Read Online King Kong (1932) by Delos W. Lovelace - Free Book Online

clamor, then fell to a low chuckling tattoo.
    Up on the bridge Denham talked confidently to Englehorn.
    "We'll make friends with 'em, all right, Skipper. They didn't like our breaking into the ceremony. But we can convince them that was an accident."
    "I don't know," Englehorn demurred. "They said we spoiled the show. They probably meant they'd have to find Kong another bride."
    "Great! If they do it all over again, I'll get a picture as sure as shooting."
    Englehorn looked at his employer in incredulous admiration.
    "You're the limit," he declared, and felt around with a foot for the cuspidor he knew was somewhere in the darkness.
    Driscoll came up, wiping his forehead.
    "I've just made the rounds," he said, "and everything looks as right as rain. Where's Ann?"
    "On deck somewhere, I suppose. How long is it since you saw her?" Denham chuckled. "A whole half hour?"
    "I'm glad," Driscoll drawled, "that I'm no cold-blooded fish," and he strolled down to the main deck.
    Lumpy was there, looking at the hatch with an air of puzzlement.
    "Seen Miss Darrow, Lumpy?"
    "She was here ten minutes ago, sir. We wuz talkin' and the monk got loose, and she sent me off to catch him. I thought she'd still be here when I got back."
    "Probably she went in to her cabin," Driscoll surmised.
    Lumpy, leading Ignatz, started away in disappointment. His path led down the narrow alley into which Ann had disappeared, and as he stepped into it, his foot struck something. He stooped, picked it up, brought it back to the lighter area by the hatch.
    "On deck!" he shouted the next instant. "On deck! All hands on deck!"
    The guards took up the cry, and sailors appeared from everywhere. Driscoll, running back, came up against Englehorn and Denham as they raced down from the bridge. All three closed in on Lumpy.
    "Look, sir!" the old sailor stammered. "I found this on deck!"
    "A native bracelet!" cried Denham.
    "Some of them heathens've been aboard, sir!"
    "Search the ship, Skipper," Denham ordered.
    "Where's Ann?" Driscoll cried.
    Englehorn and Denham looked at one another; then the Skipper flashed off to direct the search.
    "In her cabin ..." Denham began soothingly.
    "She isn't! I've just looked!"
    The voice of a guard on the island side of the Wanderer floated to the two men: "No, sir! I never heard a sound. Not a thing." Then Englehorn's crisp, commanding tones. "Bos'n. Man the boats. A rifle to every man."
    The darkness became alive with sounds. The bos'n's whistle. The creak and thump of davits. The rattle of arms. The low, directing cries of the sailors at work.
    Denham stared at Driscoll.
    "The boats!" he said explosively. "The boats! Here, Skipper! You don't really think ..."
    "I don't know," Englehorn replied. "But we won't lose any time finding out. Mr. Driscoll, you take charge of the party searching the ship. And work fast, my boy! Work fast!"

Chapter Nine

    Hot, native hands thrust Ann down to the bottom of the silently racing dugout. One was pressed over her mouth, and though she twisted wildly she could send no cry back through the darkness to the Wanderer .
    No single cry had been permitted her from the first instant of capture. Hot, pressing hands had bound and gagged her always. Her mouth had felt them first, as she stepped into the narrow, black aisle beside the deckhouse; and mouth, arms and legs had been clamped as she was passed from hands to other hands down the ship's side.
    Ann was afraid in a way that she had never imagined. No book she had ever read, no story she had ever been told could equal the terror which swept her in increasing waves. It was a terror which made her feel that every inch of her insulted body was alive with unmentionable things. It went beyond the midnight horrors of childhood. It went beyond the horrors of dreams. Her single conscious thought was to cry out for help, but she told herself despairingly that even if the hand lifted from her mouth it would do no good. Her throat, she knew, would refuse to give forth