THE MAJOR HAS A FURTHER INSPIRATION
The captain, who was puffing at his pipe, appeared serious. "I don't like the looks of this thing at all," he muttered, reaching in his pocket for the letter.
"But what did he say? Tell us quick!" cried Marcia. "We've been nearly crazy there in the kitchen waiting to have Cecily go so we could hear what he says!"
"Well, I'm glad she did go first," acknowledged the captain, "for somehow I wouldn't care to have her hear just yet what the major has to say. He thinks— But I'll read his letter, and you can understand what I mean. Here it is:
"About the Chinese name first. The one you sent does certainly have a familiar sound to me, especially the last two syllables. I distinctly remember that the name Jack Carringford was called by ended in e lang, or something that sounded amazingly like it. I wouldn't bank on that entirely, however, for the Chinese language is the most confusing and idiotic jargon ever invented by the mind of man, and there might be a dozen other words ending the same and meaning something entirely different.
"Here's a fact more to the point, though. Since writing to you last I've been busy communicating with several old chums of the China days. What I've been trying to find out is, does any one know what has become of Carringford? By the third year after his unfortunate marriage he had pretty well dropped out of sight. Still, I thought I knew of one or two who might have kept some track of him even after that. One of them, Danforth Pettingill, an old chum of Jack's, is now living in New York, and I thought he'd probably know as much as any one. So I wrote him at the very start, and yesterday received this answer. It seems that Carringford and his wife lived with her father for some time—till about two years after their marriage, when a little daughter was born. Then the old mandarin, who was fearfully annoyed because the baby was not a boy (girls being of no earthly account in China, as you know!), made it so unpleasant for the couple that they finally left his establishment. It was then that they began their roaming existence, terribly hampered by the baby, of course, and never remaining long in any city.
"At last, the wife contracted the plague and died very suddenly, and Carringford was left alone with the baby on his hands. It was at this time that he dropped completely out of sight, and Pettingill never heard from him again. He thinks, however, from very substantial rumor, that Carringford went back to England, taking the child with him. He didn't go to his own folks, though, that's certain; for Pettingill has heard from them occasionally, and they never mention him. There was another rumor afloat about him for a time, that he had taken to earning his living by singing at cheap concerts under an assumed name. All of which might be entirely likely. But what became of the child, Pettingill never knew—nor any one else, I'm afraid. Well, that's all I've ascertained up to date, but I'm still on the track, and if I hear any further news, I'll let you know at once."
When the captain stopped reading, all of them looked very serious, and no one said a word for several minutes.
"You see," he began at last, "why I don't like the looks of the thing. This seems to cover almost all the points we've been in doubt about, though of course, it does leave quite a little to conjecture. I somehow dislike to think of little Cecily as a mixture of Chinese and English. In fact, it's almost impossible to think of her as such. And yet it seems remarkably near the truth."
"If that man assumed a name," interrupted Marcia, "I suppose it might as easily be Marlowe as anything else."
"Just as easily," admitted Captain Brett.
"And he went back to England—just where Cecily came here from," added Janet, lugubriously.
"But then why doesn't Cecily remember something about him?" cried Marcia, hopefully.
"He may have been dead a good while, or he may have sent her off somewhere else," answered the captain, dashing this hope. "He wouldn't be likely to drag a child about in any such life as he must have had to lead."
They all sank into a depressed silence again. Suddenly Marcia had another idea.
"But look here!" she exclaimed. "Major Goodrich says that man was at Hong Kong and the bracelet says 'Amoy,' as plain as plain can be. Isn't that enough proof that it can't be the same one?"
Again the captain had to dampen her hopes. "They might have gone to Amoy to be married," he said. "It's entirely possible. You can't tell anything about that."
"And besides," put in Janet, "you got the bracelet at Hong Kong, didn't you, Captain Brett? So if it really belonged to those people, it was still pretty near home."
"Well, it is useless to conjecture about these things," added the captain. "What bothers me most of all is the question of what earthly connection all this can have with Miss Benedict. There doesn't seem to be the least likelihood that the Carringfords were any relations of hers, and unless Cecily was simply sent there on a chance, because it was known that she was a wealthy woman and might be willing to provide for the child, I'm quite at a loss to explain it."
"I wonder if there is any way we could find out?" mused Marcia.
"I know a very good way," declared Janet. "Simply ask her."
"What? And explain all this strange business about Cecily's parents right away?" demanded Marcia.
"Oh, no! Just ask her if she ever had any connections in England named Carringford. She'll say either yes or no to that. And if she says yes, why then we'll know we are on the right track and can think what to do next."
"Janet's advice is pretty good," asserted Captain Brett. "And if I were you, I'd put the question to Miss Benedict the next time you see her. It's about the only way I can think of now to solve this riddle."
And so it was decided that the very next day, when the girls expected to go and visit Cecily, they should ask Miss Benedict the dread question.
Cecily met them at the gate the next afternoon. "Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" she cried. "I'm really very lonely. Miss Benedict is going to be away all the afternoon because she has some business to attend to. She says we can sit in the garden."
At this piece of news the girls' faces fell.
"Why, what's the matter?" questioned Cecily. "Don't you care to? I thought you'd be rather pleased."
"Indeed, it will be fine!" declared Marcia, striving to hide her disappointment at the news that Miss Benedict would not be visible that day. She and Janet had counted so positively on having one at least, of their vexed questions settled immediately that it was difficult to feel they must wait two or three days more. For on the morrow Cecily was to visit them, as they now spent alternate days in each others' houses, and the day after, Captain Brett had promised to take the three of them on a trip up the Hudson.
