START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LARRY DEXTER'S GREAT SEARCH*** E-text prepared by Barbara Tozier, Charles Aldarondo, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net) 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." "Come along, then," said the coast guard. They made their way down the beach, Larry accepting, in the manner newspaper reporters soon become accustomed to, the new rôle he was suddenly called on to play. While he is thus journeying through the storm to aid in saving life, there will be an opportunity to tell you something about his past, and how he came to be a reporter on a leading New York newspaper. Larry's introduction to a newspaper life was told of in the first volume of this series, entitled "From Office Boy to Reporter." At the start the youth lived with his mother, who was a widow, and his two sisters and a brother, on a farm in New York State. The farm was sold for an unpaid mortgage after the death of Larry's father, and the little family came to New York to visit a sister of Mrs. Dexter, as Larry thought he could find work in the big city. On their arrival they found that Mrs. Dexter's sister had unexpectedly gone out West to visit relatives, because of the sudden death of her husband. The Dexter family was befriended by a Mr. Jackson and his wife, and made the best of the situation. After many unsuccessful trials elsewhere, Larry got a position as office boy on the New York _Leader_. His devotion to duty had attracted the attention of Harvey Newton, one of the "star" reporters on the sheet, and Mr. Emberg, the city editor, took a liking to Larry. In spite of the enmity of Peter Manton, another office boy on the same paper, Larry prospered. He was sent with Mr. Newton to report a big flood, and were there when a large dam broke, endangering many lives. Larry, who was sent to the telegraph office with an account of the accident, written by Mr. Newton on the spot, had an exciting race with Peter, who was then working for a rival newspaper. Larry won, and for his good work was advanced to be a regular reporter. In the second volume of the series, entitled "Larry Dexter, Reporter," I told of his experiences as a gatherer of news in a great city. In that book was related how Larry, with the aid of Mr. Newton, waged war against a gang of swindlers who were trying to rob the city, and, incidentally, Larry himself, for, as it developed, his mother had a deed to certain valuable property in the Bronx Park section of New York, and the swindlers desired to get possession of the land. They wanted to hold it and sell it to the city at a high price, but Larry got ahead of them. To further their ends the bad men took away Jimmie, Larry's little brother, but the young reporter, and his friend Mr. Newton, traced the boy and found him. Peter Manton had a hand in the kidnapping scheme. By the sale of the Bronx land Mrs. Dexter became possessed of enough money to put her beyond the fear of immediate want; Larry decided to continue on in the newspaper field, and when this story opens he was regarded as one of the best workers on the staff of the _Leader_. His assignment to get the story of the wreck was his first big one since the incidents told of in the second volume. At Larry and the coast-guard trudged down the beach the guns from the doomed steamer were fired more frequently, and the rockets lighted up the darkness with a weird glare. "Not much farther now," remarked George, as he peered ahead through the blackness, whitened here and there with masses of flying spray. A little later they were at the life-saving station. The place was in seeming confusion, yet every man was at his post. Most of them were hauling out the long wagon frame, on which the life-boat rested. They were bringing the craft down to the beach to try to launch it. "Lend a hand!" cried Captain Needam, as Larry and the coast-guard came in. "We need every man we can get." Larry grasped a rope. No one paid any attention to him, and they seemed to think it was natural that he should be there. Perhaps they took him for Bailey. The boat was taken down to the edge of the surf. An effort was made to launch it, but, struggle as the men did, they could not get it beyond the line of breakers. "It's no use!" exclaimed the captain. "We'll have to haul her to Johnson's Cove. Maybe it isn't so rough there." The wagon, with the boat on it, was pulled back, and then began a journey about two miles farther down the coast, to a small inlet, protected by a curving point of land. There the breakers were likely to be less high, and the boat might be launched. Larry pulled with the rest. He did not see how he was going to get his story telegraphed to the paper, but he was consoled by the reflection that there were no other reporters on hand, and that there was no immediate likelihood of being "beaten." When morning came he could decide what to