“That’s the man. He’s the chink with the scar on his ear, and his finger is still tied up in the white bandage.” The next moment, unable to restrain himself, Chick had leaped from his hiding place and hurled himself upon the Chinaman! CHAPTER VIII. CHICK MAKES DISCOVERIES. It was not a wise thing for Chick to do, of course. But that same excessive enthusiasm which had induced him to come here, on his own responsibility, instead of going to bed, as he had been told to do by his chief, made him indiscreet now. That he had the man whom Nick Carter had told Patsy to find, he was sure. But whether the Chinaman had killed Andrew Anderton or not was a question he could not answer positively. “I don’t doubt it,” he thought. “Anyhow, what is he doing up in this room at this time in the morning? I’ll lay him out on general principles.” It is pretty certain that Chick would have carried out this purpose if he had had only the Chinaman to deal with. But there was an interruption. He had the fellow by the throat and was cheerfully throttling him, when a heavy weight came down on the back of his head. He knew no more. When Chick came to himself again, there were thin, white threads of light stealing into the room between the slightly parted window curtains. Daylight had come. “Fool!” was Chick’s first articulate utterance. The epithet was not applied to the man who had knocked him down, or the Chinaman with whom he had been struggling when the blow came, either. He was calling himself a fool. “The chief is always telling me not to fly off the handle,” he continued, in a mumbling whisper. “And I’m always doing it. What chance had I when that tall old fraud was right behind me? As soon as I tackled the chink, of course, Mr. Professor let me have it with a sandbag.” Chick was sitting up on the floor by this time, and as he felt his head without finding any cut or bruise, he knew that he had been sandbagged--for the second time within a few hours. “That’s what I was hit with,” he decided judicially. “It is the favorite tool of the Yellow Tong. We knew that before, because two or three people have been laid out that way when some of the tong men were supposed to have done it. Even that poor Brand Jamieson, who got the crossed needles, too, was slammed with a sandbag first of all.” Chick’s head cleared in the course of a few minutes, and he was able to review the situation in some sort of orderly fashion. “After all,” he reflected, “it isn’t so bad. The chief wanted to find that fellow with the scarred ear and burned finger. Now I know where he hails from, because Patsy gave us a tip. Patsy knew the name over that laundry was Sun Jin, and that’s what I heard the Jap call the chink I had on the floor. It all fits together like an easy jigsaw puzzle.” The blow on his head had made Chick feel a little sick, but he was able to get to his feet. When he had opened the study door, the fresher air of the hallways revived him.