“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.