A NEW CLUE
Larry moved to one side. The unexpected outcome of his interview had
startled him. He did not quite know what to do.
The doctor came up on the run and made a hasty examination of the
patient. Then he sent for another surgeon. Larry heard them talking.
"What is it?" he asked of his friend the nurse.
"His skull is fractured," she said in a low voice. "They did not
think so at first, but now the symptoms show it. They are going to
operate at once. It is the only chance of saving his life."
"There goes my story," thought Larry, regretfully.
It was not that he was hard-hearted or indifferent to Retto's
sufferings. Simply that his newspaper instinct got ahead of
everything else, as it does in all true reporters, who, if they have
a "nose for news," will make "copy" out of even their closest
friend, though they may dislike the operation very much.
"You had better go," the nurse advised Larry. "You will not be able
to see him again for some time--no one will be allowed to talk to
him until he is on the road to recovery--if we can save him. He has
a bad fracture."
Much disappointed, Larry left the hospital. It was hard to be almost
on the verge of getting the story and then to see his chance slip
away.
"I'm sure he was just going to tell me where Mr. Potter is," thought
the reporter. "Now it means a long wait, if I ever find out at all
from him."
He told Mr. Emberg what had happened. The city editor decided to
follow out his first plan, of not connecting the accident at the
pier with the Potter mystery.
"If he has to be operated on for a fractured skull," Mr. Emberg
remarked to Larry over the wire, "he will be in no condition to tell
his name, or give any information for some time. The story is safe
with him. Now you'd better get busy on some other line of the case.
The _Scorcher_ is out, but they only have a scare yarn, without any
foundation, to the effect that Mr. Potter is still in Italy, and
that his family knows where he is."
"That's all bosh!" exclaimed Larry.
"That's what I think," the city editor said. "Now get on the job,
Larry, and arrange to give us a good story for to-morrow. Keep watch
of Retto, and as soon as the doctors will let you see him try again,
though of course it may not be for several days."
Larry was all at sea. He hung up the telephone receiver with a
vague feeling that being a reporter on a special assignment was not
all it was cracked up to be.
"Easy enough to say get a good story for to-morrow," he remarked to
himself, "but I'd like to know how I'm going to do it? The
story--the only story there is--is safe with Retto, and he can't
tell it."
"What shall I do?" Larry asked himself. "Let me think. I guess I'd
better go see Captain Tantrella and ask him to keep mum about Retto
until I have another chance at the man. Then I'll--I'll go and tell
Grace. She'll want to know all about it."
He found Captain Tantrella at his hotel, having finished all the
details connected with the docking of the _Turtle_. The commander
readily agreed to keep quiet concerning Retto's identity, since the
captain had no desire for further newspaper notoriety.
"I will do more than this," he declared. "I will give you the
package belonging to that queer man. I have to sail again soon, on a
long voyage, and he might need it before I come back. You can give
it to him if he recovers. If he does not--well, the authorities can
open it. It may contain money or something that will tell about the
poor fellow. I leave it with you."
Larry was glad to get possession of the package that seemed of such
importance to Retto. He wished he could open it, as he thought he
might get a clue to the connection between the millionaire and the
mysterious man, but he knew he would have no right to do that. Also
it would give him a sort of claim on Retto, and, by returning the
package, he could have a good excuse for going to see him.
"Now to tell Grace," remarked Larry, as he left Captain Tantrella.
"I'm sure she'll be anxious to hear the news."
The millionaire's daughter was indeed glad to see Larry. She had
read the first edition of the _Leader_, and wanted to know if there
was anything further to tell.
"I hoped to be able to give you some definite news," replied Larry,
in answer to her questions. Then he related the scene in the
hospital.
"Poor man!" exclaimed Grace. "I wish I could go and see him."
"I'm afraid they wouldn't let you," said the reporter. "I called up
the place just before I came here and they said the man was still
under the influence of ether, though the operation was over."
"Was it a success?"
