“What!  Why, bless my soul if it isn’t Larry Dexter!” and the man held out his hand.  “Why, I haven’t seen you in a long time.  How’s your mother and the children?”

“Fine.  How’s Mrs. Jackson?”

“She’s well.  There she is looking out of the window, wondering why I don’t come home to supper.  You must come in and see her.  Come, and stay to supper.”

The man Larry had thus unexpectedly met was the one in whose flat Mrs. Dexter and the children had stayed the first night they had come to New York, and found that the sister of Larry’s mother, with whom they expected to remain, had suddenly moved away.  The Dexter family, sad and discouraged at the loss of their farm, would have fared badly on their arrival in the big city had not Mrs. Jackson and her husband befriended them.

While Larry was getting a start in the newspaper work the Dexter family had lived in the same tenement with the Jacksons, and they had become firm friends.  Larry and his mother since then had moved to other quarters, and had, for some time back, lost trace of their acquaintances.

“I didn’t know you lived here,” said Larry when he had recovered somewhat from his surprise at seeing Mr. Jackson.

“We haven’t lived here long.  I got a better position in this part of the city, and as I like to be near my work I moved here.  We like it quite well, but it’s rather crowded.  However, almost any place is in New York.  But you must come in to supper.  Mrs. Jackson will be anxious to hear all about your folks.  I can see her making signs to me to hurry up.  I suppose the potatoes are all cooked and the tea made.”

Larry did not require much urging to accept the kind invitation.  He wanted to see his friends again, and he thought they might be able to give him some information concerning the people of the neighborhood.

“Because it’s the best place in the world to hide in.  If I wanted to drop out of sight I’d go about two blocks away from here and keep quiet.  No one would ever think of looking for me so near my home.”

“I hope you don’t contemplate anything like that,” said Larry with a laugh.

“No, indeed.  But New York is the best hiding place, and you can depend on it, Mr. Potter is here.”

“You haven’t seen him in the neighborhood, have you?” asked the reporter, glad of the opportunity which gave him a chance for that question.

“No, I can’t say that I have.  If they’d offer a reward I might take time to hunt for him,” and Mr. Jackson laughed.  “I can’t afford to turn detective as it is now,” he added.  “It’s too hard to get a living.”

Larry spent the evening with his friends, keeping the talk as much as possible, without exciting suspicion, on the Potter case.  In this way he learned considerable about the persons living in the immediate vicinity of the Jacksons, for Mrs. Jackson was fond of making new acquaintances.

But in all this there was no clue such as Larry sought.  There were any number of men, concerning whom there seemed to be some mystery, but none answered the description of Mr. Potter.