He took the hand of the god and raised it slowly, as if it were of great weight--as indeed it was. When he held it clear of the lap, there was revealed a square hole beneath, like a box, some eight inches square. Into this square opening Ched Ramar dipped his fingers, bringing them out immediately with several papers rolled up, and fastened by a silken cord made of many strands of different colors twisted together. “My task is nearly done!” exclaimed Ched Ramar, smiling. “It has been a hard one, but the result is worth it. My great master, Sang Tu, will be pleased. Much pleased!” “Will he?” thought Nick Carter. “Well, it isn’t all over yet.” Still smiling--but in a grave way, as if he felt that he should not permit himself thus to show joy--Ched Ramar lowered the brazen arm slowly to its former position, and a click announced that it was fastened in its place. When this had been done, no one not in the secret would have suspected that there was anything of the kind there. “Did you see that, chief?” whispered Chick. “Yes. Keep quiet. We want the papers. But we want him, too.” “That’s what,” put in Patsy. “And that Keshub and the other coffee-colored guy, too. There may be others in the house as well as them. There are some maids, we know.” “They are probably in another part of the house,” answered Nick. “We need not trouble about the maids. What we want is this fellow, papers and all. Keep ready!” Ched Ramar stepped over the red lamp and looked carefully at the papers he had got from the lap of the image. His sinister smile again spread over his dark countenance, and he muttered to himself in his own tongue. “This is all!” he suddenly exclaimed in English. “I will take these records to Sang Tu in the morning. Meanwhile, they shall not leave me. I do not trust any one. I will not go to bed. Such sleep as I need I can get here, in this chair.” He walked over to the chair in which the girl had sat. It was very large, and when she had been in it had seemed actually to swallow her up. Even Ched Ramar, tall as he was, had plenty of room to curl up in it. He tried it in this way. Then he arose and strode over to the big idol, as if to look behind it. Nick Carter, Chick, and Patsy were standing ready to fling themselves upon him. But he changed his mind, when nearly up to them, and contented himself with calling sternly: “Swagara!” For a moment Patsy Garvan had forgotten his assumed name. He made no move to go out. Instead, he held his automatic pistol ready to be used either as a club or a firearm. Nick Carter brought him to himself with a sharp tug at his elbow. “Go out, confound you!” he whispered. “You are Swagara!” “Gee! So I am!” “Swagara!” called Ched Ramar, again, in a fiercer tone. “Come here!” Patsy slipped out from behind the statue and made his Swagara bow with due humility.