Then, drawing out his own handkerchief, he wrapped the ruby carefully, and as carefully stowed it away in his pocket.
"So," said he, "after a number of startling adventures in the Catskills, the ruby is finally where it ought to be."
"It ought to be in the head of that idol, in Canton," said Matt.
The king of the motor boys was calm, and, while he may have had regrets, he had nothing to reproach himself for. He had done his best to keep the ruby—and he had failed.
"Motor Matt," returned Grattan, "a heathen temple is no place for such a jewel as this. In the Honan joss house it benefits no one. When I sell it, it will benefit me a great deal, and Bunce a little."
"And me," put in Pardo. "Don't forget that I stand in on the divvy."
"And Pardo," added Grattan.
"And Tsan Ti must strangle himself with the yellow cord," said Matt.
"If that is his will, yes. I have no patience with these pagan superstitions. A heathen, who lives by them, cannot let them shuffle him out of the world too quickly. As for you, Motor Matt, you have nothing to be sorry for. You did your best to keep the ruby out of my hands—no one else could have done so much."
"It's not the ruby I care for so much as saving Tsan Ti," answered Matt.