CLOSING IN
“Crack! Crack! Crack!”
Those were the revolvers barking, and spitting fire.
“Hi! Ki! Yi! Yee! Yip!”
That was the frightened Celestials singing out. Those who were not
yelling like cats and dogs combined, were firing revolvers. They seemed
to have no object in view except to fire, shutting their eyes, and
pulling the trigger, while the weapon was aimed in any and all
directions.
One of those sudden and inexplainable shooting affairs for which
Chinatown is noted, and which are precipitated by secret society
hatreds, was on.
From around the corner of the street, as if by magic, appeared another
band of Chinese. They began firing at the throng that poured from the
building where the man who had pawned the snake ring, had entered. Larry
dodged into a doorway, out of reach of any stray bullets.
Little damage seemed to be done by the shooting, as the Celestials fired
without any particular aim. Yet one or two were hit by the bullets, and
ran about the streets howling with pain.
The riot had been in progress about two minutes before any police
arrived. Then a squad of them swung into the thoroughfare, and with
drawn clubs sprang into the midst of the mob of Chinese. The stout
sticks thumped on many a pigtailed head, and soon the yells of rage were
turned into shouts of dismay.
The shooting died away, and the Orientals scampered like rats back to
their holes. Two or three who had received bullets in their legs, were
lying in the middle of the street. Then came a couple of patrol wagons
and an ambulance, into which the wounded were lifted, and quick trips
made to hospitals. The police took several prisoners, who were taken to
the station-house, and then—the street became quiet again.
Save for a few revolvers which the owners had thrown away, there
remained no sign of the riot, and Larry could hardly believe that he had
witnessed it. It seemed like a dream.
“I must telephone the paper about it,” he thought. “Then I’ll keep on
after that man.”
Noting the address of the house into which the pawner of the ring had
vanished, Larry went back to the Bowery, where he found a public
telephone, and was soon in communication with Mr. Emberg.
“You stay where you are until I can send one of the reporters down to
see you,” the city editor said. “You can tell him what happened, and he
can write the story. Then you can go on with your hunt. I hope you’ll
succeed. Do you need any help?”
“I guess I can get along for a while yet,” answered Larry. “I only want
to locate a certain place, and then I’ll get Mr. Newton to advise me.”
He waited in the telephone station until the reporter from the _Leader_
arrived. Then, accompanied by him, Larry went back to Chinatown. The
other reporter got a lot of information about the riot, and, with what
Larry had told him, soon had enough for a good lively story.
“Now here goes to see what’s in that house,” murmured Larry, when the
reporter had left him. “I hope I get on the track of the Rising Sun. I
wonder what it means, anyhow.”
Not without some little fear did he enter the dark hallway. It was not a
pleasant place. There were odd and noisome smells, for the place, like
most of those in Chinatown, was more or less of an opium joint. Then
there was the odor of the Joss sticks burning in a sort of improvised
temple in the rear of the first floor.
Up the stairs Larry went. He hardly knew what he was going to do, nor,
if he was questioned by anyone, did he know what he would say. He was
trusting to luck. As he passed through the dimly-lighted halls a door
would open here and there, and the head of a Chinese would be poked out.
But the portal was quickly closed again when the owner of the head saw
it was an American youth.
After a riot such as had just transpired, the Chinese had no desire to
answer embarrassing questions such as they knew the Americans asked. The
Americans were too curious, the Celestials thought. So it was best to
stay in one’s room, and pretend not to hear or see anything. Thus Larry
was not interfered with or molested, as he might have been on another
occasion.
Though he had no definite object in view, Larry had an idea he might
chance on some evidence as to where the man lived who had pawned the
ring, or might discover some trace of the sign of the Rising Sun. He
looked about on the walls and doors of the halls. There were many
devices painted thereon. Dragons, snakes, strange birds, and grinning
heads.
“I guess I’ll go back and tell Mr. Newton,” thought Larry. “He’ll know
how to go about this better than I do.”
However, there remained the third and top floor hall to inspect, and
Larry climbed the stairs to that. He walked from the front to the rear.
“Nothing here, I guess,” he murmured.
Then, with a sudden beating of his heart, he caught sight, on the door
of a room at the end of the corridor, of a crudely-painted rising sun,
with red and yellow rays radiating from it, as it was coming up from
behind a mountain.
“This must be the place!” exclaimed the young reporter under his breath.
The next instant he heard from behind the door a cry as of someone in
pain or distress, and to Larry the voice sounded like that of his
kidnapped brother.
“I wonder—I wonder if Jimmy can be in there!” he gasped.
Once more the stifled cry sounded, and Larry’s heart almost stopped
beating. He was sure he had found his brother. He sprang forward, and
rapped loudly on the door. Instantly there sounded a shuffling of feet
from behind the portal. Then all grew still.
“Let me in!” cried Larry.
