In the joy of seeing her father after months of absence Marcia almost forgot the mystery of Benedict's Folly. Almost—but not quite!

Captain Brett had been at home twenty-four hours, and had had time to give an account of all the intervening weeks, before the subject was broached. Then the next morning, with a great air of mystery, the two girls and Aunt Minerva made him sit down and listen to the entire story. At its conclusion they produced the two filigree bracelets for his inspection.

"H'm!" he exclaimed, and, whistling softly under his breath, examined them with minute care. And then, being a man of few words, he only remarked: "So you think these were once a pair?"

"Why, of course!" cried Marcia. "Don't you?"

"It looks remarkably like it," he conceded.

"Do tell us how you happened to get yours!" she begged.

"There's nothing much to tell," replied Captain Brett. "Happened to be in Hong-Kong one day, and a ragged-looking Chinese sailor thrust this under my nose and whined that he'd let me have it for two Mexican dollars. They're always trying to get rid of things like this when they want some spare cash. One never knows where they pick them up. I didn't want the trinket particularly, but I saw that it was a unique little piece and worth probably much more. So I bought it, tucked it away in my trunk, and forgot it till I arrived home, when I gave it to you, Minerva. That's all I know about it."

"How long ago was that?" asked Janet.

"Must have been at least twelve years ago. I'm not sure of the exact year."

"But what do these things mean?" questioned Miss Minerva, pointing to the strange characters in the silver-work.

"They're Chinese characters, certainly, but I don't know what they mean. You see them on lots of their jewelry and gimcracks—generally mean 'good luck,' or 'happiness,' or some such motto. Can't say whether these mean anything of that kind or not."

"But tell me, Father, don't you honestly believe that if we could get these translated—find out what they mean—it might give us some clue to the puzzle?" Marcia appealed to him.

"It might—or it might not," he answered skeptically. "So many of these characters might be meaningless, as far as any personal application was concerned."

"Well, anyway, could we get them translated, just for our own satisfaction?" demanded Marcia.

"Nothing simpler!" smiled Captain Brett. "My boatswain is a Chinese—very learned man—reads his Confucius in off hours! He'd be sure to help you with it."

"Oh, goody! And when can we have it done?" cried Marcia, aglow with anticipation.

"Well, you're all coming down to visit the ship to-morrow. Bring the bracelets along, and I'll see that Lee Ching is on hand to give you his assistance. But—I warn you—don't count too much on what you may discover from it! I don't want you to have a bad disappointment."

In spite of which warning, notwithstanding, the girls slept little that night, so excited were they over the prospect, and, when they did sleep, dreamed impossible dreams—mainly of quite unintelligible translations of cryptic Chinese characters.

The visit to Captain Brett's ship, The Empress of Oran, would have been an event, apart from any other interest involved in the expedition. Marcia and Janet had never in their lives been on board of an ocean steamer. Even the approach to it was fascinating,—the long, covered wharves with their strange, spicy odors, the bustle and activity of loading and unloading, the narrow gangways, the dark waist of the vessel, and the immaculate white paint of the decks.

They examined every inch of the huge steamer, from the stoking-room to the donkey-engines on the forecastle deck, and spent half an hour in the cozy, tiny cabin that was the captain's own, marveling at the compactness and handiness of every detail.

When they all went up to the after-deck for luncheon, which was served under an awning, Marcia and Janet could scarcely eat for watching the deft, silent, sphinxlike Chinese cook who waited on them. They tasted strange dishes that day, some of which, like curry and rice, were scarcely acceptable to their unaccustomed palates.

"Now," said the captain, in the middle of the meal, "if we were only out on the China Sea or bowling along over the Pacific, this would be just right. You'd have more of an appetite in that salt air than you do hemmed in by these noisy docks!"

But it was not the docks that had stolen away the appetites of Marcia and Janet. They were boiling with impatience to see the boatswain, that student of Confucius, who could, perhaps, throw some new light on their mystery. Ambrosia and nectar for luncheon would scarcely have appealed to them under the circumstances!

At last, however, the meal was ended with the curious little Chinese nuts whose meat is almost like a raisin. Then, when the table was cleared and the captain had lit his cigar, he spoke the word that caused their hearts to jump and their eyes to brighten:

"Now I suppose you want to see Lee Ching!" He beckoned to a sailor and sent him to find the boatswain.

Lee Ching arrived with promptitude, saluted his captain, and stood gravely at attention. He was not a young man, and he had a decidedly Oriental, mask-like face. It seemed strange that he should be dressed in the conventional boatswain's uniform, with peaked cap and the whistle of his office. One could imagine him better in some brilliant-hued, wide-sleeved Chinese garment, with a long pig-tail down his back.

"Lee Ching," said the captain, "these young ladies are very much interested in these two bracelets that have come into their possession. The characters on them, you see, are in your language. We wonder if you will be so kind as to translate them for us?"

Lee Ching took the trinkets and examined them minutely. Presently he asked:

"Will ladies have what say by word of mouth?" The captain was about to answer yes, and then changed his mind:

"No. It may be rather important, and we want to remember it accurately. We would be obliged if you would write it out."

Lee Ching nodded gravely. "Will captain permit I retire to cabin?" he requested, and on being dismissed, he retreated with a formal bow.

"But can he write English?" cried Marcia, when he had disappeared.

"Of course he can, better than he can speak it!" laughed the captain. "English is child's play compared to that brain-paralyzing language of his! I must say, though, that Lee Ching is rather unusual—as Chinese sailors go. He's studied in the University of Pekin, reads and writes English well, and never speaks Pidgin-English. Why he's spending his life as boatswain of a trading-steamer I don't know. He's fitted for far different things. But I have an idea it's on account of his health that he follows the sea."

The time before Lee Ching's reappearance seemed to the girls interminable, though, in all probability, it was not more than fifteen minutes.

At last, however, he returned, laid the bracelets and a slip of paper in the captain's hand, and was about to retire.

"One moment!" said Captain Brett. "Is the writing on the two bracelets the same?"

"Words on two bracelets are identical," replied Lee Ching, precisely.

"That is all, then, and thank you!" And the captain dismissed him.

"Oh, read it," cried Marcia, "or I shall die[Pg 157]
[Pg 158]
[Pg 159] of impatience!" and she hung over his shoulder while he read aloud Lee Ching's queer, angular handwriting.