"We've placed your description of the rascals on file," finished the officer, as he turned to leave, "and if they ever show up here, or in 'Frisco, again, they'll be run in."
"Mebby," qualified McGlory. "Tie a string to that remark, officer."
"We'll do the best we can to keep watch for them, anyhow," averred the officer.
Motor Matt and McGlory had a late—a very late—breakfast; then, after Matt had had a good meal put in a paper bag for Ping, the two boys started for the Sprite.
To their surprise, neither Ping nor the Sprite were where they had been left; nor could any inquiries develop their whereabouts.
"It's good-by, Ping," laughed McGlory. "I reckon he made up his mind that he didn't want to work for you any longer, Matt."
"I'm glad of it, Joe, if that's really the case," answered Matt. "I haven't the least notion in the world what I could have found for the Chinaman to do. But I can't think that he's pulled out for good. He seemed too anxious to tie to me to break away so suddenly as that."
"Well, wherever he went he went in the Sprite. We can feel sure that Big John and his pals haven't had anything to do with the chink's disappearance. They're too busy getting themselves out of sight, pard, to bother with any one else."
Matt and McGlory went to the ferry house and caught the next boat for 'Frisco. On the way across the bay Matt gave Ping's breakfast to a little chap who looked as though he needed it.
McGlory carried the satchel with the ten thousand dollars. It had been glued to him ever since he got hands on it aboard the house boat.