"We're onto this mandarin's business now, Joe," said Matt, "and we ought to see it through to a finish."
"It'll be our finish, I reckon."
At this moment they stepped out onto the road close to the car. The machine was a charred and twisted wreck, and fit only for the junk heap. Matt looked around for Tsan Ti, but he was nowhere in evidence.
"Vanished again!" exclaimed McGlory.
Matt threw back his head and shouted the mandarin's name at the top of his voice. No answer was returned, but the echoes of the call had hardly died away before they were taken up by the humming of another motor, and a little runabout came whirling down the road and brought up at the side of the wrecked car.
Two men were in the runabout, and one of the men was in a tremendously bad humor. The angry individual jumped from the runabout and peered at the number on the smoking board at the rear of the chassis.
"It was my car, all right!" he cried. "And look at it! Great Scott, just look at it! Total loss, and only a fat chink to look to for damages. Oh, I'm s, t, u, n, g to the queen's taste, all right. Who're you?" he demanded, whirling suddenly on the boys.
Matt told him.
"You're from up the mountain, are you?" inquired Matt.
"Where else?" replied the other crossly. "What's become of the chink that hired this car? Do you know?"