The young reporter had made not a sound as he approached. He felt that he was at the right room.
“I’ve got them at last!” he exulted, clenching his fists and shutting his teeth grimly. “This is the end.”
In a flash his plan was made. He knew it would not do to knock, and wait for an invitation to enter. Suspicious as the men would naturally be, anyhow, after the chase of the day they would be doubly so.
“I’ve got to break in on them!” thought Larry. “These doors aren’t very strong. The locks are old-fashioned. Here’s for a football rush!”
He backed across the hall, and, with all the speed he could gather, he leaped at the door, aiming with his shoulder at the place where he saw the knob and lock.
With a crash that fairly shook the floor, the door burst inward. Larry’s hat flew off into the hall. Straight into the room he plunged, and such was his impetus that he knocked over a table, scattering the books on it to the floor.
In a flash he noted the occupants. Two men and a boy—and the boy, at a glance, he knew for the stolen Lorenzo! He, with his dark, curling black hair, and his almost girlish face! In spite of what he had gone through the little lad was well dressed.
“Don’t be afraid, Lorenzo!” exclaimed Larry as soon as he could recover himself from the shock of having knocked over the table. “I’ve come to bring you back to your mother.”
The boy was wild-eyed with fright as he stood near the bed in the room, but a look of relief came over his face at Larry’s words. He murmured his thanks and sobbed—but happily.
As for the two men, after the first shock of the surprising entrance of the reporter, they sprang to their feet.