The corsair craft heaved around the end of the island. Once more bullets whistled about them. But they had gained considerably. Doc's men did not waste lead returning the fire.
Fifteen minutes of flight put them out of rifle shot.
Doc cut their speed.
"Hey!" Monk grunted. "We low on gas or somethin'? Those birds aren't giving up the chase!"
"Plenty of gas," Doc told him, and fell to watching their pursuers.
IT was a weird-looking flotilla which followed them. Behind the fast launches were the sampans. Then came the junks, such of them as were fitted with engines in addition to sail power. They strung out for miles. The most sluggish of the sailboats were hardly outside the corsair bay on Shark Head Island.
One launch began to draw ahead of the others.
Doc opened the throttle, spun their speed boat about, and raced for the boat which had left the others behind. But not a single bullet was exchanged. Their quarry dropped back with the other pirates.
Continuing their flight, Doc turned the controls over to Monk.
Working swiftly, Doc tugged bundle after bundle of soggy papers, loose-leaf notebooks and cards from his shirt front — the stuff Tom Too's brief case had held! He studied it with much interest.
"Anything worth while there,?" Ham asked.
Elated little lights glowed in Doc's flaky golden eyes.
"Tom Too's organization was too large to keep track of without written records," he explained. "These are the records."
"A break, gettin' 'em, huh?" Monk grinned.
Not answering, Doc bent over the portable radio apparatus. He adjusted the dials. The tiny key was of the variety known as a sideswiper, requiring experience to manipulate. Doc fingered dots and dashes out of it with machinelike precision, then twirled the receiver dials, the headset pressed over his ears.
The noise of the launch motor prevented the others hearing what Doc was sending and receiving, although they were all expert operators. However, Doc began to consult notebooks and papers which had come from Tom Too's brief case. That explained what he was doing.
"He's gotten hold of a Mantilla station and is giving them the names of Tom Too's men in the city," Ham decided. "That should enable Juan Mindoro, with a handful of reliable police, to clean the pirates out of town."
After a time Doc laid Tom Too's records aside. But he continued to send and receive over the radio instruments, evidently carrying on a conversation with the distant station. Finally he ceased, and studied his men quietly.
"Want to take a big risk on the chance of destroying this pirate fleet?" he demanded.
"Sure!" Monk said promptly.
"Should the motor of this boat fail, it'd mean our finish!" Doc warned the men.
Monk made a gesture of patting the throbbing engine. "I'm willing to take that chance."
The others seemed of a like mind.
Doc resumed transmitting over the radio, and sent rapidly for some minutes. Then be deserted the apparatus and took over the launch controls.
Their boat now dawdled along just out of rifle range of the pursuers. Twice during the next two hours Doc swerved back as though to attack the leading launches of the yellow men. These retreated warily.
The hazy bulk of one of the larger islands of the Luzon Union heaved up ahead. Doc worked over the radio set. He seemed satisfied with the coded information which he had plucked out of the ether.
Swinging a wide circle, Doc and his men turned back for Shark Head Island. Like the tail on a slow comet, the pirate fleet followed.
Doc's boat was at least a dozen miles an hour faster than the swiftest of their pursuers. Several times bullets danced on the water near them, but the yellow men did not get close enough for accurate shooting.
The sun, which had blazed upon them with a heat that almost cooked, balanced like a red-hot stove lid above the evening horizon.
The corsair bay of Shark Head Island opened before the launch. The entire fleet manned by the slant-eyed men had been left behind.
Renny, standing erect to get the first glimpse into the bay, groaned: "Aw — blazes!"
On the shore of the little harbor stood a number of yellow cutthroats. These were ill or wounded pirates who had been left behind.
"They won't give us much trouble!" Doc decided.
Nor did they. Doc beached the launch some hundreds of yards from the Orientals. He sent a few long-range shots at the fellows to stop their charge, then plunged, along with his men, into the jungle.
With all sails set and engines laboring, the corsair vessels began reentering the bay. Howling, brandishing weapons, yellow men dived into the jungle. They were highly elated. They couldn't understand why the big bronze man and his five aids had deliberately put themselves in a trap, but they did not give that much thought.
There was one exception — the buccaneers aboard the largest of the junks, the vessel which was fitted lavishly with tapestries, paintings, rich rugs, and inlaid furniture. In the hold of this craft was a powerful engine.
It bore Tom Too himself. The master pirate did not land. Instead, after directing his men to pursue Doc, he ordered his junk to stand out to sea.
The Oriental craft was plowing through the mouth of the bay when a pair of speedy planes dropped out of the evening sky. Without the slightest hesitation, the aircraft loosened machine guns upon Tom Too's vessel.
Matting sails of the junk acquired great ragged rips. Splinters flew from the decks and hulls. Several of the crew dropped. Others replied to the machine-gun fire of the planes. A bomb, dropped by one of the aircraft, narrowly missed the junk, but made it roll sickeningly. The junk put back into the bay.
Out of the twilight haze that mantled the sea plunged several slender, gray, grim vessels. These were destroyers, little larger than submarine chasers, of the type that served the Luzon Union as a navy. Other planes appeared — giant tri-motored bombers and fast, single-engined pursuit ships.
The truth dawned on the yellow pirates. Instead of the bronze man being trapped, they were themselves cornered.
Doc had summoned aid by radio!
Chapter 22
RED BLADE
FROM the concealment of the jungle, Doc and his men watched developments.
"Juan Mindoro is aboard one of the planes," Doc declared. "At least, he should be, according to the information he gave me by radio."
"Can he depend on the men manning the planes and destroyers?" Ham questioned uneasily. "Tom Too may have some of them on his pay roll."
"He did have," Doc admitted. "But the records I got out of that brief case gave their names, and I passed the dope on to Mindoro. Tom Too's hirelings are under arrest."
Monk kneaded his enormous, furry hands. "How about us getting in this scrape?"
"We'll tackle that big junk," Doc agreed. "Tom Too is probably aboard.''
The junk in question had hove to close to the beach. Yellow men were dropping a light boat overside, evidently to be used in ferrying Tom Too ashore. A bomb exploded in the bay, and the wall of water it flung out smashed the small boat against the junk hull.
Doc and his men ran for a sampan beached near by. They were fired upon, and returned the lead. A plane dived upon them, unable to distinguish them from foes in the increasing darkness. Doc led the others back into the jungle to evade the searching machine-gun metal. There they encountered a gang of a dozen desperate pirates. They fought, skulking in the jungle, each party shooting at the gun flashes of the other.
Plane motors bawled overhead. The planes flew so low that prop streams thrashed palm fronds. Detonating bombs made such concussions that the very island jumped and shuddered. Men yelled, cursed in an assorted score of dialects. Machine guns gobbled continuously.