do. So, for the time being, he became a life saver, and pulled on the long rope attached to the wagon until his arms ached. It was heavy hauling through the sand, and his feet seemed like lead. It was nearly midnight when the cove was reached, and after a desperate struggle the life-boat was launched. "Some of you go back and get ready to operate the breeches buoy as soon as it's light enough!" called Captain Needam, as the boat was pulled away over the heaving billows toward the wreck, which could be seen in the occasional glare of a rocket or signal light. "Might as well come back," said George Tucker to Larry. "Can't do any more here." Back through the wind and rain they walked, with half a score of others. They reached the life-saving station, tired and spent from their struggle through the storm. "You can go back to Bailey," said George, as Larry sat down inside the warm and cozy living-room of the station to rest. "He may need you." "I thought I could help here," replied Larry. "Besides, I'd like to see you work the breeches buoy." "You'll see all you want of that in the morning," replied the coast patrol. "We can't do much until daylight. Are you afraid to go back alone?" "No," replied Larry. Back he trudged to Bailey's cabin. It was about three o'clock when he reached there, and he found the fisherman sitting beside the table, drinking some hot tea. "I thought you'd got lost," spoke the fisherman. "I went to help 'em launch the boat. They needed me. George Tucker was coming for you, but I told him of the man we saved. How is he?" "Doing well. He's asleep in the next room. He had been struck on the head by something, and that was what made him senseless. It wasn't the water. I soon brought him around. How about the wreck?" Larry told all he knew. Bailey insisted on the young reporter drinking two cups of steaming hot tea, and Larry felt much better after it. Then he and the fisherman stretched out on the floor to wait until morning, which would soon break. Bailey was up early, and his movements in the hut as he shook down the fire and made coffee, aroused Larry. "We'll get a bit of breakfast and then we'll go down to the station," said the fisherman. "I guess our man will be all right." He went outside to bring in some wood. A moment later the door of the inner room, where the rescued man was, opened, and a head was thrust out. "If my clothes are dry I'll take them," the man said, and Larry, glancing at him, saw that the stranger was smooth-shaven. The reporter was sure that when he was pulled from the water on the raft the man had had a heavy beard. "Why--why--" began the youth--"your whiskers. Did you----?" "Whiskers?" replied the man with a laugh. "Oh, you thought that bunch of seaweed on my face was a beard. I see. No, this is the way I looked. But are my clothes dry?" Larry took them from a chair near the fire, where Bailey had hung them. He gave them to the stranger. Larry was much puzzled. It seemed as if he had stumbled upon a secret. The man shut the door of his room, A moment later the fisherman called from without the hut: "Come on! Never mind breakfast! They're going to fire the gun!" CHAPTER IV RESCUED FROM THE SEA Larry paused only long enough to don his oilskins, as it was still raining hard. The coffee was made, but he did not wait for any, though he wanted it very much. But he knew he ought to be on the spot to see all the details of the rescue from the sea, and it was not the first time he, like many other reporters, had gone on duty, and remained so for long stretches, without a meal. Bailey was some distance down the beach. He had on his yellow suit, which he had donned to go out to the woodshed, some distance from his hut. Larry caught up to him. He was about to speak of the man at the hut when the fisherman cried: "Something's wrong! They're coming up this way with the apparatus! Must be they couldn't find a good place down there to rig the breeches buoy." Larry looked down the beach. He saw through the rain and mist a crowd of yellow-suited figures approaching, dragging something along the sand. He looked out to sea and beheld the blotch that represented the doomed vessel. All thought of the man at the hut was, for the time, driven out of his mind. On came the life savers. They halted about a mile from the hut, and Larry and Bailey ran to join them. "Did you save any?" called the fisherman to Captain Needam, who was busy directing the rescue. "Got some in the life-boat early this morning," was the answer. "They took 'em to the lower station. We couldn't get back with the boat. All ready now, men. Dig a hole for the anchor, Nate. Sam, you help plant the mortar. Have to allow a good bit for the wind. My! but she's blowin' great guns and little pistols!" Larry had his first sight of a rescue by means of the breeches buoy. The apparatus, including a small cannon or mortar, had been brought from the life-saving