“In with you,” repeated Murphy, pushing the boys and Mr. Temple into a taxicab with blinds drawn, which stood at the curb. It was the same in which they had approached Chinatown, although they did not realize that fact.
A motor van stood behind. The palanquin had been placed in it with the ends of the supporting poles resting in leather thongs dependent from the sides. This was calculated to break any shocks of the passage to the pain-wracked form of “Black George.”
Murphy swung in with his prisoners, as did one of the Chinese guards. The taxi started downhill. Behind lumbered the van.
[CHAPTER X—CARRIED CAPTIVE TO SEA]
“What did you say your name is, Mister Enemy?” questioned Bob of Murphy who sat next to him.
“Murphy’ll do,” grunted the other. “Matt Murphy.”
“Well, Mr. Matt Murphy, you don’t mind if I talk a little, do you? It relieves my feelings.”
“Talk all ye please,” said Murphy, “so long as I hear ye. But don’t shout. An’ don’t try any funny business, because ye have no weapons, none of ye, while I an’ my little Chinee friend have ’em to spare.”
“Then,” said Frank, impudently, “why don’t you spare us some, and make matters more even?”
“Gwan wid ye,” said Murphy, secretly amused at the boy’s daring. “None o’ yer lip.”