forgery."
Major Brane bowed, smiled. His mind appreciated the typical oriental diplomacy, realized the damning possibilities of the situation. A stolen treaty published, a hue and cry among the Chinese, a party divided within itself, charges, counter charges, squabbles, strife.
The Chinese looked Major Brane squarely in the eyes.
"It will be your duty to secure that forged treaty before the opportunity is given the newspaper reporter to steal it."
Major Brane smiled indulgently, shook his head.
"No, thank you," he said. "It is not employment I can accept. The holder of the forged treaty and the newspaper man will be in collusion. No man could prevent the delivery of the forged document."
IN answer the Chinese let his coat fall slightly open. The butt of a revolver showed, and his right hand hovered near that butt.
"No man except you, Major Brane. And the matter is of sufficient importance to us to keep us from accepting a refusal."
The major pointed to the butt of the weapon. "Does that enforce your demands?"
The Chinaman's eyes glittered. "It is a symbol of power," he said; and Major Brane, knowing the oriental mind, knew that he was left with no alternative in the matter of accepting the employment.
"When you succeed, there will be abundant money. In the meantime your wants will be supplied.
The old man slid open a drawer in the table. A withered hand picked out an enormous package of bank notes, slid them across the table. The gold and jade nail guards scraped across the polished wood.
"But," protested Major Brane, "if this forged treaty is stolen they will forge another."
The Chinese shook his head.
"No. There are certain things about this forgery which cannot be duplicated, the paper and a seal. There will be only one attempt."
"And who," asked Major Brane, "will bring this document to this country? Where will it be delivered?"
The bland smile of the Chinese was accompanied by a gesture with the hand.
"We have not the slightest idea. If we knew, we could handle the matter ourselves."
The major smiled.
"You are absurd. The thing is utterly impossible. Knowing who had this forged treaty, where it was to be delivered and to whom, one might manage. Without this information it is like hunting for a needle in a haystack."
The Chinese was still bland but his words fell as a sentence of death:
"As we said, you are not at liberty to decline. And it may interest you to know, Major Brane, that we have banded ourselves and taken an oath.That oath is that we will not fail. Those who do not succeed will join their ancestors."
The major flashed a look at the old man.
He was sitting at the table, his head slumped forward, the eyes closed. He seemed asleep and there was a smile flickering the corners of his mouth, a bland smile of cherubic innocence.
But Brane made no mistake in interpreting that smile. He realized that he was under sentence of death. He could annul that sentence only by thwarting the delivery of a forged document by a person he did not know to another he had never seen.
"This way, major," said his guide, and led the way through another door, down a passage, down stairs, around turns, up a short flight of stairs and to a side street.
That side street was two blocks from the curio store on Grant Avenue.
The guide extended to Major Brane the package of currency which the old man had slid across the table.
"For expenses, Major. The jade Buddha you admired will be delivered to you. Good night."
And a heavy door slammed, leaving Major Brane on the side street, a small fortune in currency in his right hand.
CHAPTER II
MEXICO
THE major walked up the dark side street to Grant Street. He could see no one following. At Grant Street he took a taxicab to the Palace Hotel. He walked across the lobby to the elevators, went to the seventh floor, alighted and walked to the stairs. He regained the third floor by the stairs, took a cab to the Ferry Building, picked up another cab at the Ferry Building and went directly to the Southern Pacific depot at Third and Townsend.
He watched his chance and slipped through the exit gate, closing it behind him. He sprinted down the tracks, keeping well to the shadows of the long lines of dark Pullmans.
A long train was just pulling out, the huge locomotive hissing steam with every turn of the wheels. Major Brane stationed himself where he could grasp the handholds on the observation platform as the last car rumbled by him.
An illuminated, circular sign on the rear of the car bore the single word "LARK" in big letters, stretching from one side of the illuminated circle to the other. The background was of flaming red. Major Brane clambered over the brass railing dropped to the observation platform.
A young woman, sitting with silken limbs crossed generously, surveyed him indolently. A nervous man, standing in the shadows, smoking, started apprehensively, flipped his cigarette away and walked rapidly through the car.
There were no other passengers on the platform. Major Brane dusted his hands together, waited a few moments, opened the door of the car and seated himself in the depths of an upholstered chair.
When the conductor came, Major Brane explained that he had lost his ticket. There was an argument, and Major Brane was ordered to leave the train at San Jose.
Whereupon Major Brane walked forward, went through two Pullmans, waited until the train was slowing for the city limits, opened a vestibule on the off side, and dropped lightly to the tracks, swinging himself with the grace of an old hand at the game.
He walked to a boulevard, flagged half a dozen automobiles, finally got one that gave him a lift to Palo Alto. Then he took a train as far as Burlingame, dropped off and had a rent car take him to San Francisco, where he went directly to the Hotel Whitecomb and registered as Adolph L. Sutter.
He went to his room, heaved a sigh of relief, drew water in a bath, and heard the ringing of his telephone. He took down the receiver: a young lady informed him that there was a package for him.
"There must be some mistake," said Major Brane. " I was expecting no package."
"It's for you," insisted the girl. "It's addressed to Adolph L. Sutter, and it's even got the number of the room on it. It came just about ten minutes after you checked in."
Major Brane smiled wanly.
"Send it up," he said. Three minutes later a bell boy knocked at his door, handed Major Brane a wrapped package. Major Brane tipped the boy, took his knife, slashed the strings, unwrapped the box, lifted a heavy object from a tissue paper packing, and stripped off the soft white paper.
It was the jade Buddha which he had admired in the Chinese curio store.
AT seven he arose, tubbed, shaved, breakfasted, returned to his room. There he consumed several cigarettes and thought deeply. As his guide had so aptly reminded him, there is no greater incentive to success than the positive knowledge that the price of failure will be death. Major Brane felt certain that the treaty would be released through a certain chain of newspapers. The forgery would be "stolen" to make it seem authentic. The details were probably all agreed upon.
Major Brane watched the smoke eddy upward from his cigarette while he checked over in his mind a list of the newspaper men who might possibly be intrusted with so delicate a mission.
At the end of an hour's thought Brane wrote the names of three men upon his memo pad. After ten minutes more thought, he crossed out one of the names. Then he called the office of a certain newspaper.
"I want to speak with Manly," he said. There was a moment of buzzing delay, then a woman's voice announced that Mr. Manly was out, but would return in an hour. Did Major Brane care to leave a message?
The major slowly drew a line through the name of Eugene Manly on the scratch pad.
"No," he said. "Let me talk to Sam Hargrave."
The answer was instantaneous.
"Mr. Hargrave is out and won't be back until the end of the week."
"Where can I reach him?"
"He's at the Cortex Hotel in San Diego."
Major Brane thanked her, hung up the telephone, lit a fresh cigarette.
The chances were that the bearer of the treaty which had been so carefully forged would not enter the United States. It would be much more theatrical, much easier, to have the theft take place in Mexico.
Major Brane snuffed out his cigarette, reached a decision. He went directly to his apartment, packed a light trunk, took a car to the Ferry Building, crossed the bay, and was driven at once to the Oakland airport. A tri-motored transport left for Los Angeles within half an hour, and Major Brane purchased a ticket.
THE great plane came snarling up to the runway like a huge dragon fly. Major Brane stepped aboard. There were four other passengers. None seemed particularly interested in the Major.
The transport droned its way into the Glendale airport. Major Brane chartered a small cabin ship, and left the Los Angeles field within twenty minutes of his arrival.
The lighter plane seemed like a cork on the water compared with the huge tri-motored affair. It bounced over the air bumps, then settled to steady flight over the ocean, following the surf. Major Brane arrived in San Diego at four, and went at once to the Cortez Hotel. He inquired for a room, asked about Mr. Sam Hargrave. There was no Samuel Hargrave registered, nor did the hotel have any reservations in his name.
Brane accepted the news with expressionless urbanity, registered, and was shown to a room. Then he went to a store, purchased certain articles of baggage, clean linen, socks, tie. He inquired again at the hotel for Mr. Hargrave, and hired a car to drive him across the border. He was informed that it would take a dash at high speed to reach But the border before it closed, and finally decided to charter a plane to run him across.
By that time everyone on duty in the hotel lobby knew that the tall, close-clipped man with the steel-hard eyes was looking for a Mr. Hargrave, and that he had decided to go to Agua Caliente, at least to spend the day. And everyone on duty knew that the man had registered as Major Brane of San Francisco.
Just before the major left the hotel, he noticed a man seated in an obscure corner of the lobby, reading a newspaper, smoking a cigar. Twice that man surreptitiously lowered te newspaper for a swift glance at Brane. But the major apparently paid no heed to those glances.
He recognized the features, however. The man was Samuel Hargrave, one of the star reporters of a powerful chain of newspapers. Brane had never met Hargrave, but he knew the reporter by sight because it was his business to know people who might have something to do with oriental politics.
And if Sam Hargrave did not know Major Brane by sight, he at least knew of him by reputation and name. As the major left the lobby, Sam Hargrave was moving toward the telephone booths, walking with a gait which he strove to make casual.
MAJOR BRANE, his eyes bright, his lips commencing to tilt slightly at the corners, was driven to the Lindbergh Field , bundled into a small cabin plane, and lifted into the air.
San Diego showed as glistening white in the fading sunlight. The lazy surf of the semi-tropical Pacific drifted in along a stretch of snowy sand. Far ahead could be seen the blue ridges of high mountains, the tablelike mesa of a lava cap. Closer, was a long valley, Tijuana, sprawled like some ugly thing.
The plane winged its way over the border city, high enough to escape the blare of mechanical music, the hectic noises of commercialized dissipation, Then it stood on one wing tip, banked, settled in a long slant.
The magnificent structure of the Agua Caliente hotel and casino shone like a polished jewel of pure crystal and ruby in the dying sun. The ground rose up to meet the wheels. The buildings loomed larger. The wheels jolted upon hard ground, and Brane was in Mexico.
