“All right, Charley Lung. I am an officer of the Navy. Out there is a great big warship. You keep these men quiet and nothing will happen to them. But if they make trouble the cannon will blow this building to pieces. You understand? You tell them that.”
“Me unnastan’. Me tell ’em.”
A quick jabber in Chinese followed, as Charley Lung faced his unfortunate compatriots.
“Allee boy sclared,” Charley Lung declared, facing about. “No maken tlouble. What shall do?”
“Send each man to his bunk. Tell them to stay there.”
Again the quick patter of Chinese on Charley’s part. The coolies, some fifty in number, scampered away, diving headlong into the bunks lining the walls. Then the Ensign beckoned Charley Lung to him authoritatively. He asked him a quick series of questions as to the whereabouts of “Black George,” his assistants and the crew of the trawler. Charley looked bland. To every question he answered monotonously.
“Me no unnastan’. Me no unnastan’.”
“Very well,” said Ensign Warwick grimly. “You come with me. I think you do know.”
Turning to Doniphan, he said:
“Doniphan, mount guard here. Get a rifle from the boat. We’ll wait until you return. Tell Robbins to keep the searchlight playing in here, and explain why.”