“But that Chinaman!” Jeanne murmured. “He was—was—”
She was about to tell the story of the three-bladed knife. Thinking better of it, she made some commonplace remark, then bade this chance acquaintance good-night as he hurried away to fill an engagement.
It is little wonder that, after such a mystifying experience as this, Jeanne should straightway walk into a trap. This is exactly what she did.
CHAPTER XVII
A SCREAM BRINGS STARTLING RESULTS
Erik Nord was to be found anywhere and everywhere. Young, very strong, full of the vigor of youth, he was in what was to him a strange land—America. Little wonder, then, that an hour after he had imparted valuable information to Petite Jeanne, Florence should have come upon him standing near the breakwater of the lagoon.
He was looking at a ship, a battered old windjammer tied up there by the shore.
“Stout little old boat, that!” he said to her with a friendly smile. “Can’t help but admire her, can you?”
“Why?” Florence wondered.
“Don’t you know the story? Come on board, and I’ll tell you.”
They mounted the gangplank, then wandered across the upper deck and descended to the deck below.