Ned laughed and began drawing on his clothes.  Still the boring continued, and Ned bent over to see if he could discover any holes in the stile of the door.

There being no light in his room and, presumably, one in the corridor outside, he thought he might be able to see when a cut through the stile had been made.  There were no indications of a break yet, and Ned settled back on his bed to wait.

Just at that moment he hardly knew what he was waiting for.  He had been very busy all the afternoon, laying plans and conferring with a man who came from the police bureau, and who appeared to be working under instructions from the boy.  Ned considered his plans as near perfect as any human plans can be, still he did not know exactly what would happen at a quarter past twelve.

At ten minutes past midnight the boy heard a rush of footsteps in the corridor.  They passed his door and the boring ceased.  Then they faded away in the distance and the gnawing was resumed.  There was a little more noise in the hotel than before.

Ned smiled at the crude efforts that were being made to enter his room.  In New York man disposed to enter for the purpose of robbery would have a skeleton key.  He would be inside the room in three seconds after entering the corridor and finding the apartment he sought wrapped in darkness.

“But this isn’t New York,” the boy mused.  “This is the Orient, and the patience of the Orient, and the stupidity of the Orient!”

At exactly a quarter past twelve there was a commotion in the corridor.  Several people seemed to be moving toward the door of Ned’s room.  Once there was a little cry of alarm.

Ned looked out of his window.  The panes where he had observed the signals, across the street, were dark.  There was no light in the window next his own which had shown red, white and blue but a moment before.

The clamor in the corridor increased, and Ned walked to the door and undid the fastenings.  Then it swung open, almost striking Ned in the face.

Facing the boy, in the corridor, were six Chinamen, or men in native dress, rather.  Back of them were a score of stern-faced Chinese policemen.  To the right, and struggling with all their might to get into the room were Frank, Jack, and Jimmie, the latter with his nose wrinkled and wrinkling to such an extent that it resembled a small ocean with the wind undulating its surface.

“Trap’s closed!”

That was Jimmie, of course.  Frank and Jack stood by laughing.  The faces of the six men who stood before the door were anything but pleasant to look upon.

They expressed hate, despair, desperate intents.  As they stood there Frank reached forward and snatched a queue-wig from the head of the man nearest him.

“There he is!” Jimmie cried.  “There’s the old boy, Ned—­the smooth gink we saw at Taku, at Tientsin, and at numerous places on the road.  I wonder how he likes the scene?”