GATHERING CLOUDS.
Much to the relief of Matt, McGlory and Lorry, the Chinese boy had not encountered intruders. His trouble was of quite another sort.
In order to watch all sides of the boathouse, he had been tramping around three of its walls, from the waterfront on one side to the waterfront on the other. The day was hot and the exertion tiring. Ping, after some reflection, conceived the brilliant idea of climbing to the roof and watching from the ridgepole.
An elevated position of that kind would enable him to rest and keep eyes on the vicinity in every direction.
Some empty boxes, piled one on the other, lifted him high enough to reach the eaves. Kicking off his sandals, he took the slope of the roof in his stocking feet and was soon by the flagstaff that arose from one end of the peak on the waterside of the building.
A timber, equipped with rope and tackle, projected outward from the peak. For no particular reason, other than to test his agility, Ping lowered himself astride the projecting timber and hitched outward to the end.
Here a sudden gust of wind struck him. Lifting both hands to save his hat, he lost his balance and rolled sidewise off the timber. But he did not fall. His trousers caught in the stout iron hook by which the pulley was suspended; and, when Matt, McGlory and Lorry finally located him, he was sprawling in midair, badly scared, but as yet unhurt.
"Motol Matt," howled the youngster, "savee Ping! No lettee fall! Woosh!"
"Sufferin' heathens!" gasped McGlory. "How in the name of Bob did the Chink ever get in that fix?"
That was no time to guess about the cause. If Ping's clothing was to give way he would suffer a bad fall on the planks of the boathouse pier. Pulling the tackle rope from the cleat to which it was fastened, Matt climbed hand over hand to the projecting timber.