PLANNING A SEARCH
Fearing that the next explosion might be even worse, and not only
shatter the glass, but throw down some of the surrounding buildings
themselves, Larry fairly pulled Miss Potter out of danger.
As he rushed along, surrounded on all sides by a frantic, pushing,
shouting mob, the young reporter happened to glance up at one of the
structures, the windows of which had nearly all been destroyed by the
blast. One floor of this building was occupied by a costumer, who, as
an advertisement, had set a figure of a clown, in an odd costume, on
the sill of one casement. The explosion had turned this clown upside
down.
As Larry was speculating on this odd sight, and making a mental note of
it, to be used in the story, his attention was attracted by something
else. Owing to the breaking of the glass of the costumer’s windows,
many of which were of ground, or painted material, so that the public
could not observe his customers trying on suits, a full view could be
had into the interior of the shop.
Hung up all around were costumes of various ages, and of characters
from knights and harlequins, to monks and fairy dancers.
But none of these attracted Larry just then, for with startling
suddenness he beheld, in the middle of one room, a man standing, a man
whom the young reporter knew at once to be Witherby, the bank clerk!
And Witherby held in his hand a black moustache--a false moustache--as
if, at the time of the explosion, he had been about to adjust it, but
had been startled by the blowing out of the windows.
“By Jove!” ejaculated Larry.
“What--what is it? Some one hurt?” gasped Miss Potter, at his side.
“No, but----”
Larry hesitated, and had made up his mind he would not call the
attention of the millionaire’s daughter to the strange sight. But it
was too late. She had seen Witherby, and had caught sight of the false
moustache in his hand.
“Oh! Oh!” she gasped. “What--what does that mean, Larry?”
Before he could answer there came another explosion, and hoarse shouts
of fear and warning.
“This is getting too much for me!” thought Larry. “I’m between two
fires. I’ve just got to get after this new clew to the bank mystery,
and yet I can’t leave this fire and explosion uncovered. What shall I
do? I wonder what game Witherby is up to now? I’ll wager he’s getting
ready to skip out with the million dollars! I must get word to Mr.
Bentfield at once. I guess it’s time to cause an arrest!
“But what about this fire? I’ve got to stay on this until some of the
_Leader_ boys come. Why don’t they hurry?”
“Can I help you?” asked Miss Potter, seeing what was in Larry’s mind.
“Yes, you might,” he said. “I want to stay here, where I can--well,
where I can keep my eye on a certain person,” he corrected himself
quickly. “And yet I want to get word to the office, asking the boys to
hurry here.”
“I can telephone for you,” she offered, and she was just going to do
that when a young man rushed up to Larry. He was a fellow reporter.
“I’m sent to relieve you,” he said. “The boss wants you back in the
office as soon as you can get there. What’s happened so far?”
Rapidly Larry told the main facts of the fire and explosion, and gave
all the helpful points he could to his fellow scribe. By this time
several other of the _Leader_ men had arrived on the scene, as well as
representatives from other papers.
“I’ll give ’em all I have, and you can take up the story from now
on,” suggested Larry to his friends. “I guess some were hurt in that
blow-up. Look out for more to follow.”
He hurried off to the nearest telephone, with Miss Potter, and soon had
sent in over the wire all the news he had. He also flashed something
about having seen Witherby, as if disguising himself for flight. Larry
was sure the bank clerk had not observed him, because of the excitement
over the explosions.
“If he did see me he may take the alarm, and light out ahead of time,”
thought the young reporter. “I’ve got to get busy. Guess I’ll go back
to the costumer’s and see what I can learn there before I go to the
office.”
First, however, after pledging her to silence, he put Miss Potter on a
car to go to her home. She had had enough of the excitement, she said.
Then Larry hurried back to the scene of the fire. The drug house was
still burning fiercely, and it proved to be one of the worst blazes New
York ever had experienced.
Because of the damage to his windows, and the fear of what might
follow, the costumer could give Larry little information, that amounted
to anything, about Witherby.
“I don’t know the man you speak of,” said the costumer to the reporter.
“Many people come in here every day to buy false wigs, beards or
moustaches for themselves. I do not ask their names. They may want them
for theatricals, or for criminal disguises. I have no way of telling.
A number were in here when the explosion blew out all my windows. Oh,
it was terrible! I am all upset. I don’t know the young man you speak
of. At any rate, he is gone--they are all gone who were in here. The
explosion scared them. Oh, so much as I will lose by this! Some of my
best costumes are spoiled!”
This was true, for dirt and dust had sifted in the opened windows after
the explosion, and now black smoke was entering in dense clouds.
Even as Larry was talking there came a series of light explosions, and,
fearing there might be more, and severer ones, the police ordered every
one out of the buildings near the burning structure.
“I guess it’s time for me to go,” thought Larry. “I can’t learn
anything more here, and I want to get on Witherby’s trail. He’s
certainly up to something. It’s a good thing he has an outside job,
or he couldn’t be away from the bank so much to make his plans. But I
think I’ve got him pat now. If only I’m not too late!”
As Larry hurried from the costumer’s there came an explosion worse than
any of the preceding ones. He wanted to stay, and help cover the story,
which he knew would be a big one, but a reporter, like a soldier, has
to obey orders, and Mr. Emberg had sent for him to come in.
“I wonder what his tip is, about the bank mystery?” thought Larry, as
he hurried on to the _Leader_ office. “I don’t believe it is as good as
mine.”
That Mr. Emberg was surprised when Larry gave all the details of seeing
Witherby with the false moustache is to put it mildly.
“It’s going to be a great yarn, Larry!” exclaimed the city editor.
“Keep right after it. This is my tip. One of the headquarters’
detectives is on the trail of one of the bank directors, I understand.”
“He is?” cried Larry. “Then I think I know which one.”
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Wilson. He and Witherby are quite chummy. Say, wouldn’t it be
great, if it should turn out that he and Witherby pulled off this
robbery together?”
“And are going to escape together with the million dollars,” added Mr.
Emberg, his eyes sparkling in anticipation of the sensational story
that would develop.
“I’ll get right after it,” exclaimed Larry, and then the thought came
to him that Mr. Wilson might have been the man with the beard who had
bought the valise.
“I’ll have to arrange for Miss Mason to see him,” he thought. “She may
be able to identify him.”
His first visit was to the detective whom the city editor had mentioned
as having a clew to the bank director.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a bank official has robbed his own
institution,” thought Larry. “And Wilson certainly acted very queer
about this case.”
When he saw the detective, however, he found that the clew was so
slender as to be hardly worth following. Still, the young reporter
knew that he must neglect nothing.
“The first thing to be done is to search Witherby’s room,” declared
Larry, in talking to the bank president of the latest development. “He
may have the money concealed there. And we’ve got to act quickly or he
may escape. Can you arrange it?”
“I think so. I expect him in soon, and when he does come I’ll give him
something to do that will keep him out of town over-night. Then, with
the proper police authority, which I can arrange for, we’ll search his
room. His buying a false moustache certainly looks suspicious, Larry.
But I don’t take any stock in this about Mr. Wilson.”
“Nor I,” agreed the reporter. “But may I help in the search of
Witherby’s room?”
“Certainly. I intend that you shall be there. I’ll call my lawyer now,
and arrange for the proper authority.”