guese half-caste who immediately
hurried out the back door. Once in the open, the slim man ran as though
devils were after him.

CHAPTER VII

The Junk with Purple Sails

For perhaps ten minutes Rick, Scotty, and Zircon sat in the rickshaws
while the coolies pulled them through dark streets with no more noise
than the occasional creaking of a wheel or the slapping of bare feet on
the pavement.

There were houses on both sides of the streets, but only now and then
did a light show through the impenetrable darkness. Rick finally sensed
that they were near the water by a feeling of greater space around him
rather than by anything he could see. A moment later he heard the
lapping of water against a pier.

He was tense with excitement now. The first part of the journey was
coming to an end. In a few minutes they would be hearing Chahda's story.

The rickshaws drew to a stop and the coolies dropped the shafts so their
passengers could climb out. The coolie who spoke the best English asked,
hesitantly, "You pay now, sor? We no wait here, yes?"

"Very well." Zircon paid the boys' fare and his own. "I don't suppose
there's any reason to have them wait, since this is our destination.
Chahda's friends doubtless will provide a ride for the return journey."

"I don't like this," Scotty whispered. "There's something funny about
the whole business. I feel it."

"Where's the junk?" Rick demanded softly. "I can't see a thing."

"We'll wait for a bit," Zircon said quietly. "And we'll be on our guard,
just in case Scotty's intuition is right."

They waited quietly, leaning against what seemed to be a warehouse, for
what felt like five minutes but was probably only two. Then Rick heard
the mutter of voices and the splash of something moving in the water.
The sounds were followed by a bumping and scraping against the pier that
jutted into the water.

"Be ready," Zircon commanded in a whisper.

As he said it, a bull's-eye lantern made circles in the night, outlining
the high stern and bow of a junk. The lantern swung upward, revealing
the junk's sails. They were purple.

Zircon led the way down the pier to the junk. "Chahda?" he called
softly.

An accented voice answered, "Come aboard." The lantern played on the
pier's edge to guide them. Following its light, they jumped from the
pier into the litter of rope, boxes, and gear in the middle of the
uneven deck. The stench that smote their nostrils was terrible. Probabl