"Well, the excitement he seemed to be in, for one thing. And another, he had just been shaved. I could see the talcum powder on his cheeks. I thought it strange that a man who had time to shave or get shaved should be in such a hurry. But it wasn't any of my affair, so I said nothing." "What became of him?" Larry was quite eager now. He seemed to be on the verge of discovering something; if not of the Potter mystery then of the other, that cropped up every now and again--that of the man he had helped save from the wreck. "He went away the next morning," Mr. Jackson resumed. "I didn't see him again until the next night. Then he told me he had a room in this tenement." "Where?" inquired the young reporter. "On the floor below--a front room, at the end of the corridor. But are you going to call on him?" and Mr. Jackson looked somewhat surprised at Larry's eagerness. "Maybe I could get a story out of him," replied the reporter non-commitally. "Have to be always on the lookout, you know." "Well, I guess you'll not get much out of this man," said Mr. Jackson. "He hardly speaks to me, though he doesn't seem cross or ugly. Only there's some mystery about him. I'm sure of that." "If he's Mah Retto I'm positive there is," thought Larry. "And it looks as if it might be that fellow." Not wishing to seem too keen on the scent of the queer man, the newspaper youth changed the subject. In a little while he said he had better be going home, as he had not told his mother he would be out late. He promised to ask Mrs. Dexter to call on Mrs. Jackson, and, with many good wishes from his friends, he left. "Now for a try at the room on the next floor," said Larry in a whisper, as he found himself in the corridor. "It's only a slim chance, but a reporter has to take all that come his way." He found the room Mr. Jackson had described, and knocked on the door. There was a sound from within, as though some one had arisen from a chair. Then a voice asked: "Who's there?" "Does Mah Retto live here?" asked Larry, determining on a bold plan. Hardly had he spoken the words when the door was quickly opened. CHAPTER XIX GRACE ON THE TRAIL Larry saw, standing before him, framed in the doorway from which streamed the glare from a big reading lamp, the man of mystery--the fellow who had escaped from the tumble-down tenement--the man he and Bailey had pulled ashore on the life-raft. "Are you Mah Retto?" asked Larry again, rather at a loss for something to say, when he saw the strange man confronting him. The mysterious one looked at Larry for several seconds. He seemed much excited, and in doubt as to what to do. Then, seeming to arrive at a sudden decision, he quickly closed the door, and Larry heard the key turned in the lock. "Not much satisfaction in that," muttered the young reporter. "That was him, though. I wonder what I had better do?"