The same idea had occurred to Nick Carter, and he hurried out of the room, followed by Chick and Ruggins, who closed the door behind him. Instantly the Japanese professor became active. He carefully laid a heavy chair on its side against the door. Then he ran across the room, to where a tall bookcase stood against the wall in a corner, opposite the windows. Professor Tolo had a remarkable knowledge of its arrangements. Throwing open one of the large glass doors of the case, he hastily removed four or five heavy books and placed them on a chair by the side of it. Then he fumbled inside, feeling the back wall. “Curses!” he growled. “Where is that button? The chart I have gives it just about here. Let me see.” He thrust his hand into the long black coat he wore, and felt in a pocket, from which he drew forth a peculiar-looking little volume, whose covers were made of some sort of shiny green substance, and which was held together by a metal clasp. “If they will only stay away long enough,” he muttered, while the perspiration came out on his forehead in large drops. “The jade book will tell me. But I’ve got to have time to look it up.” He stepped back from the bookcase, so that he could see better by the electric light just behind him, and opened the metal clasp of the green-covered book with a click. He was still turning the leaves--which seemed to be of parchment--when he heard footsteps outside the door. “Too late this time,” he mumbled. “But I’ll get it yet. That infernal Nick Carter! Who would have thought he would mix himself up in this? And his man, too! I’ll have a reckoning with both of them in due time. They’ll find out that the crossed needles can reach anybody!” Hurriedly he thrust the jade book, as he called it, back into his pocket, and opening one of the big volumes he had taken from the bookcase, seemed to be deeply absorbed in reading. In fact, he was so taken up with it that he did not heed a racket at the door, when somebody outside pushed it against the overturned chair. It was not until Nick Carter had forced his way in, and Chick was picking up the chair, that he turned, with a far-away expression, and smiled. “Ah, Mr. Carter! Back again? I took the liberty of looking at this book when I found myself alone. It is by my dear friend Anderton, written several years ago. I have heard of it, but never happened to get hold of it before. Do you know the work? It is called ‘The Orient and Orientalism.’ A splendid treatment of a great subject. Masterly, in fact. I have often thought----” “Why did you barricade the door?” demanded Nick, his eyes blazing. “I don’t understand this, Professor Tolo.” There was no chance to ignore the anger in the detective’s tones, and the professor came to himself with a jerk. He shut the book and put it on its shelf, while he looked from Nick Carter to Chick, and back again, in a most edifying bewilderment. “I don’t understand,” he faltered.