"I don't got one piecee paper, shink. How could I lose somet'ing vat I don't got?"
"My findee him same place you makee tumble. Look."
Ping drew the folded sheet from his blouse. Carl stretched out his hand.
"I vill take a look at dot," said he.
When opened flat, the sheet contained writing, but it was not writing that Carl could read.
"Vedder it iss a ledder or nod," mused Carl, "I don'd know. Vat I see on dis paper looks schust like hen dracks. It don'd vas English, und it don'd vas German. Iss it shink wriding, Ping?"
Ping dropped to his knees and examined the sheet of paper upside down and sideways.
"My no savvy," he answered. "Him not China writing. Some fleak lettee dlop—him fleak writing. Him no gottee sense."
Carl wrinkled his brows ominously.
"I tell you somet'ing," said he. "Dere iss more to dis alretty as we know, Ping. I peen a tedectif. Meppy you vill make a tedectif, too. Subbose we findt oudt vat der ledder iss aboudt?"