“We’ll have to start on a fresh trail in the morning,” said Mr. Newton, when he and Larry were eating a modest lunch in a cheap restaurant about twelve o’clock that night. “It doesn’t seem as if we were going to succeed,” spoke Larry. “We’ve been at it a good while, and haven’t accomplished anything.” “Don’t give up so easily,” counseled Mr. Newton. “I’ve been on the trail of stories for several months before I landed ’em. This business isn’t done in a day.” The restaurant was almost deserted. At a table in the rear three men sat eating. Larry and Mr. Newton had paid no attention to them. As the men got up to go out they went close by the table where the two reporters sat. As they went by one of them said: “I suppose Noddy will be helping us again soon.” To this one of the other men made this rather strange reply: “Not until he can take his gloves off. You know, he’s all blue from that last affair!” “Hush!” cautioned the third man, with a glance at the table where the two reporters were sitting, but who could not be seen very clearly, as their chairs were in a shadow. “Did you hear what he said?” asked Larry, when the men had gone out. “I did,” replied Mr. Newton, with some show of eagerness. “It may have referred to our man, and again, and more likely, it may not. I wonder who those men were?” “I know who one was,” said Larry. “Who?” exclaimed Mr. Newton. “I don’t know his name,” spoke the lad, “but he’s the same man who called on my mother that second time to ask her to sell him the Bronx property.” “Are you sure?” asked Mr. Newton, half rising from his seat. “Very sure.” “Then I think we are on the trail,” said Mr. Newton. “Why?” “Because that man is a sort of lawyer who stands in with criminals of all kinds. He defends them when it is necessary, and helps them out of trouble. Of course, it may be only a coincidence, but I’m almost certain now, that he knows something of the blue-handed man we are seeking. Now we begin to see a little ray of light. We have been working in the dark up to now. I know where to start.” “Can we do any more to-night?” asked Larry. “I think not. You’d better go home and go to bed. In the morning I’ll commence in another direction. I have a friend, a detective, who will help us.” So Larry started home. He would have gone much faster than he did, had he known what strange news awaited him. CHAPTER XII LARRY MEETS HIS OLD ENEMY When Larry was walking along a street that led to the thoroughfare on which he lived, he was suddenly brought to a halt in front of a brilliantly-lighted cigar store, by hearing someone exclaim: “Well, if there isn’t my old friend, Larry Dexter! How are you, Larry? Still on the _Leader_?”