CHAPTER VI
The Golden Mouse
Hobart Zircon listened to Rick's report on the boys' findings, then madean abrupt change of plans. Instead of eating in Hong Kong, they took theferry back to the hotel and took from their suitcases the old clotheseach had brought to wear on the trail, and to give them the look ofexperienced hunters. As Steve had pointed out, only amateurs go in forfancy togs as a rule. The experienced prefer tough, ordinary clotheslike dungarees and denim shirts.
As they unpacked, Scotty asked, "Is it safe to leave our rifles, andRick's camera and that scientific stuff you brought?"
He referred to some delicate equipment packed in a special case thatZircon had brought from the Spindrift lab for investigating the heavywater they hoped to find.
"Perfectly safe," Zircon assured him. "In reputable hotels of this sort,the Chinese help is scrupulously honest. You could leave money lyingabout and it would never be touched."
He had already reported on his conversation with the consul general.There had been no word from Bradley, although Steve's instructions toco-operate with the Spindrift party had arrived. The American officialhad promised to get in touch with them if Bradley turned up. He hadnever heard of the Golden Mouse.
"I think we had better try to get in touch with Chahda right away," thescientist said. "So let's have a bite to eat here, then go have a lookat this Golden Mouse, or Canton Charlie's. From the description, I'd sayit is typical of a certain kind of place where toughs hang out. Eachcity in the Orient has several. If we wear these old clothes, we'll beless conspicuous."
In a short time they were in Hong Kong again. Zircon hailed threerickshaws and they got in. "Canton Charlie's," the scientist commanded."Chop chop."
The rickshaw boys started off at a trot. The way led along the bayshore, past wharves and piers, until they were out of the central partof the city and moving into a section that was more as Rick had imaginedan oriental city to be. The streets were wide, but lined withboard-front buildings. The signs were all in Chinese, and usuallypainted in gaudy colors. There were no Englishmen in sight now, nor didthey see any policemen.
It was a long way. They had left their hotel in full daylight, but duskhad settled before the coolies finally turned off the main road. Theywent into a narrow street, then turned down another and still another.With each turn the streets narrowed and the light grew dimmer. How hadChahda heard of a place in such a poor quarter of the city? Rickwondered.
Presently the rickshaws drew up in a dismal corner of what was littlemore than an alleyway. They were in front of a low wooden building withwindows that hadn't been cleaned in years. Above the double door was afaded painting, illumined by a single electric light bulb. The paintingprobably was supposed to represent a mouse. Once, long ago, it hadevidently been yellow. Now it was so glazed with grime that it was hardto tell.
Rick stepped down from his rickshaw, sniffing the combined odors ofgarlic, pungent sauces, filth, and stale beer. Scotty joined him, andthey waited for the scientist to take the lead.
Zircon handed some money to the coolies and ordered them to wait. Thenhe motioned to the boys and led the way to the door. It opened on alarge room dimly lighted by faded Chinese lanterns that hung overlow-power bulbs. The walls were covered with a grimy paper of fadedyellow on which unskilled drawings of mice at play were clustered. Thefloor was crowded with tables, each table covered with ayellow-checkered tablecloth. So far as Rick could see, there wasn't aclean cloth in the lot.
In front of the room was a long bar of scarred teak-wood. Behind it wererow after row of ordinary ten-cent-store water tumblers. Rick guessedCanton Charlie's clients weren't fussy about drinking from fine crystal.
Next to one wall, a white man in rumpled, dirty dungarees was sleepingwith head down on the table. His snores were not musical. At one of thetables near the opposite wall, a dark-skinned man in a seaman's woolencap sat paring his nails with a knife easily a foot long.
Zircon motioned to the boys and they sat down at one of the tables."It's too early for many customers, I suppose. But someone in chargemust be here." He banged on the table, then lowered his voice. "How doyou like the customer over there? A Portuguese sailor, from the look ofhim."
In a moment dingy curtains parted next to the bar and a man emerged. Ata guess, he was Spanish.
"Bet he's got a knife a foot long, too, under that apron," Scottywhispered. "He's the type."
Rick nodded. Scotty was so right! The man's heavy-lidded eyes were setin a swarthy face whose most prominent feature was a broken nose,flattened probably with some weapon like a hard-swung bottle. A whitescar across his chin indicated that it might have been a broken bottle.He was medium tall, and he wore a cap that might have been white once.An apron covered loose black Chinese shirt and trousers. Rick was gladbig Hobart Zircon was sitting next to him.
