“They are like those in the chest!” she told herself with a sudden shock. “They belong to some temple. Were they stolen from a temple, all those, the knife, the bell, the banners? And did the thief, after bringing them to America, fear to claim them? Is that why we were able to buy them at that auction house where unclaimed goods are sold?
“Ah, yes, it must be so! There was an Oriental bidding against us. Some strange persons came and dragged him away, the secret police, I am sure.”
She was trembling from head to foot. What strange Oriental mystery had caught her in its web? What intrigue had she but half unearthed?
“Bah!” She took a strong grip on herself. “It is nothing. This place, it gives me strange ideas.”
“These banners on the wall?” She spoke in the casual tone of an inquisitive visitor. “Are they also very old?”
“Many are very old.” The mandarin was smiling again. “These were made by rich Chinese ladies who wish to have the gods be very good to them. They are all made by hand, embroidered with gold and silver thread. Worth many dollars, very, very many dollars, each one of these.”
Jeanne asked not another question. She had had enough for one night. Never before had she so wished herself in the outer air.
She was nearing the door when a voice she had not heard before said:
“Would you like a book telling of the Golden Temple?”
She turned quickly to find herself looking into the face of a man, and at once she knew that here was a person well worth knowing. He was large, well built, muscular. His face was brown, the brown of one who lives in the out-of-doors. His hat was drawn low over his eyes, yet he did not inspire her with fear.