Still, Larry managed to get new items from the case every day. If it was not something about his own special assignment to it, he could generally depend on the police to furnish something of interest.
The search for the thief had spread over the whole United States, and to foreign countries as well. But, several weeks after the robbery, there was no more trace of the thief and the missing million dollars than on the first day. It was as if the man and the money had jumped into the sea.
Of course, in a way, a lookout was kept for the man with the beard, who had purchased the valise of Miss Mason, but he was not found. For a time Larry thought to connect him with the sneak-thief at the boarding-house, but he could not do so, and finally concluded that he was wrong on this theory.
From the police of Hackenford, Larry learned that not a thing had been stolen from the boarding-house. Mr. Witherby had returned shortly after Larry left, it was said, and stated that nothing in his room had been disturbed. It was the same with the other lodgers.
“I guess the landlady and I frightened the fellow away before he got a chance to take anything,” reasoned Larry, “though from the way he stayed in Witherby’s room, juggling with that false beard, it would seem as if he had plenty of spare time.”
Larry had not seen Miss Potter since the time he met her in Central Park, with Witherby, though our hero had called on Miss Mason several times. He found in her a most congenial acquaintance. One day, however, when uptown, running down a tip he had received about a foreigner who was spending large sums of money in the hotel district, Larry met the millionaire’s daughter.
“Why haven’t you been to see me, Larry?” she asked, for during the time her father was missing, and Larry was working on the case, Grace got well acquainted with the young reporter. “Papa said he asked you to call, some time ago, but you never did,” she went on.
“Well, I—er—that is, I fancied—” stammered Larry.
“Now I know what you’re thinking of!” she exclaimed quickly. “It’s Mr. Witherby. Don’t deny it!” she went on, playfully shaking a finger at Larry, who was blushing at the correct interpretation of his thoughts. “But I want to tell you,” she went on, “that he and I were talking on business matters when you met us.”
“Business matters?” repeated Larry.