"I'll show you the fan, and if you can guess it's secret, I'll let you give it to this Tung-yu or Hwei or Kan-su or whatever he likes to call himself."
"But you don't want Lo-Keong to have the fan," said the Major doubtfully.
Forge opened the cabinet slowly. "So long as I learn the secret he can have the fan. I want to ruin him. He's a devil and--ah--" he started back. "The fan--the fan--"
"What is it?" asked Tidman, craning over Forge's shoulder at an empty drawer, "where is the fan?"
"Lost," cried Forge furiously, and looked like a dangerous grey rat.
"Five thousand pounds gone," moaned the Major.
"My life you fool--my life," cried the doctor, "it is at stake."
[CHAPTER III]
Miss Wharf at Home
The best houses in Marport were situated on the Cliffs. They stood a considerable way back and had small plots of ground before them cultivated or not, according to the taste of those who owned them. Some of these gardens were brilliant with flowers, others had nothing but shrubs in them, presenting rather a sombre appearance, and a few were bare sun-burnt grass plots, with no adornment whatsoever. A broad road divided the gardens from the grassy undulations of the cliffs, and along this thoroughfare, rolled carriages, bicycles, and motor-cars all day during the season. Then came the grass on the cliff-tops which stretched for a long distance, and which was dotted with shelters for nervous invalids. At one end there was a round band-stand where red-coated musicians played lively airs from the latest musical comedy. Round the stand were rows of chairs hired out at twopence an afternoon, and indeed, all over the lawns, seats of various kinds were scattered. At the end of the grass, the cliffs sloped gradually and were intersected with winding paths, which led downward to the asphalt Esplanade which ran along the water's edge, when the tide was high, and beside evil-smelling mud when the tide was out. And on what was known as the beach--a somewhat gritty strand,--were many bathing machines. Such was the general appearance of Marport which the Essex people looked on as a kind of Brighton, only much better.