Larry Dexter, Reporter/Chapter 33

the matter?” asked Larry, thinking he might have stumbled in on a crazy man. “I haven't done anything to you.”

He did not move, more, perhaps, because it was so sudden, than from any bravery, and when the Chinese stood in front of him, shaking his fist, Larry maintained his ground.

“Your name Pleter Manton?” asked the Chinese, in a high-pitched voice.

“No, my name's Larry Dexter,” replied our hero. “I want to find Peter Manton.”

“Yo' sure yo' no Pleter Manton?”

“Of course I'm sure.”

“Then me solly,” the Celestial went on. “Me t'ink yo' him. Yo' 'scuse me?”

“Of course,” replied Larry, seeing that a mistake had been made.

The Chinese quieted down from the rage into which the mention of the name Peter Manton had seemed to throw him. He looked Larry over closely, and then a smile came stealing upon his face.

“No; yo' no Pleter,” he remarked. “First me take yo' fo' him.”

“What makes you mad at him?” asked Larry, anxiously.

“He blad bloy,” the Chinese went on. “He mlake tlouble for Ah Moy. He have looms up stails, an' him an' odder bloys bleak windows, an' make all bad. Me lose money.”

“Did Peter use to have a clubroom here?” asked Larry, feeling that at last he was getting on the right track.

The Chinese nodded vigorously in the affirmative.

“Where has he gone now?” asked Larry.

At this question the Chinese, who had seemed to be very frank, regarded Larry suspiciously. He half shut his eyes, which at the best were not very widely open, and asked:

“Wha' flo' yo' want know?”

“I want to see him.”

“S'plose he no want see yo'?” suggested Ah Moy.

That was a puzzler for Larry. He was not used to answering such sharp questions as the Chinese put, and he could not understand the Celestial's sudden interest in the welfare of Peter, when, before, the Oriental had appeared to want to punish the lad.

“Well, I want to see him, even if he doesn't want to see me,” replied Larry, at length.

“He glot some yo' money?”

Arguing that the deed might be considered money, as it represented a large sum, and feeling sure that if Peter did not have it, he knew where it was, Larry replied:

“Peter has some of my money.”

“If me tell yo' where Pleter is, yo' give me some money?” asked Ah Moy.

“What for?” Larry was trying to gain time to think.

“He make me lose tlee dollar bleakin' my windlow,” the Chinese went on. “He an' odder bloys what are in club. He no pay me. Maybe yo' pay me.”

“If you tell me where to find Peter I'll give you the three dollars,” Larry answered, thinking it would be a sum spent in a good cause.

“All light,” announced Ah Moy, cheerfully. “Give me money.”

“Here it is,” replied Larry, producing the bills, and holding them where the Chinese could see them. “Now you tell me.”

Ah Moy leaned forward, first taking care to look out toward the street, and see that no one was headed for his store. Then he whispered:

“Yo' find door where Lising Sun painted, an' yo' find Pieter, an' maybe somebody else, li'l' feller what cly all time.”

“Do you mean my little brother?” exclaimed Larry, in great excitement.

“Give me money!” cried Ah Moy, snatching the bills from Larry's hand. “Me tell yo' where yo' go. Look for Lising Sun, an' you find Pleter Now go. Me no like to have yo' here!”

Then, before Larry could make any objections, if he had thought to do so, the Celestial grabbed the boy by the shoulders, and thrust him, though not very roughly, out of the front door and into the street. Larry heard Ah Moy close and lock the portal behind him, and realized the Chinese had taken an effective method of getting rid of him.

“Well, of all the queer proceedings,” remarked Larry. “I seem to be getting deeper and deeper into the mystery.”

He turned to look at the one-eyed image, but Ah Moy had pulled down the shades, and the place had every appearance of being deserted.

“The rising sun,” murmured Larry. “I wonder what he meant. Seems to me that's what they call China or Japan, I've forgotten which. I hope they haven't taken Jimmy away off there.”

His heart grew cold at the thought, but he reassured himself that the gang would hardly go to that length, particularly as they might want to produce the little fellow at short notice.

“Maybe it's some place in Chinatown,” reasoned the young reporter. “I must find out, but I'll have to go slow.”

From what Ah Moy had told him it seemed that the doings of Chinatown were known to most of the members of the under-world. Consequently, if he began making inquiries, the news would be communicated to the members of the gang. If they heard someone was on their trail they might depart to another hiding-place, and make it all the harder to locate them.

