THE liner Malay Queen, steaming out through the Golden Gate, was an impressive sight. No doubt many persons on the San Francisco water front paused to admire the majesty of the vessel. She was a bit over seven hundred feet long. In shipbuilding parlance, she displaced thirty thousand tons.

The hull was black, with a strip of red near the water line; the superstructure was a striking white. The craft had been built when everybody had plenty of money to spend. All the luxuries had been put into her swimming pool, three dining saloons, two lounges, two smoking rooms, writing room, library, and two bars. She even carried a small bank.

Most of the passengers were on deck, getting their last look at the Golden Gate. At Fort Point and Fort Baker, the nearest points of land on either side, construction work on the new Golden Gate bridge was in evidence — a structure which would be nearly six and a half thousand feet in length when completed.

Among the passengers were some strange personages.

Of exotic appearance, and smacking of the mystery of the Orient, was the Hindu who stood on the boat deck. Voluminous white robes swathed this man from neck to ankles. Occasionally the breeze blew back his robes to disclose the brocaded sandals he wore. A jewel flamed in his ample turban.

Such of his hair as was visible had a jet-black color. His brown face was plump and well-fed. Under one ear, and reaching beneath his chin to his other ear, was a horrible scar. It looked as though somebody had once tried to cut the Hindu's throat. He wore dark glasses.

Even more striking was the Hindu's gigantic black servant This fellow wore baggy pantaloons. a flamboyant silk sash, and sandals which had toes that curled up and over. On each turned-over toe was a tiny silver bell.

This black man wore no shirt, but made up for it with a barrel-sized turban. He had thick lips, and nostrils which. flared like those of a hard-running horse.

Passengers on the Malay Queen had already noted that the Hindu and his black man were never far apart.

"A pair of bloomin' tough-lookin' blokes, if yer asks me," remarked a flashy cockney fellow, pointing at the Hindu and the black. "Hi'd bloody well 'ate to face 'em in a dark alley. Yer'd better lock up them glass marbles yer wearin', dearie."

The cockney had addressed a stiff-backed, very fat dowager in this familiar fashion. They were perfect strangers. The dowager gave the cockney a look that would have made an Eskimo shiver.

"Sir!" she said bitingly, then flounced off.

The cockney leered after her. He was dressed in the height of bad taste. The checks in his suit were big and loud; his tie and shirt were violently colored. He wore low-cut shoes that were neither tan nor black, but a bilious red hue. His hat was green. He smoked bad-smelling cigars, and was not in the least careful where he knocked his ashes. His face bore an unnatural paleness, as though he might have recently served a long prison term.

The cockney did not glance again at the Hindu and the black man.

The Hindu was Doc Savage. The black man was Renny. The cockney, he of the loud clothes and bad manners, was Ham — Ham, the one usually so immaculately clad and so debonair of manner. The disguises were perfect, a tribute to Doc's intensive study of the make-up art.

Down on the promenade deck, a steward was confronting one of the steerage passengers who had wandered into territory reserved for those traveling first class.

"You'll have to get back down where you belong!" growled the steward, showing scant politeness.

Courtesy did not seem to be due such a character as the steerage passenger. The man was shabby, disheveled. In age he seemed to be less than thirty. But he looked like a fever-ridden tropical tramp. His skin was light in hue, and he was a pronounced blond.

A close observer might have noted his eyes were unusually dark for one so fair-complected.

This man was Juan Mindoro.

Shortly afterward, Mindoro sought to reach the upper decks again. This time he succeeded. He made his way furtively to the royal suite, the finest aboard. This was occupied by Doc and Renny — otherwise the Hindu and his black servant.

Mindoro unlocked the royal suite with a key Doc had furnished, entered, and wrote bnelly on the bathroom mirror with a bit of crayonlike substance he produced from a pocket. He wrote near the top.

No stewards encountered the blowsy-looking tropical tramp as he returned to the steerage.

Fifteen minutes after this incident, Ham also entered the royal suite and left a message written near the bottom of the mirror.

The Malay Queen was some miles out to sea before the Hindu and his black man stalked with great dignity to their royal suite and locked themselves in.

Doc turned the ultra-violet lamp on the bathroom mirror.

Mindoro's message read:

The steerage is full of half-castes Chinese,

Japanese, Malays. And Mongols. But I have seen

nothing to show Tom Too is aboard.

Ham's communication was:

No sign of Monk, Long Tom, or Johnny. And how

I hate these clothes!

Renny snorted at the reflection of his own black face in the mirror. "Ham sure cuts a swath in his green hat and blood-colored shoes. I'll bet he breaks the mirror in his cabin so he can't see himself."

Doc took off his turban. He had dyed his hair an extreme black.

"Did you see any sign of Tom Too or his prisoners, Renny?"

"Not a hair." Renny drew funnel-like flaring tubes from his nostrils.

"They came from New York to San Francisco by plane, we know. We located the aircraft they had chartered. And the pilots told us they had three prisoners along."

"The big point is — did they sail on the Malay Queen?"

"We have no proof they did. But Monk's message indicated they intended to."

Renny scowled at his sepia reflection in the mirror, apparently trying to see how fierce he could look. The result was a countenance utterly villainous, especially when he replaced the tubes which enlarged his nostrils.

"Holy cow!" be grunted. "I wouldn't even know myself! I don't think Tom Too will recognize us, Doc. That gives us a few days in which to work. That's a long time."

"We may need it. This Tom Too is as clever a devil as we've ever gone up against."

They were not tong in learning just how true Doc's statement was.

HAM gave Doc Savage news of the first development. This occurred the following day.

Ham furnished Doc his information in a rather curious fashion. He did it by smoking his vile cigar. He was seated at one end of the lounge. Doc was ostensibly reading a book at the other.

Ham released short and long puffs of smoke from his lips. The short puffs were dots, the long ones dashes. Using them, Ham spelled out a sentence.

Have you heard the talk going over the

ship about the three maniacs confined to a

stateroom on D deck?

Tom Too or any of his men, were they in the lounge, would hardly have dreamed the silly-looking cockney was transmitting a message. And Tom Too might very well be present — quite a few Orientals were numbered among the first-class passengers sitting in the lounge.

Doc shook a negative with his head, making it seem he was mentally disagreeing with something he had read in his book.

The three madmen are in Stateroom Sixty-six.

Ham continued his smoke transmission.

Two Mongols are always on guard outside

the cabin. That's all I've been able to find out.

"And that's plenty," muttered Renny, who had also spelled out Ham's smoke words.

Shortly after this the Hindu and his giant black servant retired to their royal suite.

"That means they've got our buddies prisoners in the cabin!" Renny declared. "They've given out the word they're madmen to explain their keeping out of sight. Probably they're strapped in strait-jackets, and gagged, too."