CHAPTER IV

LARRY’S NEW ASSIGNMENT

Larry stepped into the singer’s dressing-room. She was still attired as she had been on the stage. Her hair was disheveled, and there were traces of tears on her beautiful face.

As the young reporter entered, a woman came from an inner room, and said something in Italian to the singer. The latter answered her in the same language, and then, turning to Larry, said:

“This is my maid, my faithful Goegi. She alone, besides myself, knows that Lorenzo has been taken away--that is except yourself, Señor, and--and the scoundrels who have taken him. Oh, if you know where he is, speak quickly! End my suspense!”

She had closed the door, so that her anguished words might not penetrate to the regions outside of her room, and she gazed tearfully at Larry.

“I did not say I knew where he was,” the young reporter replied gently. “But perhaps I can find him for you. I have worked on several mystery cases, including those of missing persons. I realized that something was wrong here, almost as soon as you fainted, and so I made up my mind to see you. Why did you let it be known that your son was with you, when he was not?” asked Larry, for a glimpse around the room showed no signs of the boy. There were several pictures of him, however, and Larry easily recognized in them the little lad he had seen standing in the wings.

“Why did I, señor? Because there has been a great crime committed, a crime of cunning and daring, and I must meet cunning and daring with the same weapons. It is no time for force. I realize that. Neither would it have done any good to have started a pursuit at once. The villains are too cute for that.

“So it was that I might have time to think--time to plan--that I dissembled. I pretended that Lorenzo was in my room when he was not. I did not want them all in here. So I pretended. But you--you discovered my secret. Now, can you help me find my boy? Will you? I do not know you, I have never seen you before, and yet from your face I see that I can trust you. And also you reporters--you are so resourceful. Every day I read of the marvelous things you do. In my country it is not so. But, oh, these wonderful United States! Perhaps you can help me. Will you?”

Once more she held out her hands in a mute appeal.

“I will if I can!” exclaimed Larry. “I’ll do all in my power. Listen! I’m a newspaper man, first of all, and though I want to help you, it is only through the power of the press that I can. I ask no reward, only that you let my paper--the _Leader_--have this news first, exclusively. I’m glad now that you did not raise an alarm. It makes it possible for me to get a ‘beat.’ Tell me all you wish to about the case. Then I’ll get busy.”

“Oh, it is such a long story, I cannot tell half of it now. Sufficient to say that there are enemies of my dead husband who seek to injure me through my only son. They have often sought to get possession of him, but I have foiled them by keeping him close to me always. But this time I failed. Oh, Lorenzo! My poor Lorenzo! where are you?”

She was overcome with emotion for a moment, but soon resumed her story.

“I had been warned,” she said, “but I did not heed. To-night, when I saw that man--my enemy--I was filled with fear. I fainted, and when I was myself again I looked for Lorenzo. He was safe, and I asked him to stand in sight, in the wings, during the rest of the concert. Only by such means would I know he was safe. He did so, and all went well, until the end.

“Then, after my last number, I looked for him. I did not see him. I cried out! I ran! The others were alarmed. They asked me what was the matter. I did not tell them all I feared. I said I thought Lorenzo might have fallen down some trap-door, or have stumbled over some scenery--anything to keep the truth back for a time.”

“Why?” asked Larry curiously.

“Because I realized that if I gave an alarm at once, and took after the scoundrels, they might--they might injure my son. There was but one thing to do--meet cunning with cunning--and I took that way.

“When many of my friends, and the stage hands, were looking for my boy, I rushed to my dressing-room, and called out that he was here. Then I shut the door, and told Goegi to keep my secret until I could make my plans.

“And then you--you--a reporter came along--and you have it at your fingers’ ends. I do not understand. How did you know so much?”

“I guessed it,” replied Larry. “We newspaper men have to guess at a lot, and sometimes we hit it. But how long has he been missing? Where did he go? Who took him? Which way did he go? Did any one see him taken away?”

“Oh, what a lot of questions!” cried the singer, and she smiled the least bit through her tears. “I can not answer them all, but I will do my best. I saw Lorenzo standing in the wings when my last song was almost finished. When I looked again he was gone.”

“But some one must have seen him,” insisted Larry. “There were a lot of people back of the scenes, and they must have noticed him. Did the stage-doorkeeper see him go out?”

“I do not know. I have not asked. Listen. It is necessary to be secret about this at present. I do not want any publicity.”

“But I can’t help you without publicity,” insisted Larry. “That’s my business. I’m a newspaper reporter. I want the story.”

