“By Jove!” whispered the young reporter to himself. “I believe I’m on the trail at last! There is the man with the black beard, and here are the bricks that are like those in the valise! What’s my next move? The trail is getting hot!”
CHAPTER XII
TANGLED UP
For a few minutes Larry stood in the kitchen of the unfinished house, looking out of the window at the casement of the boarding-house establishment in the rear—at the window of which stood a man trying on a false beard.
“If I only had thought to bring a pair of opera-glasses, I could see who that man is,” mused Larry. “I’ll carry them after this. But perhaps I can find out who occupies that room by asking the landlady. I can make some inquiries about rates, and she may think I’m a prospective lodger, and show me through the place. Then I may meet the man. I might meet Witherby, too, and that wouldn’t be so pleasant. He might make a row, and stir things up. But I’ve got to do something.”
Larry narrowly watched the man, who could not seem to get the false beard adjusted to his satisfaction. But the young reporter was not in a good position to see the man’s face. What glimpses he had of it did not show him any one whom he could recognize.
“Though of course it might be Witherby himself,” mused Larry. “He lives there, and that’s just as likely to be his room, as that of any one else. I’ll go up to the second floor of this house, and see if I can’t get a better view of that room and the man in it.”
As Larry started from the kitchen he cast a last, hasty glance at the strange man. The young reporter saw him take off the false beard, and, the next moment pull down the shade of the window.
“It’s all up now,” thought Larry. “I’ll have to try some other plan. Guess I’ll stay here a while, and see what happens.”
But he could not carry out that plan, for a moment later a man, evidently one of the building contractors, entered the kitchen. He looked suspiciously at Larry.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.