“Well, Larry,” said Mr. Emberg one day, some little time after the raid on the moving-picture players, “what are you going to do next to locate the stolen boy?”
“I don’t know,” the young reporter admitted frankly. “I am about ready to give up. Don’t you want to put someone else on the case? I don’t seem to be making good. Maybe if a new fellow took hold he could see some things I can’t.”
“Larry, you’re going to stick right on this case until you find that boy, or until—well, until it’s been proven that he can’t be found,” said the city editor. “Don’t imagine for a moment that the Leader isn’t satisfied with your work. You’re doing fine. Even when there’s a balk, you get a good yarn out of it. Don’t be discouraged. I merely asked to see if you had any ideas of a new line to work on.”
“Well, I don’t mind admitting that I haven’t,” said Larry. “I don’t know which way to turn next.”
“You’re no worse off than the police,” was the comment of Mr. Emberg. “They can’t get any clews, either.”
“But we want to do better than the police,” said Larry.
“You did in the bank case, and you did the time you found Mr. Potter,” went on Mr. Emberg. “You’ll win out yet, Larry. Don’t get discouraged.”
The young reporter tried not to be, but it was hard work. For, with all his efforts, he could not seem to get a single new clew to work on. And the old ones had been run into the earth.
“If only something would happen!” complained Larry. “I don’t see why the kidnappers (or the kidnapper if there’s only one) haven’t made a demand for ransom money. They didn’t take that boy away merely for the sake of his company. They want to make something out of him.
“But they’re as silent as the grave. Not a word or a sign from them. They may be hidden here in New York, or they may be on the other side of the earth. There’s no telling.”