"Here's a fact more to the point, though. Since writing to you last I've been busy communicating with several old chums of the China days. What I've been trying to find out is, does any one know what has become of Carringford? By the third year after his unfortunate marriage he had pretty well dropped out of sight. Still, I thought I knew of one or two who might have kept some track of him even after that. One of them, Danforth Pettingill, an old chum of Jack's, is now living in New York, and I thought he'd probably know as much as any one. So I wrote him at the very start, and yesterday received this answer. It seems that Carringford and his wife lived with her father for some time--till about two years after their marriage, when a little daughter was born. Then the old mandarin, who was fearfully annoyed because the baby was not a boy (girls being of no earthly account in China, as you know!), made it so unpleasant for the couple that they finally left his establishment. It was then that they began their roaming existence, terribly hampered by the baby, of course, and never remaining long in any city. "At last, the wife contracted the plague and died very suddenly, and Carringford was left alone with the baby on his hands. It was at this time that he dropped completely out of sight, and Pettingill never heard from him again. He thinks, however, from very substantial rumor, that Carringford went back to England, taking the child with him. He didn't go to his own folks, though, that's certain; for Pettingill has heard from them occasionally, and they never mention him. There was another rumor afloat about him for a time, that he had taken to earning his living by singing at cheap concerts under an assumed name. All of which might be entirely likely. But what became of the child, Pettingill never knew--nor any one else, I'm afraid. Well, that's all I've ascertained up to date, but I'm still on the track, and if I hear any further news, I'll let you know at once." When the captain stopped reading, all of them looked very serious, and no one said a word for several minutes. "You see," he began at last, "why I don't like the looks of the thing. This seems to cover almost all the points we've been in doubt about, though of course, it _does_ leave quite a little to conjecture. I somehow dislike to think of little Cecily as a mixture of Chinese and English. In fact, it's almost impossible to think of her as such. And yet it seems remarkably near the truth." "If that man assumed a name," interrupted Marcia, "I suppose it might as easily be Marlowe as anything else." "Just as easily," admitted Captain Brett. "And he went back to England--just where Cecily came here from," added Janet, lugubriously.