GRACE GETS A LETTER
The door closed after Sullivan. Larry, standing in the library
entrance, watched him leave the house. Then he turned to look at
Grace.
"Oh, that was terrible!" the girl exclaimed, almost ready to cry,
but bravely keeping back the tears. "What a horrid man! What did he
mean?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Larry. "I doubt if he does himself.
Mr. Potter's disappearance has evidently sent some of his plans
askew, and he is hardly responsible for what he says or does. Don't
let it worry you."
"I wonder if he knows where my father is?"
"I don't believe he does. If he did he would hardly come here,
hoping to deceive you or your mother. No; Sullivan wants to find out
where Mr. Potter is just as much as we do. Why, I can't tell yet,
but he has a good reason, a strong reason, or he would not have
acted as he did."
"What had I better do?" asked the girl.
"Do nothing. Leave it to me. I will write something for the
_Leader_ that will make Sullivan wish he had stayed away from here."
"Mother doesn't like this newspaper publicity."
"I can imagine it is not very pleasant for her," admitted Larry.
"But it has to be borne if we are going to find your father. The
more the papers print of the affair the better chance there is of
finding him. If he is staying away for some reason he will see what
a stir his disappearance has caused, and will be anxious to arrange
matters so he can come back. If he is being detained against his
will, the publicity will cause his captors an alarm which may result
in their releasing him. So, too, if any one sees him wandering about
they will recognize him by his picture, or by the description, and
inform the police."
"Suppose--suppose he--should be--dead," and Grace whispered the
words.
"Don't think that for a moment!"
"It is over two weeks now since he disappeared, and not one word
have we heard from him."
"Persons have been known to disappear for longer periods than that,
and yet turn up all right," said the young reporter, endeavoring to
find some consolation for the girl. He related several instances of
similar cases that had come to his attention since he had been in
newspaper work.
"Now don't put too much in the paper about Mr. Sullivan--and me,"
said the girl as Larry was going. "There has been sufficient
printed all ready, and some of my friends think I must have a staff
of reporters at my beck and call, to get my name mentioned so
often," and she smiled at Larry.
"I'll not mention you any more than necessary," he promised,
thinking that Grace was much prettier when a smile brought out a
dimple in each cheek.
Larry's description of Sullivan's visit to the Potter house proved
to be what Mr. Emberg described as "a corking good scoop." None of
the other papers had a line about it, of course, for Larry was the
only reporter in a position to get inside information, and Sullivan
was not likely to give out any account of his strange call.
"You seem to be keeping right after all the ends of this story,
Larry," said Mr. Emberg the day after the account of Sullivan's
visit was printed. "That's what we want. Now what sensation are you
going to give us to-day?"
"I don't know. Not a very good one, I'm afraid. I've been to Mr.
Potter's office. There's nothing new there, and I guess I'll have to
fix up a re-hash of yesterday's stuff unless I can strike another
lead. To-morrow I'm going to work on a new plan."
"What is it?" asked the city editor.
"I'm going to the steamship docks and----"
Before Larry could finish the telephone on Mr. Emberg's desk rang,
and, as this instrument has precedence over everything else in a
newspaper office, Larry broke off in the midst of his remark to wait
until Mr. Emberg had answered the wire.
"Yes, he's here, standing right close to the 'phone," he heard the
city editor say in response to the unseen questioner. "Some young
lady wants to talk to you," Mr. Emberg went on, handing the portable
instrument to Larry.
"Young lady to speak to me?" murmured Larry, as he took the
telephone.
"This is Grace Potter," he heard through the instrument.
"Oh, how are you?" called Larry, for want of something better to
say.
"Come right up," Grace said. "I have some news for you."
"What is it?"
"I have a letter from my father!"
"A letter from your father? Where is he? How did it come? Who
brought it? Is he home?"
Larry fired these questions out rapidly. But there was a click in
the 'phone that told him the connection was cut off. Evidently Grace
had no time to tell more.
"Hurry up there!" exclaimed Mr. Emberg, as soon as he understood the
import of the message Larry had received. "This will be a feature of
to-day's story! Hurry, Larry!"
Larry thought the transportation facilities in New York were never
so slow as on that journey to the Potter house. He tried to
imagine, on the way up, what sort of a letter Grace had received
from her father. That it contained good news he judged from the
cheerful note in her voice.
"Things seem to be happening quite rapidly," the young reporter
mused, as he got off at the elevated station nearest to his
destination. "First thing I know I'll find him, and then I'll not
have a chance to see Grace any more."