All that afternoon, however, Marcia and Janet were noticeably inattentive and absent-minded. Once Marcia, who was reading aloud to the others, stopped short in the middle of a sentence, and remained for three whole minutes gazing off at nothing. And at this, Cecily could contain her wonder no longer.
"Girls, are you, by any chance—annoyed at me?" she ventured. Marcia suddenly dragged herself back to the affairs of the moment.
"Of course not, deary. How could you think such a thing?" she declared heartily.
"Then something else is the matter," insisted Cecily. "You are worrying about something. I never knew you to act so strangely. Now tell me, aren't you?"
Marcia glanced uneasily at Janet. "Well, yes, we are," she admitted reluctantly. "But please don't ask us anything about it just yet, Cecily. Something that has come up lately seems kind of queer and—and unpleasant. But it may turn out all right in the end, so we don't want to tell you till we know positively."
Cecily looked alarmed. "Is it—is it anything about me?" she faltered. "But perhaps I oughtn't to ask." Marcia looked terribly unhappy at this question, and Janet came to her rescue.
"Yes, it is, Cecily," she declared with assumed cheerfulness. "Captain Brett has stumbled across something that seems as if it might have some connection with your affairs. But we don't want you to hear about it till we are positive. Now don't worry about it, because I'm perfectly certain everything is going to turn out all right. You won't worry, will you?" She put her arm around Cecily and laid her cheek against the golden hair.
"No, I'll try not to," Cecily assured them, "and I'll promise not to ask you another thing about it till you're ready to tell me yourselves." After that she settled down quietly, but it was apparent to the girls that, in spite of her assurances, she was worried and nervous and unhappy. Presently Janet had an inspiration.
"You two sit here. I'm going out for a few moments," she announced, determined to break the tension of unrest and nervousness by some diversion. Nor would she reveal to them what her errand was to be. She returned in twenty minutes, however, with a box of delicious French ice-cream and some dainty cakes. And for the next half-hour they had a gay time in the garden, serving and consuming the welcome treat. In the end they had temporarily quite forgotten the unhappiness of the earlier hour, and when they returned home the two girls left Cecily laughing and cheerful.
Nor did she, all through the ensuing two days, refer in any way to their conversation in the garden. If the matter worried her, she gave no sign, and the girls could not help admiring her self-control.
Three days later, Marcia and Janet went again to spend the afternoon with Cecily, and found to their relief that Miss Benedict was at home. At least, they learned the fact from Cecily. The lady herself they did not see when they entered. And indeed, there was a chance, that they might not have so much as a glimpse of her during their visit, for it frequently happened that she was not visible during an entire afternoon.
Would she speak to them that day? That was the question. And, what was even more important, would they have a chance to speak to her unobserved by Cecily? For they did not wish the girl to overhear what they had to ask, nor even to know that they were seeking an interview with her guardian.
For the major part of the afternoon it did not seem as if their wish would be granted. Miss Benedict did not appear, and so nervous and anxious were they that they could scarcely keep their thoughts on the conversation that Cecily was striving to keep up or, later, on the book they were reading. Cecily had declared that her room seemed very warm, so they were sitting once more in the garden. This also was a disappointment, for it lessened considerably their chances of seeing the lady of their hopes.
Half-past five came round, and still they had not attained their wish. Marcia had just risen, with a resigned sigh, to propose that they take their departure, when the side door opened and Miss Benedict appeared. At the sight of her the hearts of Marcia and Janet gave a delighted thump, and they greeted her with a pleasure, the warmth of which she could not entirely understand.
But now came the problem of getting Cecily out of the way for a time. It was evident that she had no intention of leaving them of her own accord. And it was Marcia's happy idea that solved this riddle.
"Cecily," she suddenly inquired, "do you happen to have finished that book I lent you last week?"
"Oh, yes! I finished it last night. I meant to return it to-day," said Cecily. "Wait a moment and I'll get it from my room. You must be anxious to finish it yourself, I know." And she hurried indoors, unconscious of the unutterable relief with which they watched her go. When she was out of sight, Marcia turned to Miss Benedict.
"Please pardon me for asking a personal question," she began hurriedly, "but it is only because we think it is something that concerns Cecily. Did you ever have, in England or anywhere, any relatives or—or even friends by the name of Carringford?" Miss Benedict was bonneted and veiled as usual, so they could not see her face. And they would have given much to have been able to read her expression when she heard this question.
But she answered, very promptly and positively: "No, I never knew of any one at all by that name. Why do you ask?"
They could hear Cecily's footsteps returning down the stairs.
"Only because we have discovered something in connection with people of that name, that seems to concern Cecily," Marcia explained hastily. "Sometime we will tell you all about it. We thought perhaps you'd know them. Please—please don't tell Cecily we've spoken about it—just yet." Miss Benedict had only time to signify that she would follow their request, when Cecily appeared in the doorway and the interview was over.
As they walked home later they both admitted to a feeling of intense relief that Miss Benedict, at least, knew nothing about any Carringfords.
"Of course, her not knowing them doesn't prove anything," declared Janet. "But one thing is certain. If she had known them, it would have been positive that all this horrid story is connected with Cecily. But as she doesn't, it gives one more chance that it has nothing to do with her."
As they entered the hall of the apartment, the captain called out to them from the living-room:
"Hurry in, girls! There's another letter from the major waiting for you!"