Behind him he had left a trail broad enough for even the veriest tyro of a detective to follow.
He dined at the palantial resort, retired to his room, rested for an hour, and then took a cab to Tijuana.
“If,” he muttered to himself, "something happens to me to-night, I'll know I'm on the right trail. Otherwise I've got to take a fresh start."
The thought of taking a fresh start was not pleasant. Time was precious, and he fully appreciated the exact price he would have to pay for failure. He could possibly elude the intangible surveillance of the Chinese, but he would be a marked man. There would be no more free-lancing in oriental politics. Tijuana had calmed down since the border closed. Those who remained were there for a purpose other than idle curiosity. Drinking became a little more regular, gambling a little more deadly. Dark-eyed senoritas watched with alert eyes.
A swarthy Mexican lurched against him. The major stepped to one side, smiling patiently.
"Gringo," said the Mexican, and sneered.
Brane continued to smile, his close-clipped smile one of patient watchfulness.
The Mexican moved on.
Major Brane turned down a side street. He could see figures ahead of him, moving dimly in the half darkness. He noticed that two men entered the side street from his rear.
SUDDENLY there was a shout, a cry, the thud of a body toppling to the dusty street. Running feet thumped the dust. They were slow, heavy, awkward feet. A shot rang out and a bullet glanced from the side of a building, sang of into the night.
He flattened against the wall and slipped a wary hand into the sides of his coat where a flat automatic hung under his left armpit. At the same time he heaved a sigh of relief. He was on the right trail. A man cried out. A figure ran toward him, leveled an accusing forefinger, crying out garbled accusations in Mexican. A uniformed figure materialized from a doorway and walked purposefully toward the major.
"He did it!" screamed the man who pointed. "He pushed my companero from the sidewalk to the street. Then there was a blow, and he fired the shot. I saw it with these two eyes of mine. He --"
The uniformed figure glowered at Major Brane.
"Señor," he said, " you will consider yourself --"
A shadow became a substance, the substance that of a man garbed in conventional evening attire. He moved forward from some obscure patch of shadow, and his words cracked like a whiplash.
"Cease, desist!" he exclaimed in Spanish. " Bungler that you are! Son of a pig! Do you not know that this gentleman is innocent? That man who pointed is the one who should feel the weight of your sword. It is I, Señor Alvaro de Gomez, who speaks!"
And the uniformed figure faded into the darkness. The other men seemed to melt in the shadows. Major Brane found himself gazing upon the man in evening clothes, who bowed low to the ground.
"Señor, shall we perhaps go to the lighted street? It is safer."
Major Brane permitted himself to be escorted toward the lighted side-walk.
"Should we not investigate?" he asked. "I heard the sound of a body falling into the street."
His companion shrugged his shoulders.
"Carramba, it is no concern of ours! We are well out of the affair. Let the police attend to it."
Major Brane studied the man at his side. In the light which came from the main thoroughfare of the border city he could see each feature distinctively.
The face was thin, nervous, alert. The eyes shone as ripe olives moistened in garlic oil.
The Mexican was aware of his scrutiny, rather seemed to enjoy it.
When Major Brane shifted his eyes, the Mexican extended his hand.
"Señor, it is perhaps fitting that we should meet. These civil police are dogs, and they are stupid. It may well be they will make you more trouble, and you will need me as a witness. I am, therefore, the Señor Alvaro de Gomez, of the Mexican secret service. And you --"
"Major Copley Brane, of San Francisco."
The lips of the Mexican parted to reveal gleaming teeth.
"Señor, it is a pleasure!"
A lean brown hand shot out of the darkness, gripped the hand of Major Brane.
"You are at Agua Caliente, señor?" asked the Mexican.
The major bowed.
"It will be a pleasure to escort you there in my car. But first we will have a little cordial, a little glass of rare liqueur to celebrate our meeting. No?" Brane nodded his assent.
He watched his chance and slipped through the exit gate, closing it behind him. He sprinted down the tracks, keeping well to the shadows of the long lines of dark Pullmans.
A long train was just pulling out, the huge locomotive hissing steam with every turn of the wheels. Major Brane stationed himself where he could grasp the handholds on the observation platform as the last car rumbled by him.
An illuminated, circular sign on the rear of the car bore the single word "LARK" in big letters, stretching from one side of the illuminated circle to the other. The background was of flaming red. Major Brane clambered over the brass railing dropped to the observation platform.
A young woman, sitting with silken limbs crossed generously, surveyed him indolently. A nervous man, standing in the shadows, smoking, started apprehensively, flipped his cigarette away and walked rapidly through the car.
There were no other passengers on the platform. Major Brane dusted his hands together, waited a few moments, opened the door of the car and seated himself in the depths of an upholstered chair.
When the conductor came, Major Brane explained that he had lost his ticket. There was an argument, and Major Brane was ordered to leave the train at San Jose.
Whereupon Major Brane walked forward, went through two Pullmans, waited until the train was slowing for the city limits, opened a vestibule on the off side, and dropped lightly to the tracks, swinging himself with the grace of an old hand at the game.
He walked to a boulevard, flagged half a dozen automobiles, finally got one that gave him a lift to Palo Alto. Then he took a train as far as Burlingame, dropped off and had a rent car take him to San Francisco, where he went directly to the Hotel Whitecomb and registered as Adolph L. Sutter.
He went to his room, heaved a sigh of relief, drew water in a bath, and heard the ringing of his telephone. He took down the receiver: a young lady informed him that there was a package for him.
"There must be some mistake," said Major Brane. " I was expecting no package."
"It's for you," insisted the girl. "It's addressed to Adolph L. Sutter, and it's even got the number of the room on it. It came just about ten minutes after you checked in."
Major Brane smiled wanly.
"Send it up," he said. Three minutes later a bell boy knocked at his door, handed Major Brane a wrapped package. Major Brane tipped the boy, took his knife, slashed the strings, unwrapped the box, lifted a heavy object from a tissue paper packing, and stripped off the soft white paper.
It was the jade Buddha which he had admired in the Chinese curio store.
AT seven he arose, tubbed, shaved, breakfasted, returned to his room. There he consumed several cigarettes and thought deeply. As his guide had so aptly reminded him, there is no greater incentive to success than the positive knowledge that the price of failure will be death. Major Brane felt certain that the treaty would be released through a certain chain of newspapers. The forgery would be "stolen" to make it seem authentic. The details were probably all agreed upon.
Major Brane watched the smoke eddy upward from his cigarette while he checked over in his mind a list of the newspaper men who might possibly be intrusted with so delicate a mission.
At the end of an hour's thought Brane wrote the names of three men upon his memo pad. After ten minutes more thought, he crossed out one of the names. Then he called the office of a certain newspaper.
"I want to speak with Manly," he said. There was a moment of buzzing delay, then a woman's voice announced that Mr. Manly was out, but would return in an hour. Did Major Brane care to leave a message?
The major slowly drew a line through the name of Eugene Manly on the scratch pad.
"No," he said. "Let me talk to Sam Hargrave."
The answer was instantaneous.
"Mr. Hargrave is out and won't be back until the end of the week."
"Where can I reach him?"
"He's at the Cortex Hotel in San Diego."
Major Brane thanked her, hung up the telephone, lit a fresh cigarette.
The chances were that the bearer of the treaty which had been so carefully forged would not enter the United States. It would be much more theatrical, much easier, to have the theft take place in Mexico.
Major Brane snuffed out his cigarette, reached a decision. He went directly to his apartment, packed a light trunk, took a car to the Ferry Building, crossed the bay, and was driven at once to the Oakland airport. A tri-motored transport left for Los Angeles within half an hour, and Major Brane purchased a ticket.
THE great plane came snarling up to the runway like a huge dragon fly. Major Brane stepped aboard. There were four other passengers. None seemed particularly interested in the Major.
The transport droned its way into the Glendale airport. Major Brane chartered a small cabin ship, and left the Los Angeles field within twenty minutes of his arrival.
The lighter plane seemed like a cork on the water compared with the huge tri-motored affair. It bounced over the air bumps, then settled to steady flight over the ocean, following the surf. Major Brane arrived in San Diego at four, and went at once to the Cortez Hotel. He inquired for a room, asked about Mr. Sam Hargrave. There was no Samuel Hargrave registered, nor did the hotel have any reservations in his name.
Brane accepted the news with expressionless urbanity, registered, and was shown to a room. Then he went to a store, purchased certain articles of baggage, clean linen, socks, tie. He inquired again at the hotel for Mr. Hargrave, and hired a car to drive him across the border. He was informed that it would take a dash at high speed to reach But the border before it closed, and finally decided to charter a plane to run him across.
By that time everyone on duty in the hotel lobby knew that the tall, close-clipped man with the steel-hard eyes was looking for a Mr. Hargrave, and that he had decided to go to Agua Caliente, at least to spend the day. And everyone on duty knew that the man had registered as Major Brane of San Francisco.
Just before the major left the hotel, he noticed a man seated in an obscure corner of the lobby, reading a newspaper, smoking a cigar. Twice that man surreptitiously lowered te newspaper for a swift glance at Brane. But the major apparently paid no heed to those glances.
He recognized the features, however. The man was Samuel Hargrave, one of the star reporters of a powerful chain of newspapers. Brane had never met Hargrave, but he knew the reporter by sight because it was his business to know people who might have something to do with oriental politics.
And if Sam Hargrave did not know Major Brane by sight, he at least knew of him by reputation and name. As the major left the lobby, Sam Hargrave was moving toward the telephone booths, walking with a gait which he strove to make casual.
MAJOR BRANE, his eyes bright, his lips commencing to tilt slightly at the corners, was driven to the Lindbergh Field , bundled into a small cabin plane, and lifted into the air.
San Diego showed as glistening white in the fading sunlight. The lazy surf of the semi-tropical Pacific drifted in along a stretch of snowy sand. Far ahead could be seen the blue ridges of high mountains, the tablelike mesa of a lava cap. Closer, was a long valley, Tijuana, sprawled like some ugly thing.
