ON THE LAKES
Larry was not long in making his arrangements for the trip West.
Hurrying home with a copy of the late edition of the _Leader_,
containing his story of the stolen boy’s letter, the young reporter
began packing his clothes in a suit-case.
“Where to now, Larry?” asked his mother. “Oh, it does seem that you
haven’t any home life at all, lately. What with the bank mystery, and
now this stolen-boy case, I hardly see you at all.”
“And he doesn’t play with me, either!” added little James.
“Well, I think this is the beginning of the end,” remarked Larry, as he
went on with his packing. “I think I’ll bring back the stolen boy with
me, mother.”
“Do you really mean it, Larry?”
“Well, I think I’m on the best clew I’ve struck yet,” he answered, as
he showed his mother the paper containing the story of the letter. “It
looks very promising.”
“Oh, I hope it proves so!” Mrs. Dexter exclaimed. “I can feel for his
poor mother. The anxiety must be terrible. Oh, Larry, go, and bring
him back. I’ll never say a word, no matter how long you stay away, if
you can only find that boy. Only come home as soon as you do find him.”
“As fast as steam and electricity can bring us!” he cried cheerfully.
“But there, I mustn’t be too hopeful, for, after all, I may fall down
on this, as I did in the moving-picture play, though I don’t consider
that was altogether my fault.”
“Do you really think the letter was written by the boy?” asked Larry’s
sister Lucy.
“Oh, yes, there’s no doubt of that. His mother knows Lorenzo’s
handwriting. It was mere luck that some one found his letter, after he
threw it out of the window, and mailed it. It might, just as easily,
have lain in the street unnoticed. Or, worse still, those who are
holding him a prisoner might have found it, and then they would have
taken extra precautions, so that he never could have sent word of where
he is.”
“Hadn’t you better hurry more, Larry?” suggested his mother. “I should
think you’d fairly want to fly out there, before those men move on with
the poor boy again.”
“I do wish they had an airship service out to the lakes, but, as
matters stand, I don’t believe there is need of any special rush.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I think that those fellows have picked out a place where they
are going to stay for some time with the boy. Evidently they’ve been
on the move with him, up to now, or else they’ve held him captive in
some lonely place where he couldn’t get a chance to send his mother
any word. For he’s a smart boy, and in the time he’s been kept away he
would have found opportunity to do something to give us a clew, except
it was utterly impossible.
“So that’s why I think they’re likely to keep him in Detroit for some
time, and though I’m not going to waste many hours, I’m not going to go
off on a rush. I think I’ll go by boat, instead of train, even though
it’s slower. I like the water, and it will give me a chance to see
something of the great lakes.”
“Why do you think they picked out Detroit?” asked Mrs. Dexter.
“Well, it’s hard to say,” answered Larry. “Perhaps they wanted to be in
a position to escape by land or water if they found the police on their
trail. Then, too, they may have gone from New York to Buffalo, and have
taken a boat there for Detroit. Any way so as to break the trail. But
I think I’m on it just the same,” and the young reporter concluded his
packing with more hope in his heart than he had had in some time.
Larry had made a copy of the boy’s letter, and this he now looked at
again, before bidding his family good-by for what might be a long time.
“Big chimneys,” mused Larry. “He says he can see big chimneys from his
window, and not much else. I’ve got to look for chimneys, first of
all.”
With plenty of expense money in his pocket, and arrangements made so
that he could get more in Detroit, Larry started off on his trip along
the Great Lakes. He was to go by train to Buffalo, and, as it was
nearly night when he got started, he took a sleeper.
Little of interest occurred on the trip West. The train was on time,
and in due course Larry found himself on one of the largest of the
steamers on Lake Erie.
The weather was fine, and Larry really began to enjoy himself, as he
sat on deck. Though he was filled with anxiety over the plight of the
stolen boy, and though he realized that much depended on himself in
rescuing the lad, still the young reporter would not allow his thoughts
to become gloomy.
“I’ll just think of this as a sort of vacation,” he said. “I can’t
really do anything until I get to Detroit, and maybe I’ll be a long
while there before I can get on the right track. So I’ll take it easy
while I can.”
Certainly Larry was entitled to it, for he had worked hard on the
case up to now, and there was much of danger and hard work ahead of
him still. Then, too, he had not had much of a respite from the Wall
Street bank mystery, which was one of the most baffling cases the young
reporter had ever been called on to solve.
