CHAPTER XIX

CRUISING ABOUT

“What is it? What have you found?” asked the woman, whose name, Larry learned, was Mrs. Christensen. “Is it something to tell about the poor little feller?”

“I hope so,” replied Larry. “It’s signed with his name, anyhow. But I can’t understand what ‘You Ron’ means.”

“‘You Ron,’” repeated Mrs. Christensen. “Why it’s a reg’lar Chinese laundry name.”

“It does look like that,” admitted Larry.

“Maybe the villyans have him hid away in one of them Chinese places,” she suggested. “There’s lots of ’em hereabouts.”

“Perhaps,” said Larry. He was looking at the scrap of paper as though it might speak and tell him what he wanted to know.

“‘You Ron,’” he murmured over and over again. “‘You Ron.’ I wonder what in the world that means? The boy wouldn’t have taken the trouble to write it, and put his name to it unless it meant something. He had to do it in a hurry, too, for it’s rather scrawled. And then he dropped it here, in all the litter, thinking and hoping that some one would find it, and guess what it meant. I only wish I could know what it means, for I’m sure it stands for something.”

Larry gazed at the scrap of paper. He turned it over and over. He looked at it upside down. He even held it up in front of a cracked looking-glass on the wall, for sometimes written characters, made by a reversed process, or backwards, can be read by holding them in front of a mirror. Not so with this one, however. It was as much of a puzzle one way as the other.

“Don’t you want to go see some of the Chinay-men?” asked Mrs. Christensen. “They’re bad, some of ’em, and they may have the poor boy hid away in some of their opyum pipes that I’ve read about.”

“Hardly that, I think,” said Larry, “and yet----”

Once more he looked at the paper.

“‘You Ron,’ he repeated over again, sometimes rapidly, and again slowly. Suddenly a changed expression came over his face.

“I think I have it!” he cried.

“Do you mean that piece of paper tells you where the stolen boy is?” asked Mrs. Christensen. “You detective fellers is wonderful wise.”

“I don’t know about that,” spoke Larry. “And I’m not sure that this tells where the stolen boy is. But I’ve just seen something that I ought to have known as soon as I picked up this bit of paper. ‘You Ron’!” he cried. “Don’t you see what it means?”

“I can’t say that I does,” replied Mrs. Christensen. “It sounds like Chinese to me.”

“It’s the name of the lake!” went on the young reporter, “Lake Huron. That’s what Lorenzo meant to write. He must have heard the men speaking of it, and he wrote it down just as it sounded to his Italian ears. ‘You Ron,’ means Huron sure. I see it now. The kidnappers have taken him on Lake Huron.”

“Lake Huron!” gasped the woman. “And do you think they’ll drown him there?”

“Not a bit of it!” cried Larry stoutly. “I don’t believe they’re as desperate as that. They want to escape with him, that’s all. And they’ve gone to Lake Huron. Why didn’t I see that at first. ‘You Ron’ was as near as Lorenzo could come to spelling it, and he left this scrap of paper here for a clew. He’s a smart and plucky lad, all right.”

“And are you going to Lake Huron after him?” demanded Mrs. Christensen.

“I surely am. But it’s a big contract. I guess I’ll need a boat, all right. A motorboat for a cruise about the lake, and yet they may have only crossed the lake, to the Canadian side. Oh, why couldn’t Lorenzo give me a little more information? But perhaps that was all he had time to write. I’ve got to make a search on the lakes for him now. But still this shows that he’s alive, and fairly well. It will be some hope for his mother.”

“His poor mother! Oh, how sorry I am for her!” exclaimed the woman. “I do hope you can find her boy for her.”

“I’m going to make a big try!” exclaimed the young reporter, as he put the scrap of paper away in his pocket-book.

There was nothing more that Larry could learn at the place where the stolen boy had been held captive. With one last glance about the rooms he came away, and, after thanking Mrs. Christensen for the aid she had given, he hastened to tell the news to the waiting mother.

Mrs. Androletti was at once comforted and alarmed. It was joy to her to know that her son was alive. But she was alarmed when Larry spoke of Lake Huron.

“Oh, the terrible water!” she exclaimed. “I know when we came over from Italy, though we were on a great ship, Lorenzo was frightened. He does not like the water, and he never did. I am not afraid of it, but, oh, for him! What shall we do? Where shall we look for him now?”

“Well,” remarked Larry, “I suppose one thing is as good as another. I’m all at sea, except for the fact that it is somewhere on Lake Huron that those men have taken your son. They may have only crossed the lake, but, in that case, I think they would have mentioned some city on the other side, or some destination, and Lorenzo would have written that instead of the name of the lake itself, as nearly as he could catch it. So what I have to propose is this:

“I will engage a small boat, and cruise about looking for him. I can easily hire a motor launch here, and though it may take some time to get on the trail, it is the only thing I see that can be done.”

“And I agree with you,” spoke Mrs. Androletti. “But suppose they have taken Lorenzo on a long trip, on some big steamer, that goes over all the lakes?”

“I don’t believe they would do that,” said Larry. “They would be afraid of being discovered. This case has attracted so much attention, there has been so much published about it, and your boy’s picture has been in so many papers, that those who have stolen him have to keep under cover with him.