station on a wagon, pulled by the men along the beach. The first act was to dig a deep hole in the sand, some distance back from the surf. This was to hold the anchor, to which was attached the shore end of the heavy rope, on which, presently, persons from the wreck might be hauled ashore. Once the anchor was in the hole, and covered with sand, firmly packed down, arrangements were made to get a line to the vessel. "Put in a heavy charge!" cried Captain Needam. "We'll need lots of powder to get the shot aboard in the teeth of this wind!" Several men grouped about the brass cannon and rapidly loaded the weapon. Then, instead of a cannon ball, they put in a long, solid piece of iron, shaped like the modern shell, with a pointed nose. To this projectile was attached a long, thin, but very strong line. "Are they going to fire that at the ship?" asked Larry, who was not very familiar with nautical matters. "They hope to have it land right on deck, or carry the line over," said Bailey, who paused in his work of helping the men to lay out from the wagon parts of the apparatus. Larry watched intently. Now and then he gazed out to the ship, a speck of black amid white foam, for the seas were breaking over her. At the side of the cannon was a box, containing the line, one end of which was fastened to the projectile. The rope was coiled in a peculiar cris-cross manner, to prevent it being tangled as it paid rapidly out when the shot was fired. "All ready?" called Captain Needam, as he looked at his men. "Ready, sir," answered George Tucker. "Put in the primer!" ordered the chief of the life savers. One of the men inserted a percussion fuse in the touchhole of the mortar. The captain grasped a lanyard. The men all stood at attention, waiting to see the effect of the shot. Captain Needam sighted over the muzzle of the cannon. It was pointed so as to clear the stern of the ship, but this was necessary, as the high wind would carry the projectile to one side. The arm of the captain stiffened. The lanyard tauted. There was a spark at the breach of the mortar, a sharp crackle as the primer ignited, and then a dull boom as the charge was fired. Through the mist of rain Larry saw a black object shooting out toward the ship. After it trailed the long thin line, like a tail to a kite. It was scarcely a moment later that there sounded a gun from the ship. "Good!" cried Captain Needam. "The shot went true!" "That was the ship signalling that they had the line," explained Bailey, shouting the words in Larry's ear. From the shore to the ship there now stretched out a long thin rope. Larry had no time to wonder what would happen next. "Bend on the cable!" cried the captain, and the men quickly attached a thick rope to the line which the cannon-shot had carried aboard the _Olivia_. This soon began to pay out, as it was hauled in by those on the wrecked vessel. In a short time the heavy cable was all out, and securely fastened to the ship, high enough up so as to clear the rail. Directions how to do this were printed on a board which was hauled in with the rope, and, lest those on a doomed ship might not understand English, the instructions were given in several languages. "They have it fast! Rig up the shears!" cried the captain. Once more his men were busy. They set up on the sand two stout wooden pieces, exactly like, a pair of enormous shears. The longer parts, corresponding to the blades, were nearest the ground, while what answered for the handles were several feet in the air, opened in "V" shape. Through this "V" the heavy cable was passed, the one end being fast to the anchor buried in the sand, and the other being attached to the ship. By moving the shears nearer to the anchor the cable was tightened until it hung taut from shore to ship, a slender bridge on which to save life. The breeches buoy, a canvas arrangement, shaped like a short pair of trousers, and attached to a frame which ran back and forth on the cable by means of pulleys, had been adjusted. To it were fastened ropes, one being retained by the life savers and one by those on the ship. All was in readiness. The breeches buoy was now pulled toward the ship, by those aboard hauling on the proper line. It moved along, sliding on the heavy cable, the angry waves below seeming to try to leap up and engulf it, in revenge for being cheated of their prey. "Look sharp now, men!" cried the captain. "Get ready to take care of the poor souls as they come ashore." The storm still kept up, and the waves were so high that a second attempt to save some by means of the life-boat, even launching it in the protected cove, had to be given up. But the breeches buoy could be depended on. A signal from the ship told those on shore that the buoy was loaded with a passenger, and ready to be hauled back. Willing hands pulled on the rope. On it came through the driving rain; on it came above the waves, though not so high but