“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.”