CHAPTER VIII

A THREATENING LETTER

Thinking the matter over calmly, Larry was forced to admit that one weak link of the chain that he sought to forge about Parloti was the fact that the man stayed on at his hotel openly, in spite of the suspicion against him.

“If he’s guilty I should think he’d escape at the first opportunity,” said the city editor, while talking over the case with Larry.

“Perhaps he knows that if he tried to do that he’d be arrested,” suggested the young reporter. “Flight would be an evidence of guilt, and Nyler is keeping a close watch on him. So am I.”

“And he doesn’t show the least sign of going away?”

“Not the least. Lots of reporters from other papers have interviewed him, and, though he admits that he is not on friendly terms with Madame Androletti, he says he knows nothing about the taking away of the boy.”

“Why does he admit being unfriendly?”

“Because, he says, that the fortune she has is rightfully his, and he has brought suit to recover it. But he was defeated in the Italian courts. He says he will yet have justice, but he denies that he would try to get it through taking away a little boy.”

“What do you think, Larry?”

“Well, I don’t know what to think. I believe Parloti had a hand in the matter, in spite of what he says. But it’s like the case of the bank mystery. I might be mistaken. And there’s another point in this case like that Wall Street robbery.”

“What’s that?” inquired the city editor.

“It’s this: If Parloti is guilty, the fact of his staying here, and facing the music, and his constant denials, prove him a good actor, just as that bank clerk was, in staying in the bank when he had hidden the million away.”

“That’s so. Well, keep right after him, Larry, and see what you can get out of it. You might yet find the boy, and get a big ‘beat’.”

“I’d like to, not only for the ‘scoop,’ but because I would like to help Madame Androletti. She is beginning to lose hope. The suspense is terrible for her.”

“I can imagine it would be. Well, do your best for her, and follow the clews wherever they lead. Don’t mind the expense; the paper will stand it.”

Larry redoubled his watch over Parloti, to that individual’s annoyance. He could scarcely go anywhere but either Larry or Detective Nyler, or some one in their interests, watched him. It would have been a hard matter for him to have escaped, but apparently he did not want to do that. In vain, however, did he endeavor to shake off his relentless personal shadowers.

Meanwhile nothing had been heard of the two “tools,” as Larry called them, meaning the men who had been in the back of the hall, to whom Parloti had apparently signaled the night the boy was stolen. The big Italian refused to even talk about them, and, beyond learning the name of one--Ferrot--no information was obtained. Both seemed to have vanished utterly, and Larry suspected that they had the boy in custody, and were holding him until Parloti could join them.

“Then will come a demand for money on poor Madame Androletti,” mused Larry, “and I suppose she’ll give in, for the sake of getting her son back. But I wish I could get him without her paying any ransom. I’d like to catch those kidnappers, too, and see them sent to jail for long terms.”

But the more Larry puzzled over the case the more he became confused. There were few clews of any account and those he seemed to have run to the ground.

“But I am not giving up!” he exclaimed grimly. And he kept on seeking for the clew that would lead him to the hiding place of the stolen boy.

The case was now world-wide, for the singer was a well-known character. Nearly every paper in the country had published a picture of the missing lad, and the reward which his mother had offered stimulated many to make a search for him.

Many false “tips” came into the office of the _Leader_, as they always do to every newspaper when a big story is on. And, though some of these tips, or bits of information, were false on the face of them, still none was neglected, for there was no telling when one of them might prove to be real, leading to the finding of the boy.

Larry investigated most of these, running them down and finding them to end in nothing. These took up a good deal of his time, but they also made reading matter for the paper, and this was something, for the case of the missing lad had to be kept on the front page, that being the _Leader’s_ policy, and to keep it there made fresh news necessary each day.

Once a tip came in that a boy, who might be the one wanted, was held a captive in a lonely hut on the New Jersey meadows, just over the river from New York.

Larry went out on this, and tramped half a day through a swamp, looking for the lonely hut. He found it, but also found that it was a sort of camp for some boys from Jersey City, who had a small motor boat, which they ran in the Hackensack River. They had fitted up a hut on the dryest part of the meadows, and there they had royal good times, in spite of the mosquitoes. Larry came upon them one afternoon, and found the members of the “club” all present.

