Howard R. Garis - Larry Dexter\'s Great Search

H >> Howard R. Garis >> Larry Dexter\'s Great Search

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH

Or, The Hunt for the Missing Millionaire

by

HOWARD R. GARIS

Author of "From Office Boy to Reporter," "Larry Dexter, Reporter,"
"Dick Hamilton's Fortune," etc.

Illustrated

New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers

1909

[Illustration: "HERE IT IS!" CRIED LARRY. (Frontispiece)]

* * * * * *

Books For Boys
By Howard R. Garis

THE DICK HAMILTON SERIES

DICK HAMILTON'S FORTUNE
Or The Stirring Doings of a Millionaire's Son

DICK HAMILTON'S CADET DAYS
Or The Handicap of a Millionaire's Son

DICK HAMILTON'S STEAM YACHT
Or A Young Millionaire and the Kidnappers

DICK HAMILTON'S FOOTBALL TEAM
Or A Young Millionaire on the Gridiron

(Other volumes in preparation)

12 mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
Price, per volume, 60 cents, postpaid

THE YOUNG REPORTER SERIES

FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER
Or The First Step in Journalism

LARRY DEXTER, THE YOUNG REPORTER
Or Strange Adventures in a Great City

LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH
Or The Hunt for a Missing Millionaire

LARRY DEXTER AND THE BANK MYSTERY
Or A Young Reporter in Wall Street

LARRY DEXTER AND THE STOLEN BOY
Or A Young Reporter on the Lakes

12 mo. Cloth. Illustrated
Price, per volume, 40 cents, postpaid

Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers New York

* * * * * *

PREFACE

Dear Boys:

I hope you will be glad to read of the further adventures of Larry
Dexter. He has made some progress since you first made his
acquaintance in the book "From Office Boy to Reporter." He has also
advanced in his chosen profession from the days when he did his
first news-gathering for the _Leader_. In this volume he is sent on
a "special assignment," as it is called. He has to find a New York
millionaire who has mysteriously disappeared.

How Larry solved the strange secret, I have woven into a story that
I trust will be liked by all the boys who read it. I have taken many
incidents from real life for this story, using some of my own
experiences while a newspaper reporter as a basis for facts.

The things that happened to Larry are not at all out of the
ordinary among reporters. The life has many strange surprises in it.
If I have been able to set them down in a way that will please you
boys, and if you enjoy following the further fortunes of Larry
Dexter, I shall feel amply repaid for my efforts on this volume.

Yours sincerely,

HOWARD R. GARIS.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGE

I. THE WRECK 1

II. ASHORE ON A RAFT 10

III. THE MAN AT THE HUT 17

IV. RESCUED FROM THE SEA 26

V. LARRY'S SCOOP 33

VI. A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE 42

VII. LARRY OVERHEARS SOMETHING 49

VIII. AN INTERVIEW WITH SULLIVAN 57

IX. EVERYTHING BUT THE FACTS 64

X. THREATS AGAINST LARRY 73

XI. A MISSING MILLIONAIRE 81

XII. A BRAVE GIRL 88

XIII. WHERE IS HE? 94

XIV. IN THE TENEMENT HOUSE 100

XV. LARRY'S SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT 109

XVI. SULLIVAN'S QUEER ACCUSATION 118

XVII. GRACE GETS A LETTER 125

XVIII. LARRY IS BAFFLED 138

XIX. GRACE ON THE TRAIL 148

XX. LARRY GETS A SCARE 156

XXI. TRACING RETTO 167

XXII. GRACE IS SUSPICIOUS 174

XXIII. CAPTAIN TANTRELLA ARRIVES 180

XXIV. RETTO IS CAUGHT 186

XXV. IN THE HOSPITAL 192

XXVI. A NEW CLUE 200

XXVII. THE DETECTIVE'S THEORY 208

XXVIII. A TERRIBLE MISTAKE 214

XXIX. IN HIS ENEMIES' POWER 222

XXX. MR. POTTER IS FOUND--CONCLUSION 229

LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH

CHAPTER I

THE WRECK

Into the city room of the New York _Leader_ hurried Mr. Whiggen, the
telegraph editor. In his hand was a slip of paper, containing a few
typewritten words. Mr. Whiggen laid it on the desk of Bruce Emberg,
the city editor.

"Just came in over our special wire," said Mr. Whiggen. "Looks as if
it might be a bad wreck. That's a dangerous coast. I thought you
might like to send one of your men down to cover it."

"Thanks," replied the city editor. "I will. Let's see," and, while
he read the message, a score of reporters in the room looked up to
see what had caused the telegraph editor to come in with such a
rush.

