Adventure, December 1914 — page 176: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

174 His mouth was closed; he would not dare even hint of what he knew. Smith chuckled as he pictured the China- man’s helpless rage when he discovered his confederate had been beforehand. “Serve the blasted yellow blighter right,”’ concluded Smith. But Smith mused admiringly upon the Chinaman’s shrewdness in discovering the Sisters’ whereabouts. Yet it was so simple! Of course Altieri would have the pearl. Altieri was the best pearl-skinner on the Coast. To him came all the finest pearls of the catch. He was an artist. He could tell at a glance if a pearl were flawless, and if the removal of the outer skins would en- hance the value. Of course the Black Sisters would come to Altieri to be nursed and prepared for the market, while the word was given out that the gem had gone to Broome. And Warrigah! Yes—Tom Gee Bong was a slick one, all right, to play up to the woman. “Not such rotten taste, either,” thought Smith, as he pictured the full-bosomed, comely half-caste in her street apparel—a bright green sarong that fell from her hips to her knees. She was yellow, and her eyes were Chinese eyes; but her bushy, kinky hair bespoke her a hybrid of the Coast. Smith remembered when Altieri had ac- quired Warrigah from a Thursday Island pearler. Three pound ten and a bottle of square-face had been the consideration. ‘“She’s half Chino and half devil,” Cap- tain White had said. ‘“‘A good clubbing about once a month keeps her in order.” Altieri had taken the woman and the ad- vice; and Warrigah, as befitted a “white- fellow’s Mary,” bent her back to the blows and her will to the whims of her lord, and murmured not. But Warrigah was a woman—and Tom Gee Bong was slick. And the hiding place of the pearl! Who would ever think of looking into a battered old billy-can for ten thousand pounds. Lucky for him, too. He wouldn’t care to tackle the job if Altieri carried the pearl on his person. Not many men on the Coast would care to tackle Altieri—and he visioned the stubby little pearl-skinner with his scarred, leathery face and gorilla-like arms. A bad man, Altieri. Smith could understand Tom Gee Bong’s reluctance to place himself within the skinner’s reach. Hence he was Adventure to be the Chink’s catspaw. Yes, Tom Gee Bong was a slick one, all right—but John Smith was slicker. y\ ©) shack. Cossack was alive and roar- ing. A reeling, squabbling, many- colored, many-tongued mob filled the bars and overflowed on to the lopsided street. At the first pub he entered, Smith en- countered Captain Wayne, engaged in his nightly celebration of the Sisters’ discovery. With the practised art of the sponger Smith attached himself to the crowd that sur- rounded the hero and spender, and for the next two hours he followed in the sailor’s wake as the latter journeyed from dive to dive. He followed the crowd that followed the spender, out of Johnny Blair’s Place and across the sand to next door—the joint of McManus. Smith melted into the shadow of the McManus shanty, and, when the un- heeding group had passed inside, betook himself swiftly off toward the home of Altieri. The establishment of Altieri consisted of two shacks; one the workshop of the pearl- skinner, the other his domicile. Between the two shacks was a ten-foot strip of sand. Smith crept around the corner of the workshop and crouched in the shadow and listened. The sound of steady, measured breathing came through the open door of the Altieri living-room. Smith slipped across the narrow, intervening space and entered the hut. For a moment he remained motionless, pressed against the wall. The deep, regular breathing of the two sleepers reassured him and he commenced to edge his way along the wall to his left. ‘“‘The first, shelf on the wall, to the left of the door, beneath the shelf, in the billy-can hanging on the third nail,’ had been the explicit directions of Tom Gee Bong. Smith’s groping fingers struck the wooden end of the shelf. Feeling beneath, he touched the first nail from which hung a saucepan—the second nail, and the third. He lifted the billy-can from its hook, removed the cover and thrust: his hand in- side. His fingers closed over a chamois-skin bag in which was something small and hard. The woman, Warrigah, lying awake and watching at the side of her master, seized AT HALF PAST ten Smith left his Gomiicovdook (©