CHAPTER IA BIG ROBBERY

LARRY DEXTER AND THEBANK MYSTERYCHAPTER IA BIG ROBBERY

LARRY DEXTER AND THEBANK MYSTERY

“Oneside there! Get out the way! Do you want to block up the whole entrance? I’m in a hurry!”

“I beg your pardon,” began Larry Dexter, “I didn’t mean to——”

He had no time to finish the sentence, for the man who had thus rudely spoken brushed against Larry, almost hurling him from his feet, and now fairly ran down the steps leading to the subway station.

“Say, if I’d have known he was going to act that way about it, I’d never have started to ask his pardon,” murmured the young reporter, as he rubbed his shoulder, which had hit against the side wall with considerable force.

“He sure was in a hurry, Mr. Dexter,” observed the newsboy, who had a small stand at the subway entrance. “Any one would think there was only one train downtown this morning, and if he missed that he couldn’t get another.”

“That’s right, Jim,” agreed Larry, as he tossed a coin to the boy of whom, every morning, he purchased several papers, that he might look them over on his trip downtown. For Larry was fast becoming known as the “star” reporter on the New YorkLeader, an afternoon journal. And, as he had to begin his duties in the morning, he always liked to see what the news of the day was likely to be, by scanning some rival sheets.

“Some folks want more than their share, anyhow,” went on the newsboy. “I see lots of ’em here. Say, but that was a big fire last night, Mr. Dexter. It ain’t out yet.”

“So I see,” remarked the young reporter, for he and Jim had grown to be quite friendly during the year or more that Larry had been buying papers at this stand. “I expect we’ll have to get a story on it ourselves. There may be some new ends to cover. Well, I guess I’ve given that fellow who was in a hurry plenty of time to get a train ahead of me. I don’t want to meet him again,” and with that, nodding a friendly good-bye to the newsboy, Larry started down the subway steps.

He was wondering what sort of an assignment might be given him to “cover,” or work on, that day, as he bought his ticket and dropped it into the chopper’s box. As he strolled out on the platform, built under the sidewalk, and along which the subway express would soon rumble, Larry looked up and down the long stretch of underground pavement.

“Guess I missed the express,” he mused. “It was that fellow’s fault, too.”

He glanced over the headings of the several papers he had purchased, and noted that a story he had written the day before for his own publication, had been used in a number of the rival sheets. This is always a gratification to a reporter.

“Guess they found I hadn’t missed much on that yarn,” said Larry to himself. “I was up against some hard work, too. Pshaw, I wish I hadn’t missed that express. I’ll be late if I wait for the next one, and if I take a local, that stops at all the stations, I’ll be worse off than ever. I’d like to see that fellow, and give him a bit of my mind. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get past me, we could have both made the express.”

Almost as Larry formed this thought he looked down the platform again, and, to his surprise, he saw the same young man step from behind a big iron pillar. He was eagerly looking over a paper, and did not seem to notice our hero.

“Humph!” mused Larry. “He didn’t get the express, after all. He had his trouble for his pains. I’m glad of it. He’s a regular bully, I guess,” and the young reporter looked closely at the individual who had caused the trouble. True, Larry might have been a bit at fault himself, for he had stood in the subway entrance as he was buying his papers, though, as he thought of it afterward, heknew there was plenty of room for the bully to have passed.

The fellow on whom Larry’s eyes were fixed was about the young reporter’s own age. He was well dressed, but there was a nervous, hurried manner in all his movements, and two or three times he looked up from the paper he held, glancing about the platform, as though he feared he might see some one whom he did not want to encounter.

All at once his eyes fell upon Larry, and he started visibly. Then he stepped back behind the pillar, as though to hide.

“Guess he thought I might try to make trouble for him,” mused Larry. “Well, he deserves it, but I’m not fond of rows, though he did give my shoulder a hard bang. It’ll be black and blue, I guess.”

