[Illustration: _The boys passed booths selling everything from hot soups
to shiny silks_]
A BIFF BREWSTER
MYSTERY ADVENTURE
MYSTERY
OF THE
CHINESE
RING
[Illustration: Compass]
By ANDY ADAMS
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
© GROSSET & DUNLAP, INC., 1960
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Mysterious Gift 1
II Beware, Biff! 8
III Under Chinese Eyes 13
IV A Fortune Cooky 22
V Jack Hudson 31
VI Interrupted Message 39
VII A “Spirited” Box 49
VIII Still Missing 55
IX Into the Jungle 64
X The Barrier 70
XI Inside China 81
XII Shooting the Yangtze Rapids 90
XIII The First Clue 101
XIV The Circling Plane 112
XV Bandits! 120
XVI Strange Discovery 128
XVII A Red Hot Lead 135
XVIII The House of Kwang 144
XIX Uncle Charlie’s Story 152
XX Muscles “Muscles” In 161
XXI Out of the Frying Pan 168
XXII Hong Kong and Points East 175
MYSTERY OF THE CHINESE RING
CHAPTER 1
A Mysterious Gift
Biff Brewster was suddenly awake—wide awake. The gray light of dawn
outlined the window of his first-floor bedroom. Something—or someone—was
outside. He felt sure of it. Something had prodded him out of his deep
sleep with startling suddenness.
For a moment he lay still, eyes on the window, his ears sharply tuned
for the slightest sound. He knew, of course, that he might have been
awakened by a stray dog, or a night-prowling cat. But he didn’t think
so.
Very carefully, Biff slipped out of his bed. Bare-footed, he padded
noiselessly toward the window, taking care to remain outside the dim
shaft of early light coming through. He moved to one side of the window
and peered out cautiously. He detected a slight movement beneath a
gnarled apple tree about thirty feet away. Then suddenly, swiftly, a
figure emerged from behind the protection of the tree’s drooping limbs.
The figure came at a run toward the window. It was a man, small and
slight of build. He was wearing blue jeans and a sweat shirt. On the
shirt’s front there was an athletic letter—Biff couldn’t make it out—cut
from luminous cloth, making it glow faintly in the dawn’s light.
Biff drew back, pressing his body against the wall. A moment later a
white object, the size of a baseball, came hurtling into the room,
tearing a hole in the screen. It fell with a dull plop on Biff’s pillow.
Biff held his breath, waiting. The man was leaving the yard on the run.
At the sidewalk, he slowed to a casual saunter. Apparently he did not
want to risk attracting the attention of some early riser.
Biff waited. He counted slowly to a hundred, to make sure his strange
visitor was gone. Once more he looked out the window. Nothing moved in
the eerie light of the dawn. Biff turned away. Had he waited a few
seconds longer, he would have seen two men leave the shadows of a corner
tree and stealthily follow the hurler of the object.
Biff snapped on the reading light by his bed and picked up the object
that had been tossed through his window. It was a round white rock, one
of those used to outline his mother’s herb garden. More interesting was
the heavy piece of twine tied tightly around it. At the other end of the
twine was a ring. It was a man’s heavy ring, set with a square-cut green
stone. Biff examined it carefully. The stone was dull, not glittering.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was jade. He looked at the ring more
closely. On its face there was an intricately etched marking. “A
design?” he wondered. “No, it looks more like Chinese writing.”
[Illustration: _Nothing moved in the eerie light of dawn_]
Twisted into a knot around the ring was a small piece of paper. Biff
unfolded it carefully and smoothed it out.
“_Fortune shines upon, and the gods protect, the wearer of this ring_,”
he read.
“‘Protect!’” Biff thought angrily. “Why, that rock could have conked me
but good if I hadn’t left my bed.”
Biff reread the printed message. “Now what, just what,” he thought, “has
this got to do with me?” He stretched out on his bed, cupping his hands
behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Unable to read any sense
into the message, or the mysterious manner in which the ring had come to
him, Biff jumped out of bed and made for the shower.
Under the pelting needlelike spray, he threw back his broad shoulders
and let the water sting his face and soak his light-brown hair.
Afterward he toweled himself vigorously, dressed quickly, and placed the
ring on his key chain. He knew his father would be up, even though it
was only six-thirty. Maybe his father would have some ideas about this
or, at least, a couple of good guesses.
Biff bounded into the kitchen.
“Morning, Dad. Say, what do you think happened—” He stopped short as he
saw his mother come out of the pantry. He didn’t want to mention the
ring incident in front of her. Not yet, anyway. Not until he had
discussed it with his father. He knew his mother already was worried
enough about his impending trip to far-off Rangoon. Tomorrow was the day
he was leaving.
“Good morning, Biff,” his father greeted him. “What were you saying?”
“Er—I was just saying it so happens I’m hungry enough to eat a
crocodile. Good morning, Mother. What’s for breakfast?”
“Certainly not crocodile,” Mrs. Brewster replied. “Even if you and your
father do say crocodile steaks are delicious. Ugh!” She gave a quick
shudder.
Father and son looked at one another and smiled. They had had to eat
crocodile on their Brazilian adventure when their food supplies had run
short.
“What’s on the program this nice bright Saturday morning?” Biff’s mother
asked, putting large portions of scrambled eggs and bacon before Biff
and his father.
Before a reply could be made, Biff’s brother and sister, Ted and Monica,
eleven-year-old twins, burst into the room.
“Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” they shouted together.
“Gee, Biff, just think, tomorrow you’ll be on your way to Rangoon in
Burma, to visit Uncle Charlie,” Ted said enviously.
“Wish I could go, too,” Monica chimed in.
“You! Why, you’re a girl,” Ted said derisively.
“Now, no arguments, you two,” Mrs. Brewster said. “Drink your orange
juice. I’ll start your eggs.”
“How far from Indianapolis is it to Rangoon?” Monica asked.
“Quite a way. Six or seven thousand miles at least,” Mr. Brewster
replied.
“You ever been there, Dad?” Ted asked.
“No. I envy Biff. Rangoon is one of the places in this world I’ve missed
so far.”
“And about the only one, Dad, isn’t it?” Biff asked.
“There are a few others,” his father replied. “Maybe if I had started
out as young as you are, I’d have made them, too. For a
sixteen-year-old, you’ve been about this world of ours quite a bit, me
boy-o. Well, I’m all for it.”
“I am too, Dad,” Biff agreed. “Remember the time in Brazil, when we—”
“Hold it!” Mrs. Brewster interrupted, laughing. “Don’t you two get
started talking about your adventures. There’s just this one more day
before Biff leaves, and my goodness, what a lot has to be done!”
Biff smiled. He knew there was hardly anything left to be done. His
mother had finished packing for him the day before.
Just as Mrs. Brewster brought the twins their eggs, the telephone rang.
Monica started to get up. She answered every phone call.
“You sit still and eat those eggs while they’re hot, young lady. I’ll
take the call,” Mrs. Brewster said.
Biff and his father saw a puzzled look come over her face as she
answered the telephone.
“Yes? I understand. This morning? All right, I’ll tell them.”
When she returned to the breakfast table she said, “That was Charlie’s
friend, that Chinese merchant, Mr. Ling. Ling Tang, isn’t it?”
“Why, yes. What did he want?” Tom Brewster asked.
“He said it is most urgent that you and Biff see him before Biff leaves
for Rangoon.”