He knocked at the door of the first apartment on the first floor. No one answered, and Larry tapped again, this time quite loudly. Suddenly a door across the hall opened, and a woman stuck her head out. “Vell?” she inquired. “Does Peter Manton live here?” asked Larry. “Vat is?” asked the woman. Larry repeated his question, at the same time coming closer to the door, thinking the woman had not heard him. “_Ich weiss nicht_,” she replied, that being the German equivalent for “I don’t know,” and then, having satisfied her curiosity, she closed the door. “I guess that’s what most of ’em will say,” remarked Larry, who understood a little German. He was about to knock on the third door of the first floor, when a boy stuck his head out of one apartment, and of him Larry asked where Peter lived. “Has he a wart on his nose?” asked the boy. “No,” said Larry, who knew Peter was not marked in any such way. “Does he squint with his left eye?” “Not that I know of.” “Can he turn a double somersault?” “I don’t know.” “Is one of his front teeth gone?” “No, his teeth are all right.” “Then I don’t know him. All the fellers I know has something the matter with ’em, or else they can do somethin’. I guess the feller you want has moved away.” But Larry did not want to trust to any chances. He went to the next floor, and made inquiries without success. Then he proceeded to the third floor. At the last apartment where he knocked an old man came to the door. “Vell, mine friendt?” he inquired, and Larry was beginning to think all the people in the house were German Jews. “Vat can I do for you to-day?” “Do you know Peter Manton?” asked Larry. “Peter vat?” “Peter Manton.” “Does he sell suspenders?” “Not that I ever heard of.” “Collar buttons, maybe yet, eh?” “No, I guess not.” “Den he keeps a store alretty yet?” “I guess not.” “Oh, vell, den I doan knows him by yet. I only know peoples vat is in business. Run avay, leedle poy, an’ doan bodder mit a business man,” and then, while Larry watched him, the old fellow went back, leaving his door open, and proceeded to resume his slumbers in an easy-chair, whence Larry had aroused him. “I guess I’ll get very little information here,” thought the searcher. Yet he would not give up. Not until he had knocked at the last door did he get any trace, and that came when he had almost despaired. A woman answered the door, and, at the sight of Larry, she began to scream in a loud voice, and cried out: “Goniff! Goniff! Goniff!” “I’m not a thief!” exclaimed Larry, for he recognized the Yiddish word for robber, having heard it in his travels about the Jewish quarter of New York. “I haven’t stolen anything, and don’t intend to.” He spoke sharply, for he feared the woman’s cries would rouse the neighborhood, and, perhaps, make trouble for him. Fortunately, however, there was much noise caused by the children in the street shouting, and no one appeared to pay much attention to the woman’s exclamations.