As the farmer came opposite Larry the horse was pulled in with a jerk, and the man, whose chin whiskers vibrated up and down with a queer motion as he talked, hailed our hero.
“Say, be I on the right road for police headquarters?” the man asked.
“Well, you can get there this way, if you keep going far enough,” replied Larry. “But the Bronx station is nearer. Why, have you been robbed?”
“No, I hain’t, young feller. Burglars has got t’ git up pretty middlin’ early in th’ mornin’ t’ rob Hank Meldron. That’s my name. But I want a detective, or some one like that, and I reckoned police headquarters was th’ place t’ find ’em.”
“It is, but there are some attached to the Bronx station. What is the trouble?” asked Larry, scenting a story at once.
“Matter? Matter enough, I reckon. I want t’ give information about a boy bein’ held in captivity near my place, that’s what I want t’ do! It’s suthin’ scandalous th’ way he’s being treated. I’m goin’ t’ notify th’ police at once!”
A boy in captivity! Larry was all excitement at once. He saw big possibilities here.
CHAPTER XII
THE LONELY HOUSE
Larry crossed the road and stood beside the ancient farm wagon. The driver saw his intention, and waited for our hero, yelling a command to the horse to stand still. This was hardly needed, as the steed showed no signs of desiring to move. It had not been driven so fast before in many years.