Page:Weird Tales Volume 7 Number 6 (1926-06).djvu/16

or on the floor. Powell stood in magnificent freedom, breathing defiance. For a moment all thought of the abducted June Hubbard was gone; John Powell was merely an American youth who had fought three aliens to a standstill and was giving them chance for more. Then he saw Mr. Hubbard, lying tied and gagged behind the nearest counter in the outer room. There was his duty—that old man and his daughter!

He ran to pick up Mr. Hubbard and carried him to the taxi. "To the Embarcadero!" he called to the driver. "Fifty dollars if you get there before 9 o'clock!"

Inside the speeding taxicab Powell untied the gasping Mr. Hubbard. June's father seemed to have needed the rough treatment to arouse him from his despairing lethargy. "Don't go!" he begged. "Beat those Chinese until they tell us where June is!"

"They wanted us to stay!" Powell declared. "They would have been beaten willingly if they could have detained us. I think that I know why! The Empress sails at 9 o'clock for China. I know it, for last week I was considering taking a trip on it. June's aboard! I'm sure! That's why they tried to hold us back there!" He leaned from the window and excitedly shouted to the taxi driver for more speed. "It's a matter of seconds, now!" he exclaimed to Mr. Hubbard. "It's sailing time already!"

The little rattling taxicab careened around the last corner and pulled up before Wharf 19. With a checked groan, Powell saw that the gate was closed. He tossed some money to the driver and leaped from the machine, followed by Mr. Hubbard like a tail to a comet.

The paneled gate was not built to withstand the assault of a determined six-footer. It crashed and splintered. Powell and Mr. Hubbard plowed through the wreckage, threw off detaining hands, dashed frantically along the wharf and made a final leap across the widening gap between the Empress and its dock.

Oh the upper deck five swarthy-faced individuals watched the sensational race. They looked at each other meaningly, then, without a word, went down the forward stairs to the main cabin, along the narrow corridor to two adjoining rooms. They filed in quietly, to join a sixth Mongolian who was bowed before a bed surrounded by incense tapers. On the bed, garbed in a mandarin robe of indescribable brilliance, was the white, drugged figure of June Hubbard.

The first few hours on the Empress were a continuous fight for John Powell and Mr. Hubbard. They were unwelcome guests. There was no accommodation for them. The purser promised them that a tug would be signaled and they be sent ashore. In desperation Powell asked to see the captain. That official was on the bridge and wouldn't leave it until the Empress was safely through the Golden Gate.

"Let us wait until we see him," Powell begged. He dared not trust his story to lesser officials; they would not believe him, would laugh at his excuse for remaining aboard. Everything depended upon the captain. "Let us see him," Powell insisted. "If he makes us leave I'll pay the expense of securing a tug to come, after us. Oh, I'm solvent and sane, I tell you!" He pulled a book of travelers' checks from his pocket and dazzled the purser by their size. "I'm a chronic traveler, but this trip is not for pleasure. It's a matter of life and death. Wait until we see the captain."