Rick Brant - The Caves of Fear Part 9

"Bobby sox or bobby pin?" Scotty asked.

The bank officer's eyebrows went up, then he smiled. "Oh, I see what you mean. No, it's not a joke this time. Bobby is what we call policemen.

You know?"

"Thank you very much," Rick said.

"Not a bit. By the way, I can make a few inquiries of the chaps who have been here for some time. They may know. If you have no luck, drop back."

He offered his hand. "My name is Keaton-Yeats. Ronald Keaton-Yeats."

Rick and Scotty offered their names in exchange. "We'll come back if we can't locate it," Rick a.s.sured him.

Outside, Scotty laughed. "Haw!" he said.

Rick grinned. "That's the famous English sense of humor, I guess. He's a good scout."

Scotty nodded his agreement. "Funny thing about these English. They do things that seem silly to us, like wearing tweeds in bathing-suit weather and cracking bad jokes. But when the chips are down, they can fight like wildcats." Suddenly he pointed. "There's a policeman."

"Let's tackle him," Rick said, and led the way across the street.

The officer was evidently a lieutenant or something of the sort, because he had impressive-looking shoulder tabs on his uniform. As they came up, he was inspecting the papers of a small, hard-bitten character who wore greasy dungarees and a cap black with grease and grime. Evidently the papers were in order, for he handed them back and said curtly, "All right, my man. But remember we'll have no doings from you or your like in Hong Kong. If you're smart, you'll stick close to your s.h.i.+p."

The man muttered, "Aye aye, Orficer. That I will." He moved away.

The officer was a tall, erect man with a cropped, gray military mustache. He saw the two boys and nodded. "Can I help you, lads?"

"Perhaps you can, sir," Rick said. "We're looking for something called the Golden Mouse."

The officer's eyes narrowed. "Are you now?" he inquired. "And what would you want with the Golden Mouse, if I may inquire?"

"We're to meet a friend there," Scotty said.

The tone of the officer's voice told Rick that something was wrong. He asked, "Is something wrong with the Golden Mouse? We don't even know what it is."

"A good thing for you not to know," the officer retorted. "You're Americans?"

"Yes, sir," Scotty said.

"Then the Hong Kong force is responsible for seeing that you have a pleasant and safe visit. I warn you. Keep away from the Golden Mouse."

He turned on his heel and walked off. Rick and Scotty stared after his retreating figure, and then at each other.

"How about that?" Scotty wanted to know.

Rick frowned. "There must be something fishy about this Golden Mouse.

From the way he talks, it's a place. I wonder what kind?"

A c.o.c.kney voice spoke from behind them. "Now, that's a thing I could tell you lads, always providin' you was willin' to part with 'arf a quid or so."

It was the man the officer had warned to stick close to his s.h.i.+p. He winked at them. "Come over 'ere where that blinkin' peeler cawn't see us." He motioned to the shadow of a hallway.

Inside, he grinned at them. "I 'eard the line o' garbage the copper was 'andin' you and I says, 'ere's a chance to do a bit o' fyvor fer a couple o' rich Yanks. And, I says, likely they'll part with a few bob to buy ol' Bert a bit o' tea."

Rick pulled out a couple of Hong Kong dollars. "We'll pay you. Now tell us what the Golden Mouse is, and where it is."

Bert pocketed the notes. "As to what it is, it's a kind o' restaurant, you might say. It 'as entertainment and food and drink, and you'll find a few o' the lads there for company most any night. Aye, it's a fair popular place, is the Golden Mouse." He grinned, and there was a gap where his two front teeth should have been. "As to where it is, that's not so easy to tell a pair what don't know 'ow to get around. But you just get a couple rickshaws, and you say to the coolies to take you to Canton Charlie's place. They know it, right enough."

He spat expertly at a c.o.c.kroach that scuttled past. "But take a tip from ol' Bert and don't go. Stay clear o' Canton Charlie's."

"Why?" Rick demanded.

"Never you mind why. Just stay clear. Bert's warnin' you."

"We want to know why," Scotty insisted.

Bert grinned evilly. "Right-o. The lads wants to know, and Bert's an obligin' gent. You go to Canton Charlie's and I'll make a bet, I will.

I'll bet you'll be outside again in 'arf an hour, or maybe less."

His grin widened. "But will you know yer outside? Not you. And why? On account of you'll be layin' in a ditch somewheres with yer throats cut.

That's why."

He pushed past and left them standing in the doorway, staring at each other.

CHAPTER VI

The Golden Mouse

Hobart Zircon listened to Rick's report on the boys' findings, then made an abrupt change of plans. Instead of eating in Hong Kong, they took the ferry back to the hotel and took from their suitcases the old clothes each had brought to wear on the trail, and to give them the look of experienced hunters. As Steve had pointed out, only amateurs go in for fancy togs as a rule. The experienced prefer tough, ordinary clothes like dungarees and denim s.h.i.+rts.

As they unpacked, Scotty asked, "Is it safe to leave our rifles, and Rick's camera and that scientific stuff you brought?"

He referred to some delicate equipment packed in a special case that Zircon had brought from the Spindrift lab for investigating the heavy water they hoped to find.

"Perfectly safe," Zircon a.s.sured him. "In reputable hotels of this sort, the Chinese help is scrupulously honest. You could leave money lying about 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 to co-operate with the Spindrift party had arrived. The American official had promised to get in touch with them if Bradley turned up. He had never heard of the Golden Mouse.

"I think we had better try to get in touch with Chahda right away," the scientist said. "So let's have a bite to eat here, then go have a look at this Golden Mouse, or Canton Charlie's. From the description, I'd say it is typical of a certain kind of place where toughs hang out. Each city in the Orient has several. If we wear these old clothes, we'll be less conspicuous."

In a short time they were in Hong Kong again. Zircon hailed three rickshaws 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 bay sh.o.r.e, past wharves and piers, until they were out of the central part of the city and moving into a section that was more as Rick had imagined an oriental city to be. The streets were wide, but lined with board-front buildings. The signs were all in Chinese, and usually painted in gaudy colors. There were no Englishmen in sight now, nor did they see any policemen.

It was a long way. They had left their hotel in full daylight, but dusk had settled before the coolies finally turned off the main road. They went into a narrow street, then turned down another and still another.