“Another ‘beat,’” mused Larry, as he hung up the receiver of the instrument. “They are coming thick and fast. I only hope I don’t fall down on the big one—when I get the stolen boy!”
The clew he had to work on was slender indeed. Merely that the stolen boy was in Detroit, and Detroit was no small city in which to search.
“But I’ll find him!” cried Larry. “I’ll find him if it takes a year of searching!”
“Well,” asked the city editor, as the young reporter again entered the office of the Leader, “what do you think of it?”
“Lots; I’m going West at once. I think I’m on the right trail at last. I’ll get that boy—or help the police to do the trick!”
CHAPTER XVII
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.