So it is no wonder that he began to take a little enjoyment out of the
lake trip. It was simply a case of where he could do nothing, for there
was nothing to do.
“Just the same, I’d like to know whether they brought the boy over this
route?” Larry mused, as he looked at the waters of the lake, sparkling
in the sun.
“Just think of it, they may have even come on this same steamer. That’s
something I hadn’t thought of. I must look that up. The purser ought to
know. I’ll have a talk with him.”
Larry laughed to himself. It was not five minutes ago that he had made
a sort of vow that he would not worry or do any work until he got to
Detroit, and here he was making labor for himself.
But he knew better than to leave the slightest thread loose, and when,
by so simple a means as asking questions, he could learn whether or not
the kidnappers had been on this steamer, he decided to do it.
The purser, however, could give him no information. He was obliging
enough about it when Larry asked him, and went over his records
from the date when Lorenzo was stolen down to the last trip. But,
though innumerable boys appeared on the passenger list, none bore a
description tallying with that of Madame Androletti’s son. Nor could
the purser, who had not missed a trip on the boat in that time, recall
any suspicious persons taking a boy away.
“Well, I’ve settled that much, anyhow,” thought Larry, as he turned in
for the night. “Now to wait until I get to Detroit, and then--the tall
chimneys. What a queer clew to locate a stolen boy?”
Larry slept peacefully, in spite of his busy brain that would not stop
thinking of the case on which he was engaged. He awoke, after a trip
along the Detroit River, to find Detroit looming up in the distance.
“Well, I’m ready for you!” he exulted, as he paced the deck. “If you’re
there, Lorenzo, I’ll have you out of the hands of those scoundrels if
it’s at all possible.”
But, in spite of his rather boastful words, the young reporter knew
that he had the hardest part of his task still before him.
“Now, let’s see, where had I best begin?” mused Larry, as he went
ashore. “First of all, to establish headquarters. I’ll go to a good
hotel and put up there. Then to look for the little room with a view of
only chimneys. Poor little chap! What a dreary time it must be for him.
And why in the world haven’t those kidnappers done something before
this? Why haven’t they made a demand for money--for a ransom? What is
their object in keeping so silent?”
And in spite of himself, Larry felt a sense of fear and danger that he
would not even give a place to in his thoughts.
“No, it can’t be!” he exclaimed. “Lorenzo is alive, and I’ll get him!”
From then on there were busy days for Larry Dexter. He at once began
a tour of the city, looking for tall chimneys, and he found them
plentiful. But he used a sort of process of elimination. That is, he
would locate the chimneys, and then, by making a careful observation
of the neighborhood, he would learn whether or not there were boarding
houses, or furnished rooms for people in moderate circumstances, there.
In many cases there were not, and that meant that Lorenzo, in all
probability, was not there.
“For it’s certain that the kidnappers aren’t in any fancy hotel,”
decided Larry. “They’re in the tenement district, most likely, and
that’s why the poor boy doesn’t get much to eat. Those fellows are
keeping under cover, and the best place for them is in one of the human
beehives.”
Several days passed--they lengthened into a week--and Larry was as far
from success as at first. Madame Androletti had become so impatient at
the lack of good news that she came on to Detroit to stay, and Larry
reported to her every day. In spite of his lack of progress the singer
did not lose confidence in him, and, even when he suggested it, she
would not call in the police or private detectives.
“For why should I?” she asked. “Up to now they have not been anywhere
nearly as successful as you, Larry, and should I trust them now? No! I
will leave it to you. But, oh, Larry, find him soon for me--soon!” and
tears filled her eyes.
Into one factory district after another Larry carried his search.
Tenement after tenement he visited, taking in turn those where
particular nationalities herded together.
“If they were Italians who have the boy they might go in with their own
kind, or they might pick out a place where none of their countrymen
were,” reasoned Larry. “It’s hard to know just what to think. I’ve just
got to keep on searching.”
Several times he hired a small motorboat and went for a cruise, for
he loved the water. Nor were these excursions without an object, for
he made inquiries along the water front, and of all sorts of lake
characters, as to whether they had seen anything of a suspicious
looking man or men with a frightened Italian boy. But none had.
“Well, I’m not making much progress,” thought Larry one evening, after
a day of hard work and fruitless inquiry. “But better luck to-morrow.”
And, strangely enough, his luck did turn.