IN PURSUIT
Every paper in New York was fairly bristling with the new development
in the million-dollar bank mystery. All the stories concerned the
note of confession left by Norton, his flight, and the possibility of
catching him, and getting back the million.
Of course, the _Leader_ had the story first, but it did not go into
such “spasms” as did the other sheets. In fact, after the first account
written by Larry, little was printed on the case.
Not so the other journals. They went into the life history of the
absconding clerk, from the time when he was a little boy up to the
present, and some even had pictures supposed to be his, taken when an
infant.
Of course, pictures of him as he looked just before making his escape
were scattered broadcast. They were even on the police circulars,
offering the twenty thousand dollars reward, and good likenesses they
were.
The police of the entire country, private and public detectives--in
fact, the minions of the law of two continents--were on the alert to
capture Norton, for the big reward was attractive bait. And yet, after
three days had passed since he had left the note of confession, no
trace of him was found.
The police had gone over every clew with a fine-tooth comb, but had
found nothing. All the missing man’s associates at the bank knew that
he had been among them one day, no more suspected that any one was. The
next day he did not come to work. Then the note was found.
All his sister knew was that he had come home as usual one afternoon,
had gone to bed early, and the next morning he was not in his room,
nor had his bed been slept in. He had disappeared as silently and
mysteriously as if the earth had opened and swallowed him, and the
million dollars was apparently with him.
“And you expect, after all these others have failed, to find him; do
you, Larry?” asked Mr. Emberg, as the young reporter and the city
editor were talking over the case. It was a few days after Larry’s
return from his visit to the home of the missing clerk.
“I’m going to find him,” declared Larry, “that is, if you consent to my
plan, and furnish me with the auto.”
“Oh, you can have the auto all right, but I don’t quite see how you are
going to make good in it. What makes you hold to your theory?”
“Because of this.” Larry held up the object he had secured on his
visit to the clerk’s home. It was nothing but an automobile catalogue,
but, on looking through it, Larry had found a page turned down at an
illustration showing a powerful car. And on the margin of that page
were the penciled words: ‘This one!’
“Then you think--?” began the city editor.
“I’m almost sure that Norton bought an automobile, and that he is on
his way to some place of hiding in it. In fact, I know that the car was
delivered to him here in New York, and that he started off in it.”
“You do? Then why haven’t you started after him?”
“Because I only learned that a little while ago. I was puzzling my
brains over how to get on his trail, and I never thought of the
perfectly simple plan of going to the headquarters of the automobile
concern here. As soon as I thought of that I went there, and they told
me they had sold a man of Norton’s description a powerful car. He drove
off at once in it. He had a valise with him. Probably that contained
the million.”
“But look here, Larry. A man can’t go in a place, buy an auto, and
start off with it as if it was a baby carriage,” objected the city
editor. “He has to know how to run a car, you know, and he has to have
a license, and all that sort of thing. It isn’t so simple as it sounds.”
“It was in Norton’s case. He lives in Staten Island. He has had a small
runabout car for about a year, and knows how to run it. He has a New
York license, and not long ago he had his new car registered, and so
all he had to do was to go to the place, get in it, and start off.”
“Then why hasn’t he been arrested before this, Larry? He is a big man,
and one easily picked out of a crowd. His picture has been scattered
broadcast. Why hasn’t he been arrested?”
“For the simple reason that he left his car in his garage--I mean,
the little runabout. I believe no one suspects that he has a new and
powerful one. He bought it under an assumed name. Then, too, with a cap
on, an auto duster, big gloves and goggles, he has the best disguise in
the world, and a perfectly natural one. His best friend wouldn’t know
him.”
“Then how are you going to arrest him?”
“I have the number of his car.”
“He may change it.”
“I don’t believe he’d risk that.”
“But you don’t know where to look for him.”
“I think I do,” replied Larry confidently. “I believe there is but
one place where he would head for with the stolen million in his
possession, and that is Canada. For, though it is easier to extradite
absconders from there than it used to be, still it is the safest place
he could go to, within a short distance of New York. So, if you’ll
furnish the auto, I’ll take after him, and I’ll follow on the shortest
and best roads that lead to Canada.”
“Larry, I believe you’re right!” cried Mr. Emberg. “Start as soon as
you can, and there’s no limit to your expense account. Only get a scoop
story if you can.”
