"Nothing like trying," said the captain. "I don't know what province he hails from, but it won't hurt to ask." And he sent a sailor to summon Lee Ching once more. When he appeared the captain put his first question: "Lee Ching, what province did you come from?" "Fu-kien," came the answer, promptly, and the girls' hopes were raised sky-high. "Did you ever live in Amoy?" "No, never lived there--always in hills back beyond." "Well, do you, by any chance, happen to know anything about the parties spoken of in that bracelet translation?" "No. Was at sea at date mentioned. Young man then--not very well on dry land. Must live on ship always--or not live. Never was acquainted with parties mentioned." "Thank you. That is all, Lee Ching." The bright hopes of the girls were considerably dampened, but Marcia was not to be downed. "Anyway," she argued, "you've other Chinese sailors on board. Why couldn't we question them all? We might find _some_ one who knows." The captain was rather dubious about it. "Yes, the cook and four sailors are Chinese. You can question them if you like, but I'm afraid it won't be much satisfaction. They're an appallingly ignorant lot! But I'll have them summoned." In a few moments the five were lined up, and, true to the captain's estimate, a hopeless-looking lot they were. After much confused questioning in Pidgin-English it developed that the cook and two sailors were from the province of Shansi, a third from Kiang-su, and the two others from nowhere in particular that they could seem to remember. None of them knew anything about Amoy beyond the squalid shops about the wharves. The captain dismissed them all with a disgusted wave of his hand and turned to the girls. "You see how worse than useless it is to try and find out anything from such sources! I knew it would be so, but I didn't want to discourage you. Now you just leave me to myself for half an hour to smoke in peace and do a little thinking. Go and look at them unloading, or roam around and amuse yourselves in any way you like. Perhaps, if I rack my brains hard, something will occur to me." They left him pacing up and down on the deck, puffing at his cigar, while they went to explore the great ship all over again. But the occupation, though fascinating, failed to keep their thoughts from the latest phase of the queer mystery that surrounded Cecily Marlowe. "Do you know," said Marcia, as they stood looking down into the well of the vast engine-room, "it seems simply impossible to me to connect lovely, dainty, English Cecily with anything so oriental as China. I can't understand it. I can't imagine any connection. Can you?"