The plane winged its way over the border city, high enough to escape the blare of mechanical music, the hectic noises of commercialized dissipation, Then it stood on one wing tip, banked, settled in a long slant.
The magnificent structure of the Agua Caliente hotel and casino shone like a polished jewel of pure crystal and ruby in the dying sun. The ground rose up to meet the wheels. The buildings loomed larger. The wheels jolted upon hard ground, and Brane was in Mexico.
Behind him he had left a trail broad enough for even the veriest tyro of a detective to follow.
He dined at the palantial resort, retired to his room, rested for an hour, and then took a cab to Tijuana.
“If,” he muttered to himself, "something happens to me to-night, I'll know I'm on the right trail. Otherwise I've got to take a fresh start."
The thought of taking a fresh start was not pleasant. Time was precious, and he fully appreciated the exact price he would have to pay for failure. He could possibly elude the intangible surveillance of the Chinese, but he would be a marked man. There would be no more free-lancing in oriental politics. Tijuana had calmed down since the border closed. Those who remained were there for a purpose other than idle curiosity. Drinking became a little more regular, gambling a little more deadly. Dark-eyed senoritas watched with alert eyes.
A swarthy Mexican lurched against him. The major stepped to one side, smiling patiently.
"Gringo," said the Mexican, and sneered.
Brane continued to smile, his close-clipped smile one of patient watchfulness.
The Mexican moved on.
Major Brane turned down a side street. He could see figures ahead of him, moving dimly in the half darkness. He noticed that two men entered the side street from his rear.
SUDDENLY there was a shout, a cry, the thud of a body toppling to the dusty street. Running feet thumped the dust. They were slow, heavy, awkward feet. A shot rang out and a bullet glanced from the side of a building, sang of into the night.
He flattened against the wall and slipped a wary hand into the sides of his coat where a flat automatic hung under his left armpit. At the same time he heaved a sigh of relief. He was on the right trail. A man cried out. A figure ran toward him, leveled an accusing forefinger, crying out garbled accusations in Mexican. A uniformed figure materialized from a doorway and walked purposefully toward the major.
"He did it!" screamed the man who pointed. "He pushed my companero from the sidewalk to the street. Then there was a blow, and he fired the shot. I saw it with these two eyes of mine. He --"
The uniformed figure glowered at Major Brane.
"Señor," he said, " you will consider yourself --"
A shadow became a substance, the substance that of a man garbed in conventional evening attire. He moved forward from some obscure patch of shadow, and his words cracked like a whiplash.
"Cease, desist!" he exclaimed in Spanish. " Bungler that you are! Son of a pig! Do you not know that this gentleman is innocent? That man who pointed is the one who should feel the weight of your sword. It is I, Señor Alvaro de Gomez, who speaks!"
And the uniformed figure faded into the darkness. The other men seemed to melt in the shadows. Major Brane found himself gazing upon the man in evening clothes, who bowed low to the ground.
"Señor, shall we perhaps go to the lighted street? It is safer."
Major Brane permitted himself to be escorted toward the lighted side-walk.
"Should we not investigate?" he asked. "I heard the sound of a body falling into the street."
His companion shrugged his shoulders.
"Carramba, it is no concern of ours! We are well out of the affair. Let the police attend to it."
Major Brane studied the man at his side. In the light which came from the main thoroughfare of the border city he could see each feature distinctively.
The face was thin, nervous, alert. The eyes shone as ripe olives moistened in garlic oil.
The Mexican was aware of his scrutiny, rather seemed to enjoy it.
When Major Brane shifted his eyes, the Mexican extended his hand.
"Señor, it is perhaps fitting that we should meet. These civil police are dogs, and they are stupid. It may well be they will make you more trouble, and you will need me as a witness. I am, therefore, the Señor Alvaro de Gomez, of the Mexican secret service. And you --"
"Major Copley Brane, of San Francisco."
The lips of the Mexican parted to reveal gleaming teeth.
"Señor, it is a pleasure!"
A lean brown hand shot out of the darkness, gripped the hand of Major Brane.
"You are at Agua Caliente, señor?" asked the Mexican.
The major bowed.
"It will be a pleasure to escort you there in my car. But first we will have a little cordial, a little glass of rare liqueur to celebrate our meeting. No?" Brane nodded his assent.
CHAPTER III
IN THE BLACK
GOMEZ turned to stare at the waiter as the cordials came to the table.
THE Mexican settled back in his chair. His eyes clouded in thought. He beckoned to the waiter. "Jose, ask the señora if she does not have something else. Tell her my companion would like to sample something else."
IN THE BLACK
THEY walked to the lighted thoroughfare, and turned to the right, crossed the street and went to the left down a little side street.
"It is more private here, and the cordials are better," explained Alvaro de Gomez; and the American made no protest.
The place was one of those unostentatious places where Mexicans cater to Mexicans. The commerical tourist places, taxed high licenses, vie with each other for the transient business by glaring lights, blaring music, open fronts. The places frequented by the natives are harder to find.
Once inside, however, there is no want of life and activity. The place selected by Señor Gomez was typical. A'dobe front, the liquid ripple of Spanish conversation. There were señores, señoras and señoritas. they mingled together with that utter freedom from restraint which is occasionally found in such places where each one knows everyone else.
Gomez himself held the chair for Major Brane. His manner was courtesy carried almost to the point of deference. And the attitude of those in the place toward Gomez was equally deferential.
Gomez snapped his fingers. A waiter came on the run.
"Liqueurs," said Señor Gomez, "some of the old stock. Tell the Señora Gonzales that it is I who ask."
The waiter bowed, withdrew.
Gomez leaned forward.
"You are here on business, señor?"
Major Brane studied the man over the flame of his match as he lit a cigarette.
"Yes," he said. The Mexican's eyes lit with a smile. "I have always prided myself upon being able to determine a man's occupation from his appearance. Yet in your case I cannot determine what your business is."
Major Brane shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Perhaps I have been indiscreet," said Gomez. "You know, we Mexicans are impulsive. I have taken a liking to you, señor, and I have told you frankly. I am Señor Alvaro de Gomez, of the Mexican secret service -- and I am here on business."
GOMEZ turned to stare at the waiter as the cordials came to the table.
"You told the señora I was here, Jose?"
The waiter was thick-skinned, stolid-eyed, and his answer was not what the question called for.
"It is arranged, señor," he said.
Gomez, scowled, flashed an apprehensive glance toward Major Brane; but that individual seemed not to have heard. The frown gradually left the Mexican's forehead.
"Go!" he spat at the servant, and the man shuffled from sight.
Gradually, the crowd began to thin, and another crowd filtered in to take its place. An enormously fat Mexican woman appeared from the kitchen. She waddled on slow legs from one table to the other.
Her walk was labored. She teetered from side to side, balancing her huge bulk. Her face never changed expression by so much as a quivering muscle. At each table she made a comment or two in a loud voice, and then bent to whisper.
And she never looked toward the table where Señor Gomez sat with his new-found friend.
Major Brane noticed these things as he sipped his cordial. But he was placidly content. Action was starting, and that meant that he was on the right trail.
"Diablo!" exclaimed Gomez. " But you have attracted the most beautiful señorita in all the southland! Do not look now, I beg of you. But in a moment turn to the right. Look at the beautiful girl at the second table!"
"Now - now is the time you may look. There to your right, señor -- Carramba, she has turned!"
Just as Major Brane shifted his glance, the girl swung her head back with a swiftness of motion which showed she had anticipated the major's glance.
And she was laughing. The skin was a beautiful olive, the eyes large, luminous, black and twinkling. The crimson lips were held deliberately half parted, and the teeth, the tip of a really red tongue, showed in a smile of frank amusement and appraisal.
For a moment only the girl held his eyes, then dropped her gaze in a gesture of mock modesty. Her pose, her every line, was one of alluring invitation.
Major Brane sipped his cordial. "You would like to meet her, señor?"
"No!"
The word came as the crack of a lash, and Gomez lost te futuous smile which had been upon his face. There was a flush of anger, which he controlled almost instantly. The mobile lips clamped firmly together, then broke into another smile.
"Ah, yes, you are on business. And with your race there is nothing that interferes with business. Is that true?" Brane nodded curtly.
Alvaro de Gomez would have to use other bait if he wished to trap Major Brane -- not that Major Brane was at all averse to being trapped'; but he did not wish to appear too easy.
THE Mexican settled back in his chair. His eyes clouded in thought. He beckoned to the waiter. "Jose, ask the señora if she does not have something else. Tell her my companion would like to sample something else."
Jose did not return. The diners toyed with food, sipped or gulped drinks as they chose. There was an atmosphere of suspension about the place.
Major Brane sighed, pushed back his chair.
"I am afraid --"
He did not finish. A door at the back opened. Two men appeared, masked, powerful men who wore leather chaps, leather jerkins, wide sombreros. The masks were black, and holes had been cut for vision. Through those holes diamond-hard eyes glittered in the lamplight, along the barrels of forty-fives.
One of the men spoke English with the accent of a Texan.
"Stick 'em up, folks!"
The other rattled off a similar command in the Mexican tongue.
Gomez started to his feet, saw the barrel of one of the forty-fives shift toward him, and his hands came up to his shoulders, hesitated, and then shot up high as one of the men grated an oath at him.
Major Brane's hands were held high and rigid.
"We wants some money an' we all'd like pow'ful well to have a little cutie for company," drawled one of the masked men, and his eyes were upon the señorita who had evidenced such an interst in Major Brane.
The girl cowered and screamed, settling back in her chair as though to cringe against its back for protection. "No, no!" she screamed.
The Mexican bandit laughed, took two steps toward her, and the lights went out.
With the sudden blackness of the room, guns began to talk, the spitting fire of deadly death stabbed the darkness with orange-red spurts of flame. The guns roared in a salvo of sound, and then were silent.
