It was a long, slim package, wrapped in a faded and yellow newspaper. Unfolding the wrappings, nothing but a piece of bamboo-like cane, about as large as a flute, was revealed.
"That's queer," Mary commented. "I wonder what good that old piece of stick is?" She held it up and saw that the ends were sealed.
"Something is bottled up in that," declared Cleo. "Bamboo is always open and hollow between joints."
"Let's get something and press the ends in," suggested Grace. "It might be something breakable."
"Or explosive," ventured Madaline, who had not forgotten her first night's experience at the studio.
Mary was turning the piece of cane upside down, shaking it, listening for any rattle within, and otherwise examining it most carefully. Meanwhile Cleo had rescued the wrappings, and was trying to connect the line of print. She smoothed out the torn, yellow pieces, and presently her eye fell upon a ringed line paragraph, the ring being a penciled circle, usually made to attract the eye to a special item.
"Let's see what's marked here," she suggested, going closer to the window for better light. "Oh, look, Mary," she exclaimed again, "this tells of an exploring expedition leaving New York. Maybe that is a report of your folks and the professor! See, it reads," and she pressed the very much crinkled pieces to something of smoothness.
"'Left for the tropics to hunt orchids. Professor Blake and party——' Now, that's torn out into a real hole, and we can't get the names of the party. Did you ever see anything so aggravating?"
"But Professor Blake," repeated Mary. "That isn't our professor!"
"Didn't you say his name was not Benson?" Cleo reminded her.