"If you will write the order I will execute it at once. The consulate
closes early."
"I'll write it, but how will I get it to you? The door closes below the
sill."
"When you are ready, call, and I will open the door a little."
"It would be better if you opened it full wide. This is China--I
understand that. But we are both Americans, and there's a good sound law
covering an act like this."
"But it does not reach as far as China. Besides, I have an asset back in
the States. It is my word. I have never broken it to any man or woman, and
I expect I never shall. You have, or have had, what I consider my
property. You have hedged the question; you haven't been frank."
The son listened intently.
"I bought that string of glass beads in good faith of a Chinaman--Ling
Foo. I consider them mine--that is, if they are still in my possession.
Between the hour I met you last night and the moment of Captain Dennison's
entrance to my room considerable time had elapsed."
"Sufficient for a rogue like Cunningham to make good use of," supplemented
the prisoner in Cabin Two. "There's a way of finding out the facts."
"Indeed?"
"Yes. You used to carry a planchette that once belonged to the actress
Rachel. Why not give it a whirl? Everybody's doing it."
Cleigh eyed Cabin Four, then Cabin Two, and shook his head slightly,
dubiously. He was not getting on well. To come into contact with a strong
will was always acceptable; and a strong will in a woman was a novelty.
All at once it struck him forcibly that he stood on the edge of boredom;
that the lure which had brought him fully sixteen thousand miles was
losing its bite. Was he growing old, drying up?
"Will you tell me what it is about these beads that makes you offer ten
thousand for them? Glass--anybody could see that. What makes them as
valuable as pearls?"
"They are love beads," answered Cleigh, mockingly. "They are far more
potent than powdered pearls. You have worn them about your throat, Miss
Norman, and the sequence is inevitable."
"Nonsense!" cried Jane.
Dennison added his mite to the confusion: "I thought that scoundrel Cunningham was lying. He said the string was a
code key belonging to the British Intelligence Office."
"Rot!" Cleigh exploded.
"So I thought."