around the stone doorpost. With his side toward them, Chun Lon sat bending above a small lamp. His long knife lay beside him, and there was ranged at his feet a glimmering group of golden bars and jade cups. A ruby shone like fire in the palm of his yellow hand. The treasure box stood open before him.
With one silent leap Mark hurled himself upon Chun Lon, a knee firmly planted on his chest, a hand pressed crushingly over the Chinaman's opened mouth. Alan was beside him now, the knife in his hand, clasped till his knuckles grew white. Chun Lon's eyes never left the gleaming blade that hung above him.
They gagged him with Alan's handkerchief and Mark's necktie, and bound him hand and foot with his own gay, tasseled sash. They wrenched the ruby from his closed hand, and hurriedly packed into its box the fortune of the Ingrams—all with a swift, tense precision. Then Mark quickly blew out the lamp and closed the moldering door. It fastened with a great wooden pin, and Alan drew this into place.
"To the boat!" Mark whispered, once clear of