what the spray from the crests wet the rescued one. "It's a woman!" cried the captain, as he caught sight of the person in the buoy. "And a baby! Bless my soul!" added Bailey. "She's got a baby in her arms!" And so it proved; for, wrapped in a shawl, which was tied over her shoulders, so as to keep the water from the tiny form, was an infant clasped tightly to its mother's breast. "Take her to the station!" cried the captain, as he helped the woman to get out of the canvas holder in which she had ridden safely to shore. "My wife will look after her. Now for the rest, men. There's lots of 'em, and the ship can't last much longer! Lively, men. Every minute means a life!" "I'll take her to the station!" volunteered Larry, for there was nothing he could do to help now, and he thought he could get a good story of the wreck from the first person rescued. "Go ahead!" exclaimed the life savers' captain. The woman, in spite of her terrible experience, had not fainted. Still clasping her baby, she moved through the crowd of men, who cheered her as they set to work again. "Come with me," said Larry. "We will take care of you!" "Oh, it is so good to be on land again!" the woman cried. "I am not a coward--but oh, the cruel waves!" and she shuddered. CHAPTER V LARRY'S SCOOP "Are there many women aboard?" asked Larry, as he moved off through the rain toward the life-saving station with the rescued passenger. "I was the only one," was the answer the woman made, in a pronounced Italian accent. "I am the purser's wife. They made me come first. Me and the baby," and she put her lips down and kissed the little face nestled in the folds of the shawl. "The purser's wife!" exclaimed Larry. "Perhaps your husband will bring the passenger list with him. I would like to get it. I am a newspaper reporter," he added. The woman, with a rapid movement, held out a bundle of papers to him. "What are they?" Larry asked. "The list of passengers! You reporters! I have heard of you in my country, but they do not such things as this! Go to wrecks to meet the passengers when they come ashore! You are very brave!" "I think you were brave to come first across the waves," replied Larry. "The rope might break." "I had my baby," was the answer, as if that explained it all. "Do you think your husband would let me telegraph these names to my paper?" asked Larry. "He gave them to me to bring ashore, in case--in case the ship did not last," the purser's wife said, with a catch in her voice. "You may use them, I say so. I will make it right." This was just what Larry wanted. The hardest things to get in an accident or a wreck are the names of the saved, or the dead and injured. Chance had placed in Larry's hands just what he wanted. He hurried on with the woman, who told him her name was Mrs. Angelino. He did not question her further, as he felt she must be suffering from the strain she had undergone. In a short time they were safe at the station, and there Mrs. Needam provided warm and dry garments for mother and child, and gave Mrs. Angelino hot drinks. "Ah, there is my reporter!" exclaimed the purser's wife, when she was warm and comfortable, as she saw Larry busy scanning the list of passengers. "He came quick to the wreck!" "Can you lend me some paper?" Larry asked Mrs. Needam. "What for?" "I want to write an account of the rescue and copy these names. I must hurry to the telegraph office. I left my paper in the fisherman's hut." "I'll get you some," said Captain Needam's wife, and soon Larry was writing a short but vivid story of what had taken place, including a description of the storm, and the saving of the only woman on board, with her baby, by means of the breeches buoy. Then he copied the list of names. "There's something I almost forgot," said Larry when he had about finished. "There's that passenger who came ashore on the life-raft. I wonder who he was? I'll ask Mrs. Angelino." But she did not know. She was not aware that any one had come ashore on a raft, for, in the confusion of the breaking up of the ship in the storm, she thought only of her husband, her baby and herself. "I can find out later," Larry thought. He gave the list back to Mrs. Angelino, and then, with a good preliminary story of the wreck, having obtained many facts from the purser's wife, Larry set out through the storm for the nearest telegraph station. "Don't you want some hot coffee before you go?" asked Mrs. Needam. "I've got lots--ready for the poor souls that'll soon be here." Larry did want some. He was conscious of a woeful lack of something in his stomach, and the coffee braced him up in a way he very much needed. It was quite a distance from the life-saving station to the nearest telegraph office, but Larry knew he must make it if he wanted an account
{'title': "Larry Dexter's Great Search; Or, The Hunt for the Missing Millionaire by Garis", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}