“I know several detectives at police headquarters,” said Larry, his heart beating strangely at the possibility he saw before him. “I also know some in the Bronx here, and perhaps I can help you. If you’ll tell me why you want an officer I can telephone downtown, and that will be quicker than driving in.”
“I guess it will be, young feller. I’d a telephoned myself, only I don’t know how to use th’ queer contraption. I tried it once, an’ by heck, I got so twisted that I didn’t know which end t’ put t’ my ear, so I reckoned I’d hitch up an’ take in th’ news by word of mouth. I’m a stranger ’round here. I jest started a truck farm. I am from Jersey.”
“But what’s the matter?” asked Larry. “You say there’s a boy being held in captivity?”
“That’s what he is, stranger, an’ every time he tries t’ git away them tramps chase after him, while one feller, with a gun, stands ready t’ shoot him if he gits too far. It’s nothin’ short of scandalous, that’s what I say, an’ arter my wife an’ I talked it over this mornin’ I decided t’ tell th’ authorities.”
“Did the boy try to get away this morning?” asked Larry.
“He sure did. An’ suthin’ ought t’ be done about it. Maybe, arter all, I’d better drive in t’ N’York. An’ yet I don’t like t’, with Major here. He’s easily riled when he sees one of them automobiles, an’ I understand they’re tolable thick in th’ city.”
“They certainly are,” replied Larry. “I think we can do better by telephoning, or putting the horse up at some stable around here, and going to the Bronx station.”
“Well, young feller, seeing as how you seem t’ know th’ ropes, I’ll leave it t’ you. We’ll put Major up at that road house over there, and I’ll tell ye all ’bout it.”
This first was soon done, and, when he had the truck farmer in a quiet spot along the road, Larry began asking questions.
“I’ll tell you all about it,” promised Mr. Meldron, which he proceeded to do.