“Why, he’d look for a quiet place,” he reasoned. “A place where he wouldn’t be much observed. Not too quiet, either, for in a place like that there are not enough people but what some one knows the business affairs of every one else. He’d pick out a small hotel, or a fairly large boarding-house,” went on Larry, thinking to himself in the quiet of his hotel room. “Then the thing for me to do is to make a round of these places, and ask about all new arrivals. And I’d better get a letter, or something, from the chief of police here to show I’m not a second-story man, or a gold-brick worker.”
Larry easily arranged, after telegraphing to the New York chief of police whom he knew well, to get a letter from the head of the Chicago police, authorizing him to make inquiries. The young reporter did not tell just for whom he was looking, promising, however, that when it came time for an arrest that the Chicago police would be given due notice, and credit. Then Larry began what was to prove a tedious search.
He visited hotel after hotel, and boarding-house after boarding-house. In each one he inquired for a recent arrival, who might be disguised in a variety of ways. He could give a good description of Witherby’s characteristics, which the young man would find hard to change, no matter what disguise he adopted.
But the search seemed likely to end in nothing, and the young reporter was beginning to feel discouraged. Still he would not give up. He wrote to Mr. Emberg, to find out if the paper wanted to go to the expense of keeping him in Chicago, on what seemed a useless assignment. He received word back to stick as long as he wanted to, and to rush the story whenever he found Witherby.
Two weeks passed. Larry thought he had covered all the possible small hotels, or boarding-houses, in Chicago, where his man might be likely to stay. But by referring to a list he had made, he found that he still had several days’ work ahead of him.
“Well, I’m going to take a night off, anyhow,” said the young reporter one evening. “I’m going to the theatre, and forget all about this case. Maybe, if I freshen up, I’ll get a new idea to work on.”
He picked out, from among several attractions, one he thought would be amusing and bought his ticket. The play was a good one and Larry thoroughly enjoyed it. He had succeeded in forgetting all about the bank mystery, for a time, but, with the final fall of the curtain, the problem came back to him with more force than ever.
As he walked toward his hotel, having cut through a narrow alley on which the stage door of the theatre opened, the young reporter saw several of the performers coming out.
Many of the young women were met by their brothers, or other escorts. Larry looked on curiously, for, though he had been behind the scenes several times, there was always a fascination about the life of an actor or actress.
A little crowd of performers came out together, calling good-nights to each other, and at the sound of one voice Larry started. Where had he heard it before?