He paused for a reply. Then he knocked again, and kicked with his feet
on the door, but no one answered, and the sturdy oaken portal was not
opened. Larry was much excited. He wanted to break down the barrier, and
see what was beyond it. He wanted to rush in, and, if his brother was
there, to tear him away from the men who had kidnapped him.
“I’d better go for help,” Larry said to himself, at length. “I can’t do
anything alone. Anyhow, I’ve located the Rising Sun crowd. I’d better
not make too much of a fuss, or they’ll suspect I’m after them, and move
away.”
He hurried downstairs, wishing he could find Mr. Newton at once, instead
of waiting until night, when the older reporter had promised Larry to
call at the Dexter house.
“I suppose he’s trailing the end from the sign of the blue hand,”
thought Larry.
He had half a mind to see if he could not locate the gang’s former
headquarters, but he feared that the quest might lead him into trouble.
Also, he did not want to spoil any plans Mr. Newton had made.
“I guess the only thing I can do is to wait until to-night,” mused
Larry, “though I hate to go home without good news, no matter how
little.”
But he knew it was the best thing to do, and he was soon at his house,
relating to his mother and Lucy what he had experienced.
“Do you really think he’s there?” asked Mrs. Dexter.
“I’m almost certain,” replied Larry. “Just you wait, mother. I’m sure
we’ll have Jimmy before another day goes by.”
“I only wish I could believe so,” remarked Mrs. Dexter, wiping the tears
from her eyes.
In the meanwhile, Mr. Newton had gone to the former headquarters of the
gang that had rooms behind the door with the blue hand on it. As he
feared, the place was deserted, and no one in the neighborhood knew
anything about where the former occupants had gone, or, if they did,
they would not tell. In Chinatown it is the policy of the inhabitants to
relate just as little as they can.
With all his reporter’s experience in tracing matters, with all the
skill which long association with the police and detectives had given
him, Mr. Newton sought to locate some member of the blue-handed gang to
learn where their headquarters were now. But all to no avail. Even the
advertisement Larry had inserted, agreeing to sign the deed, was not
answered.
“I hope Larry is having better luck than I am,” mused the reporter. “I’m
beat, I’m afraid. Guess I’ll drop in here, and get a cigar. Maybe it
will help me to think of some plan I haven’t tried yet.”
There was a tobacco store nearby, and going in, Mr. Newton purchased
something to smoke. While the proprietor was getting the change Mr.
Newton’s attention was attracted to the sound of voices in a rear room.
“If one of them isn’t Alderman Beacham and the other Samuel Snyder, that
rascally lawyer, I’m very much mistaken,” thought Mr. Newton. “I wonder
what they’re having a confab in here for? Up to some political trick, I
suppose, and they’re afraid to talk it over at City Hall.”
He could not help overhearing some of the things that were said, and as
the words came to him he gave a sudden start.
“So that’s the game, eh?” he murmured. “No wonder they want that deed.
By the Great Horn Spoon! but I think I’m on the right track now!”
By this time the proprietor returned with the change, but Mr. Newton was
in no hurry to go. He pretended he wanted to buy a pipe, and, while
examining the cigar-dealer’s stock, he kept his ears open for anything
more that might issue from the rear room. He could only catch a stray
word now and again, but what he heard gave him much satisfaction.
Finally he made a selection of a pipe, and paid for it. Leaving the
store he hurried off, a smile displacing the former discouraged look his
face had worn.
“I wonder why I never thought of that before!” he exclaimed, softly.
“That’s what the Aldermanic Committee has been meeting in secret so
often for. That’s the reason they would never admit that any business
was done. My! but this is going to be a big thing! I can see a fine
story in it, and maybe a beat. I can see something good for Larry, too,
and if it doesn’t bring his brother back, and land some people in jail,
I’m going to miss my guess,” and Mr. Newton felt so elated over the
discovery he had accidentally made that he felt like hopping and
skipping along the street. Thinking that would hardly be in keeping with
the dignity of a reporter, however, he fell to whistling to relieve his
spirits, and warbled forth tuneful strains from a comic opera, as being
most appropriate.
“Now to see Larry, and tell him the good news,” thought Mr. Newton.
“We’ll have to make careful plans to close in on the gang. The only
thing lacking is to know where they are, but with what I know I’ll have
no trouble finding them. Whoop! I feel like a boy again!”
He went to the Dexter home, where, though he did not expect it, he found
Larry. It was late in the afternoon, and Mr. Newton was tired with his
quest.
“Any news?” he asked Larry.
“A little. How about you?”
“Everything we could wish for. Larry, my boy, I think we’ve got ’em.
We’ll nab ’em inside of two days.”
“And will you get Jimmy back?” asked Mrs. Dexter.
“The first thing!” exclaimed Mr. Newton.
Then he and Larry told each other their experiences, and prepared their
plans for closing in on the gang. They could not imagine why there was
no answer to the personal they had inserted, but, as it afterward
developed, none of the gang had seen it, not counting on it being put in
so soon after the kidnapping.