The Forest of Mystery. Foster James H.

as we return to the youths, we see that they are facing a small Chinaman, the man they had met earlier in the evening.

      “Ah, I glad to see you,” he said, recognizing them at once. “Come. We go back to room behind store.”

      The chums followed their host through the shop, noting carefully the wares for sale.

      Those wares were a motley mixture, including everything from bottled herbs to Chinese adding machines. Never before had the boys been so interested in a store. They found themselves lagging behind the man to examine the many objects peculiar to the Oriental.

      At the rear of the building, separated from the shop by a queer curtain, was a little room. Here it was apparent that the Chinaman, Pong Lee, lived.

      “Sitee down,” he directed his visitors, pointing to two crude chairs. “I want talk with you.”

      The boys did as told, wondering what was meant.

      After a short silence the little man continued.

      “You did me gleat good – gettee me out of upset machine,” he began. “For that I want give you something to bling you much good luck.”

      “Good luck?” repeated Bob wonderingly, and then watched the Chinaman walk over to a tall cabinet in the corner of the room.

      The latter opened a drawer, looked about carefully to see that no one other than the boys was looking at him, and then took out something.

      “Here,” he said, unfastening the lid of a tiny box, “are two good luck rings. I want you wear them – all tlime. They bling you much good luck. Wear them and you will keepee away flom all evil.”

      He handed the boys each a grotesque ring, which was engraved in many queer Oriental figures. Bob’s ring was particularly odd. On it were depicted two curious dragons, one of which was spouting fire.

      “Why – thank you very much.” Joe was delighted. Of course, he had no faith in the charm the ring was supposed to have possessed, but he appreciated it as a rare piece of Chinese jewelry.

      “You velly welcome,” Pong Lee said. “But there is a secret about those rings. You must know.”

      “A secret?” Bob leaned forward in his chair. His friend looked up interestedly.

      “Bleeg secret,” Pong Lee answered, nodding vigorously. “You must guard those rings velly close. There are much men after them.”

      “You mean someone else wants to get these?” asked Joe, intensely interested.

      “Yes. Much men want them. I have gleat many more. I not tell how I get them. But I say for you to watch them close. They worth much money.”

      “What do these people want with them?” inquired Joe. “Are they so valuable as all that?”

      Pong Lee nodded.

      “They worth gleat deal,” he said. “Much times men come in here after them. They know I have a velly lot in little box. But I play tlick on them. They not find rings. I keep them hid – where no man find them. Moy Ling – he one of dangerous people. He keel you queek if he gettee chance, yes. You guard rings. They bling you much good luck.”

      He arose and walked over to the corner of the room.

      The youths looked at each other. They had been greatly impressed with what the little man had said.

      “What do you think of it all?” asked Joe in a low voice.

      “It’s a mystery to me. Wish he’d tell us where he got the rings. I’m curious to know.”

      Suddenly Joe sat up with a start. His eyes were fixed on the curious curtain that separated this room from the store.

      Bob’s eyes followed those of his chum.

      “That curtain – it moved!” whispered Joe, a queer feeling of fear creeping down his spine. “There’s somebody hiding there. Maybe it’s one of those fellows that want these rings.”

      “I’m going out there.” Bob had gained his feet. “No, don’t!” his friend pleaded. “They might shoot you – or maybe do worse.”

      Bob hesitated. He finally decided to remain where he was.

      “But if that guy wants these rings, he’ll get fooled,” the youth said decisively. “We’ll – ”

      He was interrupted by Pong Lee, who had returned to his chair. The Chinaman was not aware of what had happened.

      “Do you have anyone else working in the store?” asked Bob, his eyes still on the curtain.

      “No one else but me, Pong Lee, no. Why you ask?”

      “Well,” Bob faltered, his voice lowering to a whisper, “there – there’s someone in there, near the curtain. I don’t know who it is. Looked like they were listening to us.”

      Pong Lee was panting. His eyes were wild with fury.

      “The rings!” he cried. “It is someone after the rings! They will keel us!”

      “Not if we can help it they won’t,” Bob said grimly. “They – ”

      He stopped suddenly as he noticed a pistol in Pong Lee’s hand. How the man had produced the weapon so quickly he never knew.

      “What are you going to do?” asked Joe. “Better not go out there. It isn’t safe.”

      The Chinaman, paying no attention to the warning, slipped silently over to the end of the curtain, near the wall. His little mouth was rigid; his eyes glared. The gun he held in readiness.

      The curtain he pulled back so slowly that only the movement of the cloth was not noticeable.

      Bob and Joe, annoyed by the suspense, waited breathlessly.

      CHAPTER III

      Good News

      WHEN he had made an opening barely large enough to see into the store, Pong Lee stepped forward and peered out, holding the pistol with a grip of steel.

      For the first time Bob and Joe saw how dangerous this harmless-looking Chinaman could become. They were indeed glad he was their friend and not their enemy.

      Bob cautiously glided over beside the Chinaman, although well aware of the grave danger. The youth looked through the opening, and then his jaw dropped.

      There, running rapidly but quietly toward the door, was a tall, slim Oriental, a plait of black hair reaching halfway down his back. It was evident that he knew he had been discovered, for he ran in desperation.

      Bang! Bang! Pong Lee’s pistol spoke twice in rapid succession but without result. The intruder escaped unharmed.

      The moment he disappeared through the doorway, Pong Lee dashed out into the room.

      “We must shoot him!” cried the little Chinaman, reaching the outside.

      Bob, hesitating to follow because of the peril, watched closely until Pong Lee was out of sight. Joe too had parted the curtain to see what was going on.

      They heard several pistol shots, but no other noise followed. Apparently Pong Lee’s aim was not true.

      A moment later the Chinaman returned, holding the smoking weapon.

      “Gone, yes.” Pong Lee was facing the boys. “Man he leave queek. I not gave a chance to shoot him.”

      “He sure went out of the store quickly,” commented Bob. “Must have been barefooted or something.”

      The remark provoked a smile from Joe, but not from the Chinaman. That the latter was still greatly worried was clear to the youths.

      Had the invader, whoever he was, seen where the valuable jewels were kept? Did he intend to return later? Pong Lee’s mind was in a whirl. He felt that it would be necessary to find another hiding place for the valuables, one that could not be located by anyone.

      “I should think this fellow, or someone else, would come in and make you tell them where you keep