“I will!” and with that the young reporter began his arrangements.
Two hours later he was driving alone in a powerful car out of New York.
Larry was an expert autoist, and had driven several makes of machines.
He held a New York State license, so there was no delay.
After thinking the matter over and consulting a map, Larry picked out
what he thought would be the road Norton would most naturally take.
“But he may have switched off, he may have doubled on his trail, and
have done any of half a dozen things to baffle pursuit,” reasoned
Larry, as he skimmed over the road in the powerful car. “So I’ve got to
make inquiries as I go along.”
He followed this plan, stopping at road houses and hotels along the
way. His task was not the easiest in the world, for the trail was
several days old, and autoists were so numerous at this time of the
year, that it was difficult for proprietors of hostelries to recall any
certain one. But the young reporter was persistent, and by his tact and
skill he learned more than an untrained questioner could have done.
But, with all this, he had been traveling for two days before he got
his first clew. A man who had charge of autos, whose owners stopped at
a certain inn, remembered the powerful car Larry described.
“It was here two days ago,” said the attendant.
“Then I’ve gained one day on him,” thought Larry, “for he had three
days’ start of me. I guess his car isn’t as fast as it’s supposed to
be, or else he isn’t getting all out of it that he might. I’ll get him
yet.”
And so the pursuit was kept up. Larry was up early, and he drove until
late, taking only short periods of sleep in the hotels along the
road. He made constant inquiries, meeting with many disappointments,
but occasionally hearing of the man on whose trail he held himself
relentlessly. Hour by hour Larry cut down the distance between them.
“I’m gaining! I’m gaining!” he cried in delight when, early one
morning, after a stop at a road-house he learned that Norton was but a
few hours ahead.
But the Canadian line was nearing rapidly. But for the fact that Norton
had taken a roundabout way he would have reached it much sooner. But
evidently he believed that he had baffled pursuit, and was taking his
time.
“I’m going to catch him to-day!” declared Larry, as he speeded up his
car. “Another night, and it will be too late.”
Back in New York all the papers save the _Leader_ were printing columns
about the flight of the clerk, and speculating as to when he would
be arrested. In fact, he was “arrested” time and time again, only it
proved to be the wrong man. But the young reporter bothered himself not
at all about this. He knew he was after his man, and would get him soon
unless----
“There’s always the possibility of an accident,” mused Larry.
Occasionally he wired briefly to Mr. Emberg, but there was no story
to print yet, and Larry was holding back for his big beat. The other
papers wondered at the strange policy of the _Leader_. All Mr. Emberg
used of the bank mystery was an occasional note, when some false arrest
was made.
“Larry has something up his sleeve,” declared Peter Manton to some
other reporters. “He’ll beat us yet.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed a veteran correspondent. “We’ll beat the
_Leader_!”
But Peter shook his head dubiously.
Meanwhile Larry was hot on the trail. That afternoon on stopping to
replenish his supply of gasoline he learned with delight that Norton
had done the same thing not half an hour before.
“Here’s the end of the chase!” exulted Larry, and, jumping into his car
he shot ahead, totally disregarding the speed laws.
“And I’m glad for the sake of Grace Potter that it’s some one else
besides her relative whom I’m after,” he murmured.
Five miles farther on, coasting down a hill on a lonely stretch of
road, not far from the Canadian line, Larry saw a big car ahead of him.
Steering with one hand, Larry focused a pair of opera-glasses on the
dangling back number of the machine in front.
“That’s him!” cried the young reporter. “Now for the million dollars!”
He pressed the accelerator pedal, and his machine shot ahead like a
bolt from a catapult. In a cloud of dust he passed the other vehicle
in which a man rode alone. Larry did not give him a backward glance,
but, when the young reporter’s car was far enough ahead, it came to an
abrupt stop. Then Larry backed it squarely across the rather narrow
road.
With a screech of the brakes the other man brought his machine to a
stop, just in time to avoid a collision.
“What do you mean?” he snarled at Larry. “Are you crazy? Have you had
an accident? What are you blocking the road for?”
“So you can’t get past,” replied Larry calmly.
“So I can’t get past? What do you want to stop me for?”
“To get the million dollars belonging to the Consolidated Bank,” was
the answer.