A close observer would have noticed that three guns were fired at the very first, and that all three of the spitting streaks of flame seemed pointed in but one direction. And that direction was toward the chair occupied by Major Brane.
And, had the observer kept his head which is most difficult under such circumstances, he would have noticed that after that first burst of fire, and just before the second round, there was a spiteful crack as a fourth gun answered, once.
Then came the roar of the second volley, and a moment of comparative silence. It was broken by the scream of a woman, the sound of a struggle, a coarse laugh.
There was the sound of a table overturning. A man gave a hoarse cry, a cry, which abruptly terminated in a gurgle. There was the sound of a blow, and something thudded to the floor.
Alvaro de Gomez was swearing in a low-pitched monotone. There was no more firing. After a minute, the lights went on again.
Tables were tipped, chairs toppled, food spilled on the floor. A man was nursing a head which he claimed loudly and at frequent intervals was "broken". The fat proprietess was screaming curses in a shrill voice which sounded as mechanical as the words of a phonograph record.
Gomez glanced toward the place where the beautiful señorita had been sitting. Her chair was vacant. The table where she had been resting her beautiful elbow was overturned. Then Senor Gomez turned his dark eyes to the chair which had been occupied by Major Copley Brane of San Francisco.
The back of that chair had a round hole in it, where a steel-jacketed bullet had plowed its way. One of the rungs was reduced to a twisted mass of splinters, mute testimony of the course of another forty-five bullet. There was another hole in the leather seat of the chair, a dark-rimmed hole which had also been made by a forty-five.
There was no sign of Major Brane. Gomez grasped a napkin from the table and wrapped it tightly around his left forearm. There was a bleeding groove cut in the flesh of that forearm, from that fourth weapon. Gomez cursed was a trace of awe, a respect which had not been there before.
CHAPTER IV
ROULETTE
ROULETTE
WITH Mexicans who know the border, the resort of Agua Caliente is a matter of great pride. Here everything is perfectly decorous. A fortune has been spent to make the resort luxurious. There are courts where the moonlight shines softly from a sky that is clear and dry. There is an open-air patio where diners may have expensive foods, exquisitely cooked, served in the caressing sunlight of old Mexico. There is a long bar where thirsts may be quenched in an orderly fashion. And there is a gambling casino which caters to big losers.
At one of these tables where a roulette wheel spins, where an ivory ball clicks, jumps, clicks, jumps and finally comes to rest in one of the metal-ribbed pockets, only gold is accepted in play. It was at this table that Major Copley Brane wagered a few bets, using ten dollar gold pieces as though they had been but counters, yet playing conservatively.
The man at the wheel watched him with wary eyes, for it is players like Brane who present the greatest menace to a gambling house, men who push their good fortune but not their bad.
Several others were at the table, men garbed in conventional evening dress. Beautiful women with gleaming arms and white shoulders.
Major Brane placed a ten-dollar gold piece upon the thirty.
There was a rustle of motion. A smooth hand slid over the major's. There was the breath of perfume, the slight touch on his cheek of a tendril of hair, and a woman brushed against him as she straightened from placing a five-dollar gold piece, also on the thirty.
She was a beautiful woman, judged by any standards, and she was one who knew her way about sufficiently to dispense with formal conventions without losing her poise.
"Pardon," she said, and smiled into Major Brane's eyes, "the number looked lucky to me, also."
Major Brane smiled conventionally. The wheel stopped, the ball in the double O.
Major Brane placed two ten-dollar pieces on the three, and the woman once more brushed against him as she placed a five-dollar bet on the three.
UNostentatiously, a floor man moved forward. For this is a recognized game of women adventureesses the world over. They will attach themselves to gentleman who seem to have means at a roulette table, and will manage to share in his winings by the simple expedient of helping themselves, either to more than their share, if they are also on the number, or, if they are not, by merely pretending they thought they were.
But upon this occasion there was no necessity for the intervention of the floor man. The woman's dark, smiling eyes sought those of Major Brane.
"Thanks for the hunch," she said, and flashed a smile into his face.
The croupier picked up the ball. The floor man moved away. Over the gambling tables at Agua Caliente each woman is allowed the privilege of determining of her own standards of convention, which is as it should be. And if the beautiful woman with the gleaming shoulders and the dark eyes chose to talk with the slender man whose eyes were as polished steel, the management felt that it was unconcerned in the matter. Let the guests enjoy themselves as they wished.
The wheel clicked again, and once more Major Brane and the woman won. They smiled at each other. As the woman bent forward to pick up her winnings, her low gown slipped sufficiently so that a little more was shown than the dressmaker had intended.
She laughed frankly as she adjusted the garment.
"Evening gowns weren't intended for long reaches," she said.
The floor man did not even turn.
That, also, was purely the concern of the beautiful woman.
Major Brane returned her smile.
"We seem to have a winning streak," he said, and his eyes settled on those of the woman.
She started to follow his lead, then cringed back.
"The thirteen!" she said.
Major Brane smiled once more, placed a second gold piece upon the thirteen.
"Nothing venture, nothing have," he said.
She shook her head and placed her bet on the seven.
The ball stopped in the thirteen. The croupier half turned, raised a hand. Instantly, another man came to take the wheel. For such is the policy of the management. Whenever a player commences to win at roulette, the management rushes in another croupier to relieve the one at the wheel. And for some strange reason which has never been explained, such a procedure usually stops the winning streak of the player.
A few minutes later Major Brane scooped up his gold pieces, walked to a cashier's desk and changed them into currency. Then he strolled from the table.
The woman looked after him, caught his eye, The major returned the gesture with merely a bow of conventional good-night.
The woman sighed, continued to play the wheel, but there was an air of preoccupation about her as she played.
The floor man moved quietly to the side of Major Brane.
"If señor left the table because of the señorita --? The floor man paused.
Major Brane turned to look in his eyes.
"She is, perhaps, accustomed to make friends at the table?"
The face of the floor man became rigid.
"Not at all. The woman is Miss Edith Russell, from San Diego. She comes here often. With one exception you are the only one she has ever become friendly with over the tables. Shall I ask her to move to another table?"
"No, it will not be necessarry," said Major Brane. " You say she is staying here?"
"Certainly. She has an expensive suite, numbers three forty-nine and fifty."
The major smiled affably.
CHAPTER V
A DANGEROUS SEARCH
Brane sauntered to the moonlit court, then lost his appearance of leisurely indolence. He went into action as though he was matching his speed against precious seconds.
He found the rooms bearing the numbers three forty-nine and fifty, and knocked. There was no answer. He selected a slender ring of keys from his pocket, fitted one to the door. It failed to work. He fitted a second. The bolt clicked as the lock mechanism turned, and Major Brane stepped into the room and turned on the lights.
He was playing in a game of life and death, and could take no chances. The woman hardly seemed to fit in with Señor Gomez, but her speaking to him might be part of the same plan.
He moved swiftly.
There were intimate articles of femiine attire upon the bed. The closet showed a rack of expensive gowns. The major paid these things no attention.
There was a wardrobe trunk, and it was locked. Brane concentrated his energies upon it. He worked the lock with the third key, found that the trunk was almost empty. There was a locked drawer in the top, but that was also empty.
Then, because he was an old hand at the game, he started inching around the edges of the carpeted floor. He had traversed three sides of the room without result when he felt something crinkle under his foot.
He stooped to the carpet, found that it had been worked loose. He pressed his fingers through the opening between carpet and wall, felt the edges of an envelope, and heard a lilting laugh behind him.
"Did you want it that much?" asked a feminine voice, and Major Brane turned, to stare into the laughing eyes of the woman of the gambling table. And those eyes were divided by a small round hole which marked the businessman ss end of a blued-steel automatic.
She was holding the weapon with a steady hand, holding it so that Major Brane was looking directly into the muzzle, and that muzzle was just below and between her eyes.
Major Brane straightened.
"You," he said, "must have entered through the other room and tiptoed in through the bathroom."
She smiled sweetly at him.
"I did," she said. "You should have taken the precaution of putting a blanket along the floor near the bottom of the door. It's most effective when it comes to shutting out light. You see, when I came along the corridor and saw the ribbon of light along the bottom of the door, I knew someone was in this room."
Major Brane bowed.
"It is a good point. I shall remember it."
She was bubbling with laughter, this beautiful young woman, but she continued to hold the automatic where it was centered upon Major Brane.
"I did you the honor of taking such precautions when I burgled your room," she said.
"My room?" asked the major, and then he smiled as the full significance of her remark dawned upon him.
"Yes," she said. "I left the gambling room right after you did and went at once to your room. I couldn't find what I wanted, but I found enough to verify my suspicions. Then it occured to me that you strolled out. So I came here at once."
The man straightened and walked to a window. The girl followed him with the muzzle of the automatic.
"Of course," she warned, " you wouldn't want to make any sudden moves/"
He nodded. "May I ask the reason for your interest in me?"
"You're after the treaty."
Major Brane's silence was expressive.
"And I'm after it," she added.
"Why?" asked Major Brane.
"I want to know what's in it."
"Do you want to keep it?"
"Oh, no! I want its terms."
Brane squinted his eyes.
"The government of the United States might be interested in such a treaty," he said, speaking cautiosly.
Her face was as a mask.
"And there is one other government," speculated Major Brane, "which would be interested to know just what concessions Japan was to get in the event it should come to the assistance of Chiang Kai-shek"
Her face remained utterly rigid in its expressionless immobility.
Major Brane nodded. "You won't need the gun, Miss Russell."
"I have your word?"
He nodded.
She lowered the weapon, raised the long skirt of her evening gown.
"Don't look," she said. "No fair."
And she placed the gun in a cuningly conceated holster, adjusted her skirt, smiled.
"Has it occurred to you," asked the man guardedly, "that some chain of newspapers might like to publish the contents of this treaty?"
She laughed.
