The Chinese quieted down from the rage into which the mention of the name Peter Manton had seemed to throw him. He looked Larry over closely, and then a smile came stealing upon his face.
“No; yo’ no Pleter,” he remarked. “First me take yo’ fo’ him.”
“What makes you mad at him?” asked Larry, anxiously.
“He blad bloy,” the Chinese went on. “He mlake tlouble for Ah Moy. He have looms up stails, an’ him an’ odder bloys bleak windows, an’ make all bad. Me lose money.”
“Did Peter use to have a clubroom here?” asked Larry, feeling that at last he was getting on the right track.
The Chinese nodded vigorously in the affirmative.
“Where has he gone now?” asked Larry.
At this question the Chinese, who had seemed to be very frank, regarded Larry suspiciously. He half shut his eyes, which at the best were not very widely open, and asked:
“Wha’ flo’ yo’ want know?”
“I want to see him.”