They made him welcome when he stated his errand, but, of course, they knew nothing of the stolen boy.

“Have something to eat?” asked the one called “Cap,” probably from the fact that he ran the motorboat.

“Well, I _am_ hungry,” admitted the young reporter, with a smile.

Thereupon they set out what they had, and it was not at all unpalatable. They had a small stove, over which they made coffee, and fried eggs and bacon, and Larry made a good meal in rather novel surroundings.

He questioned the boys, and managed to get material for a Sunday supplement story, for such were always welcome to the hard-worked editor of that edition of the _Leader_. In turn the boys asked Larry about his work, and one and all, before he left, had determined to become reporters.

Another time Larry was sent down into the slums, where, so the “tip” stated, a boy was being held a captive. Larry did not find the boy he sought, but he did come upon a case that called for attention.

A boy, who was not perfect, mentally, had been kept in a small, dark room by some relatives who cared for him, as he was an orphan. His condition was woeful, and Larry, taking pity, notified the proper authorities. The boy was taken to an institution, operated on, and fully restored to health, becoming, some time later, a copy-boy on the _Leader_, and eventually making a useful member of society.

So, though the tips were often misleading, not through malice, but because of overzealousness, or ignorance, some of them resulted in good.

“Well, haven’t you found the boy yet?” asked Molly Mason, when Larry called on her one evening.

“Not yet,” he answered wearily.

“Don’t you think you ever will?”

“Well, it’s hard to say, Molly. I’m still keeping a watch on this Parloti, but it doesn’t seem to do any good. He is very angry at me, and threatens to get even.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“No, not a bit. Why should I be?”

“Why, he might injure you.”

“Oh, we reporters have to learn how to take care of ourselves. But I’m beginning to think that I might as well drop the Parloti clew, and look for another. But I didn’t call to talk shop. Have you anything to do this evening?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go to a theater. I want to forget all about clews, and missing boys, and such things for a while, and maybe I can work better afterward.”

A little later the two were in a playhouse, enjoying a high-class farce, the laughs over which served to refresh Larry, who had worked hard in the past weeks.

“It’s early yet,” remarked the young reporter to his pretty companion, as they came out of the theater.

“Early!” she exclaimed. “What do you reporters call early, I’d like to know? It’s nearly eleven o’clock.”

“It’s not late until one,” spoke Larry with a laugh, “and that’s early, as the man in the story remarked.”

“But what do you mean?” asked Molly. “I’m afraid it’s too late for me.”

“Not at all,” Larry assured her. “At least it isn’t too late to go for a little taxi-ride; is it? I think it will do you good, after sitting in a hot theater. What do you say to a little spin before I take you home?”

“Oh, Larry, I’m afraid you’re getting me into luxurious habits,” she remarked, with a sigh, but it was not a very protesting sigh, and the young reporter at once summoned a taxi.

“Drive about anywhere,” he ordered the chauffeur, who grinned cheerfully in anticipation of a fat fee. Molly settled herself comfortably back among the cushions.

“Well,” she asked, “did going to the theater help you in finding any new clews to the stolen boy, Larry?”

“I’m afraid not,” he replied, with a laugh, as the cab swung along the brilliantly lighted streets. “I have tried to think out a new lead, but I can’t seem to. I’m up against a stone wall, and, speaking of bricks and mortar, what do you say to taking a little spin in Central Park? That will be a change from the streets.”

“All right,” assented his companion, and the young reporter gave the necessary order.

They were soon speeding toward the big enclosure that forms one of New York’s playgrounds, but they were not destined to ride through it, for, as they approached the entrance, there came a sudden jolt to the taxi, a muttered exclamation from the driver, and he pulled up short.

“What’s the matter?” cried Larry in some alarm.

“Tire trouble, that’s all. Don’t worry. There’s a lot of our cabs around here, and I’ll summon another for you if you’re in a hurry. But I’ll have a good tire on in a jiffy, if you’d like to wait.”

“All right; we’ll wait,” replied Larry, with a glance at his companion, who nodded an assent. “It’s pleasant and cool sitting here,” went on the young reporter, “and I think----”

He did not finish his sentence, but, with a sudden movement, leaned forward and looked at two men who were at that moment entering the park. At a glance Larry knew one to be Parloti and the other, he was sure, was one of the two men who had been in the rear of the theater the night the boy disappeared.