This is what Mr. Emberg read from the slip Mr. Whiggen handed him:

"BULLETIN.--S.S. _Olivia_ ashore off Seven Mile Beach, on sand bar.
Big steerage list, some cabin passengers--fruit cargo. Ship badly
listed, but may get off at high tide. If not, liable to break up in
storm. Passengers safe yet.--ASSOCIATED PRESS."

There followed a brief description of the vessel, compiled from the
maritime register, giving her tonnage, size, and when built.

"Um," remarked Mr. Emberg when he had read the short message, which
was what newspaper men call a "flash" or bulletin, intended to
notify the journals of the barest facts of the story. "This looks as
if it would amount to something. I'll send a man down. Have we any
one there?"

"We've got a man in Ocean City," replied the telegraph editor, "but
I'm afraid I can't reach him. Have to depend on the Associated Press
until we can get some one down."

"All right, I'll send right away."

The telegraph editor went back to his sanctum on the run, for it was
near first-edition time and he wanted to get a display head written
for the wreck story. Mr. Emberg looked over the room, in which many
reporters were at work, most of them typewriting stories as fast as
their fingers could fly over the keys. Several of the news-gatherers
who had heard the conversation between the two editors hoped they
might be sent on that assignment, for though it meant hard work it
was a chance to get out of the city for a while.

"Are you up, Newton?" asked Mr. Emberg of a reporter in the far
corner of the room.

"No, I've got that political story to write yet."

"That's so. I can't spare you. How about you, Larry?"

"I'm up," was the answer, which is the newspaper man's way of saying
his particular task is finished.

"Here, then, jump out on this," and the city editor handed the
telegram to a tall, good-looking youth, who arose from his desk near
a window.

Larry Dexter, who had risen from the rank of office boy to reporter,
took in the message at a glance.

"Shall I start now?" he asked.

"As soon as you can get a train. Seven Mile Beach is down on the
Jersey coast, near Anglesea. You can't get there in time to wire us
anything for to-day, but rush a good story for to-morrow. If a storm
comes up, and they have to rescue the passengers, it will make a
corker. Don't be afraid of slinging your words if it turns out worth
while. Here's an order on the cashier for some money. Hustle now,"
and Mr. Emberg scribbled down something on a slip of paper which he
handed to the young reporter.

"Leave the message in the telegraph room as you go out," went on
the city editor. "Mr. Whiggen may want it. Hustle now, Larry, and do
your best."

Many envious eyes followed Larry Dexter as he hurried out of the
city room, putting on his coat and hat as he went, for he had been
working in his shirt sleeves.

Larry went down the long corridor, stopping in the telegraph room to
leave the message which was destined to be responsible for his part
in a series of strange events. He had little idea, as he left the
_Leader_ office that morning, that his assignment to get the story
of the wreck was the beginning of a singular mystery.

Larry cashed the order Mr. Emberg had given him, and hurried to the
railroad station. He found there was no train for an hour, and,
telephoning to the city editor to that effect, received permission
to go home and get some extra clothing, as he might have to stay
away several days.

The young reporter rather startled his mother as he hurried in to
tell her he was going out of town, but Mrs. Dexter had, in a
measure, become used to her son doing all sorts of queer things
since he had started in newspaper life.

"Will you be gone long, Larry?" she asked, as he kissed her
good-bye, having packed a small valise.

"Can't say, mother. Probably not more than two days."

"Bring me some sea shells," begged Larry's brother, Jimmie, a
bright little chap.

"And I want a lobster and a crab and a starfish," spoke Mary, a
sunny-haired toddler.

"All right, and I'll bring Lucy some shells to make beads of,"
answered Larry, mentioning his older sister, who was not at home.

Larry found he had not much time left to catch his train, and he was
obliged to hurry to the ferry which took him to Jersey City. There
he boarded a Pennsylvania Railroad train, and was soon being whirled
toward the coast.

Seven Mile Beach was a rather dangerous stretch of the Jersey shore,
not far from Cape May. There were several lighthouses along it, but
they did not always prevent vessels from running on a long sand bar,
some distance out. More than one gallant ship had struck far up on
it, and, being unable to get off, had been pounded to pieces by the
waves.

By inquiring Larry found that the wreck of the _Olivia_ was just off
a lonely part of the coast, and that there were no railroad stations
near it.

"Where had I better get off?" he asked, of the conductor.

"Well, you can get off at Sea Isle City, or Sackett's Harbor. Both
stations are about five miles from where the ship lies, according to
all accounts. Then you can walk."

