“You must camp on his trail, Larry,” Mr. Emberg went on.  “As soon as you hear from the hospital people that he is in shape to talk, get in to see him.  You can truthfully claim to be a friend and acquaintance, for you once helped to save his life.  If you get a chance to talk to him, ask where Potter is, and let us know at once.  We’ll get out an extra, if need be.  Now hurry over to the hospital and let us hear from you as soon as possible.  Get a good story and a beat.”

“I only hope I can,” murmured Larry, as he left the telephone booth and started for the hospital to which Retto had been taken.

He had a slight acquaintance with the superintendent of the institution, and when he explained his errand the official agreed to let Larry in to see the man as soon as the nurses and surgeons had finished dressing his injuries.

“How is he?” asked Larry.

The superintendent called over a private telephone connected with the ward where Retto had been taken: 

“How is the patient just brought in from the pier?  Comfortable, eh?  That’s good.”

Then he turned to Larry: 

“I guess you can go up soon,” he added.  “Can you give us his name, and some particulars?  He was unconscious when he came in,” and the superintendent prepared to jot down the information on his record book.

This was a complication Larry had not foreseen.  If he gave the superintendent the fugitive’s name, any other reporters who came to the hospital to inquire about the injured man would at once connect Retto with the Potter mystery, and the Leader’s chance for a beat would be small indeed.  What was he to do?  He decided to take the superintendent partly into his confidence.

“I know the name he goes by,” he said, as the beginning of his account, “but I do not believe it is his right one.  I think it is an alias he uses.”

“Never mind then,” the superintendent interrupted, much to Larry’s relief.  “If it’s a false name we don’t want it.”

“I believe it is,” Larry added, and he was honest in that statement, for he felt that Retto was playing some deep game, and, in that case, would not be likely to use his right name.

“We don’t want our records wrong,” the head of the hospital resumed.  “We’ll wait until he can tell us about himself.”

The telephone bell rang at that juncture, and the superintendent answering it told Larry the patient was now in bed and could be seen.

“Don’t get him excited,” cautioned the official.  “I want to get some information from him about himself when you are through.”

It is sometimes the custom in New York, in accident cases, to allow reporters to interview the victims, when their physical condition admits of it.  So it was no new thing for Larry to go into the hospital ward to speak to Retto.  He passed through rows of white cots, on which reclined men in all stages of disease and accident.  There was a sickish smell of iodoform in the atmosphere, and the sight of the pale faces on either side made Larry sad at heart.