Foster James H.
The Forest of Mystery

CHAPTER I
The Chinaman

BANG! Crash!

“What was that?” Joe Lewis had turned suddenly, every nerve on edge. His eyes tried to penetrate the darkness of the San Francisco night.

“Sounded like an automobile accident,” came from Bob Holton. “Come on. Let’s go around and see.”

The two chums dashed across the street and around the corner, hoping that nothing tragic had taken place. They passed several people who were hurrying to investigate the strange noise.

Reaching the thoroughfare, the youths drew back with cries of alarm, for the sight before them was fearful and unpleasant.

Lying on its top, wheels in the air, was a small automobile, which had evidently crashed into a pole near by. All about was broken glass, and water[Pg 9][Pg 10] was still oozing from the radiator. The pole was dented severely, indicating that the car had probably been traveling rapidly.

As Bob and Joe looked on spellbound, a smothered cry for help came from the automobile. It was repeated several times in rapid succession.

With throbbing hearts, the boys ran over to the wreck, followed by several other people. In the darkness they could not see clearly inside the car and could only guess who was calling for help. A near-by street lamp, although bright did not illuminate the automobile sufficiently.

“Let’s get this door open,” muttered Bob. “Hurry. There isn’t any time to lose.”

Working feverishly, the chums reached through the broken window and tugged at the door. It had been wrenched severely and refused to open. What made the task still more difficult was the fact that broken edges of glass projected from the sides of the window.

With a mighty effort, the youths managed to pull the door open, although they almost lost their balance from the sudden impact. But now they were greatly relieved. They had had an uneasy feeling that perhaps the door would not yield.

Without hesitation Bob reached into the car, caught hold of someone, and pulled him out. Then, after making sure that no one else was in the car, he turned to the stranger.

The youths were a bit surprised to see that he was a Chinaman, a short, fat man of middle age. From all appearances he had not been injured in the accident. There was but one little scratch in the side of his face.

“You do velly well – get me out queek,” he said to Bob gratefully. “I was fear I have to stay in machine long tlime.”

“What was the trouble?” asked Joe, edging closer to the overturned automobile as the crowd of spectators grew larger. “Did a wheel come off or something?”

The little Chinaman laughed sheepishly.

“Nothing like that,” he said. “My machine here it was velly new, and I was not good enough dliver. It run loose and clash into this pole. Then it turn over.”

“It was just luck that you weren’t hurt,” said Bob grimly. “Not many could have been in a smash-up like that and come out unharmed.”

At this moment a policeman stepped up to obtain the man’s name and address and the details concerning the crash. While the Chinaman talked, the officer wrote in a small notebook, on which he turned a flashlight.

“Don’t you think you’d better see a doctor?” asked Joe, when the officer had finished. “You might be hurt and not know it.”

The Chinaman shook his head.

“Not hurt, no,” he assured them. “I come thlough without a scratch, as far as I know. But I velly much nervous.”

“No wonder,” said Bob. “That wreck was enough to shake anybody’s nerves.”

Bob and Joe remained at the scene for several minutes. Then, as they realized that it was nearly seven o’clock, they started to leave. But at that moment the Chinaman called them back.

“Before you go I want that you make me a promise,” he said.

The youths looked inquiringly.

“I want that you promise you come to my shop tonight. Will you come?”

The boys were not a little surprised. They wondered what the man’s object was in asking them to visit him.

“Yes,” said Bob at last, knowing that his chum would also consent. “We’ll come. But where is it? And just when do you want us?”

Bob wrote what the man told them on a piece of paper. The latter asked that they be there at nine o’clock, although just why they could not guess.

“What do you think of it?” asked Joe, as he and his friend walked rapidly down the street.

“I hardly know,” was the reply. “Maybe he wants to reward us for getting him out of the car.”

“But – that was nothing. Anyone would have done it. No, I’ll bet he has something up his sleeve.”

“What would it be?” demanded Bob.

“More than I know. We’ll see before long. And, say, he wants us to be there by nine o’clock, too. That doesn’t give us much time. We’ll have to get back to the hotel and see our dads first. We’ve been gone a long time, you know.”

“Maybe they can tell us how to get to this Chink’s shop,” suggested Bob. “Do you suppose it’s in Chinatown?”

“Where else would it be? Chinese here in San Francisco don’t live anywhere else, do they?”

“Beyond me.”

