“And they’re going to bring them in, too,” thought Ned, with that outward thrust of a square chin that, with Ned Strong, betokened, to use a popular and expressive phrase, that he “meant business.”
He fully realized that he had a hard task ahead of him. Sailors are notoriously the prey of all sorts of harpies ashore, and not infrequently are persuaded to resist forcibly being returned to their ships. It was but a small force that Ned had under him in case of serious trouble; but, as he looked at the clear-skinned, bright-eyed young Jackies, he felt that he would be willing to face a regiment.
With Ned occasionally giving an order, the patrol marched through the water-front district, visiting many places of resort for sailors,—and abominable dens most of them were,—without getting any trace of the delinquents. Ned, in addition, questioned several pedestrians, policemen and loafers of the district, but he could get no clew to the men there.
“We’ll have to look for them in Chinatown,” he decided, and gave orders for his men to march thither.
Through the straggly streets the little company proceeded until they arrived in the purlieus of what, next to the Oriental settlement in Melbourne, Australia, is the biggest Chinese colony in the world. It was for all the world like a city of the poppy-land and not a part of the western metropolis.
Slitty, malignant eyes peered out of yellow faces as the smartly marching company from the dreadnought swung by. Most of the cunning Orientals knew full well on what errand the Jackies were bound, and resented it. Although Ned did not know it, the secret telegraphy of Chinatown was put into full operation as they advanced.
A butcher chopping meat on his stall would produce a peculiar kind of rhythmic tapping of his axe. This was in turn picked up by a cobbler mending shoes with antique Chinese tools. And so the news of the coming of the patrol preceded them by this subtle method of signaling, and long before they reached the street they were aiming for the proprietors of the places they meant to search knew of their coming.
“Halt!” ordered Ned, as they entered the street he had determined to search first. It was a narrow passageway between high, moldering walls. The walls flared with red prayer papers and other Mongolian notices inscribed on vermilion papers. From small barred windows evil-looking faces peered at them curiously.
From some remote place high up in one of the sinister-looking rookeries came the monotonous beating of a Chinese tom-tom, and the sharp screeching of a fife in uncanny cadences. Ned looked about him as the file came to a standstill. To his left a steep flight of steps led into an underground basement where he thought he might find some of the missing men.
Up the basement steps came an enormously fat Chinaman, with a round, greasy moon-face and an ingratiating chin.