t was not until Chris, relieved, proud and happy at the success of his mission, opened his sea chest and took out the shell that he had the faintest vibration of trouble or danger. Until then he had lived, breathed, and thought only of obtaining the Jewel Tree, and once that had been accomplished, he felt that his anxieties were over.

However, as he shut and locked the cabin door behind him, feeling with an increased zest the surge and rock of the Mirabelle under his feet as she plunged through the sea, something brought him up short and took the glow from his face. Slowly, and with a grave expression, Chris went to his sea chest and took the shell from it, but he almost knew before he heard it what Mr. Wicker would say.

Nevertheless, when through the whorls of the shell at his ear he heard the familiar voice, so far away and so long unheard, his eyes lit up again.

"You have done better than my fondest hopes, Christopher, my boy," came Mr. Wicker's voice. "I cannot commend you enough for the success of your difficult journey, and the manner in which with courage, quick wit, and fortitude you met every danger. Amos is much to be praised too. He is a loyal friend and I am proud of him as well as of you."

Chris, kneeling by the brass-studded chest with the shell held to his ear, could easily bring before his inner eye the cosy room in Georgetown, the crackling logs upon the hearth, and the voice of Becky Boozer raised in lusty song coming from the direction of the kitchen.

He missed it. Much as he loved the Mirabelle, and much as he prized the friendship of all aboard her, still, Mr. Wicker and Becky held an especial place in his heart and he longed all at once, with almost intolerable sharpness, to be at home once more. That his mother was getting better he had never doubted, but kneeling there alone, he suddenly wanted to have done with adventure for a while.

"My boy—are you listening?" came Mr. Wicker's words, and Chris's thoughts brought him back with a jolt to the cabin of a ship sailing the China seas. "Christopher, my poor lad," Mr. Wicker said at his ear, "had you forgotten the Vulture?

"No," he answered for the boy, "not altogether, but perhaps just a little. Yet make no mistake—the Captain of the Vulture has not forgotten you. Nor is he under any misapprehension as to who it was who so skillfully crippled his ship so that he did not reach Peking before you."

Mr. Wicker's voice took on the edge it always held when he spoke of Claggett Chew.

"Claggett Chew waits for you beyond Shanghai in the East China Sea. Be wary, and be rested, Christopher, for you will have a battle such as you have never dreamed of, and even I cannot tell how it will end. It will depend on your quickness and ingenuity. And do not forget the leather pouch!"

The voice of his friend hesitated, and then said so faintly and from so far that it was all Chris could do to hear it: "I repeat, be wary, Christopher. He will do everything in his power—"

The voice faded away, and Chris with heavy gestures replaced the shell, shut the lid of his sea chest, and unlocking the door, went with dragging feet to tell Captain Blizzard of what awaited them.

The wind was only moderately fair so that the Mirabelle took some time passing beyond the Yellow Sea. During those days Chris practised his magic with more concentration than ever before. He rested and slept, ate hugely, and exercised by climbing up the masts of the Mirabelle, so that by the time a long dark line was sighted on their starboard side on the Chinese coast and the approach to Shanghai, Chris was fit and well as he had never been before.

Warned by Chris in time, Captain Blizzard, on hearing of the dangers ahead, had determined to put into port at Shanghai, and there, with much haggling and bargaining, bought four cannons and ammunition. He also laid in a store of swords, daggers, and assorted weapons for all on board.

Believing that an ounce of prevention was better than a pound of cure, the worthy captain drilled all hands on the Mirabelle twice a day thereafter. This, the weather being fair and the ship needing only the helmsman and a lookout to care for her, the sailors were quite willing to do. More especially when their captain, in whom they had unbounded faith, told them he had good reason to believe they would have a nasty, and perhaps disastrous, encounter with the pirate ship during which they bid fair to be bested if they did not bestir themselves and prepare for it.

The men entered into the training with gusto. They made dummies which were hung on ropes and maneuvered by their friends, braced in the rigging. The dummies were suddenly swung out and down in every direction, in imitation of pirates boarding the ship, and were fallen upon by the sailors of the Mirabelle with roars of glee as if they were at that very moment being tackled by the pirate crew. Then they practised fast turning and tacking of the ship, and even in between the regular hours set aside by the Captain for what he termed "fighting time," several groups of men could always be seen on some part of the deck practising dueling with sword and dagger. In short, long before the Mirabelle reached the East China Sea, its crew had become proficient in all manner of hand-to-hand fighting.

The Mirabelle was level with the Ryukyu Islands on a gusty, glary day when the lookout's long-drawn-out cry floated down from the crow's-nest to those sailors who were engaged in a mock fight on deck.

"Sail—ho-oo!"

Instantly every man was at the ship's side, shading his eyes against the dazzle that made a brassy light over sea and sky. The Ryukyu Islands, off the port beam, were not visible in the metallic haze that grew as the sun arched higher. The fitful wind gave promise of stopping altogether and leaving both ships becalmed.

Chris, on the bridge beside the Captain, stood looking through his spyglass at the advancing sail. Captain Blizzard lowered his own glass to turn enquiringly to Chris.

"Yes," the boy said at last, "I'm sure now. I ought to know those sails. They're unmistakable. That is the Vulture, sir."

Captain Blizzard wheeled about before the last word had left Chris's lips, and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"All hands on deck!" he roared. "Man the guns! Bring out the ammunition, and every man to his place!"

The training the men had gone through instantly asserted itself. Although there was a great deal of running about, up and down the ladder to the hold, and of handing up the heavy ammunition, all was orderly, and not an extra word was spoken.

There was little enough time left over, however. The Vulture approached rapidly and then crossed the bow of the Mirabelle so narrowly that the Mirabelle had to put hard about and Captain Blizzard roared orders to take in sail in order not to smash into the pirate vessel before it had been carried by the breeze beyond its prey.

This maneuver by Claggett Chew momentarily threw the Mirabelle's crew into confusion and turned their attention to the hasty management of their ship. To Chris, working with the men at whatever was most urgent, it seemed only an instant before the Vulture was again alongside the Mirabelle, and Claggett Chew stood on the gunwale hailing them.

"Heave-to, or you shall sink to the sharks!" he cried.

"Look to yourself, pirate!" Captain Blizzard thundered in reply, and giving the signal, the unsuspected guns of the Mirabelle belched out their deadly charges.

Claggett Chew was knocked back to the deck of his ship, and Chris had time to see him shake off the hand of a sailor who would have helped him to safety. Chris also saw, peeking out from the doorway of Claggett Chew's cabin, the white horrified face of Osterbridge Hawsey, who "could not stand the sight of blood—so common!" The face withdrew, and Chris could imagine the dandy playing cards or reading as best he could in the din until the battle should be over.

The pirates, many wounded and all taken aback at the unforeseen presence of guns on board the Mirabelle, were tough fighters notwithstanding, and moved the Vulture in ever nearer until the two ships, with fallen masts and entangled rigging, were locked on the brazen sea in deathly struggle.

Brave as the seamen of the Mirabelle proved themselves to be, the pirates were seasoned in pitiless combat. The guns of both ships roared and coughed and the battle raged through the noon into the afternoon. Finally, Chris could bear no more. The crew of his ship were weakening, even as were those of the Vulture, and shuddering though he was at the thought of the sharks in the sea, Chris knew he had to use every method in his power if any on board were to survive.

Keeping his own form he jumped into the blood-tinged water, his magic knife open and ready in his hand.