"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."