"He can do better than that," interposed a brakeman.

"How?" asked Larry.

"There's a station, or rather what remains of it, half way between
those places," the brakeman said. "It used to be called Miller's
Beach. Started to be a summer resort, but it failed. There's nothing
there now but a few fishermen's huts. But I guess that's nearer the
wreck than Sea Isle City or Sackett's Harbor."

"Is there a place I could stay all night?" asked the young reporter.

"You might find a place. It's pretty lonesome. Sometimes, in the
summer, there are campers there, but it's too late in the fall now
to expect any of 'em. We'll stop there for water, and you can get
off if you like."

Larry hardly knew what to do. Still he decided he was sent to get a
story of the wreck, and he felt it would be well to get as near to
it as possible. But there was another thing to think of, and that
was how to get his news back into the _Leader_ office. He must be
near a telegraph station. Inquiry of the trainmen disclosed the fact
that the nearest one was three miles from Miller's Beach.

"Guess I'll chance it," concluded Larry.

"We'll be there in an hour," went on the brakeman. "It's the
jumping-off place, so to speak, and it's not going to be very
pleasant there when the storm breaks."

That a heavy storm was gathering was all too evident from the mass
of dark, rolling clouds in the east. They hung low, and there was a
rising wind.

"I wouldn't want to be on that vessel," remarked the brakeman as the
train, having stopped at a small station, started off again. "It's
beginning to rain now, and it will blow great guns before morning."

Several men, their faces bronzed from exposure to the weather, had
boarded the train. They talked quietly in one corner of the car.

"Who are they?" asked Larry, of the brakeman.

"Life savers, from the Anglesea station. Going to Tatums, I guess."

"What for?"

"Tatums is the life-saving station nearest where the vessel is
ashore. Maybe they are going to help in case she breaks up in the
storm. Tatums is about three miles below where you are going."

Larry began to see that he would have no easy task in getting news
of the wreck, or in transmitting it after he had it. But he was not
going to worry so early in the undertaking. So, when the brakeman
warned him that the train was nearing the water tank, which was all
that remained of interest to the railroad people at Miller's Beach,
the young reporter prepared to alight.

As he went out on the platform the wind increased in violence, and
then, with a rush and a roar, the rain began to fall in torrents.

Larry wished he could stay in the train, as he had no umbrella, but
there was no help for it. He leaped off the platform of the car
almost before it had stopped, and looked for a place of shelter. He
was surprised to see several large buildings in front of him, but
even through the mist of rain he noted that they were dilapidated
and forsaken. He was in the midst of a deserted seaside resort.

He hurried on, being wet through before he had gone a dozen steps.
Then he heard the train puffing away. It seemed as though he was
left all alone in a very lonesome place.

"Hi! Where you going?" a voice hailed him.

Larry looked up, to see a man clad in yellow oilskins and rubber
boots standing in front of him.

"I came down about the wreck," was the young reporter's reply.

"Got any folks aboard? If you have I'm sorry. She's broken her
back!"

"No; I'm a reporter from New York. What do you mean about breaking
her back?"

"Why, she ran away up on the bar at high tide. When it got low tide
a while ago the bows and stern just sagged down, and she broke in
two. They've got to work hard to save the passengers."

"That's a good story," was Larry's ejaculation, but it was not as
heartless as it sounds, for he was only speaking professionally. "I
must get down after it."

"What? With night coming on, the wreck almost half a mile out, and
it coming on to blow like all possessed?" asked the man in oilskins.
"Guess you don't know much about the sea, young man."

"Very little," answered Larry.

A sudden gust of wind, which dashed the rain with great force into
his face, nearly carried the reporter off his feet. He looked about
for a place of shelter.

"Better come with me," suggested the man. "There are no hotel
accommodations here, though there once were. I have a shack down on
the beach, and you're welcome to what I've got. I fish for a living.
Bailey's my name. Bert Bailey."

"Go ahead. I'll follow," returned Larry. "I'd like to get out of
this rain."

"Have to tog you out like me," said the old fisherman, as he led the
youth toward his hut. "These are the only things for this weather."

As they hastened on there came over the water the boom of a signal
gun from the wrecked steamer.

CHAPTER II

ASHORE ON A RAFT

"What's that?" asked the young reporter, pausing.

"She's firing for help," replied the fisherman. "Can't last much
longer now."

"Can't the life savers do anything?"

"They'll try, as soon as they can. Hard to get a boat off in this
surf. It comes up mighty fast and heavy. Have to use the breeches
buoy, I reckon. But come on, and I'll lend you some dry things to
put on."

