The O Moo had suddenly shot her prow high in air. The entire contents of the cabin came avalanching down upon them.
* * * * * * * *
Having made his way, in the midst of the storm, to the door of the scow on the dry dock occupied by the Orientals, Mark Pence paused to arrange the cloth strap carefully over his shoulder and to feel in his pocket. Then he beat loudly upon the door.
As he had expected, he received no answer.
Without further formalities he put his knees to the door and gave it a shove. The flimsy lock broke so suddenly that he was thrown forward. Losing his balance, he plunged headforemost down a short flight of stairs.
With a low, whispered exclamation he sprang to his feet. Putting his ear to the wall, he listened. There were sounds, low grunts, slight shuffling of feet. It was uncanny. A cold perspiration stood out on his brow. “Danger here,” he whispered as he once more adjusted the cloth strap.
The corridor in which he was standing was dark, but a stream of blue light poured out from beneath a door to his right.
“Hey! You! Come out of there!” he shouted.
Instantly bedlam followed. Doors were flung open. A glaring blue light flooded all.
“O we-ee-ee! O wee-ee-ee,” came from every side.