“You mean fighting them?” asked George. His throat was dry and his lips were dry. He had seen the Great War and bursting shells and had risked his life a dozen times, but all that seemed nothing to the imminent attack on that horrid crowd over there on the beach beyond sight.
“Oh, Lord, no,” said Hank, a devilish look on his lantern face, and a new light in his eyes. “I’m going to cuddle them. Lay into it, you jade-faced sons of perdition. ’Nuff! in with your oars and claw on.”
They tumbled over the rail of the Wear Jack, Hank shouting for Candon. They found him below coming out of the engine place with a lump of cotton waste in his hand.
“Come into the saloon,” cried Hank. “B. C., we’re up to the eyes in it. Wacha think, we’ve struck a gang of Chinese white slavers with a girl in tow.” He explained.
As he talked, George noticed the effect on Candon. He leaned forward as he sat, pulling at the hairs of his beard; his eyes changed in colour, darkening as the pupils spread. When Hank had finished, Candon leaned back, sought mechanically in his pocket, found his pipe and put it between his teeth, but he did not light it.
“They’re white slavers,” said Hank.
“Sure,” said Candon. The anger consuming him was no less visible for the calm that covered it. Then he broke out. “There you have things as they’re going on, and your beautiful laws, where are they? I tell you, boys, white women are being snatched off to China every week that goes, and white men are helping. It’s all part of a business mixed up with opium smuggling and dope selling. Well, we’ve gotta get that girl from them. Question is, how?”
“Land right away and go for them. I’ve got the guns,” said Hank, going to a locker and producing the armaments for the voyage, three Lugger automatics. “Here’s the persuaders and the Chinks will help.”
“One minute,” said Candon. He was thinking hard, nearly biting through the pipe stem. Then he spoke. “It’s getting on for sun-down. Better wait till the dark comes, then we can rush them. They’ll think it’s the police if we do it proper and they won’t be able to count our numbers—how’s the wind?”