“And who is his grandson?”
“The boy’s name is Tommy Pyle. He’s the son of Enoch’s only boy, who died years ago. His mother is gone, too, and Mr. and Mrs. Pyle have taken him in, of course. Some day he’ll inherit Pyle’s pile, so to speak.”
“How old is he?”
“About five. He’s the apple of the old man’s eye, and if we could kidnap him, I haven’t a doubt that old Enoch[Pg 23] would not hesitate to give a quarter of a million—or even a half—to get him back.”
The Count nodded.
“It oughtn’t to be a difficult matter to kidnap a child of five,” he said.
“But it is in this case. Some gypsies tried it a couple of years ago, and ever since then old Pyle has been haunted by the fear of another attempt. The boy’s bedroom is provided with steel-lined shutters and electric alarms. Whenever he goes outside the grounds—and most of the time in them, for that matter—he’s accompanied by two burly guards armed with revolvers. In fact, he could not be more carefully guarded if he were a royal prince.”
“Then how do you propose to get hold of him?”
“It was Jackson Frost who suggested the scheme. Now that I’ve told you what sort of people the Pyles are, you won’t be surprised to hear that none of the best people call on them or invite them to their house. That’s a very sore spot with Mr. and Mrs. Pyle, who long for social recognition. There’s Mrs. Brook-White, for instance. She lives quite near to the Pyles, and is the acknowledged leader of society in that neighborhood. You’ve heard of her, in all probability? If she were to drop in at the Park some afternoon and take tea with them, their cup of joy would be filled to overflowing.”
“But what has this to do with kidnaping old Pyle’s grandson?”