“The—the million dollars,” he faltered.
“The million dollars, Mr. Norton,” said Larry calmly. “I’m from the Leader, and I’ve been following you several days.”
“The million dollars,” whispered Norton huskily. “The million dollars—yes—yes——”
With a hand that trembled he reached for the spark and gasoline levers, and closed them. The car which had been throbbing and trembling, for it was running free with the clutch out, after the stop became silent. Larry had also shut off his power.
“Well?” asked Larry significantly.
“I—er—I—” began the man, his voice shaking.
“Wait!” cried Larry sternly. “Don’t say you haven’t got it. It’s in the valise you carry. I know the whole story! I’ve been on this case from the beginning. I followed Witherby to Chicago, and found that he was innocent. I know you are guilty. You have the million. I want it—for the bank, and I’m going to get it!”
Larry’s voice rang out clearly.
“Mr. Norton, you may be a desperate man, but I’m desperate, too. I’m going to get it, too. I’ll meet force with force!”
There could be but one meaning to that. Norton glanced apprehensively at Larry. The young reporter had one hand in his coat pocket. For an instant the absconder had a wild thought of fight or flight. And then his nerve failed him, and he wilted.