"How delightfully simple you are! Of course it has, you dear man! And I am to see that if the terms of the treaty are satisfactory to those whom I represent, it remains secret and is not published or stolen. If, on the other hand, there are certain things within that treaty that my principals would not like, I am to help in the loss of the treaty and its being published, What I do, you see, depends on the terms of the document itself."
Major Brane nodded.
"I see," he said, noncommittally.
Evidently this woman had no inkling that the treaty which was to be stolen might be a forgery. And Brane had respect enough for her ability to avoid any comment which might give her such a thought.
"Could we pool information?" she asked.
Major Brane watched the smoke which eddied from his cigarette.
"We might swap buts of gossip." He told her what he had learned about Sam Hargrave's whereabouts.
"All right," she said, "I'll match that, although I knew it already. When the treaty is stolen, it is to be taken from the bearer by one Señor Alvaro de Gomez, who is supposed to be in the employ of the Mexican government. He's going to sell it to Hargrave for a lot-of money."
Brane's smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
"Thanks. It may interest you to know that Señor Gomez tried to work a run-around on me this evening by which I was to be killed in rescuing a dance-hall girl from one who desired to escort her."
She grinned gleefully.
"Oh, I knew all about that. The man who took the girl was really her man. He's a Texan renegade, and the girl works for him. She was planted as bait. Then, after you were killed, it would have been in connection with a hold-up, caused by another gringo going native."
She crossed her legs, fluffed her dress out, smiled cheerfully at him.
"Perhaps, then," ventured Major Brane, 'you know that in the melee, when I was supposed to sit still and be punctured, I jerked to one side, waited until Señor Gomez joined in the shooting, and took a pot shot at him which I think winged him. Then I went through a window, and came here. Did you know that?'
She shook her head.
"And that," she said, "is interesting. I think, my friend, that when you gave me that piece of information, you went a little too far, and gave me something that I can use to checkmate you with."
Major Brane's eyes were unwavering.
"Perhaps," he said.
She leaned forward, toward him, impulsively.
"Listen, I'm going to be frank. I like you - very much. I've heard of Major Brane, the free-lance diplomat, for years. I hoped some day we could work together. Won't you pool information with me, and work together with me? Please!"
He shook his head.
"Then," she said, "You'll probably be killed. You know the sort of game we're playing. Oh, how I'd hate to think I had to be the one to betray you to your death!"
The diplomat shrugged his shoulders.
"Fortunes of war," he murmered.
Her eyes were blinking rapidly; a crystal-clear tear-drop appeared in the corner' she fumbled vainly for a handkerchief.
Major Brane got to his feet.
"Good night, Miss Russell."
She stood in the door, watching him go. The tears were on her cheeks now.
"You'll - probably -find my- hanky --in your room -- I left the damn' thing --somewhere."
Then she banged the door.
HE walked back to the street, waited an hour until Hargrave came out again. Then he entered, walked boldly to the elevators, found Hargrave's room and picked the lock with ease.
THE Major's next move would have greatly puzzled a spy, had one been on his trail. He went directly to the district in San Diego where scattered Chinese conduct laundries, and negotiated for the purchase of a laundry.
MINUS a hundred dollars, he left the place, leaving behind two very puzzled but enriched Chinese. Then he purchased a small brief case, put the paper within it, and took a plane for Agua Caliente. Edith Russell was on the landing field when he arrived.
CHAPTER VI
A NIGHT JOURNEY
MAJOR BRANE went to his room. The girl had been there, just as she had said. There was a faint odor of perfume, an intimate, intriguing perfume. Major Brane traced the odor to a bit of lace and linen left on a table near the place where he had left his briefcase.
That briefcase had been purchased in San Diego and contained nothing but an empty notebook and some necklace.
He grinned, switched out his lights, went to the window, raised the curtain.
The semi-tropical moonlight flooded the barren lands, half desert, showed the rolling hills to the north across the line, the dark gash of canons, the groove that would be the river bed.
He looked down at the ground, saw that it was not inconveniently far away. In the dark he slipped on a hat, took a stick and his room key, and dropped to the ground.
To cross the United States border just above Tijuana at night is difficult. But Brane took great care. Dawn was breaking when the rental car he had managed to find north of the border, deposited him at the Grant Hotel in San Diego. He secured a room, left a call for nine o'clock, and went to bed.
When the call aroused him, he bathed, went to breakfast, had a shave, purchased some more clothing, and took a cab to the Cortez.
This time, however he did not exhibit himself with any degree of prominence. He managed to keep well out of sight, and his new clothes made him inconspicuous, because they had been chosen for just such an effect.
It was in the first part of the atfernoon that Sam Hargrave came in. He took a seat behind his favorite potted palm, inspected the entire lobby, then raised his finger.
A bellboy came to him instantly, and there was stealth in the bellboy's manner. He whispered a while, then departed.
Sam Hargrave arose, stretched, yawned, walked out of the hotel, down the sun-swept hill, strolling leisurely, as befits a man who has not a care in the world.
Brane watched him until he boarded a passing cab, yelled "Depot!" to the driver, told him to rush, and settled back in the cushions.
Two blocks, and they had overtaken the cab in which Sam Hargrave was riding. Major Brane tapped on the glass.
"I've changed my mind. Follow that cab."
The driver nodded. The cab ahead was stalled at a corner, awaiting a traffic signal. When the light changed, both cabs moved ahead. Sam Hargrave's cab moved ahead. Sam Hargrave's cab moved without any attempt at shaking off pursuit. Hargrave himself never so much as glanced behind. They went directly to the San Diego Hotel.
The reporter went to the room clerk, secured a key, walked to the elevators and was whisked up out of sight. Major Brane broke into a run, rushed to the desk.
"The man who just came in!" he said, breathlessly. "He scraped the fender on my car when he parked his car. What's his name. Ring him. Get him down here!"
The room clerk glanced at Brane with uncordial eyes.
"I think you're mistaken. Hartley Stillman came in a taxicab. He always does."
Major Brane let his eyes flicker, as though in doubt.
"His room?"
"No. 632."
"Thanks. Where are the house phones -- Oh, never mind. I'll go talk with the witnesses again. Maybe I got the wrong man."
HE walked back to the street, waited an hour until Hargrave came out again. Then he entered, walked boldly to the elevators, found Hargrave's room and picked the lock with ease.
He entered, found a brief case stacked with papers, a portable typewriter, carbon copies of a telegram, also a stack of mail.
He picked up a telegram, and heard steps in the hall, the rasp of a key against the door, the voice of Señor Alvaro de Gomez.
"But I tell you, señor that --"
Major Brane stepped into the closet, closed the door. The door of the room swung open, closed. The bolt rasped into place.
"Getting careless, or else the chambermaid is," muttered a guttural voice.
Alvaro de Gomez was speaking rapidly.
"It is all arranged. The parties wait in Ensenada. As soon as the coast is clear they will act. In the meantime this Major Brane is to be eliminated. Bah! He shot me, the swine! I shall have revenge. He will be removed from the scene of operations. No?"
The rumbling voice again.
"Now listen here, Gomez, and get this straight. My hunch ain't going to be mixed with a lot of crooked work.
You go to Ensenada and lay all the lines so the paper will get stolen. Let the Chink raise a squawk, and you'll be the goat, see?"
"Then to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock I'll meet you at the top of the grade south of Tijuana. You can deliver the treaty to me there. I'll have witnesses and deliver you the money. Then my papers ain't mixed up with any stealing, or any murders. If you steal the treaty and then sell it to us after it's been stolen, that's one thing. If we get mixed up in the stealing, that's another.
"And if you're going to pull any murders, kidnappings, mayhem, or high treason, you do it before eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. Get me?"
There was a shuffling of feet.
"But, Señor Hargrave, I --"
"Shut up! I don't want to hear all your blah-blah. Here's the sum we agreed on. Sign that receipt. All right. Get out of here, and don't stick around any more. You've got the situation in hand. To-morrow at eleven, at the top of the grade."
The sigh which Gomez gave could be heard through the closed door of the closet.
"Tomorrow, before eleven, I shall settle personal matters of my own."
The door closed again, but was not locked, from which Major Brane deduced that Hargrave had gone only as far as the elevator with his guest.
He glided from the closet, tried to manipulate the door into the adjoining room, was unable to do so. Took a chance, and slipped from the door of the room, went toward the stairs at the end of the corridor.
Hargrave was on his way back from the elevator as Major Brane rounded the corner of the corridor leading toward the stairs. For the swift flicker of an eyelash Hargrave could have seen that flitting figure.
Major Brane could not be seen for certain- and he was painfully aware of the stakes for which he played. Failure meant death.
THE Major's next move would have greatly puzzled a spy, had one been on his trail. He went directly to the district in San Diego where scattered Chinese conduct laundries, and negotiated for the purchase of a laundry.
The surprised Chinaman who ran the place managed to retain sufficient presence of mind to ask a price that was about twice its real value. Brane immediately offered to pay a hundred dollars in cash for an option.
The Chinaman, wily, shrewd, was quite willing to take the hundred dollars, but unwilling to sign a document which had not first been interpreted to him by his attorney.
Major Brane then suggested that a Chinese interpreter should be called in to prepare the option, and that it be written in Chinese. And the laundry-man, confused, but careful, consented to that.
The interpreter took unto himself great importance. He was about to prepare an agreement with this man, a back awiee loe, which would have for its object the protection of his countryman. He was not entirely certain as to just what was meant by an option, but he was entirely certain of the value of a hundred dollars cash money.
He wrote upon paper which was furnished by Major Brane, using a camel's-hair brush and jet-black ink, writing beautiful characters in profusion.
When the interpreter had finished protecting the rights of his countryman, Major Brane explained the various matters upon which he desired protection. The Chinese are a fairminded race, shrewd as to bargains, scrupulous as to honesty, and the interpreter, having heard his client assent to the various terms suggested by Major Brane, laboriously inserted them in the document.
When he had finished, the paper was an imposing array of Chinese characterers, stretching over a dozen parchment-like sheets of paper. Then Major Brane produced some ribbon and a stick sealing wax.
