The fat Chinaman, laying aside his fan, took the box in his left palm, and, with the fingers of his right hand, pressed a spring.
The lid flew open. On top of something in the box lay a white card covered with Chinese hieroglyphics. The Chinaman lifted the card and read the written words. His yellow face turned to the color of old cheese, his eyes closed spasmodically, and his breath came quick and raspingly. McGlory grabbed Matt's arm.
"There's something on that card, Matt," said he, "that's got our fat friend on the run."
While the boys continued to look, the Chinaman laid aside the card, and drew from the box a pliable yellow cord, a yard in length.
That was all there was in the box, just the card and the cord.
Feeling that there was a deep mystery here, and a mystery in which he and his chum were concerned, the king of the motor boys stepped forward.
"Tsan Ti?" he queried.
Box and cord fell from the fat Chinaman's hands, and he turned an eagerly inquiring look in Matt's direction.