CHAPTER X
CARRIED CAPTIVE TO SEA
"What did you say your name is, Mister Enemy?" questioned Bob of Murphywho sat next to him.
"Murphy'll do," grunted the other. "Matt Murphy."
"Well, Mr. Matt Murphy, you don't mind if I talk a little, do you? Itrelieves my feelings."
"Talk all ye please," said Murphy, "so long as I hear ye. But don'tshout. An' don't try any funny business, because ye have no weapons,none of ye, while I an' my little Chinee friend have 'em to spare."
"Then," said Frank, impudently, "why don't you spare us some, and makematters more even?"
"Gwan wid ye," said Murphy, secretly amused at the boy's daring. "Noneo' yer lip."
Frank was not speaking thus without cause or merely from folly. Hecherished the hope that perhaps their two captors could be thrown offguard and overpowered, whereupon they could proceed to overawe the taxidriver outside. But he quickly realized Matt Murphy was on the alert,while the Chinaman, whose head showed in the little light coming in fromthe front window, undoubtedly also was ready to cope with any attack. Itwas difficult for Frank to realize that in a great city they could thusbe carried away captive. Yet he was forced to admit to himself that suchwas the case. A similar realization of the hopelessness of theirposition, had he only known it, was being borne in on his companions,too.
If he alone were in danger, thought Frank, he would shout for help,attack his captors, and run the risk of being shot or stabbed. But whenhe thought that such an attempt to gain freedom might result in Bob orJack or Mr. Temple being killed, he shuddered, and could not bringhimself to make the attempt. Similar considerations restrained each ofthe others.
All this time the auto had been making good progress, although the boysfrom their sketchy knowledge of San Francisco's topography were unableto make any surmise as to the direction in which they were being driven.They had climbed and descended several hills and were now on a stretchof level going which, however, was rutted and uneven and far fromsmooth.
Abruptly the auto was brought to a stop. The chauffeur tapped on thewindow in front. All but a small oval of the partition was boarded up,and the Chinaman's head obscured that. At the signal, Murphy reached forthe door, but the chauffeur was ahead of him and opened it from theoutside.
"Here we are," said Murphy. "Climb out."
Mr. Temple and the boys descended, the Chinaman bringing up the rear.The motor van drew up behind them at almost the same moment, its reardoors were swung open and the palanquin was thrust out and lowered tothe shoulders of its former bearers.
They stood in a lonely spot on the northern shore of the peninsula whereSan Francisco is built. The nearest habitations were rusty shipchandleries and homes of Italian fishermen on a ragged street somedistance in the rear. A suspended street lamp, swinging in the wind,cast strange shadows over the rough frame structures as the boys lookedback. Not far away rose Telegraph Hill, with other lights starring it inirregular pattern.
About them were scattered odds and ends of the waterfront, broken oars,tarry barrels and even the skeleton of a long boat from which the boardshad been ripped away, exposing the curved ribs half buried in the sand.
Ahead and not far distant lay an unroofed wharf with a steam craft ofconsiderable size beside it. Toward this the palanquin was borne, and upa gangplank to the deck of the boat. Beyond the bow of the craft,pointing into the stream, showed the dark waters of the Straits, withthe wooded and mountainous Marin County shore opposite, and the lightsof Sausalito shining in the distance.
A last desperate hope of escape was in each boy's mind as they glancedanxiously about. But the surroundings were not prepossessing. Who wasthere to hear a cry for help in those desolate surroundings? Who to lenda helping hand? No, it would be folly to make a dash for freedom now.Especially, inasmuch as not only did they have Matt Murphy, his Chinesesatellite and the chauffeur to reckon with, but also a half-dozen othersindistinguishable in the gloom, who stood a little to one side, preparedto deal with them if necessary.
Obedient, therefore, to Murphy's command, they followed toward thevessel, trod the loose boards of the wharf with lagging feet, passed upthe gangplank beneath the light and stepped aboard. Not giving them anytime for looking about, Murphy immediately led the way to a small salonfrom which opened a number of cabins. Mr. Temple and Bob were given one,Frank and Jack another. Their bags from the Palace Hotel already were inthe rooms, and on a bunk Mr. Temple found a small heap of silver andbills with a brief note of explanation that this constituted change fromhis check. A receipted bill was with the money.
"This looks bad, boys," said he, pocketing the money. "This scoundrelFolwell evidently has a tremendously effective organization. The way inwhich we were brought here, this steam trawler--for such I take her tobe, and that means a ship that can weather heavy storms, the expeditionwith which our belongings were brought from the hotel, even the carefulaccounting for my money--all these give convincing proof that it is nocommon desperado with whom we have to deal."
Frank yawned. They were all gathered in the little cabin assigned Mr.Temple and Bob.
"Ho, ho," said Frank, stretching, "I'm sleepy."
The older man regarded him enviously.
"I wish I could feel like that," he said.
"Well, I don't see anything much to worry about," said Frank. "We'regoing on a sea voyage, and I love the sea. We are on what practicallyamounts to a pirate ship, and pirates always have fascinated me. Wedon't know where we're going, but I'll bet it's to the smugglers' cove.And we don't know what dark and dreadful fate is being reserved for us,but we can cross that bridge when we come to it."
"For my part," he added, lowering his voice, "I'll bet that before he'sthrough with us Mr. 'Black George' Folwell will wish he had let usalone. Such trusty adventurers as Bob and Jack here, to say nothing ofmyself--notice my modesty--are liable to take his ship away from himbefore we're through with this business."
Jack clapped him on the back, and Bob roughed his hair.
"Attaboy."
"That's the idea."
Frank merely had given an expression to their own sentiments.
"If we only had a weapon or two," mourned Jack.
Mr. Temple, with an exclamation, reached for his bag. Then he groaneddismally.
"No use."
"What's the matter, Dad?" asked Bob.
"Oh, Jack made me think of an automatic which I carried in my bag. Butyou see the bag's open. These fellows foresaw the possibility of theircontaining weapons and probably have gone through them all."
"Let's have a look, anyhow," said Bob, starting to rummage. He wasunsuccessful. The revolver had been taken from the receptacle.
"Oh, well," said Jack, "we'll have to keep our eyes open and our witsabout us, that's all. In a shipload of armed men, it would be strange ifwe couldn't come by a weapon somehow."
"Or, maybe, make a friend who will come over to our side," said Bobsuddenly. The big fellow was slower in his mental processes than his twochums, but when he spoke it usually was to the point.
"That's right, Bob," said his father, brightening, "of course, ofcourse. Why hadn't I considered that possibility before? A cruel manlike Folwell must make some enemies among his men, especially if theyhave finer instincts and are not content merely to get their pay andcarouse."
"I was thinking of Matt Murphy," said Bob.
"Speak of the devil," said Frank, but so low his words were not heard.
For at that moment, Murphy put his head in through the door.
"We're off," he said. And it was true. The engines began to clank, thescrew to churn. The trawler quivered and headed out into the channel."In ten, fifteen minutes, we'll be passin' through the Golden Gate,"said Matt Murphy. "Them portholes ain't big enough to jump out, so Iain't worried. But put your eye to 'em an' ye'll see."
Abruptly then, as if half sorry for his display of interest, he closedthe door and they were once more alone. They looked from one to theother, and Mr. Temple nodded s
atisfaction.
"You're a discerning lad, Bob," he said.
The others nodded. That was all. But, rightly or wrongly, the impressionwas beginning to grow upon them that in Matt Murphy, "Black George's"right-hand man, they might eventually find a friend.
The Radio Boys on Secret Service Duty Page 10