MINUS a hundred dollars, he left the place, leaving behind two very puzzled but enriched Chinese. Then he purchased a small brief case, put the paper within it, and took a plane for Agua Caliente. Edith Russell was on the landing field when he arrived.
"Welcome back to Mexico!" she said. "I was wondering what in the world had become of you."
"Well, now that you've found me, you'd better come back to the hotel with me."
She climbed into the waiting cab with the Major, looked at him thoughtfully once or twice as she journeyed toward the resort hotel. Her eyes were filmed with thought, and Brane detected an expression which might have been pity.
At the hotel, Major Brane stepped from the car, turned to assist the woman to the ground. She made an exclamation of impatience, turned to the driver.
"Did you see anything of my purse?" she asked in Mexican-Spanish. The driver protested at great length that he had seen no purse.
"Very well, I must have left it at the aviation field. I'll run there to look for it." Edith Russell slammed the door of the taxicab, snapped crisp instructions to the driver.
Copley Brane entered the hotel smiling. He noticed that the clerk at the desk gave him a single glance, and then reached for the telephone. Major Brane nodded a greeting and went down the corridor toward his room.
But he did not enter his room. Instead, he knocked upon the door of the adjoining room. When he heard a rustle of motion from within, he returned, tapped gently on the door of the adjoining room on the other side of his own.
There was no answer, no sound of motion. He took his skeleton keys from his pocket, opened the door. The room was untenanted. The bed was freshly made. He locked the door from the inside, sat down in a chair and waited.
Nor had he long to wait. Not much more than the time required for a fast machine to come from Tijuana to the resort.
There sounded the tramp of feet, the babble of voices, and then an imperative knock upon the door of the room Major Brane was supposed to be occupying.
There was a period of silence, another knock, a rasping order, and the door was crashed open as men poured into the room.
Major Brane took a chair, climbed upon it, and listened at the transom. From this point of vantage he could hear the conversation, crisp, and to the point.
"He has tricked us. But he is somewhere in the hotel. You will await him in this room. When he comes, arrest him. You will take him to Ensenada, and enroute he will try to escape, my braves. You know what that means. You will do your duty. The law says that a prisoner who seeks to escape, despite efforts to halt him, may be shot.
"See that your arms are loaded, and that your aim is true. That is all, amigos."
The door slammed shut, and the feet of a departing officer sounded in the corridor. The room remained occupied by the underlings who were trained to follow orders, no matter how strict those orders might be.
Major Brane returned to his chair, smoked and thought for half an hour.
At the end of that time he slipped out into the corridor. There was but one place in the hotel where he felt he could be free from interruption, and he went to that place swiftly and silently. It was the room registered in the name of Edith Russell, and Major Brane, picking the lock and bolting the door behind him, stretched himself in the depths of a chair, found a magazine, and gave himself up to an afternoon of reading and dozing.
When it had become quite dark he slipped from the hotel through a back entrance, and made his way to the sage-covered hills to the south. By the time the moon arose, he was well away from the hotel.
He used his coat for a pillow, cut sage stems with his pocket knife for a mattress, and managed to sleep fairly well until the chill of morning. Then he arose and resumed his walk.
CHAPTER VII
Lonely Highway
SOME twenty miles south of Tijuana there is a place where the road to Ensenada has been washed out and filled. Machines taking this rough section of road travel very slowly. Even hardened drivers reduce their speed here to a crawl.
Alvaro de Gomez was driving back to Agua Caliente, after making a hurried trip to Ensenada, seventy miles farther down into Lower California. He was in a hurry, yet the twisted stretch of rough road showed before his front wheels. So engrossed was he upon following the road, getting the best way through the series of bumps and ditched ruts, that he failed to notice the man who suddenly appeared from behind a clump of sagebrush until that man had almost reached the side of his machine.
The Señor Gomez flung his angry dark eyes in a quick look of irritation. The man by the roadside extended a hand and swsung easily to the running board. Señor Gomez noticed that the man seemed to be unarmed. In his right hand he carried a small and very new brief case.
"You!" exclaimed Alvaro de Gomez, staring at Major Brane with wide eyes.
Brane nodded. "I look a long walk from the hotel and became lost. Then I saw the automobile road and made my way down to it"
Gomez thought rapidly.
"My friend, it is a pleasure," he said, mechanically; then, with growling cordiality. "I will be only too pleased to see that you are returned to the hotel. Diablo, you have a knack of getting into trouble, Major Brane! When I last saw you there were bullets flying. And, believe it or not, those bullets were aimed at me.
"But they missed, the assassins! I returned their fire, and terror gripped their craven hearts. They fled, and then I found that you, too, had fled. I intended to come and see you, señor, but one of the bullets found its mark in my arm. See, you can observe the bandage. But wait and I will show you.
"See, it is here --"
And the right hand darted under the concealment of the coat, executed a swift motion, and whipped out a revolver.
Major Brane's left hand gripped the wrist which was emerging from the coat. His own right hand was in his coat pocket.
"I've been covering you ever since you started to talk," he said. "Hope I don't have to drill you." And the Mexican, looking into those steel eyes, suddenly ceased to struggle, and let Copely Brane take the revolver from him.
His dark face flushed with rage, but he was careful to make no sudden moves with his hands. His eyes were glittering, his lips writhing.
"Bah!" he said. "You are in Mexico. Try to escape. See what happens to you then. You can never cross the border, my smart Americano!"
Brane wasted no time in conversation.
"Get over and let me at the wheel," he said, "and don't try any funny business!"
The man paused, felt the jab of metal in his ribs, and grudgingly complied. Major Brane took the wheel, turned the roadster from the road, and started it up the side of the wash, following a roadway so dim that there seemed hardly a trail to follow.
Gomez sat rigid, his eyes snapping. The major pushed the roadster up the steep grade until a shoulder of the mountain hid the highway below. Then he brought the car to a stop, flipped open one of the doors.
"Get out," he ordered.
Gomez got out with the silent rapidity of a trout shooting into the shelter of an overhanging rock. His right hand flipped to the back of his coat. The sunlight glittered on steel.
Major Brane, following him, dodged the first thrust of the knife by throwing himself back. Then he was out and on the ground, staggering to regain his balance. Gomez jumped upon him like a cat, striking and thrusting with the steel blade.
Brane managed to get a grip on the wrist, pushed the knife to one side. Gomez broke loose, flung down his shoulder, made a ripping thrust that Major Brane dodged by pulling back out of the way.
There was the flash of streaked motion the impact of a fist, and Gomez staggered backward.
Brane flung forward, managed to wrest away the knife, whipped up a left in a short, vicious uppercut and dragged the man back toward the car.
He searched the side pockets, found an old tire repair kit, some rusty tools, a bit of rope. He tied Gomez hand and foot with the rope.
GUESS I won't have to insert a gag. You'll manage to get loose after a while. What did you do with Edith Russell? She went down to Ensenada before you did, but she hasn't come back."
Señor Gomez shrugged his bound shoulders.
"I was forced to treat her as an adversary. She came to Ensenada by plane, and I sensed her mission. I left her bound and gagged in her room. It will be hours before she is released."
Major Brane nodded, turned his attention once more to the car. Under the seat he found a massive envelope, heavily sealed. Breaking it open, he found within a long document in Chinese, covered with stamped impressions, bound with silk and seals. Beyond question that was the forged treaty he was looking for. He slipped it into his briefcase.
The last sound he heard as he finished backing the roadster was the Mexican's mocking laugh.
"Try getting out of Mexico, Major Brane! You will stand with your back to a 'dobe wall yet, unless the buzzards eat your eyes out in the sage. Tomorrow at this time you will be carrion. You are a devil, and you will receive the punishment of the devil --"
There was more, but the roar of the motor drowned it out.
A vast surge of relief filling his soul, the American drove for a few miles toward the south. Then he stopped the car, took the treaty pact and buried it deep in a sandy excavation, marking well the place. That forged treaty might come in handy again some time.
Then he returned to his car and journeyed on south toward Ensenada to find Edith Russell. He knew that the road north between him and the border was closed. The Mexican officials would see to that in their alarm over the theft of the treaty. There was a warrant for his arrest out, and Sam Hargrave waited at the top of the grade out from Tijuana, doubless scrutinizing each automobile as it toiled up the steep slope from the ocean. He would recognize Gomez's car, of course, and pursue if it did not stop.
Major Brane made rapid time. The roadster fairly leaped over the road. The blockhouse guard at the midway point offered a slight obstacle, but nothing substantial. Here the road left the ocean and zigzagged over the mountains. The blue of the bay of Todos Santos loomed before him, and Major Brane stepped on the gas, literally leaping the roadster forward and down the long slant of road until he was within sight of Ensenada.
Down to the south of the town, along the smooth sweep of the beach, the new million-dollar hotel and casino sent its towers and minarets up into the glittering sunlight.
Major Brane sent the roadster down along the beach drive at high speed, roared up to the turntable in the rear of the casino, and slammed on the brakes.
He jumped from the car, carrying his brief case, and entered the long corridor of the resort. A deferential clerk bowed him a welcome.
"I'm looking for a young lady who came here by plane yesterday. She is slender, has very dark eyes and dark brown hair. She may have registered under the name of Russell or under some other name."
The clerk interuppted, smiling, nodding.
"But, yes, señor. She is here herself, still in her room. The name upon registration is Señora Alvaro de Gomez. Her husband left but an hour or two ago to attend to some business in Tijuana. He will be back."
Brane stifled any expression of surprise which he might have shown.
"Will you ring the room of Señora Gomez?" he asked.
The clerk bowed, smiled, motioned toward a Mexican girl who was even then plugging in on the telephone.
Major Brane registered, in his own name. The clerk assigned him a room. "You have some Chinese here?" he inquired.