The platform was beginning to be thronged with persons now, for the passengers who had accumulated just before Larry arrived had been whirled on their way downtown, and now a second crowd was on hand. This would be repeated several times, until the busy workers had all been transported to their stores or offices.

“I wonder what his object could have been, to rush down here, in plenty of time to have taken the express, and then wait?” thought Larry. “He’s a queer one.”

“City Hall Express!” suddenly called one of the subway guards, as the distant rumble of atrain was heard. “Fourteenth street the first stop! City Hall Express!”

Larry lived well uptown in New York, and it meant a big saving in time to go on an express, that made few stops until City Hall was reached. The office of theLeader, where Larry worked, was but a short distance away from the municipal building.

The passengers crowded toward the edge of the platform, in readiness to board the train, the lights of which could now be seen. Larry noticed that the “pusher,” as he mentally called him, was standing not far away.

“If he runs into me again,” thought the young reporter, “I’ll be tempted to punch him, and take what follows. He ought to be taught a lesson.”

There was quite a throng about Larry, including a number of young ladies, as the train pulled in, and stopped with a grinding and screeching of brakes. The passengers crowded toward the open doors of the cars.

There was a sudden rush, and Larry noted, with an anger that he could hardly hold back, that the “pusher” was elbowing his way through the press, without any regard for the rights of others. The fellow was just ahead of Larry.

A moment later there was a cry of pain—a girl’s cry—and a voice exclaimed:

“Oh! My ankle! You’ve stepped on it. Oh, dear!”

The young reporter saw a girl, just in frontof him, stagger, and almost fall. Larry put out his arm and caught her. At the same time he saw that it was the chap who had previously collided with him who had stepped on the girl’s foot, with cruel force.

“What’s the matter with you?” demanded Larry, with righteous anger in his voice. “Can’t you get on a train without walking all over everybody? Now you take your time!”

Supporting the girl with his left arm, Larry shot out his right hand, caught the fellow by the shoulder, and whirled him about with considerable force. There was sufficient room on the wide platform of the car for Larry to pull the bully back, and, several passengers, seeing what the young reporter was going to do, moved to one side to give him space.

A moment later Larry had fairly shoved the fellow from the car to the station platform.

“Now you can wait until the rest of us get on!” said the young reporter. “And if this young lady wants to make a charge against you, I’ll be a witness.”

“Say, what’s the matter with you, anyhow?” demanded the bully angrily. “I’ll punch you good for this!”

“No, you won’t,” interposed the burly guard of the train. “You didn’t get half you deserved. I saw you crowd on, shovin’ everybody to one side, and I saw you elbow this young lady. You didn’t get more than was comin’ to you.”

“That’s right!” exclaimed several men.

“Unmannerly boor!” said an elderly woman. “If he was down South he’d be taught a lesson!”

“I think he has received the beginning of one now, madam,” said an old gentleman, courteously bowing to her.

“All aboard!” sung out the guard, as a warning bell came to him from the car behind, telling him that the doors were closed. “All aboard.”

“Can you walk?” asked Larry of the young lady, though, as he looked at her pretty face, he made up his mind that helping her along would not be unpleasant.

“Oh, yes, I’m all right now,” she answered with a blush, as she moved on, and away from Larry’s supporting arm. “He kicked me in the ankle, and for a moment I couldn’t stand. I’m all right now, thank you,” and she went into the car with a slight limp.

“You deserve a medal of thanks, young man,” said an elderly gentleman to Larry. “That sort of thing is getting all too common in the subway. That fellow ought to ride in a cattle car.”

“Well, he isn’t going to ride in this one to-day, that’s sure,” spoke another man, for at that moment, and just as the unmannerly fellow started to get back on board, the guard let the door shut in his face, and the train began to pull out of the station. “He’s left, and it serves him right,” went on the man with a chuckle, as he glanced at Larry.