He dwelt on this thought, half-laughing at himself.
"I guess I'd better stop thinking of her and attend strictly to this
disappearance business," he murmured as he went up the steps of the
Potter mansion. "She's too rich for one thing, and another is I'm
too poor, though I'm earning good wages, and we have some money in
the bank," for the sale of the Bronx land, as related in "Larry
Dexter, Reporter," had netted Mrs. Dexter and her children about ten
thousand dollars.
Larry's ring at the bell was answered by Grace, who, it would seem,
had been on the watch for him.
"I thought you would never come," she said. "I telephoned ever so
long ago."
"I came as fast as I could," Larry responded. "Where is the letter?"
Grace held out to him a small piece of paper. On it was but a single
line of writing. It read:
"Am well. Have to stay away for a time. Don't worry. Will write
again."
It was signed with Mr. Potter's name.
"Are you sure it's from your father?" asked Larry, thinking some
cruel person might be trying to play a joke, or that some
enterprising reporter had sent the message for the sake of making
news. Such things are sometimes done by New York newspaper men,
though their city editors may know nothing about it.
"I couldn't mistake father's writing," replied Grace. "Mamma knows
it is from him, and she is much happier. But we can't imagine why he
has to stay away."
"When did you get this, and how did it come?" asked the reporter.
"The postman brought it a little while ago."
"Where is the envelope?"
Grace handed it to Larry. An inspection of the post-mark showed that
it had been mailed in New York in the vicinity of sub-station Y,
which was on the East Side. It might have been dropped in one of the
many street boxes from which collections were made for that
particular office, or it might have been mailed in the station
itself.
"Not much to trace him by," said Larry. He looked at the envelope
again and saw that there was a small ink blot on the lower left-hand
corner, and that the corner where the stamp was affixed was smeared
as if with some sticky substance.
"Any one would think you were a detective," said Grace, as she
watched Larry examining the envelope. "What does it matter now? We
are sure father is alive, for that note was posted yesterday. That
has made mother and me happy. Of course we want to find him, but I
don't see how you can by that letter. I thought you'd like to know
about it to make a little item for the paper, and I wanted to repay
you for your kindness to mother and me."
"I haven't done anything," Larry replied. "I am only too glad to be
of service to you. But I may be able to find out something by this
envelope."
"I don't see how."
"Will you let me take it to the sub-station?"
"Of course. But what good will that do?"
"I want to ask the sorters and clerks in charge if they remember
having handled it. I may find the carrier who brought it in from the
box, and he can tell in what locality it was."
"But how can they remember when they must handle thousands of
letters every day?"
"Perhaps they cannot, but it is worth trying. You see in that
section of the city are mostly foreigners, who write a peculiar
hand, and use stationery anything but clean or of this quality. This
envelope and paper are of an expensive kind."
"Yes, they are some father had made to order for his private
correspondence. I did not know he took any to Europe with him, but
he must have."
"It may be that a letter carrier or mail sorter took enough notice
of the envelope to remember it," Larry went on. "Besides there is a
small blot on it, and the way in which the stamp is put on shows
that some glue or paste was applied to the envelope. Probably he
used an old stamp which had no mucilage on. To make it fast to the
envelope your father, or whoever posted the letter, would have had
to use some sticky substance, and, in doing so, he has put it on a
little too thick. Some spread out from under the stamp and soiled
the envelope.
"Of course the sorters and carriers don't pay much attention to the
pieces of mail, except to see that they are properly stamped and
addressed, but it's worth trying. This envelope would attract
attention if anything would."
"And you are going to use that for a clue?"
"I'm going to try. It may be useless. If we can find in what
particular locality it was mailed we can have the police keep a
watch for your father. He may mail other letters there."
"But my father is not a criminal. Why should the police watch for
him so particularly. They are keeping a general lookout now, but I
wouldn't like to think they were lying in wait for him."
"It's the only way to find him," said Larry. "Of course it's
unpleasant, but there is evidently some mystery here, and that's the
best way to clear it up."
"But he says he has to stay away for a while," argued Grace. "Maybe
he wouldn't like to be found."
"Of course that point has to be considered," Larry admitted. "But I
take it you and your mother want to find your father, or be in a
position to communicate with him."
"Oh, we do!" exclaimed Grace.
