If Larry was watched or followed, he was not able to detect it, though he had no doubt the gang had some one of its members “shadowing” him. He reached Chinatown. The streets, as usual, were filled with shuffling Orientals, who seemed to have no particular object in view. Larry looked to see if he could catch a sight of Mr. Newton, or any of the detectives, but none was in sight. He reached the building, and, with a heart that beat wildly in spite of his efforts to remain calm, he started up the stairs. He felt to see if the revolver was safe in the outside pocket of his coat. Mr. Newton had told him to place it there, and to fire it while the weapon was inside the pocket, since to draw it might cause some hasty action on the part of some member of the gang. Larry gave a timid tap at the door with the rising sun painted on it. The portal instantly swung back, though no one appeared, and a voice called out: “Come in, Larry.” The young reporter entered. He found himself in a sort of corridor, at the end of which was a room, brightly-lighted, in spite of the fact that it was broad daylight outside. “Go on into the room,” the voice directed, and Larry walked forward. He found a number of men seated about a table. One wore gloves, and as they were not fastened, Larry had a glimpse of the hands they covered. The skin on them was blue, and Larry knew that at last he had run the blue-handed man to his lair. The others, and there were five of them, glanced sharply at the boy. “Well, I see you’ve agreed to our terms,” said Perkins, who acted as spokesman. “Yes,” said Larry, his voice trembling a little. “Where is my brother?” “He’s safe,” was the reply. “You stick to your part of the agreement, and we will to ours. Where is your mother’s note?” Larry began fumbling in his pocket. At the same time, with wildly-beating heart, he was wondering whether he should give the signal for help. He did not quite know how to proceed. “Come, the note!” said Perkins, impatiently. Just at that instant a roughly-dressed man, with a plumber’s kit of tools on his shoulder, was entering the hallway downstairs. As he crossed the threshold, another man, with a long scar on his face, lurched forward, and remarked: “No one allowed in here.” “I’m the plumber, sent to fix a leaky pipe,” announced the one with the tools, as he brushed past the man who sought to bar his progress. Moving quickly but silently, the man with the plumber’s tools came to a halt in front of the door with the rising sun on it. “This is the place. Now to wait until I hear a shot,” he said, softly. “I hope the detectives are all in their places.” Larry continued to fumble for the note. He wanted to gain time, and likewise he wanted to see the deed produced, since he knew it must be hidden somewhere in the room. “I’ll sign it now, and my mother can later,” spoke Larry. “That was not the agreement!” said Perkins, sharply. “Are you trying to trick us?” At that instant there came a cry: