“Look! that beastly big chap seems jawing at her.” Hank snatched the glass.
He saw the long man standing in front of the girl whom he seemed to have ordered to her feet; he seemed angry about something. Then the unfortunate girl turned and went off towards one of the tents. She seemed about to enter it when she collapsed, cast herself on the sand and lay, her face hidden on her arm.
He shut the glass, thrust it into its case and started off down the rocks, George following.
“Bust up that hive,” cried Hank. “That’s white slave, clean white slave. Come along to the ship and fetch Candon and the guns. This is better than Vanderdecken.”
Tumbling, slipping, clawing at bushes, whooping like a red Indian, he led the way, George labouring behind, till they reached the beach where the boat of the _Wear Jack_ lay, the two Chinks close by it on the sand, smoking and playing fan-tan. The boat was shoved off.
“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.
“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?”