by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XVII STARTLING REVELATIONS
The circular fishing net, which had for so unusual a purpose been loweredinto the lake at the dead of night and brought up later, quite empty,belonged to a youth, known among his acquaintances as "Snowball."Snowball was black, very black indeed.
When Snowball arrived at his net next morning he found a white mansitting by his windlass. This young man's eye had a glint of blue steelin it that set the black boy's knees quivering.
"That your net?" The stranger nodded toward the lake.
"Yaas, sir!"
"Deep down there?"
"Tol'able deep. Yaas, sir."
"Swim?"
"Who? Me? Yaas, sir."
"Here." The man slipped a bill between two boards and left it flutteringthere. "Skin off and dive down there. Black package down there. See?Bring it up. See?"
"Yaas, sir. Oh, yas, yas, sir." There surely was something strange aboutthe glint of those eyes.
Snowball struggled out of his few bits of loose clothing and, clad onlyin trunks, disappeared beneath the surface of the lake.
A moment later he came to the surface.
"Got it?" Those eyes again.
"N--no, sir." The black boy's teeth chattered. "Nothin' down there. Notnothin' at all."
"Go down again. You got poor eyes!" The man made a move. Snowballdisappeared.
He came up again sputtering. "Hain't nothin'. Tellin' y' th' truth, sir.Just nothin' at all."
The stranger made a threatening move. Snowball was about to disappearonce more, when a shrill laugh came rippling across the rocks.
The man turned, startled, then frowned.
"What's pleasing you, sister?" He addressed this remark to a slim girl ina faded bathing suit, seated on a rock a hundred feet away.
"Snowball's right." The girl laughed again. "Nothing down there. Nothingat all."
The man gave her a quick look, then sprang to his feet. The next instanthe was scrambling over the rocks.
When he arrived at the spot where the girl had been, she was nowhere tobe seen. It was as if the lake had swallowed her up; which, perhaps ithad.
Apparently the man believed it had, for he sat down upon the rocks towait. Ten minutes passed. Not a ripple disturbed the surface.
He looked toward the windlass and the net. Snowball, too, had vanished.
"Crooks!" he muttered. "All crooks out here!"
At that, after picking his way across the breakwater, he took to thestretches of sand and soon disappeared.
* * * * * * * *
When, later that same day, Petite Jeanne started away, bent on the joyousbusiness of returning a lost cameo to a dear old lady, she expected tocome upon no fresh mystery.
"Certainly," she said to Florence, who, because of her work, could notaccompany her, "in the bright light of day one experiences no thrills."Surprise came to her all the same.
She had reached the very street crossing at which she was to alightbefore she realized that the address the little old lady had given was inChinatown.
"Surprise number one," she murmured. "A white lady living in Chinatown. Ican't be wrong, for just over there is the temple where I saw the magiccurtain." If other evidence were lacking, she had only to glance at thepedestrians on the street. Nine out of every ten were Chinese.
For a moment she stood quite still upon the curb. Perhaps her experienceon that other occasion had inspired an unwarranted fear.
"For shame!" She stamped her small foot. "This is broad day! Why beafraid?"
Surprise number two came to her upon arriving at the gate of the placeshe sought. No dingy tenement this. The cutest little house, set at theback of a tiny square of green grass, flanked a curious rock garden wherewater sparkled. The whole affair seemed to have been lifted quitecomplete from some Chinese fairy book.
"It's the wrong address." Her spirits drooped a little.
But no. One bang at the gong that hung just outside the door, and thelittle old lady herself was peeping through a narrow crack.
"Oh! It is you!" she exclaimed, throwing the door wide. "And you have mycameo!"
"Yes," Jeanne smiled, "I have your cameo."
Because she was French, Jeanne was not at all disturbed by the smotheringcaress she received from the old lady of this most curious house.
The next moment she was inside the house and sinking deep in a great heapof silky, downy pillows.
"But, my friend," she exclaimed, as soon as she had caught her breathafter a glance about the room where only Oriental objects, dragons,curious lanterns, silk banners, and thick mats were to be found, "this isChinatown, and you are not Oriental!"
