“Yo’ find door where Lising Sun painted, an’ yo’ find Pleter, 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.”