Five minutes later Larry was inside the hut. It was small,
consisting of only two rooms, but it was kept as neatly as though it
was part of a ship.

In a small stove there was a blazing fire of driftwood, and Larry
drew near to the grateful heat, for, though it was only late in
September, it was much colder at the beach than in the city, and he
was chilly from the drenching.

"Lucky I happened to see you," Bailey went on. "I went down to the
train to get my paper. One of the brakemen throws me one off each
trip. It's all the news I get. I didn't expect any one down. This
used to be quite a place years ago, but it's petered out. But come
on, get your wet things off, and I'll see what I can do for you."

Larry was glad enough to do so. Fortunately he had brought some
extra underwear in his valise, and, after a good rub-down before the
stove, he donned the garments, and then put on a pair of the
fisherman's trousers and an old coat, until his own clothes could
dry.

As he sat before the stove, warm and comfortable after the
drenching, and safe from the storm, which was now raging with
increased fury outside, Larry heard the deep booming of the signal
guns coming to him from across the angry sea.

"Are they in any danger?" he asked of Bailey, as the fisherman
prepared to get a meal.

"Danger? There's always danger on the sea, my boy. I wouldn't want
to be on that vessel, and I've been in some pretty tight places and
gotten out again. She went ashore in a fog early this morning, but
it will be a good while before she gets off. Seven Mile Beach hates
to let go of a thing once it gets a hold."

It was getting dusk, and what little light of the fading day was
left was obscured by the masses of storm clouds. The fisherman's hut
was on the beach, not far from the high-water mark, and the booming
of the surf on the shore came as a sort of melancholy accompaniment
to the firing of the signal gun.

"Where is the wreck?" asked Larry, going to a window that looked
out on the sea.

"Notice that black speck, right in line with my boat on the beach?"
asked Bailey, pointing with a stubby forefinger over the young
reporter's shoulder.

"That thing that looks like a seagull?"

"That's her. You can't see it very well on account of the rain, but
there she lies, going to pieces fast, I'm afraid."

"Why didn't they get the people off before this?"

"Captain wouldn't accept help. Thought the vessel would float off
and he'd save his reputation. The life savers went out when it was
fairly calm, but didn't take anyone ashore. Now it's too late, I
reckon."

As the fisherman spoke a rocket cleaved the fast-gathering blackness
and shot up into the air.

"What's that?" asked Larry.

"She's firing signal lights. Wait and you'll see the coast-guard
send up one in reply."

Presently a blue glare, up the beach not far from the cottage, shone
amid the storm and darkness.

"That's George Tucker, burning a Coston light," explained Bailey.
"He patrols this part of the beach to-night. They may try the boat
again, but it's a risk."

There was an exchange of colored lights between the beach patrol and
those on the steamer. Larry watched them curiously. He tried to
picture the distress of those aboard the ship, waiting for help from
shore; help that was to save them from the hungry waves all about.

"I wonder how I'm going to get news of this to the paper," Larry
asked himself. He was beginning to feel quite worried, for he
realized a great tragedy might happen at any moment, and he knew the
_Leader_ must have an account of it early the next morning, for it
was an afternoon paper. The managing editor would probably order an
extra.

"Couldn't I go down to the life-saving station?" asked Larry. "Maybe
I could go out in a boat and get some news."

"They wouldn't let you, and, if they would, you couldn't send any
news up to your paper from here to-night," replied the fisherman.
"The nearest telegraph office is closed. Better stay here until
morning. Then you can do something. I'll fix you up with oilskins
after supper, if you like, and we'll go out on the beach. But I
don't believe they'll launch the life-boat to-night."

The storm had now settled down into a fierce, steady wind and
dashing rain. It fairly shook the little hut, and the stove roared
with the draught created. Bailey soon had a hot meal ready, and
Larry did full justice to it.

"Now we'll go out on the beach," the fisherman said, as he donned
his oilskins, and got out a suit for Larry. The youth looked like
anything but a reporter when he put on the boots and tied the
yellow hat under his chin, for otherwise the wind would have whipped
it off in an instant.

They closed up the hut, leaving a lantern burning in it, and started
down toward the ocean. Through the darkness Larry could see a line
of foam where the breakers struck the beach. They ran hissing over
the pebbles and broken shells, and then surged back again. As the
two walked along, a figure, carrying a lantern and clad as they
were, in yellow oilskins, loomed up in the darkness.

"Hello, George!" cried Bailey, above the roar of the wind. "Going to
get the boat out?"