"They think so, but it will be some time before he will be able to
talk to anyone about your father. We shall have to be patient."
"It is so hard," complained Grace, and Larry agreed with her. He did
not yet see how he was going to get a story for the next day's
paper--that is, a story which would have some fresh features in it.
"I don't suppose you have anything new to tell me?" he asked of
Grace.
"Not much. I have had another letter from my father. It came a
little while ago."
"Is it the same as the others?"
"The contents are, but the envelope is different. He says he will
soon be home, and tells us not to worry."
She gave the missive to Larry. He looked at the post-mark, and saw
that it had come from a downtown sub-station.
"This was mailed near the steamer pier!" he exclaimed. "Close to
where Retto was hurt. He must have posted it just previous to the
accident. I wish I had known this before."
It was too late now, and Larry gazed regretfully at the envelope.
Clearly, Retto had not been far from Mr. Potter at the time of the
accident. Perhaps the missing millionaire was hiding downtown in New
York.
"I must make some inquiries in that neighborhood," thought Larry, as
he arose to go.
"Another thing," Grace said. "That man Sullivan was in front of the
house again this morning."
"I must see him!" exclaimed Larry. "I'll make him tell what his
object is. This thing has got to end!"
He was fiercely determined that he would force some information
from the politician. Evidently Sullivan had a game on hand which the
reporter had not yet succeeded in fathoming. "I'll hunt him up at
once!" he added, as he bade Grace good-bye.
"Be careful," she cautioned. "He is a dangerous man."
"I will," Larry promised.
But he could not find Sullivan. For once that wily politician denied
himself to reporters, and kept out of their way. He was sought by a
number of newspaper men, for the matter of a candidate for the
eighth assembly district was again to the fore, and the henchmen of
Kilburn and Reilly were making rival claims as to Sullivan's
support.
"Where is Sullivan?" was the cry that went up, and in the next two
days that became almost as much of a mystery as the disappearance of
Mr. Potter.
"Get busy, Larry," advised Mr. Emberg, and Larry did his best to
follow the advice.
Three weeks passed, and Sullivan was not found. His family professed
not to know where he was, and the best newspaper men in New York
could not find him. Larry was working on the case with all the
energy he had thrown into the Potter disappearance.
Meanwhile the young reporter kept a close watch on the hospital
where Retto was. The operation had been a success, but the patient
was in a fever, during which he was out of his mind. He could not
recognize anyone, much less talk intelligibly. Larry made several
calls at the institution, but it was of no use.
"You can't see him," said the nurse, when he had paid his usual
visit one day, "but he is much better. I think by the day after
to-morrow you can talk to him. His fever is going down and he has
spells when he talks rationally. There was another man in to see him
to-day."
"I thought you said no one could visit him."
"Well, we made an exception in this case. The man was a private
detective, searching for a missing man, and he wanted to see all the
patients. He looked at your friend last, and went off, seemingly
quite excited."
"What missing man was he looking for?" asked Larry.
"A Mr. Potter. Seems to me I've read something about him in the
papers. He's very rich."
"Mr. Potter!" exclaimed Larry. "The detective must be from the
private agency," he added to himself. Then aloud: "Did he recognize
Mr. Ret--er I mean the man with the fractured skull?" and he waited
anxiously for the nurse's answer.
"He seemed to, but I was called away just then."
"I know how Mr. Potter looks," Larry went on. "He has a moustache,
and the man here is smooth-shaven."
"No, the patient has a moustache and a beard now," the nurse
replied with a smile. "They grew since he has been in the hospital."
A sudden idea came to Larry. An idea so strange that it startled
him. He dared not speak of it. He believed the detective held the
same theory.
"I'll call again," he said, thanking the nurse for the information
she had given him. "I must see Grace at once," he murmured, as he
left the hospital. "Strange I never thought of that. A beard and a
moustache! The private detective! I wonder if he recognized Retto? I
must hurry. Oh, if this should prove true!"
He hurried to an elevated station and was soon on his way to Grace's
house.