Peter the Brazen: A Mystery Story of Modern China

by George F. Worts

  Produced by Al Haines

  [Transcriber's note: Characters with macrons have been indicated inthis file by preceding them with an equals sign and surrounding themwith square brackets, e.g. "[=e]".]

  [Frontispiece: PETER, HASTILY INSTRUCTING THE GIRL TO HOLD TWORICKSHAWS, LEAPED AT HIS PURSUER WITH DOUBLED FISTS]

  PETER THE BRAZEN

  A MYSTERY STORY OF MODERN CHINA

  BY

  GEORGE F. WORTS

  "A man whose heart is burning with passion follows the undulations of a thought." --Su-Tong-Po.

  _WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY_ GAYLE HOSKINS

  PHILADELPHIA & LONDON

  J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

  1919

  COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY

  COPYRIGHT, 1919, J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

  TO

  DR. AND MRS. W. B. A. MOORE

  HONG KONG

  CONTENTS

  PART I

  THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES

  PART II

  THE BITTER FOUNTAIN

  PART III

  THE GREEN DEATH

  PETER THE BRAZEN

  PART I

  THE CITY OF STOLEN LIVES

  CHAPTER I

  "How serene the joy, when things that are made for each other meet and are joined; but ah,-- how rarely they meet and are joined, the things that are made for each other!" --SAO-NAN.

  When Peter Moore entered the static-room, picked his way swiftly andunnoticingly across the littered floor, and jerked open the frostedglass door of the chief operator's office, the assembled operatorsfollowed him with glances of admiration and concern. No one everentered the Chief's office in that fashion. One waited until calledupon.

  But Moore was privileged. Having "pounded brass" for five useful andadventurous years on the worst and best of the ships which minimize thelength and breadth of the Pacific Ocean, he was favored; he had becomea person of importance. He had performed magical feats with a wirelessmachine; he had had experiences.

  His first assignment was a fishing schooner, a dirty, unseaworthylittle tub, which ran as far north sometimes as the Aleutians; and hehad immediately gained official recognition by sticking to hisinstruments for sixty-eight hours--recorded at fifteen-minute intervalsin his log--when the whaler _Goblin_ encountered a submerged pinnaclerock in the Island Passage and flashed the old C.Q.D. distress signal.

  It was brought out in the investigation that the distance at whichPeter Moore had picked up the signals of the sinking _Goblin_ exceededthe normal working range of either apparatus. When pressed, the youngman confessed the ownership of a pair of abnormally keen ears.Afterward, it was demonstrated for the benefit of doubters that Moorecould "read" signals in the receivers when the ordinary operator coulddetect only a far away scratching sound.

  Beginning his second year in the Marconi uniform, Peter Moore wasrecognized as material far too valuable to waste on the fishing boats;and he was stationed on the _Sierra_, which was then known in wirelesscircles as a supervising ship. Her powerful apparatus could projectout a long electric arm over any part of the eastern Pacific, and theduty of her operator was to reprimand sluggards who neglected answeringcalls from ship or shore stations, and inexperienced men who violatedthe strict rules governing radio intercourse.

  It was whispered that Peter Moore grew tired of the nagging to whichhis position on the supervisor ship gave him privilege, for he shortlymade application for a berth in the China run. Now every operator onthe Pacific cherishes the hope that his fidelity will some day berewarded by a China run, and there are applications always on file forthose romantic berths. The Chief granted Peter Moore his whimunhesitatingly; and Moore selected the _Vandalia_, perhaps the mostdesirable of the transpacific fleet, because she stayed away from SanFrancisco the longest.

  That the supersensitiveness of his ears was not waning was soon provedby his receipt of a non-relayed message, afterward verified, from theshore station in Seattle, when the _Vandalia_ lay at anchor in theharbor at Hong-Kong. That was a new record. Marconi himself isbelieved to have written the young magician a complimentary letter.But Peter Moore showed that letter to no one. That was his nature. Hewas something of a mystery even to the members of his own profession.Many of the younger operators knew him only as a symbol, a geniusbehind a key, or as a hand. Professionally speaking, it was his handthat made his personality unique and enviable. There was a queervitality in the signals sent into the air from a wireless machine whenhis strong white fingers played upon the key; his touch was as familiarto them as the voice of a friend.

  There was a general simmering down of coastwise gossip in thestatic-room when the frosted glass door of the Chief's office closedbehind him. Voices trailed off into curious whisperings. Then--

  "But great guns, man, I need you!" boomed the cranky voice of the Chief.

  Followed then the low hum of Peter Moore as he explained himself.

  "Makes no difference!" the Chief roared. "Can't get along without you.Short handed. Gotta stay!"

  In irritation the Chief always abbreviated his remarks quite as if theywere radiograms to be transmitted at dollar-a-word rates.

  The truth then dawned and burst upon those ardent listeners in thestatic-room. Peter Moore was resigning! It was incredible.

  A more daring head pressed its audacious ear against the snowy glass.This was a fat, excitable little man, long in the service, but destinedforever, it seemed, to hammer brass in the Panama intermediate run. Askillful operator, but his arm broke, as wireless men say, wheneverfaced by emergency. He distinctly heard Peter Moore state in a voiceof emotion: "Too much China. God, man, I'll be smuggling opium next!"

  "Rubbish!" the Chief snorted.

  The Panama Line man waved a pale hand behind him for absolute silence.

  "Want a shore station for a while?"

  "Intend to rest up and then look around," Moore answered.

  "You'll be back. Mark my word. The sea and the wireless house is awinning combination. The old cities--new faces--freedom----"

  "I'm tired."

  "Pah! You've only begun. When does the _Vandalia_ clear for China?"

  "Thursday night."

  "I'll hold your berth open till Thursday noon. Hoping you'd break in anew operator. Queer chap. Glass eye. 'Member--Thursday noon."

  The frosted door went inward abruptly. The intense blue eyes in thepale face of the man who had resigned closed half way upon encounteringthe blushing eavesdropper. The Panama Line operator moved uncertainlytoward a vacant chair. Unaware of the curious stares addressed at himMoore went to the outer door. A wave of exquisite nervousness rippledthrough the silence of the static-room as the door clicked.

  When the rumor reached the _Vandalia_, lying in state at her pier, thatPeter Moore had resigned, Captain Jones, after bluntly airing hisdisappointment, advanced the theory to his chief engineer that Sparkshad "taken the East too much to heart. The fangs are in too deep."

  "He will be on hand sailing time," added the chief engineer, who hadbeen trying to retire from active duty in the China run for elevenyears.

  But Moore did not come back to the _Vandalia_ for that reason at all.