Part 15 (1/2)

”We returned to camp by forced marches, and turned Bob over to the camp physician. He recovered at last, all but his hand, which never regained its power. The natives said it was the 'demon's curse,' and possibly they were right.

”At the time nothing could have hired us to go back to the old ruins, but lately I've had a sneaking desire to go back and finish exploring that old temple. Perhaps I shall, some day, and likely as not the devil will get me, this time. Who knows?”

Mr. Hartley ended his strange narrative with a smile, half serious, half comical, and his listeners drew a long breath.

They voted it one of the most exciting tales they had ever heard, and besieged the engineer with questions as to the location of the ruined city. But Mr. Hartley only shook his head.

”No, no,” he said, and, although he smiled, his tone was serious. ”It would be just like you madcaps to undertake a journey there, and I don't want to be the cause of your death. If you don't mind, I'd rather not tell you.”

Although disappointed, the boys did not press the matter, and after a little further discussion of the engineer's story, took their departure.

”Just the same,” declared Bert, on their way home, ”I'd like nothing better than for us three to tackle that 'devil.' I have an idea we could stand him on his head.”

”I'd like to try it, anyway,” declared Tom, and d.i.c.k declared himself as feeling the same way.

They talked about little else that evening, and if, after they were asleep, they were troubled by nightmares, the cause was not hard to determine.

CHAPTER XII

WAH LEE'S BOSS

The next few days were crowded with incident. The city was filling up with visitors, to be present at the ceremonies attending the opening of the Ca.n.a.l. Many of these were celebrities known all over the world.

Soldiers, admirals, diplomats, men of affairs, brushed shoulders with thousands less famous, but quite as interested in the great event so soon to take place. The boys were constantly meeting someone whom they had known in the ”States”; and, in the renewal of old friends.h.i.+ps and the making of new ones, the time flew by as though on wings.

But, underneath all the hubbub and excitement, Bert was conscious of an uneasy premonition. He tried to a.n.a.lyze it, and, when unsuccessful in this, attempted to throw it off. Despite all his efforts, however, it persisted. Call it clairvoyance, call it telepathy, he felt aware of impending danger. Some ”coming event” was casting ”its shadow before.”

Again and again the words of Allison recurred to him. Not that he believed in them. Although they had stirred him at the time with a sense of vague foreboding, he had dismissed them as the utterance of an enthusiast, who felt a deep antipathy toward the j.a.panese, and magnified the danger to be feared from them. Of course, it was absurd--that last remark of his that at that very moment a j.a.panese fleet might be on its way to attack the Pacific Slope. He laughed as he thought of it, but, somehow, the laugh did not ring true.

Wah Lee had kept his word, and frequently called to see his friends. But his serenity seemed to be disturbed. He appeared troubled and distrait.

At times, he acted as though he were about to tell them something, but was himself in doubt as to the value of his information, and restrained himself. His all-embracing smile was conspicuous by its absence.

”What's bothering the old chap, I wonder,” ruminated Tom.

”Search me,” laughed d.i.c.k. ”Something on his conscience, maybe. Perhaps he hasn't burned as many joss sticks before his particular idol as he feels he ought, and the failure worries him.”

”I'm going to get right down to bra.s.s tacks, the next time he comes,”

said Bert, ”and get it out of him.”

But the wily Celestial baffled all efforts to ”pump” him, and the matter pa.s.sed from their minds.

Two days later, however, Wah Lee shuffled past Bert, as the latter was sauntering down the main street of Colon, and, apparently by accident, touched his arm in pa.s.sing. Bert looked up, and, recognizing the Chinaman, started to speak to him. But the latter only gave him a swift glance from his almond eyes, and kept on, his face as stolid and inscrutable as that of a graven image. In that fleeting look, however, Bert's quick perception recognized that Wah Lee had some object in view, and wanted to talk with him. With a heightened pulse, but still retaining an indifferent air, he followed.

At the first turning, the Chinaman pa.s.sed into a side street, Bert keeping a little way in the rear. The houses grew more infrequent and soon they came to the suburbs. Still on they went, until, at last, they were in the open country, and free from observation. Then, in a remote spot, where they could see for a long distance on every side, Wah Lee stood still, and Bert ranged alongside.

”Well, Wah Lee,” he asked, curiously, ”what's the game?”

In answer, the Chinaman drew from his pocket a crumpled sheet of paper, and handed it to Bert. He took it and smoothed it out. At first, it failed to convey any impression. The drawing was a rough one, and seemed to consist of a series of lines, punctured with dots. But gradually, as Bert gazed, his training in mechanics told him that it was a plan of some large structure. There were two rectangular outlines, that were perfectly similar, like two leaves of a table. No, they were gates. And then, like a flash, it came across him. They were the gates of the Gatun Locks! There was the wavy line, to indicate the water level, and, down below these, were the ominous dots. They seemed to be meant for holes, but his knowledge of the locks told him that they had no place in its structure. What did those holes mean?

A little shaken, he looked at Wah Lee for the key to the enigma.