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Page 32
"Oh, it doesn't matter much," said Larry, who did not want to arouse
too great interest in the matter. "I just thought you might happen
to know him."
"I'll make some inquiries in the neighborhood," the officer went on.
"I don't want that shack to get to be a hanging-out place for
tramps. It was bad enough to have the German there, but he paid his
rent to the owner, who's about as crazy as the airship inventor.
I'll look up this other fellow. Drop around to-morrow night and I
may have some news for you."
"I will," replied Larry, satisfied that he had put his plan into
operation. "It's nothing special, but I had an idea I might get a
story out of the chap." And he went home again.
Larry reported to Mr. Emberg the next morning all the details of the
visit to the strange house.
"If some East Indian chooses to hide himself it can't make much
difference to us," said the city editor. "I judge him to be a native
from that name. I've got another story for you to go out on. It's
about----"
At that instant the telephone on Mr. Emberg's desk rang insistently.
He broke off what he was saying to Larry to grab up the instrument.
"Hello. Yes, this is Mr. Emberg. Oh, is that you, Harvey? What's
that? Reported to the police as missing? Are you sure it's him?
Great Scott! If that's true that's a corking good story! That
explains some things! You take the police end and I'll send some one
up to the house! Good-bye!"
The city editor was excited.
"Here, Larry!" he cried. "Jump right out on this. The police have
just received a report that Hamden Potter, the millionaire
financier, is missing. They tried to keep it quiet, but Harvey got
on to it. Hustle up to Potter's house and get all the particulars
you can. Get a picture of him. Hamden Potter missing!" he went on,
as Larry hurried away on his assignment. "There's something queer in
the wind, that's sure!"
There was--something more strange than Mr. Emberg suspected, and
Larry's assignment was one destined to last for some time.
CHAPTER XII
A BRAVE GIRL
Hamden Potter lived in one of the finest houses in New York. Larry
had often admired it as he walked in the neighborhood of Central
Park, in which vicinity many other New York millionaires have their
residences.
"Now I've got a chance to see the inside," thought Larry, as he sat
in the elevated train, and was whirled along toward his destination.
"That is if they let me in. Guess I'll have my hands full getting
information up there. Still, if I work it right, I may learn all I
want to know."
There are only two general classes of persons from whom reporters
can get news. One class is that which is only too ready to impart
it, for their own ends and interests, and this news is seldom the
kind the papers want. The other class consists of persons who are
determined that they will give no information to the representatives
of the press. This class usually has the very news that the papers
want, and the journals strive all the more eagerly to get it, from
the very fact that there is a desire to hold it from them. Both
classes must be approached in ways best suited to them; the one
that they may not take up a reporter's valuable time with a lot of
useless talk, and the other that they may be tricked into giving out
that which they are determined to keep back. It was to the latter
class that Larry was going that morning. On his way up he was
turning over in his mind the best means of getting what he wanted.
"Some butler or private secretary will come to the door," he
reasoned. "I've got to get in to see a member of the family. There's
only Mrs. Potter and her daughter Grace," for, in common with other
rich men and those in the public eye, Mr. Potter's family affairs
were, in a measure, public property to the New York newspaper world.
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