The man walked to the table and greeted them in a surprisingly softvoice in which there was an accent Rick couldn't identify.
"You're a little early, gents. But I can take care of you. What'll youhave?"
"Chahda," Zircon said flatly.
The man's eyes narrowed. "You better have a drink and sit tight."
"Why?" Zircon asked.
"You'll see. What'll you drink?"
Zircon ignored the question. "Who are you?"
"Canton Charlie. What'll you drink?"
"What have you got?"
There was a ghost of a smile on the scarred face. "I'll fix you up." Heclapped his hands. An elderly Chinese in dirty whites shuffled out.Canton Charlie spoke a few words of singsong Cantonese and the old mannodded.
"Sit tight," Charlie said again, and walked away.
"Lot of fine, useful information we're getting out of this," Scottygrumbled. "I wonder how long we'll have to sit in this flea bag?"
"Hard to say," Zircon replied. "But Charlie seemed friendly enough."
The old Chinese was shuffling across the floor with a tray that heldthree tumblers of dark liquid. "Wonder what he's going to give us?" Ricksaid. "Probably dragon blood."
The Chinese put the glasses down in front of them and padded off again.Scotty picked up his glass and sniffed, and a grin split his face."Dragon blood, huh? Ten thousand miles from home, in the worst dive inHong Kong, and what do we drink? Coke!"
Rick laughed. "American civilization and the mysterious East. But itsuits me. Coke is probably the only thing in the house fit to drink."
The Portuguese finished the drink that had been in front of him, gavehis nails a last inspection, stowed his knife in a leg sheath, and left.He hadn't even looked at them.
"He's probably gone to find a blowtorch to shave with," Zircon rumbled.He motioned toward the door. "New customers coming."
They were the first of many. Within a half-hour the room was filled witha strange assortment. There were British, American, French, Dutch,Portuguese, and Filipino sailors, and men of uncertain profession whoranged in complexion from pure Chinese to pure black. Many wereEurasians, and of the Eurasians, a large percentage were of mixedChinese and Portuguese blood. Zircon reminded the boys that thePortuguese colony of Macao was only half an afternoon's boat trip southof Hong Kong.
By and large, Rick decided, Canton Charlie's customers were as tough alooking bunch of pirates as he had ever seen. They applauded noisily bybanging glasses on the table as a disreputable lot of musicians appearedand began to make the night hideous with what seemed to be a Chineseversion of a Strauss waltz. By this time, the room was so blue withcigar and cigarette smoke and so noisy with coarse chatter in ahalf-dozen tongues that it was hard to see or hear one's neighbor.
Again Rick wondered. How had Chahda ever heard of this place? He sippedon his third coke and leaned over toward Scotty and Zircon. "Wonderwhat's keeping Canton Charlie?"
Zircon shrugged expressively. "Can't do a thing but wait, Rick."
Fortunately, the wait was not much longer. A Chinese shuffled past anddropped a folded note on the table. Before they could question him, hehad made
his way among the tables and was gone.
Zircon picked up the note, glanced through it, and handed it to Scotty.Rick read over his friend's shoulder. The note was scrawled in pencil,as though written in haste.
"_To find the one you want, go to the end of the Street of the ThreeBlind Fishermen. Go to the junk with the purple sails._"
"Let's get started," Rick said. He rose to his feet. Zircon tossed somemoney on the table. The three of them made their way through the noisymob of rough-necks and out the door. Rick breathed deeply when they wereout in the narrow street again.
"Even with the garlic, this air smells better than what we left inside,"Scotty said. "Why do you think Canton Charlie didn't deliver the messagehimself?"
"Maybe he's not mixed up in it," Rick suggested. "Maybe he just hadorders to let someone know when we showed up."
"We'll soon know," Zircon predicted.
As the three rickshaw coolies materialized from the darkness where theyhad been waiting, the Americans climbed in. Zircon asked, "You knowstreet called Three Blind Fishermen?"
One of the rickshaw boys nodded. "Not far. We go?"
"Yes."
The rickshaws lurched forward.
* * * * *
Inside the Golden Mouse, Canton Charlie started for the table where thethree had been waiting. He stopped short as he saw they were no longerthere, turned on his heel, and hurried into an inner room. He spokequick words to a slim Chinese-Portuguese half-caste who immediatelyhurried out the back door. Once in the open, the slim man ran as thoughdevils were after him.