“I have an idea that Sullivan has called here in reference to the disappearance of your father.”

“Why do you think that?” and Grace turned pale.  “Do you think he brings bad news?”

“On the contrary, I think he has come in search of information.”

“But how can he be interested?”

Thereupon Larry told of his interview with the politician, based on what he had overheard in reference to Mr. Potter and the extension of the subway.

“Wasn’t your father interested in building a new line of street railroad?” he asked of Grace.

“I’m sure I don’t know.  I never kept track of papa’s business matters.”

“I see.”

“What ought I to do about this Mr. Sullivan?” Grace asked.

“I think you had better see him,” replied Larry.

“I’d be afraid to, alone, and mother has such a headache that she can’t come downstairs.  Will you stay in the room with me?” and she looked appealingly at Larry.

“I’m afraid if I did Sullivan wouldn’t talk.  He knows me, and imagines I have done him a wrong, which I have not.  I believe he considers me his enemy.  He would probably go away without saying anything if you met him in my presence.”

“But you don’t need to be actually present,” said Grace, with sudden inspiration.  “Look here, this is a little alcove,” and she pulled aside a hanging curtain and showed a recess in the library wall.  “You can stand in there, and hear whatever he has to say.  I’d feel safer if you were near.  Of course there’s Peterson, but he’s so queer, and I don’t like the servants to hear too much about poor father’s disappearance.  Will you stay here and be at hand in case I want you?”

“Of course I will,” replied Larry after a moment’s hesitation.  “I have no idea that Sullivan will annoy you.  He’s too much of a politician for that.  And I may be able to get a clue from what he says, though I don’t imagine he knows where Mr. Potter is.”

“Then I’ll see him,” decided Grace.  “Peterson,” she called.

“Yes, miss.”

“You may show Mr. Sullivan in here.”

“In here, miss?” and the butler looked at Larry.

“I said in here.”

“Very well, miss.”

“Now hide,” commanded the girl in a whisper, as soon as Peterson had gone to the front door, where Mr. Sullivan had been kept waiting, as the butler evidently thought the caller did not look like a person to be admitted to the hallway until he had showed his credentials, or until he had been authorized to come in by some member of the family.

Larry got behind the curtain.  No sooner had the folds ceased shaking than Mr. Sullivan entered the library.  Larry could see him, though the young reporter himself was hidden from view.  Grace remained standing.

“You wished to see me?” she asked in formal tones.

“Yes, Miss Potter,” and Larry noted that Sullivan was ill at ease.  “I called about your father.”