"Then we'll have to ask the police to help us. There is no disgrace
in it. Everyone knows your father is honorable, and if he wants to
disappear that's his business. It is also perfectly right for you to
try to find him, for----" and Larry stopped.
"Well, for what?" asked Grace, seeing the reporter hesitate.
"I don't want to alarm you," Larry went on, "but I was going to say
that there is no way of telling but what some one may have imitated
his writing and forged his name."
"I am sure that is my father's writing," the girl said, earnestly.
"Of course I may be mistaken. I hope not. I prefer to believe that
note is from him. It makes me happier."
"Of course there is only the barest possibility that this note is
not from your father, but we can take no chances. That is why I want
to make a systematic search, beginning at the sub-station."
"And where will it end?" asked Grace.
"I don't know. But after that I am going to the steamship piers of
all the lines that ply between here and Italy."
"What for?"
"I want to see if the captain of any of the steamers recalls any
man answering your father's description having come over with him.
He must have sailed on some steamer, as he is in this country, if
that note is from him."
"That's a good idea," commented Grace. "How I wish I could help you.
Couldn't I? Couldn't I go around with you--that is to the steamer
piers? I've crossed the ocean several times, and I know some of the
captains of the Italian lines."
"Maybe that would be a good idea," said Larry, secretly delighted
with it. "You can come with me to-morrow. I will go to the
sub-station now, and will let you know what I learn. Then we will
make a tour of the piers. You'll be of great assistance to me, for I
know very little about steamers."
"I'm so glad!" exclaimed Grace. "It has been terrible to sit here
day after day and only wait! I wanted to do something to help find
father. Now there is a way! I wish I was a boy--no, I'd rather be a
reporter; they can do so many things," and Grace laughed more
heartily than at any time since her father had disappeared.
"I'm afraid you give us too much credit," replied Larry. "We do our
best, but we don't always get results. Are you sure your mother will
let you go?"
"Of course," Grace replied, in a way that showed she was used to
having her own way. "When will you come for me to-morrow?"
"In the morning."
"I can hardly wait. Now don't forget. I'll be your assistant. Maybe
I could learn enough to be a woman reporter some day."
"I have no doubt you could," Larry responded, as he went out on his
way to the sub-station with the envelope, having telephoned to the
police of the letter and securing a promise that no other reporters
would be informed of it for a while.
As he walked along, his thoughts were busy in many directions. The
receipt of the letter, the clues the envelope offered, the plans for
a search among the ship captains, and, above all, Grace's offer to
accompany him, made Larry speculate on what the Potter mystery was
coming to.
"I wonder what the other fellows on the _Leader_ would say if they
knew I was working this assignment in company with the millionaire's
daughter," said Larry to himself. "I guess I'd better not say
anything about it. They'd make fun of me. I know it's all right to
take her, or I wouldn't do it. Besides, if she knows the captains
she can be of considerable aid to me. Queer, though, for Larry
Dexter, who used to rush copy, to be hunting for a missing
millionaire in company with his pretty daughter."
It was odd, but no other line of activity is so filled with strange
surprises, or brings about such a variety of work, as being a
newspaper reporter of the first class.
Larry struck several snags when he attempted to get information at
the sub-station. In the first place none of the officials in charge
would give him any news about the envelope unless he got an order
from the New York postmaster himself. The government has very strict
regulations in regard to giving out information about mail matter.
But Larry was not daunted. He telephoned to Mr. Emberg, and the
forces of the newspaper were set to work. Certain political wires
were "pulled," and, as there were on the _Leader_ men to whom the
postmaster was under obligations, that official gave the clerks at
the sub-station permission to tell Larry whatever he wanted to know.
"Sorry we had to have so much red tape about it," the sub-station
agent said, when Larry came back with the magical paper that opened
the mouths of the subordinates.
"Oh, that's all right," the reporter said. "I know how it is. Now,
what I want to know is, in what box was that letter posted?" and he
held out the envelope Grace had given him.
"Rather hard to say," spoke the head clerk. "I'll show it to all the
carriers who are in now, and later to those who come in during the
afternoon. They may recognize it. It's a little out of the run of
ordinary envelopes we get in this section of the city."
One after another several carriers scanned the envelope. All shook
their heads, until it came to an elderly man. As soon as he saw the
envelope he exclaimed:
"I brought that in. I remember it very well." "Where did you get
it?" asked Larry, eagerly. "A man gave it to me last night, just as
I was taking the mail from a box down near the river," was the
unexpected reply.