“No! Keep them yourself, Chick, until I’ve got this man where I want him. They’ll be safe enough now. Patsy, lay out that big fellow behind you with your gun, before it is too late.” Patsy employed a little ruse, and grinned as he saw how successful it was. Turning swiftly, he presented his automatic pistol at the head of Meirum, and there was a glint in the eye looking along the barrel which convinced the man Patsy meant business. As a result of his terror, Meirum backed away quickly, and let go of Patsy’s arm, which he had seized as Patsy handed the papers to Chick. On the instant, Patsy changed ends with his pistol, and brought the heavy butt down on Meirum’s turbaned head with a crash that made nothing of the white linen swathed about it. A turban is not much protection against a hard blow with a steel-bound pistol butt. As Meirum went down, there were only the two left--Keshub and Ched Ramar. “Take those papers, Keshub!” cried Ched Ramar. “Quick! Before he goes away.” “I’m not going away!” interposed Chick. “I’ve something else to do before I go.” He threw his arms suddenly around the big Keshub as he spoke, and forced him backward. “Pull that turban off the other fellow’s head!” he shouted to Patsy. “It will make a good rope.” This was a happy thought. Patsy unceremoniously stripped the white turban from the head of the unconscious Meirum, and found himself with a long strip of strong, white linen, which would, indeed, make a serviceable rope. But Keshub had not been overcome yet. He was almost as powerful as Ched Ramar, and quite as full of fight. He tore himself out of Chick’s grasp and rushed to the aid of his employer. The two of them set to work to get the papers from Chick. Nick Carter was equally resolved that Ched Ramar should not interfere with Chick. He argued that Patsy Garvan and Chick were quite able to deal with Keshub together--even if Chick could not do it alone. “But Chick could do it himself,” he muttered. “Only that it might require a little more time.” It seemed as if Ched Ramar might have guessed what was passing in the mind of Nick Carter, for he redoubled his efforts to get away, scimitar and all, to go to the aid of his man. “You may as well give up, Ched Ramar,” panted Nick Carter--for the long fight was beginning to tell on his wind, just as it did on his foe’s. “We’ve got you. We have the papers, and one of your men is done right here. Another is a prisoner in my house. What is more, I know who you are.” “I am Ched Ramar!” cried the Indian proudly. “Perhaps. I don’t know what your name may be. The main thing is that you are a member of the Yellow Tong, and that you are trying to steal these papers for your chief, the infamous Sang Tu.” “He is not infamous!” shouted Ched Ramar indignantly. “He is the greatest man in the world to-day, and it will not be long before he will control every nation on earth.” “Beginning with the United States, I suppose?” exclaimed Nick Carter ironically.