It took only a few moments to exchange some of their American currency for Hong Kong dollars. The boys folded the bills, which like all English paper money were bigger than American bills, and tucked them into their wallets. Zircon started for the consulate with a wave of the hand and a reminder that they would get together in an hour. "Now what?" Scotty asked. "Now we start asking questions," Rick told him. They had paused at the entrance to the bank and the guard was standing near by. His turban and neatly curled beard proclaimed him to be a Sikh, a member of the warrior Indian caste that is scattered throughout the Far East. "We're looking for something called the Golden Mouse," Rick said. "Can you tell us where it is?" The Sikh considered. Then he shook his head. "Not know of that one, sir. Not hear." "Maybe one of the bank officers would know," Scotty suggested. They stepped back inside the bank and approached a thin young Britisher who wore tweeds in spite of the heat of the day. Rick put the question to him. The Englishman looked blank. "Golden Mouse, you say? Dashed if I ever heard of it. Is it supposed to be a tourist place do you know?" "We don't know," Rick answered. "We've no idea." The young man's face expanded in a pleased smile. "Don't suppose you'd consider substituting a pink rabbit? We have a restaurant of that name. Haw!" Rick hid a grin. "Very kind of you," he said. "I'm afraid my friend and I are allergic to rabbit fur." With a perfectly straight face, Scotty added, "Haw!" The young Englishman shook with laughter. "You know, that's really very good," he said. "Allergic to rabbit fur! Very good! I'm sorry, fellows, but I'm afraid I can't help locate your Golden Mouse. Why not try a bobby?" "Bobby sox or bobby pin?" Scotty asked. The bank officer's eyebrows went up, then he smiled. "Oh, I see what you mean. No, it's not a joke this time. Bobby is what we call policemen. You know?" "Thank you very much," Rick said. "Not a bit. By the way, I can make a few inquiries of the chaps who have been here for some time. They may know. If you have no luck, drop back." He offered his hand. "My name is Keaton-Yeats. Ronald Keaton-Yeats." Rick and Scotty offered their names in exchange. "We'll come back if we can't locate it," Rick assured him. Outside, Scotty laughed. "Haw!" he said. Rick grinned. "That's the famous English sense of humor, I guess. He's a good scout." Scotty nodded his agreement. "Funny thing about these English. They do things that seem silly to us, like wearing tweeds in bathing-suit weather and cracking bad jokes. But when the chips are down, they can fight like wildcats." Suddenly he pointed. "There's a policeman." "Let's tackle him," Rick said, and led the way across the street.