“I must ask of someone who is not a Chinese,” thought Larry. “Maybe the Rising Sun is the name of some sort of a club. That's what I'll do!” he exclaimed, as he suddenly became possessed of an idea. “I'll pretend I'm looking for a club of that name, and I'll ask the first American storekeeper I meet.”

Larry walked slowly along the street. The thoroughfare seemed filled with Celestials, with their wide trousers and wider-sleeved blouses, tramping along in their thick-soled shoes, but there seemed to be a great scarcity of Americans. Looking about him for an establishment kept by someone other than an almond-eyed individual, Larry espied a block or so away, the sign of three golden balls suspended in the air.

“There's a pawnbroker's,” thought Larry. “He's sure to be something else besides a Chinese. I'll try him.”

Much attracted by the curious sights on every side, Larry proceeded down the street. He looked into the pawnbroker's shop before entering, but as the glass door was painted, he could discern nothing.

“Well, here goes,” remarked Larry to himself. “We'll see what sort of information I can get.”

He opened the door softly, and stepped into the place. In front of the counter stood a man who seemed to be bargaining with the pawn-broker over the amount to be loaned on an article. They were so occupied with their business that they did not notice the young reporter's entrance.

“You ought to give me more than twenty dollars,” the customer was saying.

“Fifteen is all; take it or leave it,” was the pawnbroker's answer. “It is a cheap ring.”

“But the diamond in the tail is worth more than that,” the man went on, “and the rubies in the eyes are worth twice as much. Come on, now, Isaacs, let me have twenty dollars, that's a good fellow. I'm hard up, and the gang is up against bad luck.”

Something seemed to tell Larry he was on the track of those whom he sought, but for an instant he could not fathom what it was. There seemed to be a clew in the mention of a diamond in the tail and rubies in the eyes.

“I know!” the young reporter thought, almost exclaiming aloud in his excitement. “It's the ring Mr. Reynolds told me about. The one that was stolen from him, and which he wished to recover because it was an heirloom.”

He drew a little closer to where the man was standing, hoping to get a look at the jewel. Nor was he disappointed. The pawnbroker, who had apparently made his last offer, handed something to the customer. The latter's hand shook so he dropped the article on the floor, and it rolled almost to Larry's feet. The lad picked it up. He saw that it was a ring, made in the shape of a snake, with three coils. In the end of the tail was a diamond, and the eyes were formed of rubies. It was exactly like the ornament Mr. Reynolds had described.

Larry's heart was beating so he was afraid the men would hear it. However, he managed to hand the ring back to the customer, who was too much engrossed in the transaction to notice Larry.

“Well, Isaacs,” the man remarked, handing the ring over to the pawnbroker, “I'll take the fifteen dollars, but it's little enough. I'll be getting it out again in a few days. Make out the ticket.”

Larry walked back to the door while the broker was concluding the transaction. He wondered what he had better do. Here was a chance to get on the track of the Reynolds jewel robbers, but to accomplish this he would have to give up, for a time, the search after his brother.

“Unless the two gangs should prove to be one and the same,” thought Larry, with a sudden inspiration. “I wonder if that couldn't be so. The safe-robbers and the kidnappers are all together; why not the jewel thieves? I think I'll chance it, anyhow. I'll follow this man, and see if I can't find out where he stays. I can find out about the Rising Sun place later.”

With this in mind, Larry softly slipped out of the door, and stationed himself in a nearby hallway, to stay until the man came from the pawnshop. He had not long to wait, for in a few minutes the man emerged, and the young reporter set off after him.

Larry had never had much experience in “shadowing” people, as the detectives call following a man, and not letting him know he is under surveillance. But the lad had often gone hunting when in the country, and had learned how to track wild animals. Of course, it was different in the city, but some of the principles held true.

Letting the man who had pawned the ring get about half a block ahead, Larry started after him. The fellow did not seem to be on the lookout, but walked on rapidly, paying no attention to persons or objects he passed in the street.

Through several thoroughfares in Chinatown the chase led, until Larry finally found himself in the very worst section of that very bad part of New York. The buildings were old and tumbledown, and in spite of the sunlight overhead, it seemed dark and gloomy.

The man came to a pause in front of a certain house. He looked all about him, and Larry saw his glance in time to dodge into a hallway. Then the man disappeared into the building. Larry glided forward, and was about to follow him, when from the place several Chinese leaped out, yelling shrilly.

At the same time a fusillade of revolver shots rang out, and the yells increased. All at once it seemed that the street was full of Chinese.