The chums reached the corner and boarded a street car for the business district. They knew it would not be necessary to transfer, and so relaxed in their seat.

“San Francisco is a swell place, all right,” remarked Joe, after a short silence. “Sure has a lot of interesting things to see. Take Golden Gate Park, for instance. It’s one of the finest in the country.”

“You could get lost there,” smiled Bob. “Why, it’s as big as a small city. And full of interesting attractions. I’d like to spend a whole day there some time. Won’t have time on this visit, though.”

When they were well into the business district, the boys moved toward the exit of the car. At a corner directly opposite the hotel at which they were staying, they left the street car.

Anxious to see their fathers, they went to the building without delay. In the elevator they were hurried to the tenth floor, where their rooms were located.

Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis were waiting for them. The men had returned earlier in the day and had remained inside to discuss business matters.

“How do you like San Francisco by now?” inquired Bob’s father quizzically. “Seen much of interest yet?”

“Plenty,” returned Joe. “Sure is a busy place, isn’t it? We ought to know. We’ve been about everywhere.”

“Took in the sights, did you?” asked Mr. Lewis. “Well, there are many here. Howard” – referring to Bob’s father – “and I, however, haven’t had much time to look around. All our time has been occupied in talking with this Thompson, the man we came out here to see.”

Bob and Joe looked up with interest. All day they had wondered what would come of their fathers’ conversation with Thompson. The latter was a noted naturalist, who had just recently returned from Africa. There was a chance, the youths reasoned, that he could interest their dads, who were themselves naturalists, in making an expedition to the Dark Continent to collect specimens of animal life. And of that expedition, if there should be any, Bob and Joe hoped to be a part.

“What did you find out?” inquired Bob anxiously. “Did he come across anything unusual in the way of animals and birds?”

“Did he?” Mr. Holton smiled happily. “He shot several creatures that were previously unknown to civilized man.”

“It seems that Thompson’s expedition penetrated a region that has been invaded by very few whites,” explained Joe’s father. “Oh, it was worth their while, all right.”

“Sounds interesting,” grinned Joe. “Go on.”

Mr. Holton looked up suddenly.

“What do you mean, ‘go on’?” he asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing.” Joe made an attempt to be casual.

The naturalists chuckled.

“Nothing, huh?” laughed Mr. Holton, who at the start had grasped the hidden meaning in Joe’s words. “You weren’t by any chance thinking of another expedition going to Africa, were you?”

Joe started. He wondered how his chum’s father had caught on so quickly.

“You’re a mind reader, if there ever was one,” the youth grinned. “But how in the dickens did you get wise?”

“You just told me,” Mr. Holton answered whimsically. “I’m a mind reader.”

“Come out of it, Dad.” Bob was becoming impatient. “Cut out this stalling. Is there going to be an expedition to Africa?”

“What do you think?”

“How are we to know?” countered Bob. “We’re not the head naturalists.”

“Listen to that, Howard,” teased Mr. Lewis. “Not the head naturalists! It beats all how these young squirts get ideas in their heads that they’re actually scientists. Why, they – ”

“All right, we take it back.” Bob was tiring of getting nowhere. “Once more, is there going to be an expedition to Africa?”

“Want to know, do you?” his father persisted. “What for?”

“Oh-h, nothing! Come on, Joe. We might as well give it up as a bad job.”

The youths turned to leave for their room, but Mr. Lewis called them back.

“I’ll tell you,” he said seriously. “We may go to Africa. There’s a chance that we will. But there is also a very big chance that we won’t. We just wanted to come out here and see this Thompson about the strange animals he saw. Whether we go will depend on how the museum heads look at it. Now, are you satisfied?”

“Sure,” answered Bob with a smile. “When, if you decide to go, will we leave?”

“There you go with that ‘we’ stuff,” came from Mr. Holton. “Aren’t you fellows taking a lot for granted?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” returned Joe. “Judging from the past we’re not. You will take Bob and me along, won’t you? That is, of course, if you go.”

“We can’t say just now,” his father returned. “It might be arranged. All that can be decided later.”

“Hurrah for Africa!” cried Bob with enthusiasm. “We’ll – ”

He stopped quickly, as he happened to glance at a small clock that was on the dresser.

“Past eight!” he cried. “Wow! We’ve got to be in Chinatown by nine!”