"Indeed yes; a most unfortunate case. They have been robbed. It is of some treaty which meant much to them. They appealed to Señor Alvaro de Gomez, who, they say, is connected with the secret service of our government. If it has really been taken, the officials will close the roads to the border and the boats to the mainland. Criminals cannot escape from Lower California."
Major Brane nodded. The leisurely Mexican hospitality of the place made itself manifest in the chatter of the clerk, was made manifest again in the smiling courtesy of the bell boy who came forward to relieve him of the briefcase.
"The room number of Señor Alvaro de Gomez is --"
"Is 573, and you will be called immediately upon his arrival."
Major Brane bowed his thanks, was escorted to his room. He tipped the bellboy, closed the door, waited but a scant thirty seconds, and then started a search for room 573.
The search was not long. The room was on the lower corridor, in a wing which fronted the sea, the patio, and the sun-glittering sand. Major Brane had occasion once more to use his assortment of skeleton keys, and then the door swung back.
His dark face flushed with rage, but he was careful to make no sudden moves with his hands. His eyes were glittering, his lips writhing.
"Bah!" he said. "You are in Mexico. Try to escape. See what happens to you then. You can never cross the border, my smart Americano!"
Brane wasted no time in conversation.
"Get over and let me at the wheel," he said, "and don't try any funny business!"
The man paused, felt the jab of metal in his ribs, and grudgingly complied. Major Brane took the wheel, turned the roadster from the road, and started it up the side of the wash, following a roadway so dim that there seemed hardly a trail to follow.
Gomez sat rigid, his eyes snapping. The major pushed the roadster up the steep grade until a shoulder of the mountain hid the highway below. Then he brought the car to a stop, flipped open one of the doors.
"Get out," he ordered.
Gomez got out with the silent rapidity of a trout shooting into the shelter of an overhanging rock. His right hand flipped to the back of his coat. The sunlight glittered on steel.
Major Brane, following him, dodged the first thrust of the knife by throwing himself back. Then he was out and on the ground, staggering to regain his balance. Gomez jumped upon him like a cat, striking and thrusting with the steel blade.
Brane managed to get a grip on the wrist, pushed the knife to one side. Gomez broke loose, flung down his shoulder, made a ripping thrust that Major Brane dodged by pulling back out of the way.
There was the flash of streaked motion the impact of a fist, and Gomez staggered backward.
Brane flung forward, managed to wrest away the knife, whipped up a left in a short, vicious uppercut and dragged the man back toward the car.
He searched the side pockets, found an old tire repair kit, some rusty tools, a bit of rope. He tied Gomez hand and foot with the rope.
GUESS I won't have to insert a gag. You'll manage to get loose after a while. What did you do with Edith Russell? She went down to Ensenada before you did, but she hasn't come back."
Señor Gomez shrugged his bound shoulders.
"I was forced to treat her as an adversary. She came to Ensenada by plane, and I sensed her mission. I left her bound and gagged in her room. It will be hours before she is released."
Major Brane nodded, turned his attention once more to the car. Under the seat he found a massive envelope, heavily sealed. Breaking it open, he found within a long document in Chinese, covered with stamped impressions, bound with silk and seals. Beyond question that was the forged treaty he was looking for. He slipped it into his briefcase.
The last sound he heard as he finished backing the roadster was the Mexican's mocking laugh.
"Try getting out of Mexico, Major Brane! You will stand with your back to a 'dobe wall yet, unless the buzzards eat your eyes out in the sage. Tomorrow at this time you will be carrion. You are a devil, and you will receive the punishment of the devil --"
There was more, but the roar of the motor drowned it out.
A vast surge of relief filling his soul, the American drove for a few miles toward the south. Then he stopped the car, took the treaty pact and buried it deep in a sandy excavation, marking well the place. That forged treaty might come in handy again some time.
Then he returned to his car and journeyed on south toward Ensenada to find Edith Russell. He knew that the road north between him and the border was closed. The Mexican officials would see to that in their alarm over the theft of the treaty. There was a warrant for his arrest out, and Sam Hargrave waited at the top of the grade out from Tijuana, doubless scrutinizing each automobile as it toiled up the steep slope from the ocean. He would recognize Gomez's car, of course, and pursue if it did not stop.
Major Brane made rapid time. The roadster fairly leaped over the road. The blockhouse guard at the midway point offered a slight obstacle, but nothing substantial. Here the road left the ocean and zigzagged over the mountains. The blue of the bay of Todos Santos loomed before him, and Major Brane stepped on the gas, literally leaping the roadster forward and down the long slant of road until he was within sight of Ensenada.
Down to the south of the town, along the smooth sweep of the beach, the new million-dollar hotel and casino sent its towers and minarets up into the glittering sunlight.
Major Brane sent the roadster down along the beach drive at high speed, roared up to the turntable in the rear of the casino, and slammed on the brakes.
He jumped from the car, carrying his brief case, and entered the long corridor of the resort. A deferential clerk bowed him a welcome.
"I'm looking for a young lady who came here by plane yesterday. She is slender, has very dark eyes and dark brown hair. She may have registered under the name of Russell or under some other name."
The clerk interuppted, smiling, nodding.
"But, yes, señor. She is here herself, still in her room. The name upon registration is Señora Alvaro de Gomez. Her husband left but an hour or two ago to attend to some business in Tijuana. He will be back."
Brane stifled any expression of surprise which he might have shown.
"Will you ring the room of Señora Gomez?" he asked.
The clerk bowed, smiled, motioned toward a Mexican girl who was even then plugging in on the telephone.
Major Brane registered, in his own name. The clerk assigned him a room. "You have some Chinese here?" he inquired.
"Indeed yes; a most unfortunate case. They have been robbed. It is of some treaty which meant much to them. They appealed to Señor Alvaro de Gomez, who, they say, is connected with the secret service of our government. If it has really been taken, the officials will close the roads to the border and the boats to the mainland. Criminals cannot escape from Lower California."
Major Brane nodded. The leisurely Mexican hospitality of the place made itself manifest in the chatter of the clerk, was made manifest again in the smiling courtesy of the bell boy who came forward to relieve him of the briefcase.
"The room number of Señor Alvaro de Gomez is --"
"Is 573, and you will be called immediately upon his arrival."
Major Brane bowed his thanks, was escorted to his room. He tipped the bellboy, closed the door, waited but a scant thirty seconds, and then started a search for room 573.
The search was not long. The room was on the lower corridor, in a wing which fronted the sea, the patio, and the sun-glittering sand. Major Brane had occasion once more to use his assortment of skeleton keys, and then the door swung back.
CHAPTER VIII
A LAST EFFORT
Edith Russell was lying upon the bed, trussed like a fowl. Her wrists and ankles were each tied to a corner of the bed, and a gag was in her mouth. The sheets had been ripped to make the bonds, and the tying was a most workmanlike job.
Major Brane took out his knife, started ripping away the bonds.
The girl's eyes were moist. Tears had coursed down her cheeks and dried upon the bed linen. The tears started once more as she beheld Major Brane bending over her. Then the gag came out, the last of the bonds was parted, and the girl sat up.
"Bah!" she spat, running out her tongue, opening and closing her mouth.
"Was it as bad as that?" asked Major Brane, and smiled.
"It was worse," she said, "How come you're here? they'll kill you. There were orders out to see that you were killed yesterday."
Major Brane nodded his head.
"The treaty?" he asked.
"The treaty's gone. You'll have a chance to read it in the papers about day after tomorrow if that'll do you any good."
"Suppose," suggested Major Brane, "you tell me what happened."
She smoothed out her dress, shrugged her shoulders.
"Nothing much to it. I'm an aviatrix, and I had a plane cached for last minute stuff. You saw me yesterday just as I was taking off for this place."
He nodded.
"Well," she went on bitterly, "I knew that Lai Chuan Hung was here at the hotel with the paper. He wants to give it to Alvaro de Gomez -- though why he should do that is beyond me. Gomez is in with your friend the newspaper reporter.
"My government instructed me to secure the treaty. It's a draft, you know, not binding until certain routine formalities have been done. If the terms were according to certain rumors, my government wanted the treaty suppressed. If the terms were satisfactory I was to see that the document was returned to the Japanese government with a statement showing that the Chinese barer had been guilty of treachery, and was about to sell the treaty draft to the press.
"Well, I knew that Gomez was to come here and get the treaty. So I figured I'd come on down ahead of him, get acquainted with the Chinaman, and see if I couldn't get the treaty before Gomez got here.
"Whether they were wise to me all along, or whether the Chinese fell for me and were being nice, is more than I know. But they acted as though I could have had a dozen treaties if I wanted them.
"Just as I had things. O.K, who should show up but Gomez. And Lai Chuan Hung, of course, piped up and told Gomez that his wife was already at the hotel. So Gomez walked right in on me with the Chinese, let on that I really was his wife, and that I was supposed to meet him here. The Chinese threw a big supper for us and showed me every honor. I tried to get Gomez drunk, but he slipped a powder in my drinks after I'd gotten a little groggy myself.
"I woke up this morning to find him grinning down at me and showing me the treaty he had, telling me he was going to leave me here until after the treaty had been safely delivered. And he tied and gagged me just like you see me."
BRANE nodded his sympathy. His forehead was creased in thought.
"Yes."
"Well, Mexico isn't going to be healthy for either one of us."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"There's a chance we can pull a fast one on this Hargrave. Maybe we can locate him after he crosses the line and before he's delivered the treaty. Then we could take it away from him. You are armed?"
He nodded. "Let's go," she said, and jumped to her feet, gathered her skirts about her, shook them out, glanced around the room at her wearing apparel, intimate garments strewn about, a pair of wrinkled pyjamas on the foot of the bed, stockings on the floor.
"Isn't it a mess?" she said. "No time to straighten up or to pack. We'll just go."
They went out the back door of the hotel, got into the roadster Major Brane had commandeered, drove to the place where the girl had left her plane.
She fastened on a helmet, put on a leather coat, tossed him helmet and goggles.
"Let's go," she said.
