“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?”

Larry stood in the hallway, undecided.  He wanted another opportunity to see and speak to the man he believed was Mah Retto, but he considered it would not be wise to knock again on the door.  The occupant of the room either would not answer or would order him away.

“I’ll have to come again,” Larry said to himself.  “I’ve learned one thing, anyhow, and that is where he lives.”

The young reporter went to the office of the Leader early the next morning.  He found Mr. Emberg on hand, and told the city editor the plans for the day; that of making a tour of the steamship piers.  Mr. Emberg thought this was a good idea, and complimented Larry on his work thus far.

“I ran across my old friend, the East Indian, last night,” Larry said, as he was leaving.  “I’m going to work him up for a story when I get through with this Potter case.”

“Don’t do it until then,” advised Mr. Emberg.  “I want you to devote all your attention to the missing millionaire.  The East Indian story will not amount to much or I’d put another man on it.  You may get a yarn for the Saturday supplement out of it, but even that’s doubtful.”

Larry thought differently, but he did not say so.  Nor did he mention that he was going to take Grace Potter with him on his tour of the docks.  He had an idea that the city editor might object, or laugh at him, and Larry did not care to have that happen.  He felt he was doing right, and he knew there could be no serious objection to the daughter of the missing man aiding in a search for her parent.

Larry found Grace waiting for him.  She was quietly dressed, and wore a heavy veil, so that no one in the street would recognize her, since her picture had been published in several papers, and there might be comments from the crowd if the daughter of Mr. Potter was seen out in company of a newspaper reporter.

“Anything new?” asked the young lady, for she had taken to greeting Larry in that newspaper fashion.