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The Bradys After a Chinese Princess; Or, The Yellow Fiends of 'Frisco
CHAPTER I
THE MYSTERY THAT CAME OUT OF THE MIST
One foggy night a few years since at something after two o'clock, a good-sized motor boat containing five men might have been seen cruising close in to the water-front line of lower San Francisco.
Three of the occupants were big, husky fellows, who sat idly in the boat looking like men waiting to be called upon to act and prepared for any emergency.
A good-looking young fellow in his twenties was attending to engineer's duty, while astern sat an elderly man of striking appearance and peculiar dress.
He wore a long, blue coat with brass buttons, an old-fashioned stock and stand-up collar, and a big white hat with an unusually broad brim.
Clearly he was the leader of this outfit, whatever their business might be out there on the silent bay in the early morning hours.
He was a man accustomed to command, being none other than the world-famous detective, Old King Brady, chief of the Brady Detective Bureau of Union Square, New York.
And having made this statement, we need scarcely add that the young man in charge of the boat was his partner, Young King Brady, second in skill as a detective only to his great chief.
The detective had been ordered to San Francisco on special duty by the United States Secret Service Bureau.
Information had been received of the intention of certain Chinamen to run in opium on a large scale, dodging the duty due to Uncle Sam.
The information, while definite and reliable, was still vague.
Details were lacking, yet it was known that there was surely going to be something doing in the line during this particular week, and that whatever was done would take place in the neighborhood of the India Basin.
This made the fourth night the Bradys had been on the watch with three local Secret Service men as their aides.
It was discouraging work.
Nothing had happened.
The weak point of the undertaking was the lack of knowledge as to the particular ship or steamer on which the opium was expected to arrive.
Two steamers had arrived from China this week, one regular liner and one tramp.
Three sailing vessels had also come in, all from Chinese ports.
Yet it was by no means certain that the opium would enter the harbor of San Francisco in that way.
It is quite the custom with captains of English tramp steamers, and also with those of sailing vessels, to drop opium overboard in sealed rubber bags while off the Farraleone Islands.
Such bags are picked up by fishing schooners on hand for the purpose, and by them landed as best they can.
A close watch for such operations in this particular instance was being kept by a special revenue cutter outside the Golden Gate.
The Bradys' orders had to do only with the landing.
It was supposed that the people connected with some storage warehouse in this vicinity were and had been for some time standing in with the smugglers.
It was particularly desired by the Government to learn who these people were; to catch them red-handed and make an example of them.
That Chinese capital was back of this crooked enterprise was certain, but there was reason to believe that they were being substantially aided by others who were not of their race.
"If the fog would only lift we might be able to do something," remarked one of the Secret Service men, "but as it is I see little use in remaining here."
"Patience," replied Old King Brady. "We have to do the best we can, my friend. I admit that the fog is a nuisance, but I am not giving up yet by any means. Harry, work in a little nearer. We must be close upon the India Basin by this time."
The order was obeyed by Young King Brady.
After a few moments the wharf line became visible, the fog lifting a bit.
Then suddenly came a break.
"The basin," said the Secret Service man.
"I think not," replied Old King Brady. "I think it is only the Islais Creek Channel. Stop the boat, Harry. We will lie off here for a few minutes. Perhaps we are banking too much on these hop smugglers running into the basin. It may be one of the warehouses on the channel here after all."
Harry stopped the launch accordingly.
The ebb tide took them back and the fog closed in on the Islais Channel.
The boat ran against a wharf and the movement was stopped.
"Shall I pull up, governor?" inquired Young King Brady.
"No. We will rest as we are," said the old detective. "Quiet, now. Let us listen. I shall not remain long idle here."
"It isn't the least use," growled the Secret Service man. "There won't be nothing doing to-night."
Old King Brady made no reply.
This man was a chronic kicker. He had been at it right along.
But for the fact that he was also known to be a good fighter, Old King Brady would have dropped him.
Silence and fog!
Such was the situation now.
For fully twenty minutes they remained thus, and the old detective was just about to order a move on to the India Basin when voices were heard at no great distance, speaking in some foreign tongue.
"At last!" breathed Old King Brady. "I told you there would be something doing to-night, boss. Is that Chinese they are talking, Harry?"
"Sounds so."
"Sure it is," added the kicker.
"I'll wake up Alice, then," said the old detective. "This is her job."
We have not mentioned a woman who, wrapped in a heavy shawl, sat half reclining at Old King Brady's feet with her head resting on a corner of the stern seat.
This was the noted female detective, Alice Montgomery, who is a full partner in the Brady Bureau.
The daughter of a missionary, born and brought up in China, Alice, besides several other foreign languages, such as German, French and Italian, both speaks and reads Chinese.
Of course, such an accomplishment was likely to prove invaluable in a situation like this.
Old King Brady now aroused his female partner and explained.
But by this time the voices had ceased.
"Must be that they are in a sailboat," observed the kicker, half aloud.
"Will you kindly keep quiet," breathed the old detective. "This mist is as good as a telephone. I want to do business to-night if I can."
After a moment the voices in the mist were heard again.
Alice listened attentively.
"Chinese?" whispered Harry.
"Yes; hush."
The voices ceased.
Chinese never hold continuous conversation like other people.
They say what they have to say and let it go at that.
This time the voices seemed to come from a greater distance.
"What are they talking about?" the old detective asked.
"They are trying to find the Islais Channel," whispered Alice. "They think they have missed their bearings."
"Therein they are quite mistaken. The Islais Channel is right here. Didn't catch the name of any street or warehouse?"
"No."
"Or person?"
"The name Volckman was mentioned."
"Good! It may prove a valuable clew.