He climbed into the forward cockpit. She climbed in the back one, manipulated levers and switches. The prop whirled. The engine coughed, sputtered, coughed again and took up a beating roar of power. They sat in their places while the motor tuned up and the temperature stepped up to a point where it was safe to cruise.
The girl signaled him to the effect they were taking off, and gunned the ship. It rolled faster and faster along the bumpy field. Suddenly she zoomed upward in a crow hop and a swift climb. Major Brane watched the buildings of Ensenada cluster together into a little group, grow smaller, drift astern. The bay of Todos Santos showed as a great crescent of blue, basking in the sunlight. Faintest threads of white showed where the miniature surf lapped at the clay beach.
The plane circled twice, then headed straight over the mountains. The serpentine roadway twisted and turned in loops, looking like some white strand of rope flung over the darker surface of the mountains.
The plane gathered speed and altitude. In a surprisingly short time the border could be seen far ahead, groups of buildings that showed in the sunlight. Tijuana showed as a blotch, Agua Caliente as a white blob.
The plane throbbed and roared through the dustless air, gathering speed, eating up the miles. The girl turned it to the right, swinging more and more away from the road to San Diego, farther toward the mountains.
Brane turned, raised his eyebrows in a question. He did not understand why she was heading in that direction. She reassured him by a wave of her hand. Conversation was impossible in the open plane, the wind roaring past, the engine droning its song of power.
Agua Caliente kept shifting farther and farther to the left. When the international boundary was about below them, the girl suddenly shut off the power. The plane began to slant downward.
She nosed it forward, then banked, sideslipped the altitude out of the wings; straightened, gave the motor a little more gun, and headed for a level stretch of field.
Major Brane could see two cars drawn up here, could see people running about. One of the cars got into motion, circled around the field. The plane settled. The wheels struck the ground, sending up little jars through the motor.
THE car which had circled came roaring alongside them. In the car was a driver, and next to the driver was Alvaro de Gomez, grinning evilly and holding a shotgun in his hands, the barrels pointed straight at the heart of Major Brane.
The major had his hands up by the time the plane came to a stop.
The girl shut off the motor, jumped up in the cockpit, and spat forth swift sentences in Spanish.
"I have done my part of the bargain. You do yours. Remember your promise. He is not to be hurt. He gives up the the treaty and then he escaped."
Alvaro de Gomez smiled the more, his yellowed teeth shining like fangs of a hound.
"Yes, yes. He gives up the treaty. Major, you are a devil, and there is a saying in your country that the devil should have his due. Your due, my dear major, lies in the shells which are in this shotgun, ready to tear out your heart. But I may give you a chance if you keep your hands up and do not make any sudden moves."
He continued to hold the shotgun covering Major Brane, and the eyes of the man held the gleam of murder, the red tinge of blood lust.
A figure was running toward them from across the field. The driver of the car was getting out, ready to cross to the plane.
Major Brane turned toward the girl, his hands in the air.
"You double-crossed me, eh?" he asked.
She nodded defiantly, yet there was a suspicious catch in her voice as she spoke.
"Sure. I'm Hargrave's assistant. I helped Gomez at Ensenada. Then you caught him. He rolled down the hill, a passing motorist turned him loose, took him to a telephone. He telephoned me how to trap you."
Major Brane nodded.
The running figure came up, Harvgrave, grinning, his breath coming in panting gasps.
"Well, major -- you lose!" He clambered to the side of the cockpit. "Keep' em up!" he said.
His hand went inside Major Brane's coat, groped around. He made a thorough search, taking the automatic also.
"Try the briefcase," suggested the girl when the search had failed to reveal the document.
Hargrave felt down in the cockpit, found the briefcase. He opened it, and a smile wreathed his countenance.
"Safe and sound," he said.
He opened the paper with its array of Chinese characters, its red seals.
"That," he said still puffing from his run, "just about concludes the case. OK, Gomez.”
He got down from the side of the cockpit.
"I can go?" asked Major Brane.
"Sure, major, sure. Sorry we had to be rough, but you started the ball."
He walked toward the place where he had left his machine. Alvaro de Gomez laughed, and his teeth showed unpleasantly as he laughed.
"Unfortunately, the señor is still in Mexico, and there are several charges against him in Mexico. It is my duty to see that he is taken to the carcel. After he has arrived there perhaps he will be released." Gomez laughed uproariously. "Perhaps!" he chortled. "Perhaps, indeed! And then again, perhaps the devil gets his due. "
"WAIT!" snapped Hargrave, turning on his heel. "We can't be mixed up in any murder. Remember that."
Gomez bowed. "Senor Hargrave, you are in my country. You must abide by the law. And it will not be a murder. It will be an execution."
The two men faced each other, Hargrave angry, Gomez leeringly sure of himself.
The girl whipped a comment to Brane's ears.
"There's the border, two hundred yards over there. Could you cross it on the run?"
The Major shook his head. "They've got cars."
Señor Gomez climbed up to the fuselage.
"Come, Major Brane. You are under arrest. And I warn you, amigos, that to interfere now will be to compound a felony and aid in the escape of a felon."
Hargrave frowned. "You promise he gets a fair trial, that he'll be arrested according to law?"
Gomez smirked. "Oh, but certainly! To be sure, what is fair depends upon various things. I will see that the devil gets his due... Get out, major. Careful, now. The foot here -- "
The girl's hand reached out. The Major saw the glint of the sun on a wrench, heard a cry, the thunk of the wrench on the skull of the Mexican.
He heard also the girl's cry:
"Hang on, major!"
And then the motor gave a cough. The prop became a glittering circle. The slip-stream clutched at his clothes. The plane started to move.
Gomez staggered to his feet. He flung up the shotgun. The plane gathered momentum. Major Brane strove to pull himself back to the cockpit. The rush of air pushed him back as with a giant hand. He felt his fingers slip from the smooth surface, catch, slip again. His legs slid along the upper surface of the wing. He caught a strut with his left hand.
He saw a succession of holes appear in the wing. Buckshot, which had thundered from the shotgun of Alvaro de Gomez. Yet the sound of the report had been drowned in the roar of the motor.
The plane crow-hopped, zoomed upward in a long glide. The ground fell away below at a startling rate, and Brane was still perched precariously upon the lower wing.
His hand was getting numb with the strain. The ground was a thousand feet below. His fingers gripped something solid, a handhold. He raised himself. The wind tore at him, shrieked past the struts, whipped his garments, threatened to tear the clothes bodily from him. Then he got one leg into the cockpit, climbed in, turned and grinned at the girl.
The plane roared northward.
After an interval the white buildings of San Diego glided below. The prop ceased to circle with such speed. The roar of the motor died, and there came that peculiar swishing sound which comes to planes when they are nosed toward the ground with motor throttled low.
THEY made a landing. The girl cut the motor, slipped back the goggles, grinned.
"Well, that'll even things up for two-timing you at Ensenada. Let me get some gas, and I'll deliver you f.o.b. Los Angeles."
Major Brane smiled his thanks.
"You're not sore over the Ensenada business?" went on the girl.
"You've been at this game too long not to know the rules. It's all fair, like love and war."
Major Brane nodded. "Yes," he said, "everything goes."
They filled up with gas. The plane took off, winged northward. The girl swung inward from the beach, cut off from Capistrano, and dipped low over the rolling hills, the jagged canons, the oak-covered valleys.
Suddenly the motor skipped, coughed, skipped again. The girl's face whitened. She worked the throttle. The motor roared again. She was turning into the wind now, fighting for altitude. Abruptly, the motor went dead, The plane lurched. She screamed some warning, but the words were whipped from her lips by the rush of air. The plane slanted downward. The wheels hit on a slope, bounded, hit again, bounced. The plane swung, almost capsized, then jolted to a stop.
The girl got up, pale as death.
"Always knew I'd get into trouble doing that. Like to skim over the hills, it's so beautiful here. Thank Heaven we managed the forced landing! It's wild here. We've got a long walk, if we have to walk."
They tinkered with the motor until dark, then built a fire. Throughout the long night they sat, dozed, replenished the fire, talked.
Edith Russell told Major Brane that she had known him by sight for some time, that she had always thrilled to hear of his exploits, always longed to meet him, to match wits with him. As a victor, she generously avoided saying anything about what she supposed was Brane's failure to get the treaty.
AT dawn they started to walk. It was noon when they reached San Juan Capistrano. Edith rushed to a store and emerged with a paper.
"Well, major, it's hard luck, but we'll see how they've played it up."
She looked at the front page in puzzled incredulity. Then an item caught her eye. The item announced that Lai Chian Hung, a Chinese diplomat staying at the palatial resort at Ensenada, had committed suicide. The article mentioned that the cause of suicide was despondency over having been outwitted in a political coup by some unidentified free-lance diplomat.
The girl stared at Major Brane with wide eyes.
"Then -- the paper --"
Major Brane finished the sentence: "Was an option to purchase a Chinese laundry in San Diego."
The girl's face showed mingled emotions, rage mixed with respect and admiration, and the respect amounted almost to awe.
"You had it all figured out?"
"Certainly." He smiled benignly.
"Now I understand why you are Major Brane with the slight misspelling."
Major Copley Brane shook Edith Russell's hand and he felt her finger make a motion on his palm that signifies a lady's willingness. And she was surprised if not almost shocked when he said, "Then, toodle-loo, perhaps we may meet again," bowed slightly, turned on his heel to walk out of the hotel and hail a taxi for the airport.
"Now I understand why you are Major Brane with the slight misspelling."
Major Copley Brane shook Edith Russell's hand and he felt her finger make a motion on his palm that signifies a lady's willingness. And she was surprised if not almost shocked when he said, "Then, toodle-loo, perhaps we may meet again," bowed slightly, turned on his heel to walk out of the hotel and hail a taxi for the airport.
THE END (Ed.: Note here, the one big difference from James Bond)
For next short-story gem: By Ford and Flow, A Story of the Hebride
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