Nick Carter ran through the half dozen large sheets of manuscript, and saw that none of them bore reference to the Yellow Tong. All were of a character that would be valuable to the scientific world, but not one was concerned with the secret, far-reaching organization whose methods and intentions Washington was so eager to know something about. “The cunning wretches,” he murmured. “They have taken what they want, and are returning these, so that they shall not furnish a clew to the others. Well, I think I shall beat their game. I’m going to find out where those other papers are before I leave this house.” He walked over to the girl and gave her the packet. Then he said to her, in the quiet, even accents which seemed to penetrate easiest to her beclouded brain: “Take the packet back and put it into the hands of your father. You understand that. Father.” “Father!” she repeated dully. “Look out, chief!” whispered Patsy. “I hear the elevator.” Nick and Chick got back to the idol and secreted themselves. But Patsy went to the elevator door and unlocked it--just in time to admit Ched Ramar and Keshub. “Why did you lock the door?” thundered Ched Ramar, at Patsy. Patsy shrugged his shoulders in a way that he had seen Swagara do it, and there was an expression of bland protest in his yellowed face, as if he considered he were being shouted at unjustly. He did not speak, but contented himself with pointing to Clarice, who sat still where Nick Carter had just left her. “She wouldn’t have gone away, if that is what you mean,” growled Ched Ramar. “Keshub, take her down to the limousine and see that she gets home in safety.” Keshub salaamed. Then he went over to Clarice, touched her arm, and pointed to the curtains shadowing the elevator door. She went over to it, quite docile, and Keshub accompanied her down, out of sight. Ched Ramar let the curtains fall together. “Watch the doors and windows, Swagara,” he ordered briefly. “There is no danger. But--watch them.” Patsy responded with a funny little bow peculiar to Swagara, and stood back while Ched Ramar went up the stepladder on which Clarice had stood, and regarded the great brass face of the Buddha for a few moments in silence. “Great Buddha,” he muttered, at last. “How many secrets dost thou hide! But how willing art thou to give them up when he who has the right puts the request! Siddartha, holy one! It is thy servant who makes the demand. Give him what he seeks!” He placed his hand on the left arm of the idol, and his long fingers fumbled under the head. As is usually the case with statues of Buddha, the arm lay across his lap in a negligent way, while the other was stretched forward on his knee. Ched Ramar was pressing a certain little knob under the brass hand. This released a spring, as was evidenced by the slight click that Nick Carter and his assistants could hear. “That is well, holy one!” murmured Ched Ramar.