“He’s skipped all right,” mused Larry. “He came in here while it was dark this morning, and sneaked his things out. Then he left himself. Now it’s going to be a job to find him.”
“He had his board all paid up,” said the landlady.
“A pity he wouldn’t, with a million dollars,” thought Larry.
Once more his brain worked rapidly.
“If this thing comes out,” he reasoned, “all the other papers will jump to the conclusion that Witherby is the thief. They’ll have stories about him. I’ve got to keep this quiet until I find him, and clinch things. I’ll have to arrange with Mr. Bentfield for secrecy.”
He did so, planning to have it generally understood at the bank that the clerk had not yet returned from his trip to the town of Russellville, where he had been sent. In that way nothing came out that would spoil Larry’s chance for a beat. He got a fine exclusive tale about the finding of the empty valise.
“And now what are you going to do, Larry?” asked Mr. Emberg, when Larry reported at the office of the Leader.
“I’m going to get after Witherby,” declared the young reporter.
“But how?”
“I don’t know yet. He must have left some kind of a trail. I’m going to Russellville, and see what time he left, and what train he took.”