CHAPTER II
A Grim Discovery

“CHINATOWN!” repeated Bob’s father, while Mr. Lewis looked up quickly.

“Yes,” answered Joe. “That is, I suppose we should go there. Here’s the address. I jotted it down while we were in the street car coming to the hotel.”

“But – but what’s it all about?” asked Mr. Holton, taking the slip of paper Joe handed him. He added: “Yes, it’s in Chinatown. Grant Avenue.”

“It happened this way,” explained Bob. “Joe and I got a Chinaman out of an automobile he turned over. He asked us to come and see him tonight at nine, and we told him we’d be there. That’s all there is to it.”

“You say he turned his car over?” queried Mr. Lewis. “Was he hurt?”

“Luckily not,” returned Bob. “But it was a pretty narrow escape. Big wonder he wasn’t killed.”

There was a short silence. Neither of the men liked the prospect of the youths going to the Oriental settlement at that late hour.

“Don’t you think it’s rather dangerous?” inquired Mr. Lewis. “‘Most anything might happen at such a late hour.”

“I don’t see why it should be,” returned his son. “Bob and I are old enough to take care of ourselves. If we could come safely out of the jungles of Brazil, the Sahara, and the Andes, we surely ought to be able to watch ourselves here in America.”

“Well, maybe so. Chinatown, after all, isn’t like it used to be,” admitted Mr. Holton. “But be on the lookout. Any idea what time you’ll be back?”

Bob shook his head.

“We won’t stay any longer than we have to,” he assured him. “And don’t worry. We’ll be all right.”

The chums left the hotel without delay. They realized that they had barely a half hour to get to the Chinaman’s shop, and they knew this would mean some hustling.

“The trouble is,” said Joe, “we’re too near Grant Avenue to take a street car and too far away to walk.”

“That is a problem,” laughed Bob. “But if we hurry I think we’ll get there in time.”

The boys hastened down busy Market Street in the direction of the Ferry Building, amid the crowd of pleasure seekers. As they walked, they took in the sights of the great city. Lights, lights. Tall buildings. Four rows of street cars. An ever-moving procession of pedestrians. This was San Francisco.

It did not take the two long to reach Grant Avenue, and up this they turned. Then their eyes were given another treat.

Northward for many blocks stretched a line on both sides of the street of pagoda-like structures that were distinctly Oriental. Many of the shops displayed colorful electric signs, often in Chinese. On the sidewalks were more than a few people of the yellow race.

“So this is Chinatown.” Bob was taking in the scene with interest.

“Sure is different,” observed Joe. “Even New York doesn’t have anything quite like this.”

The youths walked on until they came to a little shop that exhibited the words “Pong Lee Co.” Here they stopped.

“This must be the place,” said Joe. “At any rate, it has the same street number that I have down on this paper.”

“O. K. Let’s go in.”

As the boys make their way through the curious doorway, let us have a word about them and their experiences up to the present, as related in the preceding volumes of The Exploration Series.

Bob, usually the leader of the two, was a shade over six feet tall, with huge, powerful shoulders that were now bronzed from his life in the open. His bright blue eyes and regular features displayed a frank, open disposition that won favor with everyone.

Joe, about the same age, was of medium size, with a dark complexion that was now still further darkened by the tropical sun. He was of much lighter build than his friend, but was tough and wiry. He seldom started a task without finishing it.

The chums lived next door to each other in Washington, D.C., where their fathers were employed as naturalists by a large museum. Much to their delight the boys were permitted to accompany their fathers to the jungles of Brazil, where they encountered wild animals and treacherous natives. Their thrilling experiences on this expedition are told in the first volume, entitled Lost in the Wilds of Brazil.

A little later, when they had graduated from high school, they left for another little-known region – the Sahara Desert. Here they endured terrible sand storms, went for days without water, and fought hostile Arabs. These and many more adventures are related in the volume Captured by the Arabs.

Scarcely had the chums and their elders returned from northern Africa when they were given another opportunity to penetrate the unknown. In the Andes Mountains of South America they had still more exciting experiences. How they were guided by an old scientist along a narrow secret trail and met with not a few breath-taking adventures is told in the third volume, entitled Secrets of the Andes.

Back in America, the youths were making preparations to enter college the coming fall, when their fathers announced that they were going to San Francisco to see a naturalist, Thompson, of whom something has been said. Bob and Joe asked to go along, and the request was granted.

