“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.”