"It means good luck," said my friend. "For hundreds of years our philosophers have agreed that the falcon brings good fortune to the Japanese. So this is a splendid omen for us, and a bad one for our enemies."
"I am pleased that I am a friend, then," I replied, laughing. "The bird, I hope, has nothing evil in store for a volunteer."
"I do not think so," he replied, joining in my humour. "But here's something to interest us both," he continued, as a marine approached and saluted.
A few sentences were exchanged, and my young friend turned to me, saying—
"Here's an opportunity for a volunteer. Do you understand the Chinese language?"
"I can make myself understood in it, a little," I answered. "Why do you ask?"
"Because someone has suspected you of being a spy," he replied. "You must see the captain at once, and explain matters to him. One of the officers has sent me the message; I must speak to the lieutenant. Wait here for me; someone has been talking about you. Wait a while."
Then he went aft, leaving me to think of this new misfortune. The trail of "Fêng Shui" was over it all.