into his midsection and dropped him to the floor. Coolly, he picked up his beer and drank it, and then he turned and looked at Lucieno. The fat Portuguese began to back away, his face white.
Jim grinned. "Okay, pal," he said cheerfully. "It was just a little lesson to teach your boyfriend to talk nice to his superiors. Next time-" He shook his finger warningly and turned away.
Arnold was standing on the boardwalk as Jim strode through the swinging doors. He chuckled, clapping Jim on the shoulder. "That was great! Everybody in the Dutch East Indies has been hoping to see that pair get called. But you've made an enemy, and a nasty one."
"That's just the fifth episode," Mayo said, shrugging. "I beat them out of a cargo of copra and pearl shell down in the Friendly Islands about three years ago. About six months later they tried to kidnap old Schumann's daughter over in the Moluccas.
They were going to sell her to some native prince. I put a stop to that, and a couple of their boys got tough."
"What happened to them?"
"You know, William," Jim said seriously, "I was trying to remember the other day.
They had an accident or something."
He straightened his tie, and gave the automatic a hitch into a better position.
"By the way, William," he asked carelessly, "where's the Natuna bound this trip?"
"To Port Moresby, with general cargo."
Ponga Jim walked down the street, and when he turned at the corner, glanced back.
Major Arnold, his neat, broadshouldered, compact figure very casual, was standing in front of Chino John's. Jim grinned, and turned the corner carelessly. Then, suddenly alert, he wheeled and darted down an alley, turned into a side street, and cut through the scattering of buildings toward the dock. The British Intelligence was convenient at times, at others, a nuisance.
There was no one in sight when he reached the dock. He let himself down the piling and crawled into a skiff moored there in the dark. Quickly, he shoved off.
Overhead there was a heavy bank of clouds. The night was very still, and the skiff made scarcely a shadow as it slipped through the dark water. Staying a hundred yards off, Ponga Jim avoided the lighted gangway and cautiously sculled the boat around to the dark side of the Natuna.
There was no one in sight, so with painstaking care he drifted the boat nearer and nearer to the silent ship. When he came alongside he laid his paddle down and stood up, balancing himself.
Fortunately, the sea was still. Picking up the heaving line lying in the stern of the boat, Mayo tossed the monkey's fist around a stanchion of the taffrail, and catching the ball, he pulled it down.
Once aboard that ship he would be practically in the hands of his enemies and with no legal status. Ponga Jim grinned and settled the gun in its holster. Then, taking two strands of the heaving line, he climbed swiftly-hand over hand.
There was no one in sight, and, pulling himself through the rail, he rolled over twice and was against the bulkhead of the after wheelhouse. There was no movement aft. Forward, the light from a port glinted on the rail and the water, and he could see the watchman standing under the light near the gangway. It was Blue Coley.
Jim crawled into the shadow of the winch and then along the deck to the ladder. The well deck was empty, so he slipped down. Then he hesitated.
The passage was lighted, but it was a chance he had to take. The crew's quarters were forward, the officers' amidships. There was small chance of anyone being aft.
He stepped into the passageway and hurried along, passing the paint locker. The rope-locker door was fastened, and he swore as he dug for his keys. Luckily, he still had them.
Once inside, he closed the door carefully and locked it again.
There was a stifling smell of paint and linseed oil. He felt his way along over coils of line, until he stopped abruptly. Then, cautiously, he struck a match. The paint had been shifted into the rope locker. Carefully, he snuffed the
Jim grinned. "Okay, pal," he said cheerfully. "It was just a little lesson to teach your boyfriend to talk nice to his superiors. Next time-" He shook his finger warningly and turned away.
Arnold was standing on the boardwalk as Jim strode through the swinging doors. He chuckled, clapping Jim on the shoulder. "That was great! Everybody in the Dutch East Indies has been hoping to see that pair get called. But you've made an enemy, and a nasty one."
"That's just the fifth episode," Mayo said, shrugging. "I beat them out of a cargo of copra and pearl shell down in the Friendly Islands about three years ago. About six months later they tried to kidnap old Schumann's daughter over in the Moluccas.
They were going to sell her to some native prince. I put a stop to that, and a couple of their boys got tough."
"What happened to them?"
"You know, William," Jim said seriously, "I was trying to remember the other day.
They had an accident or something."
He straightened his tie, and gave the automatic a hitch into a better position.
"By the way, William," he asked carelessly, "where's the Natuna bound this trip?"
"To Port Moresby, with general cargo."
Ponga Jim walked down the street, and when he turned at the corner, glanced back.
Major Arnold, his neat, broadshouldered, compact figure very casual, was standing in front of Chino John's. Jim grinned, and turned the corner carelessly. Then, suddenly alert, he wheeled and darted down an alley, turned into a side street, and cut through the scattering of buildings toward the dock. The British Intelligence was convenient at times, at others, a nuisance.
There was no one in sight when he reached the dock. He let himself down the piling and crawled into a skiff moored there in the dark. Quickly, he shoved off.
Overhead there was a heavy bank of clouds. The night was very still, and the skiff made scarcely a shadow as it slipped through the dark water. Staying a hundred yards off, Ponga Jim avoided the lighted gangway and cautiously sculled the boat around to the dark side of the Natuna.
There was no one in sight, so with painstaking care he drifted the boat nearer and nearer to the silent ship. When he came alongside he laid his paddle down and stood up, balancing himself.
Fortunately, the sea was still. Picking up the heaving line lying in the stern of the boat, Mayo tossed the monkey's fist around a stanchion of the taffrail, and catching the ball, he pulled it down.
Once aboard that ship he would be practically in the hands of his enemies and with no legal status. Ponga Jim grinned and settled the gun in its holster. Then, taking two strands of the heaving line, he climbed swiftly-hand over hand.
There was no one in sight, and, pulling himself through the rail, he rolled over twice and was against the bulkhead of the after wheelhouse. There was no movement aft. Forward, the light from a port glinted on the rail and the water, and he could see the watchman standing under the light near the gangway. It was Blue Coley.
Jim crawled into the shadow of the winch and then along the deck to the ladder. The well deck was empty, so he slipped down. Then he hesitated.
The passage was lighted, but it was a chance he had to take. The crew's quarters were forward, the officers' amidships. There was small chance of anyone being aft.
He stepped into the passageway and hurried along, passing the paint locker. The rope-locker door was fastened, and he swore as he dug for his keys. Luckily, he still had them.
Once inside, he closed the door carefully and locked it again.
There was a stifling smell of paint and linseed oil. He felt his way along over coils of line, until he stopped abruptly. Then, cautiously, he struck a match. The paint had been shifted into the rope locker. Carefully, he snuffed the
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