“It’s the second express he’s missed this morning,” spoke the young reporter. “He made me miss one, too,” and he told of the incident at the head of the subway stairs. As the express rushed on through the tunnel-like blackness, Larry and the men about him entered into an informal conversation about crowds in the subway, and the actions of certain men who seemed to have no regard for the rights of others.

Soon Fourteenth street was reached, and Larry, looking through the car, saw the girl, whom he had assisted, getting ready to go out.

“Guess she works in some of the stores around here,” mused the young reporter. “She’s pretty all right,” and as the girl passed him, on her way to the door, she nodded and smiled brightly. Larry raised his hat, and found himself wishing he knew who she was. He almost made up his mind to take that same express the next morning, on the chance of seeing her again.

“But I hope I don’t meet that pushing chap,” Larry went on, “for he and I would surely get into a row.”

The train rushed on along again, and, a little later, Larry was in the elevator, being lifted to the editorial rooms of theLeader, to begin his day’s work. He was a little late and he did not like that, for he was generally prompt.

“Hello Larry!” a number of reporters in the local, or city, room greeted our hero as he entered.

“Hello!” he answered back, and, as he was passing on to his desk, one of the copy boys said to him:

“Mr. Emberg wants to see you, Mr. Dexter. He’s been asking two or three times if you’d come in yet.”

“That’s what comes of being late, I suppose,” mused our hero as he started for the little room, off the main city one, where Mr. Emberg, city editor of theLeader, had his desk and chair.

“Good-morning, Larry,” said Mr. Emberg briskly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry I was late,” answered the reporter. “I started out in time, but I had a couple of experiences with a ‘subway porker.’ A fellow shoved himself all over. Stepped on a girl’s ankle, and there came near being a row. It’s funny how selfish some chaps are. Maybe it would make a good story to write something about our overcrowded conditions in the subway.”

“Well, maybe,” admitted the city editor. “But some one else besides you will have to do it. Never mind about subways, crowds, porkers, or girls who get stepped on this morning, Larry. I’ve got another assignment for you.”

“What is it?”

“Something big. In fact, it’s the biggest thing I’ve put you on since your hunt for the missing millionaire. There’s nothing hanging over for you to clean up; is there?”

“No, I’m all through with that church-meeting story.”

“Good! Then I want you to get right out after this. It’s the biggest thing that’s been pulled off in New York in a long time. But it isn’t going to be easy to get.”

“What is it, Mr. Emberg?”

“Shut the door, Larry, and come over here. I don’t want this to get out, for we may pull off a ‘scoop’ on it.”

The young reporter closed the door of the private office, and came closer to the city editor’s desk. He knew something unusual must be in prospect when Mr. Emberg was so careful.

“Larry,” began the city editor, “there’s been a big robbery committed, and the bank that lost the money is trying to keep it quiet for a while, in the hope of tracing the thieves. But I have a private tip about it, and now I want you to get right out on the story, and get it.”

“What bank was robbed, Mr. Emberg?”

“The Consolidated National. Some time in the past week one million dollars in currency was stolen, and they can’t get a trace of it, or the thief, or thieves, who got away with it. It’s the biggest bank mystery that’s happened in years, and if you possibly can, Larry, I want you to get a scoop out of it. I don’t believe any other papers know about it yet, and if you go at it right you can make a big story.”

“A million dollars stolen!” gasped Larry. “I should say it was a big robbery.”

“A corker!” exclaimed Mr. Emberg admiringly, not because of the criminal action, however, so much as for the chance of a big story for his paper. “A corker, Larry. Get right after it, and, if you can find the money, or the thieves—well, that will make it all the better. Get busy!”

“I will,” answered the reporter, as he hurried out of the room. And Larry had started on an assignment that was to lead him to the solution of one of the strangest mysteries ever known, and destined to further add to his laurels as a “star” reporter.

“Go at it in your own way, Larry,” the city editor called after him. “There’s no limit to your expense bills. Just get the story and beat all the other papers.”

“I will!” answered Larry again.

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