“Did you come back about a room?” she asked Larry.
“Not exactly,” he said. “I must see you in private,” he added, as he saw a servant standing in the dining-room.
“Is anything wrong—has anything happened?” asked the boarding mistress when they were alone. Larry briefly told her of the suspicions against Witherby, and his desire to search his room, at the same time showing the necessary authority.
“Oh, to think of that!” cried Mrs. Boland. “A million dollars in my house!”
“It may not be here,” suggested Larry, with a smile. “I hope it is, but I have my doubts. Still, I may get a clew. I must ask you to be silent about my visit here.”
Overawed by the search-warrant and the magnitude of the case, the landlady readily promised to say nothing to a soul. She would also keep from Witherby, on his return, the fact that his room had been entered.
“I’ll go up to it now, before any of the other lodgers come home,” suggested Larry, and he was shown to the apartment which might hold the solution of the mystery.
Mrs. Boland left the young reporter alone. Larry went at his work systematically. He had often been with the police, or detectives, when they searched the rooms of other suspected persons, and he knew pretty well how to proceed.
For an hour or more Larry went over everything, looking in bureau and desk drawers, in the trunk, under the carpet—in fact, in any place where money might be concealed.
“It can’t be in any small place,” argued Larry, “for the bundles of bills are rather bulky. Still, he may have divided them, and hidden a few each in many places.”