"No, my child. I am not." The little lady's eyes sparkled. "But for manyyears my father was Consul to China. I lived with him and came to knowthe Chinese people. I learned to love them for their gentleness, theirsimplicity, their kindness. They loved me too a little, I guess, forafter my father died and I came to America, some rich Chinese merchantsprepared this little house for me. And here I live.
"Oh, yes," she sighed contentedly, "I do some translating for them andother little things, but I do not have a worry. They provide for me.
"But this!" She pressed the cameo to her lips. "This comes from anothertime, the long lost, beautiful past when I was a child with my father inVenice. That is why I prize it so. Can you blame me?"
"No! No!" The little French girl's tone was deeply earnest. "I cannot. I,too, have lived long in Europe. France, my own beautiful France, was mychildhood home.
"But tell me!" Her tone took on an excited note. "If you know so much ofthese mysterious Chinese, you can help me. Will you help me? Will youexplain something?"
"If I can, my child. Gladly!"
"A few days ago," the little French girl leaned forward eagerly, "I sawthe most astonishing curtain. It burned, but was not consumed, like theburning bush."
"You saw that?" It seemed that the little lady's eyes would pop from herhead. "You saw that? Where?"
"Over yonder." Jeanne waved a hand. "In that Chinese temple."
"I--did not--know it--was--here." The little lady spoke very slowly.
"Then you have seen it!" In her eagerness Jeanne gripped the arms of herchair hard. "Tell me! What is it? How is it done? Could one borrow it?"
"Borrow it? My child, you do not know what you are asking!
"But you--" She lowered her voice to a shrill whisper. "How can you haveseen it?"
Quite excitedly and with many a gesture, the little French girl told ofher visit to the Chinese temple on that rainy afternoon.
"Oh, my child!" The little lady was all but in tears as she finished,tears of excitement and joy. "My dear child! You cannot know what youhave done, nor how fortunate you are that you escaped unharmed."
"But this is America, not China!" Jeanne's tone showed her amazement.
"True, my child. But every great American city is many cities in one. Onthe streets you are safe. When you pry into the secrets of other people,that is quite another matter."
"Secrets!"
"The Chinese people seem to be simple, kindly, harmless folks. So theyare, on the street. But in their private dealings they are the mostsecretive people in the world.
"That temple you visited!" It was her turn to lean far forward. "That ismore than a temple. It is a place of business, a chamber of commerce andthe meeting place of the most powerful secret society the Chinese peoplehave ever known, the Hop Sing Tong."
"And that meeting, the magic curtain--" Jeanne's eyes went wide.
"That was beyond doubt a secret meeting of the Tong. You came uninvited.Because of the darkness you escaped. You may thank Providence for that!But never, never do that again!"
"Then," Jeanne's tone was full of regret, "then I may never see the magiccurtain again."
"O, I wouldn't say that." The little lady smiled blandly. "Seeing themagic curtain and attending the meeting of a secret society are twodif
ferent matters. The Chinese people are very kind to me. Some of therichest Chinese merchants--"
"Oh! Do you think you could arrange it? Do you think I might see it, twoor three friends and I?"
"It might be arranged."
"Will you try?"
"I will do my best."
"And if it can be, will you let me know?" Jeanne rose to go.
"I will let you know."
As Jeanne left the room, she found herself walking in a daze.
"And to think!" she whispered to herself, "that this little old lady andher lost cameo should so soon begin to fit into the marvelous pattern ofmy life."
She had wonderful dreams, had this little French girl. She would see themagic curtain once more. With her on this occasion should be MarjoryDean, the great opera star, and her friend Angelo who wrote operas. Whenthe magic curtain had been seen, an opera should be written around it, anOriental opera full of mystery; a very short opera to be sure but anopera all the same.
"And perhaps!" Her feet sped away in a wild fling. "Perhaps I shall havea tiny part in that opera; a very tiny part indeed."