“Yes! Yes!” exclaimed the singer. “I understand. Let me think!”

She paced rapidly up and down the room. Then she exclaimed:

“I have it. Yours is an afternoon paper, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And you want--oh, such a funny language--you want a carrot?”

“No, a ‘beat,’” explained Larry, with a smile. “An exclusive story--I want to ‘beat’--get ahead of--all the other papers.”

“I see. Well, I will help you. It may be that my son was taken away to but, temporarily, frighten me--to bring me to terms. In that case he will be brought back to me soon--by to-morrow morning, or I will hear from those who have him. Now, then, if I do not hear, then you may print the story, and I will see no one but you until after it comes out. After that--when the world knows--I am afraid many reporters will----”

“Of course they will!” cried Larry. “You’ll be overwhelmed with them, but the more publicity you have the better for you. You’ll have every one in these United States on the lookout for your boy. Newspapers help a lot. All I want is the first story, and after that the others can come in.”

“All right. I agree to your plan. It’s a good one. But do you know who that man with the decoration was? He is Señor Delcato Parloti, a plotter, and schemer, and the enemy of my late husband. Oh, how I fear him!”

“And those other two men--to whom he signaled?”

“I do not know them--perhaps his aids. Oh, this is terrible!” and once more she gave way to her grief.

Presently she mastered herself again, and resumed:

“I have friends--powerful friends, and I will set them quietly on the trail of this Parloti. If I do not have word with him by morning, or if I do not hear from him, then I will send for you, and you may have the story.

“In fact, you may have the story anyhow, for in one case it will be about the return of my son to me, and in the other----”

She could not finish, but Larry knew what she meant.

Rapidly he asked a few more questions, until he had more of the story. With what would be told him later, he knew he would have a startling article for the _Leader_.

Bidding the singer good-by, and promising to keep her secret until the time for publicity came, Larry took his leave, agreeing to hold himself in readiness for her summons the next morning.

As the young reporter left the dressing-room he saw no signs of excitement on the now almost deserted stage. Clearly all the others had accepted Madame Androletti’s innocent deception, practiced to bring about the return of her son.

“But I don’t see how she’s going to get out of the theater without letting some one see that the boy isn’t with her,” thought Larry. “That’ll be sure to bring up questions. However, she may be actress enough to carry it off with the aid of her maid. Say, but I’m on the track of a big story, all right!”

A few minutes later he joined Molly Mason in the lobby.

“Did I keep you waiting too long?” he asked.

“Oh, no, I enjoyed it! I don’t mean that!” she exclaimed, with a blush at Larry’s queer look. “I don’t mean that I enjoyed your absence. But I was talking music to the leader of the orchestra. He gave me all the information you wanted. I wrote it on this program for you.”

“Thanks! You’re getting to be quite a reporter!” said Larry with a smile. “And now for home!” he added as he summoned the taxicab.

“Oh, but did you get your story?” she asked.

“Part of it,” replied Larry. “I’m hoping for more. It may be a big one.”

Then he turned the subject to the concert proper, and they talked of that until the girl’s home was reached.

“Thank you for a lovely time,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” replied Larry, and he thought to himself that, after all, perhaps his substituting for the musical critic might lead to big results.

Late as it was he called up Mr. Emberg, the city editor, at his home, and gave an inkling of what was in the wind.

“Come right over here, Larry,” commanded his chief, and soon the two were in consultation.

“So you’ll get a story out of it, no matter which way it goes,” commented Mr. Emberg, when Larry had told him the facts.

“It looks so. I’ve got to wait until morning, though.”

“All right. Be ready to jump right out on this. As I see it, even if she gets the stolen boy back, we’ll have a two or three days’ yarn out of it. So you drop everything else, Larry, and take this new assignment.”

“And if the boy isn’t returned?”

“Then it’s your assignment to find him. You solved the bank mystery, and that about Mr. Potter, so try your hand at this.”

As Larry went home, after leaving the city editor, he had a feeling that all the hard assignments were coming his way.

“But I like it!” he exclaimed, half aloud. “And I’ll do my best to locate that little chap. I wonder why there are such men as kidnappers in the world?”

Larry looked eagerly over the morning papers. Though all of them had a story about the temporary indisposition of the talented singer, none of them had the real account.

“Now for a ‘beat’!” cried Larry to himself.

The telephone rang.

“Mr. Dexter!” sang out the boy whose duty it was to answer it. “You’re wanted.”

Larry sprang to the instrument, and, as he did so he heard a voice saying:

“This is Madame Androletti! Come as quickly as you can!”