A scarlet stamp, a monograph, was imposed in the upper right corner of the pale blue oblong.
"Money—Chinese bills. Full of them!" Miss Lorimer gasped. "I saw it. What are they for? And why did that dreadful woman——"
"Jet-t-e-e-ee!" sang the coolie, swinging the oar hard over. The sampan grated against a landing. "Shanghai. Ma-tou! Hān liang bu dung yāng che lāi!"
Peter was counting the pack. "Fifty one-thousand-dollar Bank of China bills!"
Excited yelpings occurred on the ma-tou. The rickshaw coolies were dickering for their unseen fare.
Peter tossed the sampan boy all the coins he had, and left him to gibber over them as he lifted the girl to the jetty. She clung to his arm, trembling, as the coolies formed a grinning, shouting circle about them. More raced in from the muddy bund.
"What are we going to do?" she groaned.
"We are going to cable your mother that you are starting for home by the first steamer," Peter cried, swinging her into the cleanest and most comfortable rickshaw of the lot. "The Mongolia sails this afternoon."
"What will become of you?" she demanded.
Peter gave her his ingenuous smile. "I will vanish—for a while. Otherwise I may vanish—permanently."