“This is very evident from the fact that they picked out such a poor tenement place to stay with him. No, they won’t try to take him on board any of the big steamers. They’ll hire a small boat, I think, and keep out on the lake until such time as they can come ashore, and go to some place where they can hide.”

“Oh, do you think so?” cried the singer. “But what is their object? Why do they torture me so? Why are they holding my boy from me? Why do they not demand half my fortune? and I would gladly give it to them--yes, all of it. For life is nothing to me without him!”

“I don’t know,” answered Larry slowly. “I can’t imagine what their game is. It’s a deep one, I’m sure. All I know is that they have your boy, and that, in all probability, they are out on Lake Huron with him. And I’m going after him.”

“And I’m going with you!” cried the singer.

“You?”

“Yes; I can’t stand this suspense any longer. I must do something. I will hire the best motorboat that can be had, and together we will cruise about, looking for my boy. Will you take me with you?”

“I will!” cried Larry, holding out his hands, and Mrs. Androletti clasped them as his own mother might have done.

Larry spent many busy hours. It was not so easy as he had imagined hiring a gasolene launch for an indefinite cruise. He telegraphed to Mr. Emberg, at the _Leader_ office, and word came back that he could do whatever he thought best. There was no limit to expense bills, he was told.

Larry was careful about what kind of a boat he selected. And, truth to tell, there was not much choice in craft that were on the market for charter.

“It might be better to buy one,” thought the young reporter. “We could use it as long as we wanted, and then sell it again. I’ll go look for one for sale.”

He went down to the river front, and, as he came near a public dock he saw a boat tied fast there, which at once took his fancy. She was a “beauty,” as he at once characterized her. Of large size, with slanting masts, a raking funnel and her lines were perfect. Between the masts were the wires which indicated that wireless communication could be maintained for some distance, at any rate.

“Oh, if I could only get a boat like that one!” exclaimed Larry, half aloud. “We could go all over Lake Huron in her. But I guess it’s out of the question. She certainly is a ‘beaut,’ though.”

He stood on the string-piece of the pier admiring the motor craft. As he took in the various details, and glimpsed into the motor-room through the opened transoms of the trunk cabin, he heard a voice speaking.

“Well, daddy, how long are we going to stay here?” was asked in girlish tones.

Larry started at the sound. Where had he heard that voice before?

“By Jove!” he exclaimed to himself.

A moment later there was a movement in a companionway, and a girlish figure came on deck. For an instant the young lady gazed at Larry Dexter. Then she exclaimed:

“Oh, daddy, you’ll never guess who’s here!”

“Who?” came a voice from below.

“Our reporter! Larry Dexter. Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” she cried, holding out her hands. “Wherever did you come from, and how did you know that we were going to put in here? You newspaper men know everything, I believe, and what you don’t you always guess at!”

“Grace!” cried Larry. “Grace Potter! Well, I never knew your father had a motor yacht.”

“Come on board!” she cried. “We have only had it a little while. We’ve been cruising about, daddy and I, and now we don’t know what to do next. Maybe you can suggest something.”

“I can,” said Larry quietly, a daring plan coming into his mind.

“Good! Come aboard. Father will be up in a minute. Oh, it seems like hearing from home to see you again, Larry.”

The young reporter walked up the gangplank to the deck of the trim motor yacht. Every glimpse he had of her revealed new beauties.

“Glad to see you,” murmured Mr. Potter. “You seem to find me, Larry, no matter where I go,” and the millionaire, whom Larry had once located, when it seemed that he had disappeared forever, shook hands with our hero.

“And, what do you think, daddy?” exclaimed Grace; “he has a new plan for a cruise for us.”

“You have?” exclaimed Mr. Potter. “Let’s hear it, Larry; I’d like to run up against something new.”

“Then lend me your yacht to trace the stolen boy!” cried Larry suddenly. “That will be something new, and it may furnish plenty of excitement.”

“The stolen boy!” murmured Mr. Potter.

“Yes, father, don’t you remember? Madame Androletti’s son,” explained Grace, who was a great reader of the newspapers. “Larry is working on that case.”

“I thought you had retired after you solved the bank mystery,” spoke the millionaire, with a smile.

“Not quite,” answered the young reporter; and then he told of his plans.

“Use my yacht? Of course you can!” cried Mr. Potter, when Larry proffered his request. “I’ll run it for you, with my crew. Grace and I will come along, and Madame Androletti can be our guest. We know her slightly. It’s great. This is just what I needed.

“I’ve been taking a vacation, but, so far, it hasn’t amounted to much. Now I’ve got some object. We’ll cruise about looking for the scoundrels who have that poor boy. How soon can you come aboard, Larry?”

“As soon as I can get Madame Androletti.”

“Then the sooner the better. Wait, I’ll go with you, and formally invite her.”

“And I’m coming, too,” said Grace.

A little later they were with tearful Madame Androletti, who gladly accepted the offer of the millionaire’s vessel. She was ready to start at once.

“And now to find the stolen boy!” cried Grace Potter, as she stood on deck with Larry, some time later, as the _Elizabeth_, which was the name of Mr. Potter’s yacht, was churning her way from the dock.

“It may be a longer cruise than you think for,” spoke Larry, as he thought of the expanse of Lake Huron.

“I don’t care how long it is!” she said, as she smiled at the young reporter. “It will be worth while.”

And so the cruise began. How would it end?