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.”