Triple Spies | Page 5

it three shining particles.
"Diamonds!" Johnny's eyes were dazzled with the lustre of the jewels.
The Russian, selecting one, dropped the others back into the envelope.
"Bet he's got a hundred more," was Johnny's mental comment. Then he noticed a peculiarity of the envelope. There was a red circle in the lower, left hand corner, as if a seal had been stamped there. He would remember that envelope should he ever see it again.
But at this instant his attention was drawn to the men again. The Russian had turned and handed the gem to Wo Cheng. Wo Cheng stepped to the light and examined it.
"No need cumshaw my," he murmured.
The Russian bowed gravely, and turned toward the door.
It was then that the face of the Chinaman underwent a rapid change. The look of craftiness, treachery, and greed swept over it again. This time the yellow man's hand unmistakably reached for the knife.
Then he appeared to remember Johnny, for his hand dropped, and he half turned with an air of guilt.
The door closed with a little swish. The Russian was gone. With him went the stifling air of treachery, murder and intrigue, yet it left Johnny wondering. Why was every man's hand lifted against the sharp-chinned Russian? Had Wo Cheng been actuated by hate, or by greed? Johnny could not but wonder if some of Russia's former noblemen did not rest in shallow graves beneath Wo Cheng's cellar floor. But there was little time for speculation. In two hours the special train that Johnny wanted to take would be on its way north.
Springing nimbly from his place of hiding, Johnny recovered his blouse, and having secured from it certain papers, which were of the utmost importance to him, he pinned them in a pocket of his shirt. He next selected a pair of wolf skin trousers, a pair of corduroy trousers, one pair of deer skin boots and two of seal skin.
"Cumshaw?" he grinned, facing Wo Cheng, as he completed his selection.
The yellow man shrugged his shoulders, as if to say it made little difference to him in this case.
Johnny peeled a bill from his roll of United States currency and handed it to him.
"Wo Cheng," he said slowly, "go north, Jap woman? Go north, that Russian? Why?"
The Chinaman's face took on a mask-like appearance.
"No can do," he muttered. "Allatime keep mouth shut my."
"Tell me," commanded Johnny, advancing in a threatening manner, with his hand near the Russian's knife.
"No can do," protested the Chinaman cringing away. "Allatime keep mouth shut my. No ask my. No tell my. Allatime buy, sell my. No savvy my."
It was evident that nothing was to be learned here of the intentions of the two strangers; so, grasping his bundle, Johnny lifted the latch and found himself out in the silent, deserted alley.
The air was kind to his heated brow. As he took the first few steps his costume troubled him. He was wearing the parka and the corduroy trousers. He felt no longer the slight tug of puttees about his ankles. His trousers flapped against his legs at every step. The hood heated the back of his neck. The fur trousers and the skin boots were in the bundle under his arm. His soldier's uniform he had left with the keeper of the hidden clothes shop. He hardly thought that anyone, save a very personal acquaintance, would recognize him in his new garb, and there was little chance of such a meeting at this hour of the night. However, he gave three American officers, apparently returning from a late party of some sort, a wide berth, and dodging down a narrow street, made his way toward the railway yards where he would find the drowsy comforts of the caboose of the "Reindeer Special."
* * * * *
"American, ain't y'?" A sergeant of the United States army addressed this question to Johnny.
The latter was curled up half asleep in a corner of the caboose of the "Reindeer Special" which had been bumping over the rails for some time.
"Ya-a," he yawned.
"Going north to trade, I s'pose?"
Johnny was tempted not to answer. Still, he was not yet out of the woods.
"Yep," he replied cheerfully. "Red fox, white fox, mink, squirrel, ermine, muskrat. Mighty good price."
"Where's your pack?" The sergeant half grinned.
Johnny sat up and stared. No, it was not that he had had a pack and lost it. It was that he had never had a pack. And traders carried packs. Why to be sure; things to trade for furs.
"Pack?" he said confusedly. "Ah-er, yes. Why, yes, my pack, of course, why I left it; no--hang it! Come to think of it, I'm getting that at the end of this line, Khabarask, you know."
Johnny studied the old sergeant through narrowing eyelids. He had given him a ten spot before the train rattled