Now, 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 this stuff,” remarked Joe. “Even threaten to kill you if you didn’t tell.”

The Oriental shook his head.

“They know I not tellee, even if I get killed,” he explained. “That do them no good, no.”

“Then you ought to feel fairly safe,” laughed Bob. “Your life isn’t in any great danger, anyway. Do you wear any of the jewelry?”

“I keepee good luck ring on finger all tlime,” Pong Lee returned. “Only once I had bleeg excitement.”

“How was that?” asked Joe.

“I was knocked down by a man that he want ring. I get run flom him. He thlow hatchet at me. It miss my head by many few parts of inches.”

“A close shave, all right,” said Bob grimly. “Here’s hoping Joe and I don’t have such an experience tonight.”

The youths remained in the building for nearly an hour talking with the amiable Chinaman. Then, as they realized that it was past ten, they departed, after having again thanked the man for the rings.

While still in that vicinity they remained quiet, slinking along like wolves. They feared all too much that the sinister Moy Ling, of whom Pong Lee spoke, might cause them trouble. But as time passed they lost their apprehension and became their natural selves again. Thus far no Oriental had stopped them.

“I had a hunch that Chink wanted to give us something,” remarked Bob, breaking the silence. “But of course I had no idea what it would be.”

“Wouldn’t doubt that these rings are really worth a lot,” Joe said.

“You don’t mean they’ll actually bring us good luck?” asked Bob, very much amused.

“Not that,” was the answer. “I mean worth something in money. Pong Lee said they were. Do you suppose they’re gold?”

“More than I know. I’m not going to sell mine, though. I’d rather keep it to remember this experience with Pong Lee.”

“I’ll bet you really think it will bring good luck,” teased Joe.

“Quit your kidding. I’m not unusually smart, but I’ve got more sense than to believe that.”

There was a general laugh.

“Do you know,” began Joe, a little later, “I’m beginning to wonder something.”

Bob glanced up expectantly.

“Pong Lee said there is a big secret connected with those rings,” Joe resumed.

“That’s right. He did.”

“Then – there’s a chance that they are worth more than their actual gold value. Get my point?”

Bob’s face lightened.

“Golly, Joe. You may be right. But what could the secret be?”

“That’s the mystery of it all. Maybe,” Joe continued, struck with a sudden thought, “there’s a piece of paper or something concealed in the rings. I’m going to find out. It’s light here under this street lamp.”

“Don’t, you sap!” cried Bob, whirling his friend around. “Why, there might be a dozen Chinks spying on us. It would about be our finish if you’d go to examining that ring here at this late hour.”

Joe laughed sheepishly.

“I must be crazy,” he smiled. “Funny, but I never thought of that. We’ll wait till we get back to the hotel.”

Although it was late, the friends walked idly along Grant Avenue, desiring to see everything that had previously escaped their eyes. They wanted to “go off the beaten path,” as Joe expressed it, to see a part of Chinatown that was not spoiled by the Occidental. But as it was late they knew this could not be done.

The chums finally came to Market Street and turned toward the hotel, walking along silently.

The naturalists looked up quickly as the boys entered. They regarded the latter quizzically.

“We’re anxious to know just what that Chinaman wanted of you,” said Mr. Lewis with a smile. “Sit down and tell us.”

Bob removed the good luck ring from his finger. He passed it to Mr. Lewis.

“He just wanted to reward us for getting him out of that wrecked automobile,” Bob explained. “Gave us rings. And, say, there’s some secret connected with them. He wouldn’t tell us, and we haven’t been able to find out.”

“Hmm.” Joe’s father examined the ring eagerly while Mr. Holton looked over Joe’s.

“No secret openings in them, are there?” inquired Bob.

“Apparently not,” his father returned. “Each has a lot of Chinese letters and figures on it, though. Perhaps if you knew what they mean you could solve the mystery.”

Joe yawned and stretched.

“Whatever it is, I’m not going to stay up any longer to find out, even if I could,” he said.

Without further discussion all retired, eager to get all the sleep the night would afford them.

Late the next morning, Bob and Joe were awakened by their fathers.

“Whazzamatter?” demanded Bob drowsily.

“We have some news for you,” Mr. Holton said, his eyes twinkling. “Thought maybe you’d like to hear it.”

All the sleep knocked out of them, the chums sat up quickly, wondering what was meant.