"Not to-night. I signalled down to the station, but they flashed
back that the surf was too high. We'll try the buoy in the morning,
if the ship lasts that long, which I'm afraid she won't, for she's
being pounded hard."

"The station where they keep the life-boat is about two miles below
where we are now," Bailey explained to Larry. "We'll go down in the
morning."

Suddenly a series of lights shot into the air from out at sea.

"What's that?" cried Larry.

"It's a signal that she's going to pieces fast!" cried the
coast-guard. "Maybe we'll have to try the breeches buoy to-night. I
must go to the station. They may need my help."

As the beach patrol hurried up the sandy stretch, Larry had half a
notion to follow him. He wanted to see the operation of setting up
the breeches buoy in order to make a good story, with plenty of
details. He was about to propose to the fisherman that they go, when
Bailey, who had gone down to the water's edge, uttered a cry.

"What is it?" called the reporter, hastening to the side of the old
man.

"Looks like a life-raft from the steamer!" exclaimed Bailey. "She
must have broken up. Maybe there's some one on this. Give me a hand.
We'll try to haul it ashore when the next high wave sends it up on
the beach."

Larry strained his eyes for a sight of the object. He could just
discern something white, rising and falling on the tumultuous
billows.

"Come on!" cried Bailey, rushing down into the first line of surf,
as a big roller lifted the object and flung it onward. "Grab it and
pull!"

Larry sprang down the sand. He waded out into the water, surprised
to find how strong it was even in the shallow place. He made a grab
for the dim white object. His hands grasped a rope. At the same time
the fisherman got hold of another rope.

"Pull!" cried Bailey, and Larry bent his back in an effort to snatch
the raft from the grip of the sea.

At first the waves shoved the raft toward them, then, as the waters
receded, the current sucked it out again. But the fisherman was
strong and Larry was no weakling. They hauled until they had the
raft out of reach of the rollers. Then, while there came a wilder
burst of the storm, and a dash of spray from the waves, Bailey
leaned over the raft.

"There's a man lashed to it!" the fisherman cried. "We must get him
to my shack and try to save him! Hurry now!"

CHAPTER III

THE MAN AT THE HUT

With a few quick strokes of his knife Bailey severed the ropes that
bound the unconscious man to the raft. Then, taking him by the
shoulders, and directing Larry to grasp the stranger's legs, they
started for the hut.

"Queer there weren't more to come ashore on that raft," the
fisherman remarked as they trudged over the sand. "It would hold a
dozen with safety. Maybe they were all swept off but this one. Poor
souls! there'll be many a one in Davy Jones's locker to-night I'm
afraid."

"Is he--is he dead?" asked Larry, hesitatingly, for he had never
handled a lifeless person before.

"I'm afraid so, but you never can tell. I've seen 'em stay under
water a good while and brought back to life. You'd best help me
carry him in, and then run for some of the life guards. I'll be
working over him, and maybe I can bring him around."

Through the storm the two staggered with their burden. They reached
the hut, and the man was tenderly placed on the floor near the fire.

"You hurry down the coast, and if you can see any of the guards
tell 'em to come here," Bailey said to Larry. "They can't do
anything for the wreck to-night."

Larry glanced at the man he had helped save from the sea. The
stranger was of large size, and seemed well-dressed, though his
clothes were anything but presentable now. His face was partly
concealed by the collar of his coat, which was turned up, and Larry
noted that the man had a heavy beard and moustache.

These details he took in quickly while he was buttoning his oilskin
jacket tighter around his neck for another dash into the storm.
Then, as he opened the door of the hut to go in search of a
coast-guard, Bailey began to strip the wet garments from the
unconscious man.

Larry was met by a heavy gust of wind and a dash of rain as he went
outside again. He bent his head to the blast and made his way down
the beach, the lantern he carried making fantastic shadows on the
white sand.

He had not gone far before he saw a figure coming toward him. He
waited, and in a few minutes was joined by George Tucker.

"Mr. Bailey wants you to come to his place and help him save a man
who just came in on a raft," said Larry.

"Can't do it, my boy. I was just coming for him to help us launch
the life-boat. We need all the men we can get, though we've got help
from the station below us. Captain Needam sent me after Bailey."

"I don't believe he'll come," said Larry. "He'll not want to leave
the man he pulled from the ocean."

"No, I don't s'pose he will," said George. "He may save a life. But
we've got to try for the steamer. She's going to pieces, and there
are many aboard of her, though I'm afraid there'll be fewer by
morning."

"I'll come and help you," said the reporter. "I don't know much
about life-boats, but I'm strong."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12