IN THE THEATRE
Larry wired a brief account of his trip, and the necessity for a change
in his plans, to Mr. Emberg, and also to the bank president. Then,
having said good-bye to the fisherman, promising to let him know how
his long chase ended, the young reporter started for Chicago.
The line running to Seven Mile Beach was a branch of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, and it would be over that road that Larry would make his
advent into the Windy City. So, also, would Witherby, he reflected.
“Only I’ll be several hours behind him,” Larry thought, “and I’ll have
my own troubles locating him. It will be almost as bad as it would have
been in New York. But I’ll get him!”
Just how he was going to do it Larry did not know. He thought it all
over on the long trip to Chicago, but could decide on no plan that
satisfied him.
“I suppose I could walk through the streets, looking for Witherby,
disguised as he was last,” thought the young reporter. “I might come
across him, but it would take a good while, unless luck was with
me. Then, of course, I could go to the police, but I haven’t much
information to give them. And, if they got to looking for Witherby, the
story would come out in the papers here, and the _Leader_ wouldn’t get
any benefit of it.
“No; I’ve got to play a lone hand in this game, and see what I can do.
Of course, when it comes to the end, and I see Witherby, I’ll have to
call on an officer to arrest him. Then I can wire the story to New
York.”
The more Larry thought over the matter, though, the more he became
convinced that to go idly about the streets looking for the bank thief
was not the best method.
“I’ve got to have some starting point,” he reasoned, “and I guess the
railroad depot would be the best place. He will arrive in Chicago over
this line, and I can make inquiries in the station if any of the men
employed there have seen a chap fixed up like Witherby. Though it’s
going to be like hunting for a needle in a haystack.”
Larry, indeed, found this so when he reached Chicago, and began his
inquiries. No one in the big depot, to whom he applied, had seen any
one resembling the fugitive.
“Say, young feller,” said one of the door-tenders, “there’s thousands
of people in here every day, and to remember any one he’d have to be
the President of the United States, or a man with a blue nose, or
something like that.”
Larry agreed that this was so, for a person would have to have a
distinct personality to be picked out from amid the ever-shifting
throngs.
“Well, that clew isn’t going to amount to anything,” he decided as he
went to a quiet hotel, where he intended spending his time while in
Chicago. “Now for the next one.”
“Let’s see. What would be the most natural thing for a fellow, who had
run off with a million dollars, to do? Would he go to a big, swell
hotel, and begin to spend money like water? Not unless he wanted to be
talked about, and raise suspicions. What would he do, then?”
Larry paused a moment in his self cross-examination.
“Why, he’d look for a quiet place,” he reasoned. “A place where he
wouldn’t be much observed. Not too quiet, either, for in a place like
that there are not enough people but what some one knows the business
affairs of every one else. He’d pick out a small hotel, or a fairly
large boarding-house,” went on Larry, thinking to himself in the quiet
of his hotel room. “Then the thing for me to do is to make a round of
these places, and ask about all new arrivals. And I’d better get a
letter, or something, from the chief of police here to show I’m not a
second-story man, or a gold-brick worker.”
Larry easily arranged, after telegraphing to the New York chief of
police whom he knew well, to get a letter from the head of the Chicago
police, authorizing him to make inquiries. The young reporter did
not tell just for whom he was looking, promising, however, that when
it came time for an arrest that the Chicago police would be given due
notice, and credit. Then Larry began what was to prove a tedious search.
He visited hotel after hotel, and boarding-house after boarding-house.
In each one he inquired for a recent arrival, who might be disguised
in a variety of ways. He could give a good description of Witherby’s
characteristics, which the young man would find hard to change, no
matter what disguise he adopted.
But the search seemed likely to end in nothing, and the young reporter
was beginning to feel discouraged. Still he would not give up. He wrote
to Mr. Emberg, to find out if the paper wanted to go to the expense
of keeping him in Chicago, on what seemed a useless assignment. He
received word back to stick as long as he wanted to, and to rush the
story whenever he found Witherby.
Two weeks passed. Larry thought he had covered all the possible small
hotels, or boarding-houses, in Chicago, where his man might be likely
to stay. But by referring to a list he had made, he found that he still
had several days’ work ahead of him.
“Well, I’m going to take a night off, anyhow,” said the young reporter
one evening. “I’m going to the theatre, and forget all about this
case. Maybe, if I freshen up, I’ll get a new idea to work on.”
He picked out, from among several attractions, one he thought would
be amusing and bought his ticket. The play was a good one and Larry
thoroughly enjoyed it. He had succeeded in forgetting all about the
bank mystery, for a time, but, with the final fall of the curtain, the
problem came back to him with more force than ever.
As he walked toward his hotel, having cut through a narrow alley on
which the stage door of the theatre opened, the young reporter saw
several of the performers coming out.
Many of the young women were met by their brothers, or other escorts.
Larry looked on curiously, for, though he had been behind the scenes
several times, there was always a fascination about the life of an
actor or actress.
A little crowd of performers came out together, calling good-nights to
each other, and at the sound of one voice Larry started. Where had he
heard it before?
A moment later he knew, for, as a young man leaving the shadow of the
stage door passed under a glaring arc light, Larry saw the features of
Harrison Witherby!
And the bank clerk wore no false beard or moustache. In fact, aside
from a rather “loud” suit of clothes, he was dressed ordinarily.
For a moment Larry could not believe his eyesight, but after a second
glance, he knew he could not be mistaken.
“It is Witherby!” he whispered to himself. “I’ve found him! He must
be paying attention to some actress! That’s why he’s been back of the
scenes. But--he’s all alone. I don’t understand that.” For Witherby had
moved off down the street, a solitary figure.
“I’ve got to follow him!” thought Larry desperately. “I’ve got to keep
right after him until I find where he’s staying. Then I’ll have him
arrested. To think that I’ve found him, after all! I wonder where he
has that million dollars? I wonder, if he went back of the scenes, to
escort some actress home, why she isn’t with him?”
Then Larry realized that Witherby might have gone in merely to pay a
congratulatory call, or there might have been some misunderstanding.
“He seemed to know several of the performers,” reasoned the reporter,
“for he said ‘good-night’ to two or three of them. What can he be
doing, getting so thick with theatrical people? Well, I’ll find that
out later. Just now I’ve got to follow him, and I mustn’t let him see
me!”
Then Larry started to trail the suspected bank clerk, who sauntered
down the street, jauntily swinging a cane.