“There he goes!” exclaimed Larry to Molly.

“Who?” she asked, rather alarmed at his manner.

“That man! Parloti! The one I believe took the boy. I must follow him. One of his tools is with him. And yet----”

He looked at the girl. She understood what he meant.

“Don’t wait on my account,” she assured him quickly. “I’m not a bit afraid here--with the chauffeur. Follow him, if you want to.”

“I do want to,” spoke Larry. “I’d like to see if I can gain anything from hearing them talk. And yet I don’t like to desert you.”

“Reporters can’t always do as they like,” she remarked. “It’s your duty to go. Don’t wait, or you may lose him.”

“All right,” agreed Larry. He spoke to the chauffeur:

“Say, old man, a party has just gone into the park. I want to shadow him. Will you look after the young lady until I come back?”

“Surest thing you know!” exclaimed the taxi-man, good-naturedly. “Go ahead. This tire is going to take me a little longer than I thought.”

Larry waved his hand to Molly, and, with a smile of reassurance at her, he glided into the park. A quick look showed him a policeman standing not far away, and he felt sure his companion would not be subjected to annoyances. Besides, the chauffeur was a man Larry knew slightly and he realized that Molly would be safe.

Through the shadows, along the walks of the park, Larry ran, making as little noise as he could. He looked ahead and had a glimpse of the two men who had attracted his attention. They seemed to be talking earnestly together.

“I must hear what they say,” murmured the young reporter. “It may give me the very clew I need. It may tell me whether or not it is worth while following Parloti any more.”

He managed, without attracting the attention of the men he was shadowing, to draw nearer to them. As they passed under a light Larry could see, and make sure, that it was Parloti and one of his confederates. There was no doubt of it.

Larry got so near that he realized it was not safe to remain on the pavement any longer, so he took to the grass. Nearer and nearer he drew, until he could make out their voices.

And then a disappointment awaited him. They were talking in Italian!

“I might have known it!” whispered Larry to himself. “Oh, if I only understood Italian.”

He did know a few words of it, but not enough to do him any good. Still he followed on, hoping they might change to English. But they did not, though they continued to talk excitedly, and with many gestures, in their own tongue.

Suddenly Larry trod on a stick, which broke with a loud snap. Unfortunately, at that moment, he was under a light, and the men, wheeling quickly, caught sight of him. Parloti started, said something in a low voice to his companion, and then walked back toward Larry. The young reporter stood calmly waiting.

“Look here!” exclaimed the suspected man, fiercely, “I know you, Mr. Reporter, and I want to tell you that I am getting tired of this! I demand that you stop following me!”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you will take the consequences. You are in danger! Do you hear? Danger!”

Larry laughed, but he realized that it was of no use to shadow the men farther. They would be on their guard.

“Good-night!” he called coolly. “But I’ll get the stolen boy yet.”

“Bah!” sneered Parloti, with a shrug of his shoulders, as he rejoined his companion. Larry turned back.

“Well?” inquired Molly, as he came up to the taxi.

“Failure,” he said briefly, and then he explained. “I guess I’d better take you back,” he went on, for the auto was in shape to run again. Molly said the wait had not seemed long, and the chauffeur had been very nice to her.

It was late when Larry got home, but he found his mother sitting up for him. He was surprised at this, as she did not usually do so.

“Why, mother!” he exclaimed. “Is anything the matter? Any of the children ill?”

“No, Larry, but something rather strange happened a while ago.”

“What was it?”

“Well, as I was sitting here, waiting until it was a little later before going to bed, I heard a step in the hall. At first I thought it was you, home rather early. I started for the door, and, as I did so a letter was thrust under.”

“A letter?”

“Yes. I picked it up, and opened the door as quickly as I could, but no one was in sight.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. Probably some messenger boy was in a hurry to go to a moving-picture show, and he just slid the message under, and ran downstairs. Where’s the letter?”

His mother handed it to him. It was in a plain envelope, and bore no address. Larry was rather surprised. He quickly tore it open, and took out a single slip of white paper. On it was some typewriting. Larry read:

“Unless you cease hounding Parloti you may meet the same fate as did the stolen boy.”

That was all there was to it.