Ched Ramar raised his fist, as if he would bring it down on Patsy’s shoulder. It was as well that he did not carry out his intention, for Patsy surely would have forgotten his assumed character and retaliated with another and harder blow. “You deserve to be kicked, you dog!” snarled Ched Ramar. “You are to come quickly when I call. But let that pass. You will keep awake in this room till I tell you that you may sleep. Understand?” Patsy bowed. He never had spoken more than a word or two to the Indian. He had a presentiment that if ever he did so, he would be known as a bogus Swagara at once. “Very well,” went on Ched Ramar. “I would sleep for an hour--in this chair. Keshub and Meirum are asleep in the hall without. They will not come in unless I summon them. But you! You are not to sleep at all. Now, walk over there to the large Buddha and let me see that you are quite awake now. Go over and march back. Do as I bid you.” Somehow, Patsy Garvan did not exactly understand what was meant by this command, and he hesitated when he got to the idol. Turning toward Ched Ramar, he was about to give him a pleading look, which would mean that he wanted clearer instructions. This angered Ched Ramar, and he bounded from the chair, drawing a large jeweled scimitar that he generally wore, concealed by the folds of his robe. Flourishing this weapon, he flew at Patsy, as if he would strike him down with it. The belligerent action was a great deal like his former one, only that this time he held a deadly weapon, instead of merely menacing with his fist. “Gee!” shouted Patsy, forgetting entirely the part he was playing. “If you don’t drop that cheese knife, I’ll plug you as if you were a rat!” He drew his pistol as he spoke and leveled it at the head of the surprised Indian. Instantly it occurred to the cunning mind of Ched Ramar that there was treachery somewhere, and he leaped forward to seize Patsy. Rascal as he might be, there was no cowardice about Ched Ramar. He did not catch Patsy, however. Instead, the supposed Japanese suddenly stooped, and just as the Indian got to him, he arose and sent his fist into the brown neck. Ched Ramar uttered a choking gasp, and dashed behind the Buddha. As he got there, he found himself facing not only Patsy Garvan, but Nick Carter and Chick, as well. All three were in hostile attitudes that could not be mistaken for a moment. CHAPTER XI. THE CRASH OF THE IDOL. The utter astonishment in the face of Ched Ramar when he saw these three men where he had expected to find one only--and he a submissive servant--made Patsy Garvan emit a shrill chuckle. Patsy never would hold back his emotions when they got a good grip on him. “Gee! Look at the map of him!” he shouted. “Who are you?” roared Ched Ramar. “You’re not Swagara!” “Not by a jugful!” returned Patsy Garvan. “There isn’t anything like that in me. Say, chief! We want to work quick! There’s two more right outside the door.”